by Flynn, Avery
I grab a set of tongs and pull out a strand of linguini, testing it for doneness. It still needs a bit more time, so I hop onto the counter and cross my legs. “How did you end up living in the suburbs in the first place? This isn’t normally where hot, single men tend to congregate.”
He stops stirring for a second but then begins again as though nothing happened. He doesn’t turn around to look at me before answering. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”
My antennae are up, and I know in my marrow that it’s important how he ended up living here. So I say as nonchalantly as possible, “Of course I want to hear this story. Spill, Nick.”
He flips the burner to warm before leaning against the stove. “It’s not a friends-with-benefits sort of story, Mallory.”
My heart is pounding in my ears because I know what he’s saying. What he’s asking. If I want to get to know him more, to learn his secrets, I’m going to have to admit there’s more going on between us than just hooking up.
A part of me knows I’m not ready to take this any further, that I’m just starting to figure out who I am outside of my marriage, what I want in life. But another part wants to know everything there is to know about Nick, wants to know what he was like as a child, what he dreamed of being when he grew up.
Which is why I’m not shocked when I hear myself whisper, “So tell me.”
Hello, relationship line, don’t mind me as I try not to freak the eff out as I mosey across you.
Nick holds my gaze for a beat, maybe two, then nods. “I was engaged when I was in college.”
My breath hitches. Of all the things he could have said, I would never have guessed that. I can’t say anything, the parallels between our lives whizzing through my mind at warp speed.
“We were both in law school together…” He pauses, clearly trying to gauge how I take this information, again so similar to Karl and me, but I don’t even blink. I am a stone. “We planned to head to New York and start our own firm together.”
The hits just keep coming. My throat feels scratchy and tight, and all I can do is nod for him to continue.
“But then we got pregnant just before graduation and, well, New York was no longer important to either of us. Instead, we planned to buy a house in the suburbs and start a family, build a much smaller law practice so we could spend more time with the kids.”
I manage to drag in a shaky breath and ask, “You’re divorced? With kids?” I never saw Nick with any kids, and we’d practically been living in each other’s pockets for the last several weeks. There were no pictures of a family in his offices. No one mentioned a family… My eyes widen. Oh God, no.
“I wish I were divorced with kids,” he says, and I shatter. I just break into a million pieces. “She died in a car accident, pregnant with our first.”
I can barely see, tears blurring my vision and wetting my cheeks, but I manage to get off the counter and find him, wrap my arms around him, pull him against me. And sob.
When I think there are no more tears left to cry, I lean back and wipe the wetness from his face, too. “Were you—”
“Driving? No. She was. But I was sitting beside her.”
I squeeze him again. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like, sitting next to your wife and child as they die before your eyes. He survived a nightmare, a literal nightmare, but he found a way to move on, the strength to heal.
“Is this the house you bought together?” I gesture at the space around us. “Is that why you’re always so neat and tidy, everything in its place? Like she would want?”
I feel like that’s a reasonable question. I mean, really. Why else would anyone be this neat? But Nick lets out a bark of laughter. “Sorry to disappoint, but this is all me, baby.”
I smile back at him. As flaws go, I can live with neat freak. Especially one who can cook…
“Oh no! The pasta!” I pull away and grab the tongs, but I know even before I’ve pulled the first noodle out of the water, it’s overcooked and ruined. We both stare at the sticky mess. Then each other.
And say at the same time:
“Popcorn?”
“Lord of the Rings?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
We barely make it through something about a ring before we’re half naked and racing each other up the stairs. We get to the door of his bedroom in record time, and I expect him to toss me down on his bed and rip off my clothes—or better yet, let me rip off the rest of his clothes. But instead, he carries me straight past the bed and into the bathroom.
“What are we…” I ask, wondering if he’s got some kind of mirror fetish or something. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I can definitely get on board with seeing both the front and the back of this man at the same time.
“It’s been a long day,” he murmurs as he slowly slides my body down his, making sure as he does that all the good parts of me touch all the really good parts of him. “And a long night. I thought we could both use a hot shower.”
“Oh, right.” I let out a slow, uneven breath at the thought of being able to touch him as warm water sluices over all his smooth, gorgeous skin. I’ll have to save the mirror fantasy for another night—or at least another round.
“You feel good,” I tell him as I lean into the pleasure.
As I lean into him.
“You feel better than good,” he answers, his fingers moving to the buttons of my blouse.
“I can do that,” I tell him, but he just grins.
“I know you can do it, but I want to do it.” His smile turns soft. “Okay?”
I nod as his nimble fingers make short work of my buttons, then sigh a little as he slips the blouse off, his finger skimming across the skin of my shoulders and arms as he does.
I rest against him now, relishing the feel of his body touching mine, and he holds me for long seconds, his hands stroking over my skin and down my back. But when I reach behind me to take off my bra, he stops me with a hand over mine.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and there’s something in the words—something in his eyes and his hands—that has my heart trembling in my chest just a little.
I ignore it, tell myself it’s hunger, since we never finished cooking dinner, and focus instead on the way his big, warm hands feel sliding over my lower back and up my spine until he reaches my bra clasp. He flicks it off one-handed in about two seconds flat, and I almost tease him about his prowess, but before I can say anything, he’s sliding my bra off and cupping my breasts in his hands.
He toys with my nipples for just a moment and I gasp, all thoughts of teasing him—all thoughts of everything—slipping right out of my head. And when his lips brush against mine, once, twice, I fall headlong into sensation. Headlong into him and the fire that burns between us even before his fingers move to the buttons of my suit pants.
Within seconds, they’re pooled on his travertine floor—along with my underwear.
He wraps his arms around me then, presses soft kisses to my cheeks, my jaw, the hollow of my throat, the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
It feels good—amazingly good—but it’s not enough.
“I want your mouth,” I tell him, my hands smoothing over his warm, naked chest.
He answers by pressing a string of openmouthed kisses to my neck and jaw that has my knees weakening and my heart beating fast and hard.
But when I drop my hands to his belt buckle to return the favor, he stops me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused.
Nick grins as he steps back and opens the door to one of the most decadent showers I have ever seen. When he turns on all three water sprays, the environmentalist in me has a heart attack, but the hedonist is completely on board. Even before he drops his pants and completely distracts me by my first unadulterated view of his beautiful body tonight.
But when I reach for him, he takes my hand and tugs me gently into the shower.
Unlike at Aunt Maggie’s, the water here heats up almost instantly, and I nearly moan in delight as the hot water hits muscles still sore from my mowing adventure. Nick laughs, then wraps his arms around my waist as I relax against him.
We take several breaths while he does nothing but hold me, his body strong and heated and aroused against mine. I wrap my arms around his waist, too, then start to kiss my way across his chest.
And for a moment, he lets me. Then he moans, his arms tightening before he eases away.
“What—” I start, but before I can ask him what’s going on, he slides his fingers into my hair and tugs softly until I tilt my head back and let the water cascade over me. Then he reaches for a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into his palm.
No one has ever washed my hair before. When Karl asked me to take showers with him, it was just a euphemism for a quick blow job. But with Nick…with Nick it’s anything but quick and it is focused entirely on me.
Gently, he massages the shampoo into my hair, his fingers making small, thorough circles against my scalp. It’s a slow, sexy process, one that feels so good, it turns my entire body to mush. I collapse into him, more out of necessity than choice, and he takes my full weight with a grin that lights up his face.
When he’s done with the most amazing scalp massage of my life, he guides my head back under the water and painstakingly washes out the shampoo.
He repeats the process with the conditioner, and by the time he’s done, my entire body is on fire. My hands are on his hips, my nails digging in as I press hot, desperate kisses to every part of him that I can reach.
But just as I start to drop to my knees, he stops me with a gentle hand to my jaw. Then he leans forward and kisses me until I can barely remember how to breathe, let alone how I thought this was supposed to go.
He reaches for his shower gel then, squirting some into his palms, then running his hands over my shoulders and down my back before sliding over my ass. He circles around to the front, his fingers toying with my belly button for long seconds before slipping over my rib cage to my chest and lowering his mouth to mine.
I twine my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He lets me for one second, two, before settling me on the bench that runs the back length of the shower. Then he drops to his knees in front of me.
My heart is going wild now, my whole body in sensory overload even before he soaps up his hands and strokes his way slowly, painstakingly from my ankle to my thigh.
And then he takes hold of my right ankle and does the exact same thing to that leg, too.
By the time he reaches my right thigh, all worries about whether my body is good enough for him, all plans for sowing my wild divorce oats, all thoughts of anything and everything but Nick, have disappeared from my head completely.
I’m drowning—in sensation, in Nick, in the overwhelming power of my own emotions—even before Nick presses his mouth to the very heart of me, taking me up and over so fast that my head spins out, right along with the rest of me.
I haven’t even caught my breath when he’s turning off the shower. Lifting me up. Carrying me out. Setting me down in front of the sink—and the mirror.
He dries me off slowly, carefully, his fingers skimming across my shoulder, my hip, the sensitive spot on the inside of my elbow. By the time he’s done, I want him again, even before he reaches into the nearest drawer, pulls out a condom, and puts it on.
And then he’s turning me so that my back is against his front.
“I need you, Mallory,” he whispers as he slides inside me.
I need him, too, but the words stick in my throat.
He leans forward, his body covering mine so that we can be as close as humanly possible, and as his wide, vulnerable eyes meet mine in the mirror, I can feel the words—and the emotions—rising inside me. Getting bigger and bigger and harder and harder to tamp down.
So that when I’m right there, my body drowning in a whirlpool of emotions and sensations, there really is only one choice. “I need you,” I whisper as pleasure pours through me, over me, dragging me further and further into the abyss. “I need you, Nick.”
It’s the most amazing—and the most devastating—feeling in the world, and for a second I’m caught in the whirlpool, every part of me spiraling wildly out of control.
Fear rises right along with the pleasure—what have I done, what have I done?—but Nick is there to catch me, to hold me, to shelter me through the storm.
And nothing has ever felt so right.
Chapter Forty-Nine
If Nick doesn’t fall asleep soon—and I mean soon—I am going to go from panic attack to actual heart attack. And sadly, I’m pretty sure that isn’t even an exaggeration. The human heart is not meant to beat more than 130 beats per minute for extended periods of time, and mine has been pounding like an acid rock drummer for way too long.
Add in the fact that the room is spinning and I can’t catch my breath, and I would have thought I’m already having a heart attack if all of this wasn’t clearly a result of me absolutely, positively freaking out…and have been since Nick carried me out of the bathroom and laid me on this bed nearly an hour ago.
We talked for a little while before he turned out the light, but now we’re curled together under his thick down comforter—and by curled together I mean he is wrapped around me like he’s the tortilla and I’m the stuffing. Which also would probably be fine at any other time, considering normally I like being the little spoon.
But right now, after everything that happened in the bathroom, it feels like the room is closing in on me.
It isn’t Nick’s fault—none of this is his fault. It’s my fault for stepping outside my comfort zone and doing something I knew I wasn’t ready for just because I was strung out on desire. I can’t believe I told Nick I needed him. I can’t freaking believe it. I made it what, a month, after vowing to never need another man again? Way to stay strong and independent, Mallory.
And I can’t believe he said he needed me, too. We’ve known each other less time than it takes to grow a tomato, for God’s sake.
He can’t need me. I’m a freaking mess. Broke, in the middle of an existential crisis and a messy divorce, currently living with my mother and my sister…both of whom are also in the middle of messy relationship drama. What about this scenario makes me sound like a good relationship bet?
And I know, Nick hasn’t actually asked me to be in a relationship yet, but men don’t do what he did in that bathroom if they plan on keeping it casual. I may not be the world’s leading expert on relationships, but even I know that much. And earlier tonight, in the kitchen, I know we were taking friends with benefits to a new place. It just went from fun and games to overwhelming me in the span of a breath.
All of which has led to me lying here in his bed, freaking out, as I wait for him to fall asleep. Is it a coward’s move to sneak out while he’s unconscious? Absolutely. Am I going to do it anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. Not because I don’t like Nick but because I do. More than I want to. Definitely more than I should. And after what he shared tonight about his wife and child, I know I have no choice. I can’t put him through more heartache.
“You okay?” he asks as he pulls me closer, nuzzling in.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I don’t know what else to say. Plus, there’s a part of me that wants it to be true, a part of me that wishes I was okay with all of this. Because this is definitely a case of it isn’t him, it’s me.
No matter how much I want to paint him with the asshole card because of our first meeting, the truth is, he’s a good guy. A very good guy. One who helps out his neighbors, serves in the community, rescues stray dogs, and gives divorcées who are in over their heads really good legal advice and representation.
And me? I’m a woman who still needs to work o
n her shit. I’ve gotten a lot of it together since I first told Karl I wanted a divorce, but there is more than a little left to go. And until I get that shit figured out, there’s no way I’ll be able to give Nick what he deserves…and what he apparently wants, as well.
Eventually, his breathing softens out a little bit, becomes more rhythmic, and the arm around me grows heavier and more lax. And still I wait a couple more minutes before rolling gently—oh so gently—away.
His arm flops on the bed between us and he startles a little—which also startles me. My heart begins beating even faster and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to freak out and just run. But since I’m pretty sure that will just make Nick chase me, I stay where I am, facedown on the bed, and hyperventilate pillow fuzz for a while.
When nearly ten minutes go by and he doesn’t so much as move, I finally decide it’s safe to start inching toward the edge of the bed. As my fingers and toes eventually touch nothing but air on my side of the bed, I just go for it.
I roll straight out of bed and land on the floor with an oompf that knocks the air out of me—and settles out my hyperventilating at the same time. Nothing like a few bruises for the win.
I think about trying to get my clothes, but they’re still in the bathroom and there’s no way Nick will sleep through all that. And if he doesn’t, what am I going to say? I have a crawling fetish? I’m sleep-crawling? No, nothing good can come from that, so it’s going to have to be every pair of lace underwear for herself in this situation. Besides, I never liked that suit anyway.
Inch by inch, I stealth-crawl to the door, feeling more and more like a special-ops soldier moving through enemy territory. The bedroom door is open, thank God, and I’m out and in the hallway when I hit my second booby trap. Buttercup.
She must be a night dog, because suddenly she’s right next to me—and she’s wide awake. Also, apparently, feeling the love tonight.
I get a face full of enthusiastic doggie kisses and end up having to take every single one of them, since she’s determined not to be dissuaded. Eventually, she eases up a little and I take my shot, power-crawling to the stairs as fast as my hands and knees will carry me.