Connection (Temptation Series Standalones Book 2)

by K. M. Golland

  “Mm,” he garbles.

  I tilt my head to look up at him, and he peeps one eye open.

  “You ready to go again, sweetheart?”

  Crawling on top of him, I lick from one nipple to the other before venturing toward his abdomen until I’m sucking the silky-smooth crown of his cock.

  He groans, harsh like gravel.

  I consume as much of him as I can and work his shaft with my hand, pumping as I lick, suck, and tease him. Sucking cock has never really interested me. It cramps my jaw and makes me gag, and there’s nothing pleasurable about that. Strangely enough, I’m enjoying Will. His cock is rather pleasant in taste and texture, and although it’s bigger than any I’ve sucked before, it’s neither daunting nor boring.

  I’m a happy Libby. A happy lip-locked Libby.

  Will slides his hand into my hair and grips me gently. “Elizabeth.”

  “’es?”

  “You want me to blow in your mouth?”

  I pause. How sweet. I’ve never been asked this before, never been given the choice, and for that, I say, “’es,” again.

  Will jerks once then twice before warmth hits the back of my throat, slick and thick. I swallow, which is when I realise my eyes are watering and I’m in desperate need of oxygen.

  Releasing him from my mouth, I gulp all the air I can when he reaches down, cups my face, and guides me to his mouth, his tongue slipping between my lips as he kisses me long and hard but oh so tenderly.

  “I like you very much,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes alive with humour. “And so does Molly by the looks of it.” Will gestures to where Molly is sitting by the bed, head resting on the mattress, staring at me like I’m her long-lost love.

  “Oh my God!” I roll off him. “Did she just watch me give you head?”

  “Probably.”

  “Will! That’s—” I pull the blanket over my head. “—so embarrassing.”

  He chuckles. “She’s a dog.”

  “A perverted dog.”

  “Hey! You just hurt her feelings.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I wrench the blanket down again.

  “Look.” He points toward the door. “She’s leaving.”

  “Good!”

  Rolling on top of me, he bears his weight on his elbows and nudges my nose with his. “What do you want to do now?”

  “Wipe Molly’s memory.”

  He chuckles again. “Besides that.”

  “Take a shower.”

  “Done. Then what?”

  “Er… watch a movie?”

  “Then what?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know… have something to eat?”

  “Then what?”

  “Go home?”

  “Wrong answer.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to have a sleepover, Will?”

  The cutest boyish smile illuminates his eyes, and he nods.

  Covering my face with my hands, I peek through my spread fingers. “Okay. I’ll sleep over.”

  After cleaning ourselves up, making toasted cheese sandwiches, and watching—you guessed it—Dirty Dancing while Casper sporadically jumped in the air around us, which I now know is called a binky, Will shows me the rest of his house. It belonged to his grandma before she passed away a couple of years ago and bequeathed it to him, her only grandson. His sister ended up with a beach house in Dromana.

  “You’re very lucky,” I say, admiring the cathedral ceilings in the kitchen and living area. “This house is incredible.”

  “I know. Ma always knew I loved her home.” He leans against the woodgrain kitchen cabinetry. “When I was a boy and my sister and I stayed with Ma and Pa on school holidays, we used to spend every daylight hour outside, pretending the house was enchanted and under threat of an evil sorcerer.”

  I cock my head and smile, imagining their fun game. It’s definitely something I would’ve played.

  “I also spent most weekends here as I grew older, clearing gutters, mowing the lawn, and fixing odd things Ma couldn’t after Pa died. It’s always felt like home and always will.”

  Touching my hand to my heart, I say, “That’s really lovely, Will. It sounds like you had a special relationship with your grandparents.”

  “I did. Mum and Dad were often away for work, so we stayed with Ma and Pa a lot.”

  “What line of work were your parents in?”

  “Dad’s a pilot for a commercial airline, and Mum’s an air hostess.”

  “Oh. I guess they were away a lot then?”

  “Yep.”

  His quipped answer stirs my curiosity.

  “Did it bother you?” I ask tentatively.

  Will puts the glass of water he’s been holding down on the benchtop. “They were part-time parents, so, yeah, it bothered me sometimes.”

  He pushes off from the bench, which is when my eyes land on a ball of wool and set of knitting needles jutting out from an empty fruit bowl near his hand.

  “Are you kidding me!” I point to them then cover my mouth, laughing behind my hand. “You really do knit.”

  One of his eyebrows hitches. “Yeah.”

  “I thought that was a lie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because men like you don’t knit.”

  “Who says?”

  “I don’t know, the vast majority of society.”

  He shrugs… as if the vast majority of society are wrong, and maybe they are. “Ma taught me and Faith.”

  “Faith?”

  “My sister.”

  “Will and Faith?”

  He shrugs again. “Yeah, part-time parents or not, they were both optimists.”

  “Seems so,” I say as he takes my hand and leads me into the hallway.

  “Want a tour?”

  I smile, enjoying the feel of his fingers entwined with mine. “Sure! I thought you’d never ask.”

  “That’s my room.” He points to his left. “Which you’ve already seen.”

  I blush at the crumpled sheets on his bed and keep moving.

  He opens the next door. “Main bathroom.”

  I poke my head in and marvel at the glass bay windows and ceiling showcasing the surrounding majestic mountain ash gum trees. “Oh wow! That’s… magical… and a little nerve-wracking.”

  He leans on the doorframe. “Why’s that?”

  “Because one of those trees or a branch might fall and smash all this glass.”

  “Ahhhh, but this house is enchanted, remember?”

  The crooked smile I give him lacks confidence.

  “Reinforced, laminated glass,” he explains. “Extremely tough. And safe.” He winks and moves to the next room. “Toilet.”

  I perform the same head poke, relieved to see no glass ceiling.

  “And this room,” he says, as he opens the last door at the end of the hall, “is my music room.”

  In the centre of the room is a drum kit, black and silver in colour, the words Live Trepidation printed on the bass. Framed photos of various drummers hang between white carpet-panelled walls, and in the corner is a computer and some kind of sound recording system.

  “Who’s that?” I say, pointing to the first framed picture.

  “God.”

  I laugh. “No, seriously.”

  “Dave Grohl. Nirvana.”

  “Oh, I thought he looked familiar.” I point to the next one. “And is this Phil Collins?”

  “Sure is.”

  I glance over my shoulder at him. “I like that song he sings where the gorilla plays the drums in the Cadbury advert.”

  “‘In the Air Tonight.’”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  I turn back to the picture, and before I can ask about the next one, Will drums that very part of the song, frightening the bejesus out me.

  Clutching my chest, I nearly have to pick myself up off the floor, my eyes alight in wonderment. “If only you had the gorilla suit.”

  He cocks his brow.

  I move to the next picture. �
�Who’s this?”

  “John Bonham. Led Zeppelin. And that last one is Neil Peart.”

  “Are they all your idols?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “I think it’s really great that you have them in here, surrounding you when you play. It’s inspirational.”

  Sounds stupid, but it kinda reminds me of the Disney princesses on my childhood bedroom wall that used to surround and inspire me.

  “That’s the idea, sweetheart.” He tips his chin. “Come here.”

  I move behind the drum kit, and he grabs my hips and pulls me onto his lap.

  “Want to have a go?”

  I giggle. “Sure.”

  He places the drumsticks in my hands then, as if I’m a puppet, guides me in hitting the drums.

  I laugh, feeling a little silly but also liking the feel of him beneath and behind me. Not to mention it’s nice someone else being the teacher for once.

  “I’d love to see you play with your band,” I say.

  Tap.

  “We’re playin’ a gig next weekend when Derek gets back from Sydney. You should come.”

  Tap. Tap.

  “I’d love to. When next weekend?”

  Tap. Tap. Bang.

  “Saturday afternoon.”

  I’m about to say “sure” when I remember my breast biopsy. Dr Tao rang yesterday to notify me that my ultrasound showed a lesion in my left breast, and of course we need to investigate immediately. It’s not the first lesion we’ve found—and it won’t be the last—so I’m not losing sleep over it, but I can’t cancel the appointment. I know how important these things are. I’ve been dealing with them most of my life.

  Tap. Tap. Bang.

  “Crap!” I say, shoulders slumping. “I can’t. I’m busy.”

  “Then become un-busy.”

  “I can’t.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I suspect it’s because he’s waiting for me to tell him why, so I do… kinda.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  Will rotates me a little so that we’re face-to-face. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” I nod. “It’s just routine.”

  He searches my eyes for a second, and I’m as used to this type of response as I am buttering toast.

  “Okay,” he says, leaving it at that. Bang. Bang. Bang. “Maybe next time then.”

  Yes. Definitely next time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Carly asks, her shoulder propping her body against the doorframe to our lounge room.

  I look up from the sofa and swish my hand. “No. Derek gets back today. You should be with him.” Flipping the page of my Better Homes and Gardens magazine, I add, “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first biopsy, you know.”

  She huffs.

  “Hey!” I point at her. “Don’t give me that sad puppy dog look.”

  “But, Lib—”

  “No ‘But, Libs’.” Flipping the next few pages, I admire the double-page spreads of summer garden ideas. “I’m a big girl, remember?”

  “More like a big pain in my arse,” she groans.

  I shut the magazine with a snap and frisbee it onto the coffee table before tucking my feet under my bum. “Sooo, are you and Derek finally gonna have sex tonight?”

  Part of me feels terribly guilty—not to mention a little trampy—that I’ve slept with Will before she’s had a chance to sleep with Derek. I mean, they’ve been seeing each other for several months now, and I’ve only been “seeing” Will for a week. But, then, am I technically seeing him if we haven’t revealed it to anyone? Kinda like the fallen-tree-in-a-forest-when-no-one-is-around scenario. Did it really make a sound if nobody heard it? Ugh.

  I don’t know what I’m doing. I like Will a lot, and every part of me wants to grab a megaphone and blare to a crowd of unsuspecting strangers in the street that Elizabeth Regina Hanson—the quiet, Disney-fairy-tale-loving teacher—finally has a boyfriend and is happy. That she’s not some miserable nearly-thirty-year-old spinster cat lady sans the cats. Then there’s my mother; she’ll be thrilled. Not to mention a genuine relationship is something I’ve wanted and deserved for so long. I just… I know it can’t come without hard truths and unsurmountable sacrifice, and I’m not sure Will is up for that or should be up for that. Just telling him the entire truth about my life terrifies me.

  “…I’m desperate to fuck his brains out, like really fuck them out of his sexy head and into the next century, but I’m so nervous and scared, and I don’t understand why, and—”

  I realise I haven’t been listening to a word Carly’s said for the last minute or two, so I nod, pretending to agree with full comprehension. It’s a tactic that always works.

  “So what do you think is wrong with me?” she asks, and I also realise my tactic is flawed.

  “Uh…” There are so many things I could say here, like, “You act before you think, Carly, and you’re an extremely unkempt housemate, not to mention the worst dog owner and dishwasher.” The list goes on. Instead, I choose to go with, “There’s nothing wrong with you, hon. Just go with your gut and have a good time. Like you always do. Don’t think about it too much.”

  God, I hope that’s good advice. For all I know, she could’ve just admitted to being a nymphomaniac without morals.

  It’s not entirely farfetched.

  She pushes off from the doorframe. “Okay. Yes. I will.”

  “Good?”

  She nods. “Good.” Carly approaches and kisses my forehead. “Good luck with the biopsy. Ring me if you need me, for anything at all.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I playfully groan.

  Turns out I am fine. Biopsy: negative. Thyroid: clear. Lump on my back: a benign lipoma. Will noticed it in the shower the other day, and I had to explain what it was, which he seemed content with. I didn’t offer any further information; I’m not ready for that. But I do know I’ll have to confess the extent of my illness sooner or later, especially because, over the past few weeks, we’ve spent more time together and have grown much closer.

  I’m now a permanent member of his boxing class, and he’s well versed in assessing spelling homework. I can complete a killer seed knitting stitch, and he knows just how I like my tea. He has five tattoos; my favourite is on his foot. He’s memorised my bra, panty, and shoe sizes, and I now like to listen to Led Zeppelin and Muse.

  He likes white chocolate; I like dark.

  We both love Mexican food.

  The more time we spend together, the more I fall for him. Like how he cares deeply for animals and the underdogs of the world, how he challenges me even when I don’t want to be challenged, and how his mischievous smile lights up the darkness that often creeps up from within. I’ve loved sharing every moment with him, even the times when we’ve nearly been busted by Carly, like when she unexpectedly came home while he was between my legs.

  Needless to say, he had to hide in my wardrobe for roughly thirty minutes while she told me all about some satay sauce sex session she had with Derek. I had to bite my lip the entire time to prevent myself from laughing, which would’ve worked, because her satay sauce story was kinda funny. Messy and entirely unhygienic, but funny all the same. Thankfully, she eventually left me to my devices and had a shower, which was when I could finally sneak him out of the house. How she never noticed his car in the street is beyond me.

  Other than a couple of close calls with Carly, and one at school when he snuck a kiss behind the excavator, our secret relationship has successfully remained secret.

  We did, however, have our first proper fight on Christmas Eve. He wanted to tell our families about the two of us, and I told him I didn’t. I mean, deep down I want what he does, but I’m still not ready. Call it denial; I don’t care. I just want our bubble to remain intact for as long as possible, so we can continue to float through a world of pretend and insurmountable bliss. A world where shadows stay in the darkness, and where things are easier d
one than said. Floating through a world with no risk because I refuse to acknowledge the stakes is not something I get to do often. And if I tell Will the whole truth and nothing but the truth, there’s a good chance our blissful bubble will burst, and I’ll stop floating and fall back to earth among the soil and shit. I don’t like soil and shit. No one does. And the more people who know we’re together, the greater chance my fall will happen.

  Anyway, I ended up storming out of his home, and we didn’t speak until New Year’s Eve, when he snuck up to my bedroom window and scared the absolute shit out of me and Sasha.

  Great guard dog she is.

  Pushing open the door to the school office with my hip, I balance my empty mug, mobile phone, and a stack of paper. It’s one week before the new school year commences, and it’s all hands on deck for teachers and staff in preparation for the students’ arrival. I’m teaching Grade 3 this year, on my own without Oliver, thank God, but I do have some of my Grade 2 students from last year, Dylan and Evan to name a couple.

  Carly’s behind the reception counter, radio blaring as she claps her hands and dances in her seat.

  “Why are you so happy?” I ask, suspicious. She’s been giddy ever since Derek dropped her off this morning.

  She stops clapping. “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “So I’m singing, big deal.”

  I laugh and steadily place down the things I’m holding. “Carly, you’re beaming so bright you practically blinded me when I walked in.”

  “Am not.”

  She’s lying. She’s elated, and she doesn’t want me to know why.

  Realisation hits and I squeal. “Oh my God! Either Derek said the L-word, or you have. Or both.”

  Plonking my arse on her desk, I deliberately mess her paperwork piles, karma for the pile of laundry she kicked off the sofa during the week.

  “You’re an idiot,” she grumbles, and yanks the documents poking out from underneath my butt.

  “It was you!” I point at her. “You said it!”

  She’s tries to remain aloof by bunching the paperwork in her hand and tapping it on the desktop. “Was there something you wanted? I’m super busy.”