by Megan Hart
"Who’s they?" Molly demanded. "Preachers? Advice gurus?"
"People like that."
"You listen to that bullshit?"
Elliott shook his head. "No."
"Well, you listen to me, you hear me? You can't hold on to hate. It will eat you up inside and leave you full of holes you can't ever fill." Molly sighed, closing her eyes and laying back on the pillows. "You're a man all grown, now, and you still don't have anyone. Nobody to love you, or for you to love."
"I love you, Molly. And you love me."
She cracked open an eye and frowned. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"What if I just got a dog?"
"Dogs are stinking, slobbering bags of unconditional love, but they are not a substitute for a person. Damn, I miss Harry." She shifted around again with a grimace.
"Do you need some meds?"
"No. I'm fine. Just tired of being in this bed. Tired of feeling this way, though I guess on the days I don't, I'm so out of my goddamned mind I'd have no idea about it, so why should I care?" Her smile was even smaller this time, quick as a flash of light in a shadowed pond.
They sat for a few minutes after that without saying much. She was fading, though not quite asleep. She wouldn't let go of Elliott's hand.
"How do you stop hating?" he asked quietly, finally, when he thought maybe she'd at last drifted into dreams.
She hadn't. She didn't open her eyes, but she did answer him. "You try really, really hard."
"What if you can't?"
"Find something to love," she told him with a barely tight squeeze of his fingers. "You won't have time to do so much hating. You should find someone, Elliott."
He thought of Simone, of course he did. "I'm seeing someone."
He'd surprised her enough to open her eyes, though only for a second or so. "Since when?"
"Since . . . not long. It's not very serious."
Molly's laugh turned hoarse. "The fact you even mention her at all means it's at least a little serious, sonny. You still making your lists?"
"Yes. Sometimes."
"Would she be on one?"
He didn't answer right away. "Yes."
"You think you found someone to love. That's good for you. I'm happy."
Simone had worked her way inside him, that was for sure. "How would I know?"
"If it scares the shit out of you, that's probably a good way to tell. You scared?" Molly's breathing slowed, and her head settled harder into the pillows. Her grip loosened and, finally, fell away.
"Yeah. Absolutely."
She laughed, a little, though he was certain she'd at last fallen asleep. She'd held on to at least a tiny bit of consciousness, though, because when he got up to go, her lips moved. She spoke on a whisper, but he still heard every word.
"We might spend our whole lives dying," Molly muttered, "but that doesn't mean it's not worth every single second."
Chapter 28
Elliott's hands.
His mouth.
Oh, god, that lean, tight belly. Those long, long legs. His jaw. His thighs.
Simone was in a fever of remembering every part of his body. It felt like a fever, literally, her body temperature a few degrees above normal as she tossed and turned in her bed and tried to convince herself not to get in a cab and go to his house.
He'd open the door for her, if she knocked. He would let her inside. He would let her put her mouth on him, all over him, and at the thought of that, another shivery series of shudders trembled through her. There'd been things in her life that Simone had desired more than she wanted to take Elliott's cock in her mouth, but just then she couldn't think of a single one.
She'd taken a cold shower, but all that had done was get her nipples erect and her clit pulsing. Now, flopping back against her pillows with the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead to dry her off before she got dressed, all she could do was close her eyes and think about pushing him back onto his bed and climbing up his body to center her pussy over his eager, waiting mouth.
The air on her body felt so amazing, she didn't want to put on clothes. Simone ran her hands over her breasts, tweaking the nipples even harder. It had been a month since the last time she and Elliott had fucked, a couple weeks since that first date when she'd lost her mind and said good night without fucking his brains out.
They had another date tonight.
"You did the right thing," she told herself aloud as her hands roamed over her body. "You're loco for this dude. You need to slow it down or you're going to end up on his doorstep at three in the morning with mascara running down your cheeks, sobbing and asking him why he doesn't love you."
That had been one of Aidan's ex-girlfriends, the one from just before he and Simone had started dating. The woman had shown up at his apartment without fail two Saturday nights out of the month, drunk and morose and a hot mess. Simone hadn't been jealous or threatened by her, but damn, had she learned a lesson about self-esteem and the importance of maintaining it.
She'd vowed she would never be that girl. She knew for a straight-up fact that Elliott was an emotionally unavailable mess. She could fuck him until they were both raw. She could let him take her out to dinner and concerts. She could even spend hours with him on the phone, laughing so hard she thought she might pass out from lack of air.
But she could not, would not fall in love with him.
She hadn't lied to him when she'd said she didn't think fucking him meant she had to be his girlfriend, or even that she wanted to be. That had been true for almost every relationship she'd ever had after that first awful freshman year of college love affair that had burned her so deep and hard she'd thought she'd never get over it. She had, of course, and in far less time than she'd thought she could. But she'd learned a valuable lesson about herself and sex, and what was important to her in a relationship. It had never meant that she'd sworn off love or never had another boyfriend. It meant she'd learned to be careful about losing herself inside of someone else.
She was going to lose herself in Elliott Anderson if she wasn't careful.
"You did the right thing," she whispered as her hand slid between her legs, teasing her clit. The other one twisted a nipple until she let out a long, slow sigh. "You like him too much. . . ."
Ridiculous. Like him too much to fuck him? They'd already fucked, and spectacularly, she might add, and there was absolutely no reason for her to hold herself back from him. Why? Because he'd done a turnaround and decided that she was the one woman who could make him want to date more than a couple times? Because she'd changed his mind?
Because she was special?
Danger, danger, her mind said. Be careful, her heart said, but her hotsy-totsy pussy didn't want to listen.
Simone groaned, edging herself close to climax but easing off. Tonight, she and Elliott were going to the movies. They'd be in the dark. He'd probably hold her hand and do that insane thing with his thumb that would have her on the edge of her seat the entire time, unable to concentrate. By the time he brought her home, her panties would be soaked. She'd want to attack him, and why shouldn't she, other than she was trying her best to keep herself from falling head-over-heels in love with him.
"Shit," Simone said aloud.
If she came now, she might be able to resist her urges later. It seemed like a good plan. At least with her hand moving between her legs, fingers dipping deep inside for a moment before circling her clit, she could convince herself that this rapidly approaching orgasm wasn't a luxury but a necessity. To keep herself on track. Not that they would never fuck again . . . oh, god, no. The idea of that was too horrible for her to bear.
She couldn't possibly go much longer without riding Elliott's thick, perfect cock. Or his mouth. Or his hand.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed, edging again. Everything became the feeling of her hand between her legs, her fingers pinching her nipple, the soft sheets under her ass as she writhed. Imagining him. Wishing her hands were his. "Oh, fuck, I want him. I want him. I wa
nt him."
So let him take you, whispered the voice in her mind that had nothing to do with reason, and everything to do with desire. How bad could it be? What was the worst that could happen?
She was going up, up, and over, so close that all it would take was the tiniest tweak of her clit and she'd explode . . . and the phone rang. Simone startled, waiting for the orgasm to rip through her, but it didn't. And it was her landline, which she kept only for one reason, since only one person ever used it.
Her mother.
"Mom. Hi." Breathless, she grabbed the phone.
"Simone? Honey? What's wrong with you, you sound all out of breath. Were you exercising? What?"
"No, Ma. I was . . . um, yeah, well I got a new fitness video." Simone cringed. Thirty-six years old and she was still lying to her mother about masturbation.
At least it had seriously ended her lady boner.
"Don't hurt yourself. And you know I think you're way too skinny as it is." Her mom sighed, and Simone pictured her shaking her head of silver-blond permed hair. "Are you eating right? Taking care of yourself?"
"Yes, Ma." Simone swung her legs over her bed, feeling the pounding of her heartbeat slow. She toed the line of the hardwood floor while she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. God forbid she should get up too fast and trip or something because her knees were still a little weak. She'd never hear the end of it.
"When am I going to see you again?"
"Ma." Simone tried to keep her patience, but her mother had a way of pushing her every button. "I was just home, what, two weeks ago? Three?"
"It's been a month and a half." Her mother sniffed. "Your brother and Marilyn were here just last weekend with the kids. It was such a nice family get-together. . . ."
"Gene never mentioned it. And you," Simone said, "didn't invite me."
Her mother gave an affronted snuffle. "What, you need an invitation to come home on the weekends?"
Simone laughed as she went to her dresser to pull out a pair of lacy panties. Cradling the phone to her ear, she slipped into them, then stood in front of the full-length mirror to see how they looked. "Fantastic."
"What?"
"Nothing, Ma. I'm just getting ready for a . . . to go out. How about I call you tomorrow?"
But there was no way her mother was going to settle for that nonsense. No way. "Going out? On a date? Simone, you have a date?"
"Yes. A date." Simone sighed. "A real, actual, honest-to-goodness date. Okay?"
"What's his name? It's not with Aidan, is it? Oh, my, my, Simone, when are you going to forget about that boy? He's not good for you."
It was an old lament, and Simone did not point out that her mother had loved Aidan to the point that when Simone had broken up with him, she had almost disowned Simone in favor of him. Instead, she dug through her drawer for a matching bra. In doing so, she dropped her phone.
When she explained why, her mother laughed. "Go without."
"Ma. Please. I'm wearing, you know, nice clothes and everything. It's a date," Simone emphasized, sitting on the edge of the bed still in just her panties. Suddenly sort of defeated. "I want to look nice."
"You always look nice, honey. Who is this guy, does he say you don't look nice?"
"No. But he's . . . " Simone sighed, trying to think of how to describe Elliott without sounding like an overwrought schoolgirl. "He's classy."
"Rich?"
"He's got money."
"Doesn't mean he's rich," her mother said knowingly. "But having money is good."
"I mean, he's got a good job--he's a lawyer," she added before her mother could ask. Too late, Simone wished she'd lied. Said he was a construction worker. Something other than a cliché.
Her mother tutted. "A lawyer! How nice. How'd you meet him?"
"We work in the same building."
"Oh, an office romance? Sexy!"
"We don't work for the same company, so, no, not exactly." Simone sighed as she searched her closet for something to wear, finally settling on a floor-length dress of gauzy, sparkly dark blue fabric. "Ugh. I'm going to look like a princess."
"You are a princess, dolly," her mother said. "And don't you let him treat you as anything less than that. Wait a minute, no. I take that back. You make him treat you like a queen."
Chapter 29
"I'm a little overdressed." Simone looked down at what she was wearing with a rueful grin. "I thought we were going out."
"I wanted to cook for you." Elliott pulled out the chair at the kitchen table for her to sit in. "Can I get you a drink? I have red wine, white wine. I could make you a margarita. Whiskey sour?"
"Red's fine. Can I help you with anything?"
He shook his head, pouring her a glass from the bottle he'd let breathe on the counter. "Nope. I have everything all ready to go. I hope you like pasta."
It was about all he could make. Simone grinned. Something twisted inside his chest at the sight of it.
"I love pasta." She paused. "Lots of garlic? Are you trying to tell me something?"
"That I'm not a vampire?"
"That you don't want to kiss me?" Simone laughed.
After a moment, he did, too. Should he have kissed her already? After their last official "date," when she'd given him the brush-off at her front door, Elliott hadn't been sure what to expect. Their phone and text conversations hadn't changed. It wasn't like she'd stopped answering him. And she had agreed to go out with him again.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Simone?"
She hesitated. "Umm, only if you want to. I mean . . ."
He kissed her, bending to reach her mouth while she didn't move from the chair. She parted her lips at the touch of his, and one of his hands went naturally to cup the back of her head. He kept his other hand from going where it wanted to go, though.
She still had her eyes closed when he pulled away from her, but she was smiling. "Mmm. That's nice."
"It'll still be nice when you taste like garlic."
She opened her eyes, then. "Elliott. You . . . are . . . so surprising."
"Is that a good thing?" He went to the stove to add some olive oil to the pan, along with some chopped scallions, mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, and yes, a lot of garlic.
"It can be. Are you sure I can't help you?"
"I got it. You sit." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "I wish it were more impressive."
Simone laughed. "Listen. Anything you make for me is going to be impressive because you took the time to do it for me."
"What if I'd made you a tuna sandwich and macaroni and cheese?"
"I'd love it," she told him.
He believed her.
With the meal on the table, they both dug in. Simone oohed and ahhed over the pasta and homemade sauce, and even though the garlic bread had come out of a foil packet from the freezer, she praised that, too. The simple salad he'd tossed together with Molly's recipe for homemade vinaigrette dressing made her sigh with delight.
"This is amazing, Elliott. Really." She wiped her mouth with a napkin, leaving behind a crimson smear.
He liked her mouth better naked. Soft and lush, ready for kissing. He knew he was staring, but couldn't stop himself, or maybe didn't want to badly enough.
"It was my father's wife's favorite." He stabbed some greens, dragging them through the dressing. "She taught me how to make it. Said that if I could learn how to make a good salad dressing, a marinade, and a pasta sauce, I was fit to live on my own."
"She was right." Simone dunked a piece of garlic bread in the sauce and nibbled it with another appreciative, ecstatic little sigh.
It was so close to the noises she made when she was making love that he had to shift in his seat to cover the sudden throb in his cock. "I thought we could watch a movie after dinner. If you want to."
"Hmm." She gave him a mischievous grin. "Is that your way of trying to get me to make out with you?"
"Will you? If I slide my arm along the back of the couch real subtle-like, maybe pretend I'm
yawning?"
She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. She had a great laugh. A great smile. And, because he wasn't used to making women laugh, Elliott discovered that he wanted to keep doing and saying things that urged Simone to giggle.
He mimed a huge yawn and stretch. "Like that?"
She giggled again. "Oh. Very good. I'd never fall for something like that, though. No way."
"I can be pretty persuasive."
"Oh. No doubt." She helped herself to more salad. "You are panty dampener for sure. A player."
He paused at that. "That's what you think about me, huh?"
She looked up from the bowl of salad, then set it down carefully. "Am I wrong? I thought we'd sort of established that already."
"You mean because I date a lot of women.”
She shrugged.
Elliott frowned. “Simone. Does that bother you?”
“It didn’t used to,” she said slowly. “Before.”
They stared at each other across the table. If he told her that he hadn’t been out with any other women since the night he’d taken her to Barry’s party, it might give her the wrong idea. Except, he thought, was it wrong?
“I’m not a player.”
She laughed at that. Loudly. Tipping her head back, then shaking it as she stared at him with shining eyes. “You are so full of shit.”
“I’m not!” He protested. “Dating a lot of women doesn’t make me a player, Simone. I never lied to any of them. I never made the promises. I never led them on.”
Her smile faded a little as she stared at him. “I don’t expect you to make me any promises.”
Shit. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He got up to serve himself another portion of pasta and sauce, to give himself something to do so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“I like you, Elliott.”
He turned, glad for the distance between them that made this conversation seem a little more casual than it actually was. “I like you, too, Simone.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Good,” he added.
"I haven't liked a guy this way for a really long time." She took a deep breath. "And I don't want to fuck it up. That's all."