by Emma Chase
~ ~ ~
It’s a full-on fuck-fest from there. We’ve deprived ourselves for too long, so now we get to indulge—gorge ourselves on every sexual activity we can come up with—no matter how mundane or deviant. I don’t plan on stopping until I’ve screwed her in every room in the house, on every available surface.
I might not survive—banging Lainey may be the last thing I ever do on this earth—and I’m really okay with that.
I lean back on the couch, my feet on the floor, legs spread. Lainey’s knees straddle my waist as she rides me—her rounded stomach tapping against my chest with every buck and sway of her hips.
I gather the gorgeous strands of her hair in my hand, and tug—just hard enough for her to feel it, as I thrust up into her.
“You like that, baby?”
She gives a jerky nod and a long, sweet moan. Her hips quicken when I lick at her nipple slowly at first, then flicking at the tight bud relentlessly with my tongue. She bites her lip and loses her breath in a gasp, as her pussy contracts like a tight wet fist and she comes hard all around me.
When Lainey collapses against my shoulder, breathing hard, I slide my hands up and down her spine.
And I chuckle. “Oh yeah, you definitely liked it.”
~ ~ ~
In the late afternoon, with the snow still pounding away outside, I build a fire in the fireplace and Lainey and I eat sandwiches and cookies for sustenance—wrapped naked in blankets on the floor.
Her eyes roll back in her head as she licks a line of gooey melted chocolate off her finger. “Mmmmm, it’s so gooood.”
It takes every ounce of control I have not to pounce on her, but I manage it. She’s a human incubator—she needs to eat.
We cuddle and we talk. About our parents—and my lack thereof. I tell her about the time I came home sloppy, stumbling drunk and Grams tugged on my ear so hard she tore the skin—and then had to drive me to the hospital to get two stitches. And she felt absolutely no guilt about it whatsoever.
Lainey tells me about the time her parents left her at the beach—and made it all the way back to Bayonne before realizing they were one daughter short.
She tells me stories about when Jason was a baby, the joys and the terrors. I rest my hand on her stomach and we talk about our baby—if it’ll be a boy or a girl—we decided not to find out the sex because Lainey said that’s one of the greatest surprises ever and she wanted to wait until the delivery to find out. We talk about what we think the baby will look like, whether it’ll have her eyes or mine and what it’ll be like to hold it and have it with us on the outside.
And the crazy thing is, these hushed words and quiet, intimate moments are every bit as awesome as the sex.
~ ~ ~
In the evening, after the sun has gone down, I force myself to put on clothes and head back out for a second round of snow shoveling. I don’t want ice to form that Lainey could slip on in the days ahead.
When I come back in, I find her painting the walls of the upstairs bedroom. She’s back in her pajamas, filling in the vertical lines that have been drawn in pencil on the wall—thick navy and white alternating stripes that look like wallpaper. It’s part of the video she’ll be posting this week for the Lifers on different painting techniques and faux finishes.
I strip back down to my black briefs and as Lainey paints I sit propped against the wall, staring at her ass. Now that is a Saturday night well spent.
“I could watch you do this all day.”
She smiles back over her shoulder. “You could watch me paint lines all day?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“That sounds about as interesting as watching paint dry. Would you watch that too?”
“If you’re wearing those shorts, bent over just like that? Bet your sweet ass I would.”
Lainey makes her way over to the corner—and my dick gets the best idea. We’re back on good terms again—he’s a genius.
I lift up on my knees and shuffle toward her. “How about you paint while I’m going down on you?”
Her brush freezes mid-stroke.
“I don’t know if I can keep the brush straight if you do that.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I slide between her legs, push those shorts aside—and my tongue gets to work.
She’s not able to keep the brush straight.
Behind the door, there’s an indelible stutter in one of the navy lines. And it’s like visual Viagra—every time I look at it, from this night on, I get an instant hard-on.
~ ~ ~
Later, when the sky is midnight-black and the lake is a glassy pool, and the mounds of snow shimmer beneath the silver cast of the moon, Lainey and I kiss our way into the master bedroom. David Gray sings “The Year’s Love” softly from the house speakers, and Lainey lets go of my hand, stepping her slippered feet back through double doors, onto the snow-covered balcony that overlooks the rear of the property. Tiny flakes float down around her and her hair frames her face in golden waves as she spins slowly, dancing to the song.
And there’s this punch of emotion that hits me right in the gut as I watch her. Because her smile, her long-lashed, innocent eyes, her laugh, her mind, her heart—they’re all so beautiful—precious, to me. And it’s not until this moment that I realize I can’t remember what my life looked like before her. And now, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I don’t even want to try.
I walk out onto the balcony and take her in my arms and spin and sway and dance with my girl, because that’s what she loves to do.
I’ve suspected for a while that Lainey owned me, but now I’m sure of it.
I’m done. This is it for me—she’s it for me.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, my balls ache from all the action the night before, but my dick is wide-awake with morning wood—which is kind of a miracle when you think about it.
I spoon up against Lainey, and she wriggles her ass, reaching back, cupping the back of my head—letting me know she’s up for it. I kiss her shoulder, her neck, scraping my words against her ear.
“I can’t decide what I want to do first. I didn’t get to come in your mouth last night—that would be fun. But you look so hot riding me . . . and so pretty on your knees with your ass in air.”
I cup her breast and feel her heart pounding against my hand.
“Decisions, decisions . . .”
I end up taking her sweet and easy from behind, clasped together on our sides. After, when we’re both a little sticky and sweaty, that same bone-deep sureness wracks through me. It says that what Lainey and I have, who we are together, is a good thing—the best kind of thing—something that should be held on to and protected and cherished. And once again I’m steady, solid—I know exactly what I want.
“I want to be with you,” I whisper against her neck.
“You are with me.”
“I want a relationship with you, Lainey.”
These words have been said to me a hundred—maybe a thousand times. But I never wanted it, needed it, like I do now.
“We’re already there. I don’t want anyone else, you don’t want anyone else. We’re having a baby . . . why are we overthinking it?”
She’s quiet for a minute, then she rolls onto her back and looks up at me, morning-mussed and beautiful.
“You said you’re not good with relationships.”
“I can be good at it with you,” I swear.
She runs her hand tenderly through my hair.
“I want that. It’s a little scary how much I want that with you, Dean.”
A jolt of happiness surges through me—the same feeling as scoring a touchdown—but so much better.
I lean down over her, my lips hovering.
“Okay, then.”
“Okay,” she smiles back.
Then I’m kissing her long and languid—losing myself in all that she is, all that she means to me, all over again. And I swear to God and to myself that I’ll never, ever do anythin
g to screw this up.
But there’s a reason some last words are famous.
Because . . . P.S. . . . I screw it up.
Chapter Thirteen
Lainey
Since we decided to give a real relationship a shot, things between Dean and me are amazing. Better than amazing—more than I’d ever let myself dream. After having Jason, being with Dean is the second best decision I’ve ever made. My body certainly thinks so, since he’s kept her thoroughly, exhaustedly satisfied. And as corny as it sounds—my heart thinks so too.
Dean and Grams come with me and Jason to my parents on Christmas Day. I look at it like the final boss battle in a video game, or the last obstacle on American Gladiators. If my whole family in one small house doesn’t send Dean running for the hills, I can start getting used to the idea that maybe nothing will.
They converge on us in the foyer—taking our coats, enveloping us in hugs and kissing our cheeks. Jason gets swallowed up in a sea of my nieces and nephew.
“Lainey!” My sister Linda squawks, looking at Dean. “You didn’t tell me he was hot! He’s like a life-size Ken doll!” Her gaze drops appraisingly to his crotch. “An anatomically blessed Ken doll.”
Oh boy.
I wedge myself between them. “Yes, Linda, he’s hot.”
“I like this sister,” Dean says, his lips close to my ear, making me shiver. “She seems like the smart one.”
“I’m the gay one,” Linda volunteers with a wink. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a fine-looking specimen such as yourself.” She lifts her glass of my mother’s homemade eggnog. “Cheers!”
Next, Judith approaches. “That’s what you two should’ve been for Halloween—Baby Daddy Ken and knocked-up Barbie.” Judith snaps her fingers. “Missed opportunity for a great costume.”
“I’ll make a note for next year.”
Judith shakes Dean’s hand, her eyes reserved and slightly judgmental.
Brooke steps forward and introduces her brood—perfectly polite as always.
Then Erin appears, bracing her shoulder against the doorway and waving standoffishly. “Good to see you again, drummer-guy.”
Dean nods—calm, cool, and devastatingly sexy.
“Nice to see you too, Erin.”
My mother gives Dean a hug—the only member of my family to accept him fully, right off the bat—unless he gives her a reason not to. It’s just how she is.
Unlike my dad.
He introduces himself to Grams, being all old-school sweet and Jimmy Stewart charming. My mom leads Grams into the kitchen, asking if she wants a glass of sherry.
Grams replies, “That would be lovely, Desiree. I always like to get drunk on Christmas.”
Then Dean introduces himself to my father, holding out his hand and delivering the perfect “meeting the parents for the first time” greeting.
“Mr. Burrows, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
And my dad looks at his hand the same way he looked at the stinkbug infestation he found last year in an antique hatbox I had stored in the basement.
“Is this the guy?” he asks, turning to me.
“Yes, Dad, this is Dean—he just told you that. Be nice please.”
My dad kisses my cheek and pats my head, and chooses to completely ignore my new boyfriend. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?”
“I’m good.” I rub my belly. “We’re both good.”
“I’m glad.”
Then he rakes his gaze over Dean one last time. And a “hmph” is all he gives, before he walks away.
I stroke my hand down Dean’s arm. “Don’t mind him. He’s just mad that you had sex with me.”
“Okay, great.” Dean smacks his lips together. “Gonna be a fun day.”
Jack walks into the foyer and taps Dean’s back. This time, when Dean holds out his hand, it gets shaken.
“Jack, right?” Dean greets. “Good to see you again.”
“Same, dude. Congrats on the baby—hit the bullseye on the first night, huh?”
“I always had good aim.”
Jack greets me with a kiss on the cheek, then says to Dean, “And don’t worry about the old man—he’s hated me for years too—on account of me and Erin living in sin and everything. But now you’re here, so at least my life is about to get easier. Welcome to the Burrows jungle. Want a beer?”
~ ~ ~
My mom makes roast beef for dinner and we all eat together in the long, extended table in the dining room. Jay doesn’t complain, but I can tell he’s bummed that once again he’s relegated to the kiddie table in the basement—and I promise him this will be the last year. After dessert, we all squeeze into the living room to open presents.
My sisters seem happy with their gifts—mosaic glass picture frames and knit hats. And I get some great maternity clothes and a few baby items—a memory book and an antique rocking horse for the nursery, and a bib that says, “My mom is hotter than your mom.”
While the room is loud with family chatter, Jack approaches Dean, wiping his hands on the front of his pants nervously. “Hey. If this goes to shit, do me a favor and just punch me in the face, okay? Knock me out cold.”
“If what goes to shit?” Dean asks.
“You’ll see,” is all Jack replies.
Then he moves back beside Erin and taps on his beer bottle with a butter knife to get everyone’s attention.
Jack clears his throat. “I know I’ve asked before, but it was half-assed and partly just screwing around.” Jack’s face goes soft as he looks my sister in the eyes and lowers down to one knee. “I’m not screwing around anymore.”
Out of his gray suit jacket, he pulls a ring. It’s a huge round diamond that shines as bright as a star in a platinum band.
“I love you, Erin. I’m never going to love anyone as much as I love you—and I’d be a mess without you. Will you marry me?”
Erin covers her mouth with her hand, and tears well in her eyes. For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything—and you can feel the collective anxiety in the room that she may actually say no.
But then she pulls in a shuddering breath. “I love you too, Jack. You make me happy and you make me laugh, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy too. So . . . yes, I’ll marry you.”
Everyone claps, and “awwws” and hugs—and Jack slides the ring on my sister’s finger. Then he stands and plants a massive kiss on her, lifting Erin right off her feet.
Without even thinking about it, I reach for Dean, twining my arm around his and resting my head against his bicep. I feel his kiss against my hair, and when I glance up, he’s gazing at me with a sexy smile and tender eyes.
“Holy shit—I said yes!!” Erin bounces up and down. “We’re getting married!”
Grams lifts her glass of sherry, like the geriatric version of Tiny Tim and his crutch. “Congratulations, every one.”
Then she hiccups.
~ ~ ~
As we’re still basking in Jack and Erin’s post-engagement glow, a horn honks outside. And honks, and honks, and honks again—blaring and obnoxious. I look out the front window and see Chet, the neighborhood guy from hell, standing on our lawn on drunk, unsteady feet, with his lime-green muscle car vibrating in the middle of the street.
“Burrows! Get one of these cars out of my fucking spot!”
Parking spaces are tough to come by in Bayonne—fighting for them is a pretty common thing—especially around the holidays.
My dad steps out the front door onto the stoop—and the whole family squeezes out with him.
“That’s not your spot, jackass!” He points at the line of my family’s cars parked at the curb in front of my parent’s place. “It’s on my side of the property line.”
I feel it when Chet’s attention shifts to me. It’s like a snake slithering over your grave.
“Are you kidding me, Lainey, you’re pregnant again? You gotta learn to keep those legs closed once in a while, babe. Learn to just say no.”
I hate that my neck goes hot with embarrassment. I have nothing to be ashamed of—I know that and the people I love most know it too. But to hear him say those things in front of my son, my parents—to know that’s what he thinks of me, even if I don’t care what he thinks—is pretty awful.
My sisters react faster than I do, flipping Chet off, cursing him out—even Brooke, who hardly ever curses tells him to eat shit and die. My own “screw you” is locked and loaded on my lips, but before the words are out, another voice cuts through the clatter of outrage.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Everyone goes quiet. Because there’s both fury and authority in Dean’s voice—like he owns the right to defend me. That tone snaps in the air like a whip and demands to be listened to.
I follow behind him as he heads down the steps to the walkway.
“Dean, it’s fine.”
“Nope, not fine. Not even a little.”
I grab his arm.
“He’s not worth it.”
Dean stops and turns around, his eyes blazing. Then he holds my chin.
“No, he’s not. But you are.”
And I’m pretty sure my heart faints.
My sisters, up on the porch, concur.
“Ooh, I’m starting to like him,” Brooke says softly.
“He’s slowly winning me over. Like salt and vinegar chips,” Judith adds.
“It was a good line.” Erin shrugs. “We’ll see.”
Linda takes a pencil out of her hair. “I’m gonna use that.”
A moment later Dean is right up in Chet’s face, pushing the douchebag back with the force of his presence alone.
“I asked you a question, asshole. What did you say and what makes you think for a fucking second that you can say it?”
“Are you with her, dude? Sorry to break it to you, but Lainey’s a total slut. In high school she—”
And that’s all she wrote. That’s all Chet gets to say—because Dean clocks him square in the face, knocking him on his ass with one punch. Blood spurts from his nose and I swear I hear the crunch from here.