Deliciously Obedient

by Julia Kent

  Like: don’t sleep with Mike.

  Like: you’re with Jeremy now.

  Like: Mike will hurt you.

  Like: two men? Tsk tsk.

  Ignoring that moral code with so little time to process where her own inner divining rod really was pointing felt reckless and Mike wordlessly led her to his car, the silence crackling between them with expectation and yearning. Crazy. Irresponsible and so light and airy, as if sex were just a toy, the men her playthings. Some friends in college could do that—sleep around—but Lydia never could. Even the phrase sleep around carried its own anchor, sinking into an underworld of muck and mess that felt sordid.

  The drive to his place involved no words.

  Jeremy had, however, absolved her of the nastiness, the murk and the fetid fear about all she was doing, holding Mike’s hand as he led her to the elevator doors for his building, the two sharing a smile where they’d just kissed two days ago. Heat poured through her as she remembered the broken elevator encounter at work, and the ding! Of the machine reaching Mike’s floor might well have been Pavlov’s bell, except it didn’t elicit drooling, but wetness from a very different part of the body as he led her into his apartment.

  These men. These damn, handsome, intense, vibrant men. Volleying her heart, her lust, her interest between the two of them like an object to pass back and forth, waiting to find its set point, watching for the toss to end. No malice, no cruelty, no games—this was a very real, very raw slice of emotional life that she felt honored to be introduced into, and resentful to be so exposed.

  Because by telling her that she could, without jealousy, explore what she really felt, Jeremy had given her both her greatest gift and her biggest obstacle.

  The ability to choose without expectations.

  It made her want to say fuck you and I love you all at once.

  And right now, she would do exactly that with Mike, except instead of words, she would use her body.

  The apartment was, now, familiar to her, and a chiding internal voice pleasantly pointed out that she was about to sleep with two separate men within forty-eight hours of each other on the same bed.

  That had to be some kind of record, right? Inured now to her own defiance of every norm she’d carefully sculpted over the years, the fact that she’d just been so intricately intimate with Jeremy in the same bed Mike led her to made the transgression all the more...appropriate?

  After all, Jeremy had encouraged this. Approved of it. Even...nurtured it.

  Who was she to turn away from having her lover ask her to explore her very core? As Mike’s hands rose to cup her jaw and his mouth descended on hers, she had only one regret.

  That Jeremy wasn’t here, too.

  Imagining this moment so many times, even in her dreams, what she hadn’t accounted for was the steady familiarity and wholehearted grace of their joined touch. His lips brushed hers like old lovers coming home, his hands warming her hips and waist as they slid along her body. In all the intrusive moments when images of Mike filled her, she had assumed the level of passion would make her heart fairly burst from her chest, but now?

  No.

  What filled her, instead, was the rush of an ancient understanding between them, archivists sifting through clothing now discarded, hands cataloguing bodies neither had been given enough time to learn. Their touch was slow, their tongues exploring each other not with a fevered pace but with the privilege of certainty.

  Being undressed by Michael Bournham carried a panache with it, and while none of her clothes were bespoke, she was about to be naked. The thought made one half of her mouth rise up in a wry smile as they kissed, and he broke the connection, peering at her.

  The room seemed warmer than it had any right to be, the bed neatly made and smelling strongly of a fresh scent, like bedsheets washed in too much detergent. No matter—what she wanted to inhale was Mike’s musk and spice and scent of sex, the essence of him as she tasted and teased for the duration of whatever they were commencing.

  A pang of guilt caught her belly off-guard, Jeremy invading her thoughts, but as she reminded herself that her coupling with Mike was done with his full agreement she relaxed, then frowned, pushing away what she knew she was supposed to feel, and letting herself experience what was truly in her heart.

  Conflict would only be present if she let jealousy enter, and Jeremy’s explanation made sense. She added a corollary: love could expand to include more than one person if she let herself find what was true to her. Not to her family, or society, or the media—but to her and only her.

  “I have missed you so desperately,” Mike whispered, pulling his taut, compact frame hard against her softness. “You can’t imagine,” he added, mouth on her neck, nipping as the sound of his breath felt like a prayer.

  “Trust me,” she whispered, “I can imagine. I see you in my dreams.” Her hands slid over his bare ass, reveling in the feel of him under her palms. The movement pushed his erection into her belly and she moved her hips to the left, making him groan.

  Those eyes.

  “Your dreams? You haunt my thoughts. Every waking moment, Lydia. I can’t get you out of my head, and getting you into my bed is better than nothing, but I can’t take anything less than everything. I need you. I’ve spent ten years crafting a life where what I want supersedes what I need. You’ve upended all of that. You. Only you.”

  With a piercing look that let her see into his soul, his words poured out, hands on her nude shoulders, his warm breath tickling the tops of her breasts as he spoke with a hoarseness that scraped at the wall around her heart. Those words. Those eyes. This man...how she wanted to believe him.

  Needed to believe him.

  “Why me?” Insecurity would have made her ask that weeks ago. Not now. The question stood as a test—not a plea.

  How he responded would seal their fate.

  “Why you?” His breath sounded like a train in the distance, the inhale sharp and full of kinetic energy, the exhale growing quieter with time. “I don’t know,” he said, the outer edges of his eyes turning upward with a bewildered smile. “If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be here like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A sweet kiss on her cheek, then her other cheek, then her collarbone was his answer. Both nude, their bellies brushed against each other, her thigh caressing his thick cock, his bicep grazing her breast. The questions weren’t formalities, though making love was—at this point—quite the given.

  These words were meant for the after.

  “I mean that I don’t live in a world of I don’t knows. Michael Bournham doesn’t not know. Hell, Mike Bournham, for that matter, doesn’t live in that kind of uncertainty. No part of my life prepared me for needing someone the way I need you. You are as vital to me as air and water. Hurting you was like opening up a vein.”

  His voice choked with emotion and her own eyes filled. Stroking his cheek made him look up, startling her as she saw the sheer, unencumbered emotion reflecting back at her. “My own ambition got in the way of being with you, Lydia, and if I can’t find my way back into your heart, then I’ll never forgive myself. That’s why I went to the campground—because I couldn’t bear to think that I’d broken whatever bond I needed with you so badly that I’d lost you forever. Was it stupid? Yes. Was it wrong? No.”

  Another sweet kiss, this one on her lips.

  “Because I fell in love with you so long ago that my need is just years of restraint finally giving way.”

  The push came from her own restraint taking physical form as the force of her hands thrusting against his chest made him fall with grace to his own bed, pulling her down with him. Quickly, she was on him, on the bed, all mouth and hands and lust and desire, her own need to touch him so fierce she couldn’t have held herself back if her life depended on it. Hungry and intense, their mouths and hands worked to make up for lost time, the sense that there was plenty of time vanquished, as if some unseen hand moved the clock forward.

  Mike m
ade her feel as if this were both the first and the thousandth time she’d been touched, his hands so sure, his gaze confident and unyielding. As he took one nipple in his mouth she ran her hands up his back and sighed, his name chanting through her head, no longer the intrusive gadfly it had been these weeks but, now, the word was a lover’s promise.

  Like their encounter in the elevator, in the supply closet, in his office and at her apartment—each hot and treasured—the sultry heat of his presence made the commonplace lovemaking she’d spent with all but Jeremy seem like a bland waste of time.

  All but Jeremy.

  Mike’s hands pushed at the small of her back, guiding her forward, his wet lips on her other breast, breaking her thoughts. Enjoy this, she told herself, and just when she feared the thoughts would spiral in an endlessly repeating pattern her body pulled her back in, aided by the divinely seeking Mr. Bournham, whose tongue willed her blood to furiously find the places that needed release.

  Most of all, her heart.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured, leaning over him, her lips barely touching his ear. His tongue tweaked her rosebud nipple and pulled off as he flipped her over, fluid and athletic. The grooved lines of his muscled arms and chest called out to her, beckoning, her hands unable to stop touching him. Lifting her knee just so, she stroked his thick, veined rod with the top of her kneecap until his powerful hand stopped her, pinning her leg cold.

  “I’ll make you believe I’m here.”

  And, with that, he did, her body a live wire, infused with the wet rush of wanting him in her, craving the feel of him over her and joining their bodies and hearts with the simple act of giving each other what they needed most:

  Connection.

  If seduction had been part of what she wanted, and if earlier in the night she’d sought his absolution, that all faded as Lydia thrust her hips up toward him, wrapping her legs around those carved hips, her flesh begging for him to find her arousal and meet it with his own.

  One measured hand shifted away from them as Mike reached for a condom that materialized out of nowhere and he dispensed with the formalities. Aching to have him fill her, she locked eyes with him.

  “I’m trusting you,” she whispered. Pain shot through his expression, the look of a man torn by his own regret, and she took one finger and traced the planes of his cheekbones, studying him.

  “And I’m proving myself to you,” he replied as he entered her, the mix of words and fire so exquisite she held her breath, not wanting any sensation to supersede this. Just this.

  Only this.

  Closing her eyes, the vulnerability she hid from the world was unveiled here, her hands memorizing the sharp edges of his body, how he was all sinew, bone and muscle making love to her, a sliver of moonlight giving the room a gentle glow.

  “Oh,” she moaned, the easy rise of her release beginning, so soon—too soon, almost. Almost. Making love with Mike had been the focus of so many thoughts, feelings and dreams that she wanted to make this last forever.

  You can, she thought. Just keep saying yes.

  Jeremy floated through her mind, an image of the three of them together entering her consciousness and yet she had no reaction. The thought simply was, a pleasing question her subconscious was asking as Mike’s body loomed over her, his thrusts gliding her to ecstasy. Kissing him, she met his rhythm, their timing so intuitively in sync you would think that they’d choreographed what now swept her away.

  “I missed you, too,” she called out as his pelvis curled, changing the quality of their joining, and a sudden climax flushed through her. Wordless sounds sang from her throat as she met him with each push, his arms on either side of her, neck tight, his hips moving faster to bring them both to a twinned pleasure she savored.

  As free and uninhibited and open as she could want, she shed her expectations and let her body and heart sing, the tingling and explosions making her claw his back, drive him deeper into her, and his own groans told her they were together.

  Together.

  Breathing labored with joy, she enveloped Mike, crossing her ankles around his ass, spreading her arms out and wrapping him tight in a Lydia cocoon. His mouth stretched to a smile she could feel on her shoulder as he cleared his throat and said:

  “Thank you.”

  Tears, unexpected and poignant, filled her eyes. One slipped down her cheekbone and into her ear, trickling down to Mike.

  “Are you crying?” he said in a hoarse voice, the closest sound he seemed capable of making that sounded like panic in his tone. “Did I hurt you?” He peeled off her in an instant, palm touching her as if taking inventory. “My God, Lydia, I—”

  “No, no,” she reassured him. “Not tears of pain.”

  “Of what, then?”

  “Hope.”

  The tenderness in those bright eyes filled her with visions of a future she’d long buried, her own hope that someone—anyone—would ever match what she wanted a faded dream.

  And the idea that two...well, that was just crazy talk.

  Right?

  Mike used one finger to remove her tears and then kissed each cheek as she closed her eyes, too overcome to think or speak. So many words and ideas and thoughts needed to be said, but as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled the sheets over them, she let herself be truly vulnerable, silently asking for what she needed most with him.

  To just be.

  Unaccustomed to awakening in a warm apartment in his own bed, Mike found himself staring at his ceiling in confusion for a moment. No raw wood beams. And the air was warm. Cozy. Comfortable.

  Lydia. Turning to the side, his eyes confirmed what instinct had told him:

  Empty.

  A small, ripped piece of paper from the back of an envelope she must have scavenged from somewhere in the apartment was a poor replacement for that divine woman.

  The words read:

  Thank you.

  I don’t know what happens next.

  But we have what just happened.

  And if nothing else, it is enough.

  <3

  One breath. Two breaths. Three…four…five and he let himself blink.

  Enough.

  Enough was for people who convince themselves that wanting more is greedy. Enough was for people afraid of their own power. Enough was what people said to console themselves. Enough was what you told yourself you could live with because more was inconceivable. Impossible. Irrational.

  Mike didn’t want enough.

  Mike wouldn’t settle for enough.

  And as he padded to the shower he resolved to go out and find her, because what he would accept was more.

  And nothing but.

  Chapter Ten

  “You two aren’t here to talk about your sex lives again, are you?” Caleb complained.

  “Only if you don’t get our food out here fast enough.”

  He ran like the wind while Lydia and Krysta cackled, his short-cut sandy blonde hair glistening in the light that slipped between the window blinds. “But you are, right?” Krysta asked when they settled down.

  “Huh?”

  “Going to talk about your sex life.”

  “You first.”

  “That would be a short conversation. Me, my vibrator, Brad Pitt—”

  “He’s old!”

  “He’s hot.”

  Lydia shuddered. “Old! Fifty!”

  “My sex fantasy, my men.”

  “Old fantasy,” Lydia grumbled as she stood and served them both waters, grabbed two mugs and filled a carafe with coffee from the Bunn pot across from them.

  “It’s not like I’m getting some threesome action.”

  Caleb’s timely appearance made Lydia laugh. His fallen face only added to the moment, blue eyes reflecting disbelief. Slamming down two plates of pie—raspberry mint and key lime—he walked away, muttering, “Anal. Threesomes. The Charles family legacy, folks.”

  “He’s just jealous,” Lydia said, waving a fork she’d alre
ady plucked, poking the green lime goodness.

  “Of your men?”

  “Of sex, period. Caleb hasn’t been laid since before Miley grew boobs.”

  Spit. A spray of water landed all over Krysta’s piece of pie. “LYDIA!” she shouted.

  “Not tasting that one, I guess,” she said in a prickly voice.

  Looking down, Krysta made a face. “Sorry. No sharing.”

  “I like sharing.”

  “We know,” Krysta said under her breath.

  Kick.

  “OW!” Bending down, Krysta rubbed her ankle. “Why’d you kick me?”

  “Because I’m mean.” She stuffed three bites of the lime pie in her mouth without thinking, then slowed down. This was too good. Couldn’t waste it.

  “You kick me again and I’ll…” Krysta was all bark, no bite.

  “You’ll stare longingly at Caleb? Oh, how could I possibly deal with it.”

  Reaching across the table, Krysta stole her pie.

  “Hey!”

  In one impressive move, her friend shoved the last two-thirds of the piece into her mouth, whole, giving her chipmunk cheeks and the inability to chew.

  “I love a woman who can savor the gourmet,” Caleb said dryly from behind the counter, now refilling the coffee pot.

  Alarm filled Krysta’s eyes. “Mmmmf! Mnn Mnnn. Eh duh.”

  Lydia put her index finger on Krysta’s lips. “Don’t even try.”

  “Grandma’s coming home today,” Caleb said to Lydia. Madge’s recovery had been extraordinary and swift. “And Mom just took Aunt Karen to the airport.” A deep vibration of guilt spread through Lydia. Damn! She’d forgotten to offer, so caught up in her night with Mike. Hadn’t even said good-bye to her aunt.

  “You coming over?” Caleb asked. He was staying with Madge for the next few months to make sure she was okay. That was what the family understood; Madge had been told he needed to stay to help develop the menu at Jeddy’s. Everyone kept the charade going.