by Crowe, Liz
Keeping their lips connected, he unzipped himself, pressed the head of his cock against her warmth. His ears were ringing with something he couldn’t identify but the rest of him knew what he wanted. He needed to show her, mark her, make her his. But without making her think it. Jesus, what a crazy thing. “Take me, Rafe,” she whispered, biting his ear. “However you want.”
He grabbed her leg, bent it up against him and sunk into her with one long, hot stroke shoving her up against the wall again and again. She gripped his hair, angled her hips to meet his thrusts. He threw all finesse out the window and fucked her, hard, her pussy holding him tight, milking him towards release. “Come inside me.” She growled. “Come with me.” The smell of her, the taste on his tongue, the feel of her lush body against his yanked him over the edge.
“I …can’t…stop,” he grunted.
“Don’t stop.” She whispered and cried out his name as she pulsed and contracted in the throes of orgasm.
“Aye Dios!” he said, covering her lips at the last minute, needing to feel all of her when he came. His hips thrust once more, their connection completed and he sighed into her neck, tasting the salty tang of her sweat.
“Mmmm…,” she leaned her head back. “I’m sorry.”
He slipped out of her, and he put both his hands on the wall by her face. “It’s okay. So am I. But between your hot head Irish and my macho Latino—well,”
She smiled at him and ran a finger down his face. “I know. It’s gonna be fireworks most of the time; and not always the good kind.”
“Marry me,” he blurted out not even sure why.
She blinked and looked away. “Please don’t ask me that.”
He stepped back, pulled up his jeans and repeated the internal mantra again.
“Okay. Feed me dinner then.”
She smiled, and kissed him softly. “That I will do. Sit. It’s in the oven.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mo stared at Sara, stunned. “You are kidding me, right?”
Her sister-in-law’s face colored. “No, not kidding.”
“Wow. So…when?”
Sara sipped her tea, winced and set it down. “God. I forgot how much I hated this.”
Mo patted her hand. “Well, you let him talk you into it so….”
“That I did. He can be damn convincing, your brother. Due date is May tenth, believe it or not.”
Mo frowned. “Why wouldn’t I believe it? Is that a day something else happens?”
“No,” Sara said looking over Mo’s shoulder at the kids sitting on the couch engrossed in a movie. “It’s the date in our rings. The day we met.”
“Ah,” she said. “Nice.” She turned at the sound of a shout. Adam and Ella were sitting with the little boys between them. Gabe was over so that Rob could work a beer and food festival all weekend and Lila could rest. Their little girl, Blair, had been born about five weeks early but all indications were that she was fine. Gabe had been snuggled into the crook of Ella’s arm, with Brandis sprawled out over Adam’s lap until Brandis got bored, lashed out and kicked Gabe. In his usual quietly efficient fashion, he yanked Brandis to the floor and started pummeling him. The women watched them wrestle around, then Gabe pinning him so he could pound him with a toy guitar.
Ella and Adam separated the two, taking them to opposite ends of the room. But, they wound up sitting together on the couch, hip to hip once again, distracted by juice boxes and the latest Pixar DVD.
“I want to sell the house.” Mo said, getting up to refill her water glass.
“Okay,” Sara said. “This is a news flash. Why?”
“I want Rafe to move in with me, and it feels weird to start our lives together in that house, where I was, just after….” She stopped, staring out onto Jack and Sara’s huge, immaculate lawn. “They” had not decided anything of the sort. She had. The “Rafe moving in” thing was also going to be news she planned to break to him tonight, over dinner before they headed out of town with the kids for a long weekend up North to see the fall colors.
Sara put a hand on her arm. “You sure about this? Shacking up? Jack says Rafe is a pretty traditional guy. And that you’d said no when he asked you—”
Mo looked away from her. “I didn’t say no. I said not to ask me that. I’m not ready.”
“Why not for god’s sake? He is as hot as shit, woman seriously. You know, I mean, you love him and he loves you.”
It was Maureen’s turn to blush. The guy was a world rocker no doubt. He’d just this week pulled a little surprise visit to her office in the middle of the day, sent Mrs. Perkins on a random errand and locked the door behind him. He had her sitting up on her desk with his face between her legs in an instant. She’d gasped, tried to stop him but his lips, tongue and fingers were awfully good at what he was doing. So she’d leaned back on the desk and given in to him, good and loud, too.
Sara shut her eyes and held on to the counter top. “Fuck me I hate being pregnant.”
“Hmm, should have thought of that I guess, a few weeks ago.”
“Ugh,” the woman raced out of the kitchen hand over her mouth. When she returned she was pale and shaky. “It’s worse somehow, this time.”
“Sit, relax.” Mo brought her some more weak lemon tea. “So, I need a realtor. Thought you might know a few.”
“Sure,” Sara sipped. “Let me give it to Allen and Drew. They can do both. Doesn’t Rafe own a condo? Then they can find a new place for you. Exciting!” She clutched Mo’s hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Yes, well,” Mo looked away, hoping Rafe would feel the same way. And realizing her pre-empting this way, making this decision assuming he would go along with it, was likely a bad plan. But it felt like the best compromise. And a step in the general direction of marriage—which she just couldn’t face right now. Surely he would see that. “Okay, so give them my number. I want to get it going soon. The house is in good shape I think but might need a coat of paint in a few spots.”
“They’ll let you know. They can be brutal though so don’t take it too personally. It will all be in the name of getting a good price for the place.”
They hugged and she left. Adam and Ella were staying behind to help Sara with the boys since she felt so bad. She waved to them and smiled at the sight of Brandis and Gabe, clutching hands and staring at whatever peril the Pixar characters were in, peace momentarily declared in favor of the movie.
Maureen washed off the fresh spinach and tossed it into the salad, sipped some wine, and let the fall air coming through the window cool her face. She was a nervous wreck. She stared out the window, her skin already tingling in anticipation of him. The guy was like catnip to her. She could hardly keep her hands off him no matter where they were. She even called him boy toy when they were fucking, which seemed to make him work harder, until he called her his cougar mama, and she had to pour a bottle of water over his head. She smiled. He was amazing. And had entered her life at a moment when she need something exactly like him.
She wanted to go to sleep in his arms, to wake up the same way, to share their mornings and afternoons and not just their evenings and nights together. Then why won’t you marry him you silly cow? That’s what that is you know—marriage? She took a deep breath then squealed when a set of strong arms wrapped around her from behind. “Have you seen my cougar mama? I’m lonely.”
She turned. “No little boy. You must be lost.”
“No, I don’t think so….” He turned her around, lifted her shirt and unhooked her bra in one smooth motion, leaning down to suck her nipple between his teeth sending a zing of lust straight to her core. She threaded her hands in his long, silky hair. “But let me keep checking, make sure you aren’t her.” He switched to her other nipple, holding the curve of her breast with one hand, and bracing them against the sink with the other. “Hmm…I need more proof you are who you say you are.” He muttered around her flesh as he eased her skirt up over her hips. Her breathing quickened and held on to him as h
e slid his long, talented fingers into her panties. “Ah, yes, now I remember this. I think.”
“I’m not sure though. I’ve been looking for my toy. I thought I left it lying around here somewhere. Better bring those lips up here, let me taste them before my boyfriend gets here and catches us.”
He smiled and worked his magic with fingers, lips and tongue once more making her cry out and hold onto his neck, her entire being flushed with desire and happiness. “Oh dear god!” she groaned when he reached high and stroked her g-spot, a mysterious little place he’d discovered a few weeks ago to their mutual delight. “Rafe,” She gulped as a mind melting orgasm shot through her. “Oh.” Her legs shook as he kissed her, then pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth.
“Yeah, that’s you all right.” He put a hand on his tented shorts. She smiled, slid them down and reversed their positions so he was leaning on the sink. She ran her lips down his neck, tasting the exotic essence of his dark bronze skin. Flicked her tongue across his coppery nipples. “Stop teasing me. Get to work,” he shoved her down and she gripped his long shaft and sucked him down, running her finger under his balls. His hips pumped and he gripped her hair. “Gonna come,” he whispered. She pressed a finger into his ass at the last minute, having never tried this particular move with him but knowing what it used to do for Brandis. “Jesu,” he shouted when she reached the small bead of his gland and stroked it once. He grunted and filled her mouth with warm liquid, as he shuddered and leaned back mumbling in Spanish while she drank him down and slid her finger out.
She stood, wiped the back of her hand over her lips watching him continue to spasm. His dark eyes were full of something…emotion, she knew and fulfillment. They definitely knew how to please each other physically and he was loosening up some on the need to control and know everything about what she was doing. And she’d learned not to resent it when he would ask, forcing them in to a circular argument that only lead to frustration. She washed her hands and pulled his shorts back up before he tugged her into his warm embrace. “That was pretty amazing.”
“Hmph, I’ve got moves you haven’t even seen yet.” She kissed his neck then turned back to the food prep. “Grab a beer. This will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
She tried to calm her pounding heart as she finished putting together the simple meal of grilled salmon, wild rice and spinach salad. They sat outside enjoying the last of the warm fall evenings. Their conversation centered around the trip they had planned tomorrow and Ella’s recent offer of scholarships from a couple of schools for soccer. He sat back, patted his stomach, and pulled her feet onto his lap. They sipped their wine, the silence between them comfortable and easy.
“I’m selling the house.” She said, hoping this was the right moment.
“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow and kept rubbing her foot. “Why?”
“I want…I think we should move in together. And I want it to be not here, but in a new place. Our place, you know?”
He narrowed his eyes at her then trained his gaze out over the lawn. The usual sounds of a semi-suburban Ann Arbor fall evening swirled around them. They were close enough to Pioneer High school to hear the cheers and band noises from a football game along with the happy noises of kids playing in yards all around them mixed with adult laughter and late birds chirping. He stayed silent about a minute too long. She pulled her feet off his lap. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”
“I guess since you’ve already decided what we’re doing I don’t need to venture an opinion.” His voice was tight. She watched his jaw clench and release. His profile was so amazingly beautiful she could stare at it for hours. Dark bronze skin, noble Roman nose, firm jaw covered with dark stubble and that hair—coal black, long and silky—she loved it.
“I love you,” she leaned forward and touched his bare knee.
He flinched and moved out of her reach. Then stood, and she saw what it was taking for him to hold onto his temper. She leaned back in her chair. “Just say what you want to say Rafe. We don’t hold back, remember?”
He turned to her. “I don’t want to live with you Maureen.” He shook his head. “As much as we joke about it … I’m not that guy. I’m not the ‘boyfriend’ or the ‘boy toy’ or any of that shit.”
She crossed her arms and held her tongue.
He stared at her a minute. “If that is all you want from me, then I think we should re-evaluate this relationship.”
“I just told you I loved you.” She said, her own temper flaring in her chest.
“Sí. And you told me not to ask you to marry me which I have honored. But then you inform me about this decision. You think we should live together. You are going to sell your house. You want what you want. I get it. I hate to break this to you, but you don’t get to call all the shots here. I get to be consulted.”
“I am consulting you Rafe. It’s why I brought it up.”
“Bull shit Maureen. You’ve made up your mind to keep me around for a while longer without any sort of commitment and have already put the wheels in motion to make it happen. I’m willing to bet you’ve even gotten Sara to find you a realtor?”
She looked down. “I am used to handling things on my own. Sorry.”
He got down on his knees and put his head on her lap, hanging onto her legs as if for dear life. “Don’t be sorry.” He looked up, and his eyes held a scary reality for her. “You still don’t take me seriously. And I need you to. So I think we should take a break. You decide. I want to marry you Maureen but I will absolutely not live with you otherwise. Not with teenagers around, hell not even if they weren’t around.” He gripped her hands and her chest constricted, her throat closed up. “I want it all or nothing with you. So now you have to choose.” He got to his feet, put his palm to her cheek, then walked out the door.
Chapter Thirty
Rafe held his pounding head in his hands and stared at the computer screen a few more minutes before tucking it away in his backpack and reclining the airplane seat, trying to relax. He’d spent the better part of the last two months flying around Europe, talking to current and former, second-and third-tier soccer players. The sell job came easily, but he was sick to death of saying it. And he missed Maureen like crazy. Although it seemed his ultimatum had taken hold. He’d told her to decide and apparently the “nothing” half of the “all or nothing” equation was her choice. He hadn’t seen her for nearly five months.
He and Jack had talked business and nothing else once Rafe had made it clear that would be the extent of their conversations. Besides, the guy had another monkey on his back now that the owners of his real estate brokerage had floated the concept of his and Sara buying them out. Between all the new babies around—a little girl for Rob and Lila and another little girl, Lillian Grace, for Craig and Suzanne, all the families were awash in newborn crap all the time, including Maureen who was a natural caretaker and loved to help everyone else out. At least according to Adam who reported to him nearly weekly, trying to convince him to come back.
He leaned his head against the airplane widow, recalling the day he’d been in the hospital when Suzanne had been rushed into the emergency room. Some football player had blown his knee all to hell playing pick-up basketball, and he’d been there to evaluate the guy for rehab. He’d seen them all—Sara, Jack, and, of course, Craig, whose usual cool was undone by the sight of the tiny girl, nearly ten weeks premature. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Maureen but had been sent back to the clinic upstairs before she showed up, if she ever did at all.
He had lingered a second, watching Craig hover over the isolette where his daughter lay, trying to use her underdeveloped lungs. The little girl looked flawless, just amazingly small. Rafe was not a sap about babies or kids, never had been. In spite of all his mother’s nagging he honestly he had never considered himself father material. But the depth of emotion he saw in Craig’s face as he reached into the sterile incubator to run a gloved finger down the tiny girl’s face had touched him in way h
e couldn’t credit. When the nurse had lifted the baby out and handed her to him, Rafe had had to look away, as a strange blend of emotions swirled through his head.
He must have dozed off and woke with a jerk when the plane touched down in Detroit. He rubbed his eyes and turned his phone back on, letting the little wheel on the screen spin and retrieve all his messages and texts since turning it off seven hours ago. The usual crap he’d been fielding from the clinic as he eased his way out of the job and into the soccer team manager/recruiter role filled the inbox. He had one more season coaching Ella’s team at Pioneer; something in him dreaded the thought of it but sent a thrill down his spine at the concept of seeing Maureen again. Dear God, he would do anything she wanted, if she would just call him. Of course, he’d not called nor reached out in any way either. He’d left it with her. And she had made it clear by her silence what she chose.
The next few weeks flew and by the time he hit Ella’s first game he was exhausted in body and soul. The effort not to just get in his car and go to her damn house left him shattered. But he would not do it. Not this time. He kept the small black velvet box on his kitchen counter as a reminder. He had planned to give it to her that weekend, with the kids, up north. But her infernal calm pre-emptive strike about moving in together had thrown him. So he opened the box every now and then, admired the large marquis diamond in its heavy platinum setting, then would close it and leave it alone—his reminder of how close he’d come and how far he still had to go.
He stood on the sidelines in the bitter cold April afternoon, cursing Michigan weather and himself for agreeing to coach one more year. The girls looked great and went into halftime with a 2-0 lead. He did his usual deconstruction of their game and tried not to look at Ella. They hit the field again just as the wind picked up and it started to rain, adding insult to his miserable injury. His phone buzzed but he ignored it, focusing on the game. When it kept up he pulled it out and noted Sara’s number. Puzzled he put it to his ear. Strange, muffled sounds came from the earpiece. “Hello? Sara?”