Within Reach

by Sarah Mayberry

  When she opened her eyes, Michael was watching her, a small, slightly smug smile on his lips.

  “What?” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

  Had he been watching her when she climaxed? Watching her goofy orgasm face, listening to her inarticulate, needy sounds?

  “I like watching you come.” There was something so knowing in the way he said it, so earthy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I like it so much I want to make it happen all over again.”

  She gave him her best challenging look. “Then you’d better get cracking, hadn’t you?”

  He took her at her word, reaching for the waistband of her jeans. She helped him peel them off and she tore at his jeans, yanking them down his hips along with his boxer-briefs, breathing in the smell of warm skin and male arousal as she pushed them past his knees.

  “You smell good,” she said, reaching for him.

  She was already on her knees and he closed his eyes for a long beat as she drew him into her mouth. Then his eyes opened and he reached for her, trying to encourage her to her feet.

  “Angie…”

  “Shut up and take it like a man.”

  She circled his tip with her tongue, then took all of him into her mouth. After a moment’s hesitation his hands slid into her hair. She started to work him in earnest, teasing the smooth head of his erection, working his shaft with her hand. He groaned in the back of his throat and pushed his hips forward. She moved closer, wanting more. She’d always enjoyed this, but doing it for Michael was a huge turn-on, so much so that she had to squeeze her thighs together to try to keep a lid on her own arousal.

  Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer and she slid a hand down her stomach and between her own thighs.

  Michael swore under his breath when he saw what she was doing and the next thing she knew he was on his knees as well, pushing her back onto the tiles. He reared over her, his cheekbones flushed, stomach muscles tense, his hard-on glistening from her ministrations. She lifted her hips and he thrust inside her in one smooth move.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  He started to pump into her, every thrust making her crazier. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and back and ass and panted his name until a second climax took her. She clung to him, grinding her hips into him, feeling his rising excitement, the new tension in his body.

  She pressed her fingers into the firm muscles of his ass, urging him on. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, his tongue stroking hers. Then he pressed his cheek to hers and buried himself deep inside her as he came, every muscle tense as pleasure took him.

  He was dead weight on her for a moment afterward, his breath coming fast. Then he lifted his head and looked at her. Behind him she could see the refrigerator and the microwave. Beneath her the tiles were cold, a fact she hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment.

  They hadn’t even made it to the couch.

  The corner of Michael’s mouth kicked up. She found herself smiling in response.

  “And all this time I thought spaghetti was your signature dish,” she said.

  His smile widened into a grin. “I’m extending my repertoire.”

  “You certainly are.”

  He gazed at her body, reaching out to smooth a hand over her breast. His expression sobered as he met her eyes again.

  “You really think we can do this?”

  “At this point, it’s kind of academic, isn’t it? Since we can’t seem to keep our hands off each other.”

  Given that they were lying on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, it was something of an understatement.

  Michael’s gaze scanned her face, serious and intent. He kissed her, then smoothed a strand of hair back from her forehead. There was so much tenderness and affection in the gesture her throat got tight.

  He shifted his weight, sliding back until he could sit back on his haunches. He held out a hand to her.

  “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, even as she slid her hand into his.

  “To the couch. I don’t have to pick Eva up for another hour.”

  “Oh. When you put it that way…”

  She watched his muscular ass flex and contract as he towed her into the living room, but even the sight of so much impressive masculinity couldn’t quell the little voice that piped up in the back of her mind.

  The couch, not the bedroom?

  But she knew why it was the couch and not the bedroom. She knew exactly why—and she’d signed up for this regardless.

  Which either made her very foolish or very game. Or, perhaps, a bit of both.

  * * *

  TWO AND A HALF WEEKS LATER, Michael side-stepped a crack in the pavement, aware of the burn in his lungs and legs but unwilling to slow his pace. Eva was at a sleepover and Mrs. Linton was minding Charlie and Michael was taking advantage of a rare hour to himself to blow the cobwebs from his brain.

  The road continued to climb and he put his head down and dug in. After doggedly putting one foot in front of the other for what felt like too long, he finally reached the high point of the road and slowed to a halt. One hand on his hip, he sucked in air and soaked up the view. Below him, the city of Melbourne rose up out of the sea of trees that was Studley Park, the buildings glinting in the late-afternoon sun.

  Michael breathed in eucalyptus-scented air and used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. For a moment his mind was blessedly blank, empty of all thought except an appreciation of the view and the warmth of the sun on his face and the pleasing looseness of his muscles after strenuous exercise.

  A bird flew high overhead, soaring on the wind. A car drove past behind him, engine laboring as it tackled the incline. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck.

  He let his head drop back, drew a deep breath into his lungs…

  And suddenly his head was full again, teeming with the many thoughts and concerns that occupied his days. Eva and Charlie and the practice.

  And, of course, Angie.

  They had been sleeping with each other for three weeks now. Three weeks of snatching what private moments they could to tear each other’s clothes off and satisfy the need to be skin to skin.

  And it was a need. He’d never been so preoccupied with sex, with getting a woman naked, in his life. Even when he’d been a spotty, horny teenager. Even when he’d been falling in love with Billie.

  As usual, he shied away from any comparison between Billie and Angie. It wasn’t a game he wanted to play. Billie was Billie, his beloved wife. And Angie was Angie, his good friend. And now his lover. Two very different women, even if they had been best friends when Billie was alive.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to dwell on this stuff. He’d been working hard in recent days to simply take things as they came. To enjoy Angie and accept that they had a powerful physical attraction and that this was something that was happening, whether he was ready for it or not. God knew, he’d had enough unhappiness in his life over the past twelve months.

  A motorbike roared around the corner, the harsh reverberation of its engine breaking the peace of the day. Michael took another swipe at the sweat on his forehead, then turned and started back down the mountain.

  His thoughts shifted to the evening ahead as he ran. Angie was coming over and they were making dinner together and watching a movie. His body quickened as he thought about what would happen after dinner, after Charlie had been put to bed. He would undress Angie slowly, piece by piece, until he had her bare and panting for him. Or maybe he’d touch her through her clothes before sliding his hands underneath them, teasing her until she reached out and took what she wanted.

  Without him consciously willing it, his stride lengthened. Even though Angie wasn’t due at his place for another three hours.
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br />   Recognizing the foolishness of his own behavior, he slowed down to a more sustainable pace. Twenty minutes later his car appeared around a bend in the road, parked on the verge. He slowed to a walk and stretched his hamstrings before wiping himself down with a towel and getting behind the wheel. He collected Charlie from next door when he got home, gifting Mrs. Linton with a box of chocolates for her troubles. She assured him that Charlie was a pleasure to mind, even if he did insist on trying to swim in her koi pond every time they went out in her yard.

  Sure enough, his son had dirty shoes and socks. Michael changed him and had a little chat with him about not swimming with the fishes, but it was hard to say how much he absorbed. Not much, if his bright smile and untroubled expression were anything to go by.

  He was fixing Charlie a snack when Angie arrived at six. She was wearing a bright blue dress with a red belt and a pair of red espadrilles and she gave him her usual warm, slow smile when he answered the door. He smiled in response, aware of his mood lifting. Not that it had been grim, but everything always seemed better when Angie was around.

  “Hey. You are so going to regret letting me choose the movie tonight,” she said as she walked past him into the house.

  Instinct told him to reach out and pull her close so he could greet her properly, the way he wanted to. But Charlie was in the kitchen. He didn’t want to confuse his son with what was happening between him and Angie.

  Whatever that was.

  “If it’s The Sound of Music, all bets are off,” he said as he followed her up the hall.

  The soft fabric of her dress swished around her knees, drawing his gaze to her long, slim legs.

  “My choice, remember?” She gave him a mischievous grin.

  “All right. Put me out of my misery.”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of enjoying torturing you now.”

  She was, he could tell. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and she flicked her hair over her shoulder in a provocative, teasing gesture.

  He shrugged as though he didn’t give two hoots. “Fine. Keep your secret. You want a beer or wine?”

  “Beer, thanks. Perfect for a nice hot day. Hey, Charlie Bear. What’s happening?”

  He waited until she was bending to kiss Charlie’s cheek before he reached out and snagged the strap of her handbag, sliding it off her shoulder.

  “Hey!”

  Her response was lightning fast as she reached out to grab the body of the bag, foiling his plan to ransack her purse and find out for himself what celluloid punishment she’d devised for him.

  “Not so fast, buster,” she said, laughing and pulling the bag tight to her belly.

  “Hand it over, Bartlett. I refuse to be held over a barrel.” He tugged experimentally on the strap, but her grip remained firm.

  “Haven’t you ever heard that patience is a virtue?”

  “Don’t make me force you to hand it over.” He was grinning, enjoying the foolish battle of wills.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Just remember, you asked for it.”

  He yanked on the strap, pulling her off balance and into his arms. He snaked an arm around her back and insinuated the other between her bag and the body, searching out the sensitive spot beneath her arm where he knew she was incredibly ticklish.

  “Oh, you bastard!” she shrieked.

  They swayed together, her helpless laughter echoing around the kitchen. The urge to kiss her, to taste her laughter and joy was almost too much to resist. He lowered his head, only remembering at the last minute that Charlie was watching.

  He forced himself to let her go and step back, relinquishing his hold on both her and the bag. Sure enough, when he glanced over Charlie was watching them both with avid eyes, a questioning smile on his face.

  “What’s funny, Daddy?” he asked.

  “Auntie Angie’s being silly,” Michael said.

  Angie smoothed her dress and gave him a dry look. “I think Daddy’s the one being silly. That move was worthy of the playground.”

  “Thank you. I believe I perfected it in grade two, actually.”

  Her smile started in her eyes before it curved her mouth. There was so much warm appreciation and affection in it that his chest got a little tight. He was suddenly deeply, fiercely glad that she was standing in his kitchen and that they were going to spend the night together. She made his world a better place. She loved his kids, and she understood him, and she never played games or pulled her punches. She’d held him together through the bad times and helped him find his way out the other side.

  She was a gift, a godsend, and he knew with a sudden, sharp clarity that he was incredibly lucky to have her in his life. Despite the guilt. Despite the complications.

  Even though Charlie was still watching, he reached out and caught her hand. He raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  Her smile faltered and she lifted her eyebrows in silent question. “Where’s that move from? Grade four? High school?”

  “Ten seconds ago. I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply.

  She blinked, then she smiled again. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

  For a moment the kitchen seemed very quiet as they smiled into each other’s eyes.

  “Up! Up!” Charlie said, jumping up and down, his arms raised beseechingly toward Angie.

  “Your wish is my command, you little tyrant.” She hoisted Charlie into her arms, rubbing her cheek against his. “Okay now?”

  Charlie nodded, happy as a clam now he’d gotten his way. Michael shook his head.

  “Lock up your daughters, Melbourne,” he said as he started filling a pot with water for the pasta.

  “It’s true, he is too cute for his own good,” she said.

  “Worse thing is he knows it.”

  They worked together to make dinner. Angie cut Charlie’s spaghetti into baby-proof pieces and they ate out on the deck, enjoying the last heat of the day. Michael bathed Charlie and got him into his pajamas while Angie cleaned up the kitchen. When he returned with Charlie ready for bed, she revealed her DVD selection: Bridesmaids, which he’d somehow missed when it was on at the cinema.

  “Phew. I can’t believe you let me think it was The Sound of Music,” he said, giving her a dark look.

  “Careful, you’re talking about one of my favorite movies. I might just bring it over and make you watch it next time.”

  “For you, I might just watch it. All three hours.”

  “It’s not three hours. It’s 174 minutes. Perfectly reasonable.”

  Her face was serious, but she was laughing at him with her eyes.

  He resisted the urge to kiss her for the third time that night and occupied himself with settling Charlie on the couch. Not unexpectedly, his too-charming son was asleep after half an hour and Angie paused the DVD while he carried Charlie to bed. Angie had kicked off her shoes when he returned. He settled himself in the corner of the modular suite and patted the couch beside him. She came willingly, stretching out so that her head was in his lap, her body curled out at a right angle. He rested his hand on the nape of her neck and listened to her laugh, enjoying her enjoyment. He was too distracted by the weight of her head on his thigh and the length of her bare legs to pay close attention to the movie, and after a while he gave up the pretense and slid his hand beneath the neckline of her dress.

  She stilled for a beat, then stirred, pressing her breast into his hand before lifting her gaze to give him a look as old as Eve. He smiled faintly and found her nipple with his thumb, teasing it to hardness. She moved restlessly, her gaze locked with his. He continued to stroke and tease her, gliding his hand from one breast to the other and back again until she pulled away from him and rolled onto her knees.

  She crawled toward him, sinuous as a jungle cat, sliding
one long leg across his body so that she was straddling his lap. They kissed, the movie playing in the background. He slid his hands beneath her skirt, smoothing them up her widespread thighs. She gave a giveaway shudder as he reached her panties. He found damp silk and heat and he stroked her with both thumbs, loving the little hitch in her breathing when he found a really good spot. He was painfully hard but he was enjoying himself too much to rush things. Stroking her tongue with his, he slipped a finger beneath the elastic of her underwear. He got even harder when he felt how wet and ready she was. He stroked her, finding the hard pearl of her clitoris and circling it lazily.

  Her hand clenched into his shirt, her grip strong, demanding. She broke their kiss, her tongue tracing a path to his ear.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “Time to hit the study.”

  She slid from his grasp, standing and offering him her hand to help him to his feet. He stood and she started to lead him toward the study, the site of the bulk of their sexual encounters to date. Apart from that time in the kitchen and on the couch when the kids were in day care and at school, they had been careful to always make sure there was a locked door between them and his sleeping children. That door had never led to his bedroom, however, something he and Angie had never directly addressed. He knew without asking that she understood. He also knew that she would never push, because not once in their relationship had she asked for anything for herself.

  He’d always been grateful for her generosity and understanding, but tonight for some reason it felt wrong to lay her down on the Turkish rug in his office and make love to her.

  She deserved better. She deserved to not be some dirty little secret that he corralled off into his study, as though by doing so he could corral his feelings and lessen the importance of what they were doing. It was just sex when it was on the study floor.