by Maisey Yates
A step farther in proving herself. In proving she could do things right. That she wasn’t inept.
“Great. I’ll send over all the details—numbers to expect, budget, et cetera—sometime tomorrow, and if you can turn a plan around to me that I can present to the council by the end of the week, we might just be in business.”
“I… great.”
She looked over at Mac and he smiled. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want it. She needed to focus on her, and how she made herself feel. Not on Mac’s smile, or the fact that he seemed to believe in her, or that he was as great at sex as he claimed to be.
They finished the rest of the meal making companionable conversation. Awkwardness was forgotten. The fact that Lucy was staff was forgotten. For the first time in recent memory, Lucy felt like she was home.
Chapter Eight
After Lucas and Carly left, the tension settled back into the room, thick and tight between them. Mac could hardly breathe just looking at her.
He wasn’t sure what had happened today. Obviously, sex had happened, and it had been great. But it was the feeling that stayed behind, heavy and unbearably present, a feeling he just couldn’t shake, that confused him.
He just wanted her again. It had to be intense physical desire. It had to be. Strictly physical. That was all he was after. All he’d ever been after. Love was way too psychotic. After watching his father use it as an excuse to continually and publicly screw around on their mother, and after watching their mom take their dad back after every indiscretion, there was very little that could entice him to view the emotion differently.
“You can save the dishes if you want.”
“No,” she said. “It’s my job. I’m going to do them.”
“Look, you don’t need to.”
“Yes, Mac, I do. I’m not going to not do my job because of what happened earlier,” she said, taking a stack of plates from the table and carrying them into the kitchen. “That’s not how this works.”
“What if I want you available for something else right now?” he asked.
“You’re my boss when it comes to housekeeping matters, but you are not my boss when it comes to the demands of your libido, okay?”
“That’s not what I was—”
“Yes. Yes, it was. If you think you can just order me around now, like all, ‘Yes, please, I’d like you to go down on me and then bake me a cake,’ you are flat out of luck, buddy.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Go upstairs,” she said, picking up a dish towel and flinging it over her shoulder.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You always go upstairs about now and have a shower. So go do that now and leave me to do my job.”
“Then what?” he asked.
“We’ll see what time I get off.”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” he said. “If either of us will get off.”
Pale cheeks turned a deep rose. “Well… that…” she choked. Or it might have even been a laugh. “That’s sexual harassment is what that is.”
“You were the one who told me to stop protecting you, sweetheart. So, I’ve stopped. But you can’t have it both ways. Either you want to try and deal with me, with this, or I can go back to being a gentleman. Hands off. No dirty comments. No lingering looks. No nothing. But that’s up to you. So you tell me, what do you want?”
She pushed her sleeves up and went over to the sink. “I can handle you,” she said.
“You think so?”
“I know so. But understand this, Mac. It will be on my own terms. Now go upstairs.”
“Are you going to join me?”
“I have work to do now. An extra job. I won’t have a lot of time for extracurricular activities.”
The underlying meaning in her words had him hard and aching in seconds. What was it about her? He shouldn’t be on this light a trigger. It had only been a couple of hours since they’d had sex. He couldn’t remember being this perpetually ready since he was a teenager. And maybe that didn’t even count, because while he was ready, he wasn’t getting all that much action as a scowly high schooler who came from the wrong side of the tracks.
He headed up the stairs, because in his mind, her words were a challenge. Lingering would make him seem desperate. And while he felt a little bit desperate, he wasn’t going to hang around and show his hand.
Nope.
He went into his room and left the door open, stripping his shirt off and heading into the bathroom, taking his jeans down when he turned the shower on. He hadn’t changed since his little incident with Lucas and the horse trough, and he was more than ready to wash off whatever was in that water.
Logic dictated he should take a cold shower and try to calm himself down. But logic wasn’t in charge tonight.
He wanted Lucy again, and he didn’t see why he should bother to cool himself off. Instead, he stepped under the hot spray, closed the frosted glass door and took his cock in hand.
If Lucy wasn’t going to indulge him tonight, he’d damn well indulge himself.
***
Lucy waffled over what she was going to do for a full minute and a half before she started climbing the stairs and heading toward Mac’s bedroom.
She was probably being an idiot. She should probably do what she’d said she was going to do and just go back to her little house and start thinking of some ideas for Carly’s fund-raiser.
Instead, she was following her hormones. And they were leading her into the lion’s den. She was making bad decisions today.
Or maybe not. Maybe she was just finally making some decisions that she wanted. And maybe they would be disastrous, but she would have fun on the road to ruin.
She found some comfort in that. Cold comfort, but it was better than nothing.
The door to his bedroom was open, which made things that much easier. It was one more step taken out of the equation. Easy to just walk in. And she could hear the water in the shower running, steam flowing from the bathroom, which also had an open door, into the bedroom.
She took a breath and started taking her clothes off, dropping her top where Mac had left his shirt, dropping her skirt, shoes and underwear where he’d left his jeans.
She could see his silhouette through the frosted glass. And even though there were no details on display, her mind was doing a pretty good job of filling it all in.
She opened the door, and it took a moment for the image in front of her, one that altered the second she opened the door, to burn its way into her brain and process correctly.
Mac. His body all naked and wet, water drops tracking over muscles. And his hand wrapped tightly around his very large, very hard— she knew from experience—erection.
He dropped his hand to his side, his eyes wide, his expression almost comically shocked.
She’d never caught a man doing that before, and she found that it was rather intriguing. Oh, yeah, a little more than intriguing. It was hot. Of course, Mac had gotten her hot when he’d come in half drunk and dressed in wet clothes, so it wasn’t like he had to work that hard to turn her on.
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and his eyes dropped down, shamelessly ogling, which was fine with her.
“Selfish,” she said.
“What?” he asked, his focus snapping back up.
“I thought you were going to save that for me.” She looked at him unashamedly. Because she wanted to. The thought made a little smile curve her lips.
“I didn’t know you were offering,” he said. “I thought it was up to me to do something about this.”
“No.” She got inside the shower and wiggled a little when the hot spray made contact with her skin. “I decided I would.”
“You think you can play games with m
e like that?” he asked.
She put her hand on his stomach and sucked in a breath, trailing her fingers over wet skin, down to his shaft. She curled her fingers around him and squeezed. “I think I can.”
“Careful, sweetheart.”
“That close?”
She squeezed him again, and a harsh breath hissed through his teeth. “Yes.”
“Good. I like having you on the edge.” She leaned in and licked a stream of water that was running down his chest. “And I didn’t play with you on purpose. I was confused.”
“Were you?”
“I’ve never had sex that good. But I’ve also never had sex when I wasn’t married to the man I was having it with. So I’m used to there being, if not feelings, a commitment. It’s always been really important to me. So this whole just-go-with-your-baser-instincts thing is all new to me.”
“You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it.”
“Thanks.” She pressed her palm flat against him.
“Geez.” His hand shot up, fingers forking through her hair, tugging hard. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Nope. That’s not the plan.” She dropped down slowly onto her knees, her thigh muscles shaking a bit. “This is.” She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his shaft. She used the water sluicing over his skin to make her movements smooth as she worked her hand up and down his length, along with her lips and tongue.
She’d never really enjoyed doing this. Had never really wanted to. In fact, before, she’d always actively avoided it. But she wanted to do it with Mac. Wanted to explore every inch of him. To find a way to make him feel the same sort of explosion of release that she’d felt earlier. Because surely what she’d felt wasn’t normal. Surely it was nearly impossible to match. But she wanted to try. Because he’d shown her something she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing.
She lost herself in him, in the way his muscles shook beneath her hands, in the way he tightened his fingers in her hair when he got too close to the edge and had to anchor himself in some way.
She knew what he was feeling, because he’d already made her feel it.
“Okay, done now,” he said, reaching down and gripping her arms and guiding her back into a standing position. “That was going to end way too fast.”
“Well, we don’t want that,” she said.
“No, we don’t. I’d like this to make it to a soft surface. The wall was nice but I’d like to go a little slower this time.” He shut the water off and took her hand, pushing the door open and tugging her back out into the bathroom.
He took a towel off of the rack and draped it over her shoulders. He rubbed the terrycloth over her skin, down her back, her butt, her thighs. There was something so intimate about the simple action. Something that, for a moment, transcended sex.
And then he turned her around and pressed her body against his, kissing her deeply, walking her back into the bedroom, and just like that, she was rescued from the strange tenderness in her chest.
She managed to escape his hold and saunter to the bed, climbing on and lying back against the pillows. She didn’t feel shy around him. Or like she needed low light, or to suck in her stomach and find a flattering angle. Because he didn’t look at her with a critical eye. He didn’t look like he was searching for a flaw, a weakness to exploit.
He looked at her, and all she could see was need.
He joined her on the bed, covering her body with his, every inch of him pressed against every inch of her. He reached to the bedside table and took a condom from the drawer, deftly rolling it on before positioning himself between her thighs.
“Wait,” he said. “One thing first.”
He lowered his head and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, an arrow of pleasure piercing her low in her pelvis. He moved down her body, tracing a trail over her skin with the tip of his tongue.
He sat up, then he gripped her hips and tugged her toward him, lowering his head to her core and tasting her slowly, leisurely.
She grabbed hold of his shoulders, and she was pretty sure she was adding to the marks she’d already left. And she really didn’t care. She squirmed beneath him, heat roaring through her, a living, burning flame that threatened to consume everything in its path.
He shifted and penetrated her with a finger while he continued the sensual assault with his mouth. Stars burst behind her eyelids and she felt like she was falling. She held on to him hard, a sharp cry escaping her lips. And he didn’t stop. Instead, he pushed her farther, faster. Another orgasm came on the heels of the first, leaving her spent and breathless. And sweaty.
“Oh,” she said, her breath coming in harsh pants. She put her hand on her forehead and brushed damp hair back from her skin. “That was hot, sweaty sex,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, nearly as out of breath as she was. “And we aren’t done.”
She looked back down at his still fully erect body. “Oh. No. We aren’t.”
She didn’t see how it was possible, but desire coiled low inside of her again, promise of another release.
He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed in with ease, kissing her mouth while he did. He moved slow and steady at first, each thrust measured, maddeningly controlled.
“Come on,” she said, trying to push him on. Trying to get him to lose it. Because she had. She’d completely come undone for him and now she wanted the same. “Harder, Mac.”
He complied, the next thrust rougher, a harsh sound on his lips when he was buried to the hilt inside of her.
She arched against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest. He moved his hand down and gripped her thigh, tugging it up over his back, his movements less contained now. She could see him losing his grip, could see him succumbing to his own need, to his own desire.
“More?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back. Let go.”
He pressed his lips against her throat, his head lowered, his skin slick with sweat beneath her hands. And when he let go, when all of his tension released and he let out a harsh growl of completion, she went with him.
They lay together in the aftermath, totally spent, completely unable to move. She’d never experienced anything like that before. Not even close. Eight years of sex with Daniel didn’t add up to anything nearly so big, so powerful, as these moments in Mac’s arms.
Emotion, big, scary, expanded inside of her. She wanted to run, but she was too tired to move. And Mac’s arms felt so safe. His bed so soft. His body so strong and hot next to hers. She just wanted to give in to the emotion. She didn’t want to fight it.
But she needed to fight it. She knew she did. Knew there was nothing but disappointment and pain down that road.
In that moment, the knowledge didn’t make her want it any less.
So just for a little while, she would turn and snuggle into Mac’s embrace, and there would be nothing more than them. Nothing more than this. The bed, Mac and Lucy.
“Feel like you had your needs met?” he asked, his voice thick, sleepy.
“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the tears pooling behind her lids.
She was lying. All it had done was open up a whole new well of need. Exposed a chasm that she’d been doing such a good job of ignoring.
She tried to pull up images of Daniel. Words he’d said. Things that had hurt her and diminished her. Something to remind her of why she needed to keep the feelings out of it. Something to hold them at bay.
But she couldn’t. Because with Mac she was too far removed from that woman. She couldn’t, for one moment, believe any of her ex’s insults anymore, and it stole all of their power and vitality away from them.
She wasn’t afraid of the memories. And they didn’t hurt, not like they’d hurt at the time. Not even like
it had hurt to remember them a few weeks ago.
It turned out hot, sweaty sex, could effectively knock off some pretty heavy chains.
Chapter Nine
It was hard to find boundaries when your current lover was a live-in housekeeper.
Mac didn’t particularly want to send Lucy back to her little house every night. He wanted her to stay in his bed. But that would get tricky. Seeing as it was her job to get up early and make breakfast, pack his lunch and otherwise do a lot of things that a woman he was in a serious relationship with might do.
Or what he assumed they might do.
He’d never had a real, serious relationship. Some long-term casual dating of the same woman, yes. But he didn’t have women come into his house and cook for him. Do his laundry. For heaven’s sake, the woman he was sleeping with was handling his dirty socks.
There was a whole level of intimate there that he’d never arrived at with another woman, and it had happened with Lucy by default.
Which meant that her going back to her house at some point in the night was necessary. It was on the same property, yes, but it added some boundaries. That way, when she got out of bed in the morning, she was coming to work to make him breakfast. Not rolling out of bed to make breakfast for her lover.
Boundaries.
Mac looked up from the log he was getting ready to split and watched Lucy walk up the porch steps and into the house. And he watched her ass in those tight black pants she was wearing.
Boundaries. Freaking, stupid boundaries.
She was working, which meant going into the house to instigate a little bit of foreplay would be a violation of those boundaries. It was part of the unspoken rules they’d slowly sunk into over the past two weeks.
Lucy slept in her house, and when she was working, they hardly spoke. Then, at dinner, the rules started to relax. They ate together, talked. Then Lucy did the dishes. Sometimes he did them because, since dinner was more relaxed, the moments after always felt like a gray area in terms of Lucy’s responsibilities.
Then, after that, they went upstairs to his room, and all professionalism and boundaries ceased to exist. So did clothes. There was just the two of them and a day’s worth of tension to burn off. Sometimes it required half the night to burn through it. And they used half the night if necessary.