by Freya Barker
Definitely warm and mushy.
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“It might be after dinner before I get to the pub tonight,” Ike says on his way out the door. “I’m presenting the new design to our customer this afternoon, and David warned me he might invite us out after.”
I watch him walk down the steps and get on his bike before he turns with a grin. “Later, babe.”
“Good luck,” I manage before he roars off, with a last lift of his hand in departure. Since I followed him home in my car last night, I don’t have to rush so he can drop me off. I close the door and head to the kitchen to finish clearing away the breakfast dishes, and sipping the last cup of coffee, before I fetch my overnight bag from the bedroom. I still have about an hour before I have to start prepping at The Skipper, but I want to get home so I can shower and get ready.
By the time I pull into the parking garage, I have the air conditioner in my car going at full blast. Damn it’s going be another hot one today. The stale and stagnant air in the garage has my shirt stuck to my body before I even get to the elevators, and I brace myself for the heat of the building. Ike’s house is nice and airy. With windows that can be opened to create a cross-breeze at night to blow out the stale air from the day. Nice.
I’m still considering the benefits of Ike’s place over my apartment when movement at my front door has me lift my head.
“Nolan?”
My brother slowly pushes himself up from where he’d been sitting with his back against my door. I don’t think he’s ever been here before. Nervous anticipation and tempered hopefulness wreak havoc on my stomach as I cautiously approach him.
“Can we talk inside?” he asks uncharacteristically timid, his eyes barely meeting mine.
“Sure,” I mumble, digging in my bag for the keys.
Once inside, I walk ahead and toss my bag into the bedroom, before turning to find Nolan watching me, his back against the closed door. “Want some coffee?” I ask, a little too eager. Coffee is a good icebreaker, although I wonder if it’s the smartest choice, given that I’m already almost jumping out of my skin with nerves.
“Sure. If you have time.”
“Of course,” I lie, heading toward the coffeemaker in an attempt to hide my tell-all face from him.
“You’re probably wondering—”
“So what brings you—” My eyes shoot up when I notice we’re talking at the same time. He’s standing at the counter looking a little sheepish. “Go ahead,” I say. “I have a feeling you were about to answer my question anyway.” I try to keep my hands busy by pulling mugs down from the cupboard and getting half-and-half from the fridge.
“I’m sorry,” he starts and immediately has my attention, making me turn around. He is leaning with his back against the counter, his hands holding onto the edge behind him. Looking altogether mighty uncomfortable.
“Want to sit down?” I offer, but he shakes his head.
“I’d best stand, but you might want to sit down for this.” His strong-lined face looks very serious when he says this, which is why I walk over to my couch and curl up in a corner, a throw pillow tucked to my stomach. Protection, for what it’s worth. I watch Nolan run a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in every direction and more than anything, that makes me uneasy. Nolan is the meticulous one in the family. Perfect grooming, perfect job, perfect house, and before his wife left him, he had what looked to be a perfect family as well. Now he looks—rattled.
“For years, I’d successfully pushed down that small voice, telling me something was off. I should’ve said something then, but ...” His voice trails off as he obviously struggles to find words, and a burning sensation starts in the pit of my stomach slowly crawling up my throat. “I saw him come out of your room one night,” he says softly, his eyes on me dark with guilt.
“I saw you too,” I whisper, barely moving my lips that feel numb.
“He ... he had just ... Ahhh!” In frustration he screams, slamming his fist on the counter. “I can’t even say it. Can’t fucking say the words. The thought I was looking at him ... at you ... right after he ... raped you? It makes me so sick. But you know what makes me even sicker? That it wasn’t the first time. Part of me always suspected, part of me knew he lied to me when he walked out of your room. I just ...” He closes his eyes, shaking his head from side to side. “I’m so, so sorry. It doesn’t make up for anything. God—as if it could. I should’ve jumped in for you at Mom’s house. Should’ve fucking told everyone what I’d already suspected was the truth. I guess I’d convinced myself, over the years, I’d been wrong. Had seen things that weren’t there. Fuck, the guilt has been eating me alive.”
I say nothing. I’m not even sure I can verbalize what I’m feeling. Clutching that pillow as if it were a lifeline, I mutely watch as tears track down Nolan’s face. Rather detached, I note that I’ve never seen him cry before. Not any of my brothers, really.
“I don’t know what to say,” I blurt out stupidly, immediately regretting having said anything at all. Because, it’s as if those few words shake me out of indifference and straight into emotional overload. That burning sensation in my stomach turns into an inferno, and has me jump off the couch and running for the bathroom. I make it just in time.
On my knees, leaning over the bowl, the tears catch up, and I discover that sobbing and retching at the same time is not a good combination. Gasping for air, I don’t even notice Nolan has come into the bathroom, until I find a cold cloth pressed on the back of my neck and a large hand lifting the hair from my forehead.
“Oh, Viv. I’m so sorry I—”
“I stink,” I announce, not sure if I could handle another apology right now. Not that he wouldn’t have noticed by himself, because ... well, I stink.
“I don’t care,” is the curt response, before he turns me around and uses the cloth to wipe my face. I don’t know why that action should surprise me, he raised, or at the very least helped raise, a child of his own. I’m sure he’s wiped a face or two in his day. He surprises me even further when he pulls me into his arms. Nolan. The brother who never was one for public displays of any kind.
“Just let me, okay?” he mumbles when I stiffen a little.
I let myself forget about being gross and smelly, and allow him to hug me. By the time he sets me back gently, the normal stern expression is back on his face.
“I’m making you toast. Get in the shower,” he orders. “You stink.”
Ike
Been a long-ass day.
It started when I came into the office this morning. I could hear swearing coming from behind the reception desk. Hillary, the unflappable grandmother of two David hired on in short order to replace Samantha, was cursing at the printer and banging it with a stapler. This morning of all mornings, the printer had decided to eat paper instead of spit it out. Normally a pretty easy fix, but whatever Hillary had done by the time I walked in had permanently sealed its fate. Since there were eight proposal packages to prepare, I had to turn around and try to find us a new printer on very short notice. David was in Boston this morning for a brief meeting before he would join me for the presentation this afternoon, so it was up to me. Two hours out of my day I wouldn’t be getting back any time soon, and I still had finishing touches to make to my design.
The rest of the day had been more of the same: last minute glitches to be ironed out, details to be considered, and loose ends to be tied up. By the time David walked into my office, I was already worn thin, wishing I’d never left Viv’s warm body this morning.
“Ready?” he asks, a bit too chipper.
“As ready as I’ll be,” I grouch, not good at working with an empty stomach. The only response to my sour mood is a raised eyebrow from David.
“Remind me to tell you about my day later,” I offer as explanation.
The proposal in hand, along with the PowerPoint presentation I’d managed to throw together last minute, I follow him into the boardroom where our new clients are waiting. Thank God it
went off without a hitch. The proposal accepted, with handshakes and backslaps, and before I knew it, we were roped into the dreaded celebratory dinner.
I don’t socialize well. Sitting around a table just shooting the shit with people you have little in common with is not my strong suit. In fact, I feel comfortable saying a visit to my dentist for a root canal would be preferable. When I finally manage to excuse myself during a lull in the very boring conversation about the stock market, something I know blissfully little about, it’s already past eleven.
Walking into The Skipper, I’m not even sure if Viv’s still going to be here. She was supposed to open this morning, which normally means an early night. Still, I spot her right away, not behind the bar, but sitting perched on a stool in an animated conversation with Arnie. Matt, who is leaning over the bar listening in, is the first one to spot me.
“Beer?”
“Please.” I barely manage to get the word out and my body jolts back with the impact of a very excited Viv, jumping into my arms. “Whoa, babe.”
“And?” she asks, a big smile on her face as she wraps her arms and legs around me. My hands tuck under her ass to keep her there. Not a hardship. She feels good clinging to me, and I can’t stop my own smile from spreading.
“They approved,” I answer, knowing she was asking about the design.
“Yay! That calls for a celebration.” She hops down, turns to the bar and slaps her hand down. “Round of shots!”
I step in behind her and slide my arms around her stomach, trapping her against the bar. “Babe, I’m thinking you started your celebration without me.”
“Oops,” she says, as she twists her head around to look at me, a wide, goofy grin on her face. Of course I have to kiss her, something she seems quite willing to participate in. She tastes like beer and Viv, and I get lost instantly. The hooting and hollering around us is just about the only thing stopping me from laying her down on the bar and tasting all of her, and I reluctantly break our kiss. The little whimper from her lips tells me she’s as far gone as I am.
“Gonna drink my beer and you need some coffee. Don’t want you to fall asleep on me when I finally have my way with you, when we go do some celebrating of our own.”
Her beautiful, clear eyes darken as her pupils dilate with hunger. That’s right, baby.
Next thing I know, Viv has roped Arnie, myself, and Matt into a mean game of euchre. Of course with frequent interruptions when Matt has to pour drinks. I don’t notice time slipping away until Matt locks the door behind the last person, except for Arnie that is.
“I’m out guys. I need my beauty sleep.” The old geezer winks and gives Viv a hug, Matt a wave, and grabs me by the shoulder. “Walk me to the door, son.”
I do as asked and follow him. “She’s had a tough day. Ask her about it,” he says turning to me at the door. He immediately puts up his hand to silence me before I can even ask what happened. “Ask her. Make her tell you. She looks happy enough, but it’s only on the outside.” He unlocks the door and steps outside, but before I have a chance to say anything, he repeats, “Ask.”
So I say nothing, simply nod at Arnie, and close and lock the door behind him.
With all three of us, it takes only ten minutes to clean up. Viv’s in the kitchen loading up the dishwasher for an overnight load, and Matt is walking out the back door with the garbage. When he comes back in I intercept him.
“We can lock up,” I suggest, trying to keep a poker face.
“Sure thing,” Matt says, a small smile betraying he knows exactly where my mind is at. He’s a guy, after all.
When I lock the back door and turn around to join Viv in the kitchen, she is standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, and a grin on her face.
“What are we doing?” She tries to act innocent, but can’t quite mask the coy tone of her voice.
“What we didn’t finish earlier,” I tell her as I stalk toward her, the shiver running through her visible at a distance. Reaching her, I bend down and pick her up over my shoulder before making my way toward the bar. Viv doesn’t offer any resistance, no yelling or complaints, just laughs her deep smoky chuckle that sets my blood on fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ike
With all the lights off, it’s just the indirect glare from the lamp posts on the wharf that illuminate the bar.
“Get naked,” I tell her when I set her carefully back on her feet. She’s about to protest when I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside, waiting for her move. It takes her a few seconds, but once her decision is made, it takes her only a few more to get herself totally, buck-ass naked. If I thought my hard-on was uncomfortable in my jeans before, the remainder of my blood surging to my cock at the sight of her in front of me, makes it outright painful. I carefully unbutton the offensive jeans, but only to create a bit more room. What I have in mind first, only requires my mouth.
Her breath hitches as I grab her by the hips and lift her up onto the bar. Gently I push her back and swing her legs up so she is lying stretched out across the bar. Like an offering. She looks at me intently as I caress every inch of her glorious pale body with my eyes. My hand follows, tracing the dips and valleys of her skin, where the diffuse light from outside touches her.
“Isaac ...” she moans softly. My name from her lips is like a trigger. Bending slightly over her body, my mouth finds hers. Licking my way between her lips, I eat at her mouth hungrily, as my hand never stops moving across her skin.
“You’re so fucking slick,” I growl into her mouth when my fingers find her warm, wet folds.
“Honey ... please.” Viv pulls her mouth away and arches her back off the gleaming wood of the bar.
“Stay,” I instruct her, sliding my fingers from her and raising them to my mouth for an appetizer. Her eyelids heavy, I see her breath hitch as she watches me.
I grab the closest chair, shove a few stools out of the way and sit down, my mouth now at level with the bar. Viv’s mouth falls open when I swing her legs around and place her feet on my shoulders on either side of my head. Fucking perfect.
“Ike ...” she breathes, and I watch as she pushes herself up on her elbows.
“You take my breath away.”
Her face softens and her mouth tilts up at the ends, but I don’t give her a chance to say anything. I keep my eyes on hers as I pull her closer and open my mouth over her gorgeous pink, lush pussy. I’m insatiable. Her scent and her taste stir my appetite for her. I tease and play her with my lips and teeth, pulling back each time her hips lift up, begging for completion. I’m as close to coming as she is. I slide two fingers inside her, and with my other hand, I pull my cock free. When she sees me stroking myself, her inside walls spasm around my fingers, and her teeth bite her plump bottom lip.
“Come for me, baby,” I growl, tugging hard at my cock as the fingers of my other hand furiously pump inside her. My tongue flicks out over her clit lightly, but just enough to send her over the edge on a moan. With her pussy still pulsing around my fingers and her taste lingering on my tongue, I let myself come in my hand.
Gently dropping her legs, I stand up and bend over her flushed body, pressing my lips to her belly.
“Beautiful siren,” I mumble against her soft skin.
Viv
Holy shitballs, goes through my mind as I catch my breath.
“So how was your day?” he says. The question so totally catching me off guard, I flop down over Ike’s chest and bust out laughing.
I’m still trying to breathe after my second explosive climax of the night. With Ike still lodged solidly inside me, his deep chuckle vibrates in my ear.
After our little, erm—encounter in the pub, and after I finished disinfecting the entire bar—something I felt could not be left until morning, we ended up at my place. Closer and therefore more convenient for round two. Something Ike had set his mind on, and I have to admit, I wasn’t all that adverse to. This time starting slow and sweet, but ending with me riding him fur
iously. As a result, I’m now a little raw and a lot tired.
A quick peek shows it’s two-thirty in the morning, and I groan. I’m getting too old for these late nights. Luckily Syd is in early tomorrow to do her own prep for the Thursday special, so I can sleep in a little longer.
“Babe ... your day?”
I push myself up so I can take in his fabulous face. The heavy brows, startling eyes, and the full lips, now partially hidden by the rapidly growing beard, like a delicious little surprise. The same lips that are right now slightly tilted in amusement.
“Right,” I say, even though the last thing I particularly want to do is to rehash my morning. Fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid, I tell myself. “Nolan came by to apologize,” I start in my breeziest voice. “He told me he’d suspected something was going on, but didn’t want to believe it. He was sorry he didn’t have my back.” I can feel Ike’s body going rigid under mine, but decide to ignore it. “He offered to talk to my mother and the others, but I told him no.”
“No?” Ike’s voice is clipped.
“No,” I confirm. “I’ve decided it’s up to them to figure out I’m telling the truth, it would be worse if they only believed me because they believe Nolan. Does that even make any sense?”
“It does,” he says immediately, much gentler this time.
The soft stroke of his large hand over my back soothes the tears that have started dripping down my face. Dammit.
“I still want to pound my fist into his face,” he admits, making me snort.
“Stand in line. I’m so angry with him. Sad too, and sick, but mostly just angry, and I don’t really know what to do with that.”
There. I’ve said it out loud. I’d talked a little with Arnie tonight when he remarked I looked sad. Not that I went into detail, I’d just mentioned that something had happened that made me confused about what I actually felt. Wasn’t sure whether I was sad or something else. Arnie had listened patiently to my confusion, and suggested it wasn’t so strange to have mixed emotions. He had brought up the idea that even love and hate, two of the strongest emotions we can experience, are often only a hair’s breadth apart and can sometimes exist at the same time. It got me thinking.