“Like that, darlin’?” I whisper to her neck, sucking at her skin while my finger strokes in and out of her wet heat.
“I like everything you do to me,” she says breathlessly, and I grin, recalling our first time. She let me do so much to her that morning, and I’m ready for a repeat. Adding a second finger to the first, she cries out at the stretch, taking me deeper. Her head tips upward, and her eyes seek mine.
“I like you best like this,” she says, and my grin twists to a crooked curl.
“I like you best like this.” My mouth covers hers again for another rough kiss before my thumb finds the trigger spot to push her over the edge.
“Chester,” she whispers, pulling back but staring directly into my eyes. “I want you inside me again.”
“Coming soon, darlin’. Going to finish this first.” My fingers move faster, pleasuring deeper, and she quickly breaks, opening her mouth but holding back the cry since we are in her office. As she settles, I work my buckle and zipper with one hand, shoving my pants down my hips enough to set me free. Then I’m hiking up her skirt and scooting her to the edge of the desk. Her arm slips around my neck, and I line up with her entrance.
“Condom,” she states, breathless and desperate.
“I’m a little old to carry them in my wallet,” I retort, returning my mouth to her neck and holding myself just outside her, pressing the tip through her sensitive folds ready to accept me into her.
“Top drawer, right-hand side.”
I freeze.
I pull back to look at her. She’s all sex kitten with half-mast eyes and puffy lips, but I’m wondering how often she does this if she keeps a box of condoms in her desk. I thought sex was a rarity for her. Maybe Pretty Boy gets her off after all.
Still breathing heavily, her body stills as well. Her legs dangle off the desk on either side of mine, and her eyes give me that look—the one where she’s concerned she’ll lose me, the one where she’s afraid I’ll pull back. And I can’t seem to help my retreat because I need to know what this is all about.
“This was my husband’s old desk. They were his.”
“How old are they?”
“Over seven years,” she says, her voice cooling a bit as her hand slips from my shoulder to my chest. Her palm flattens against my heaving pecs, and I’m certain she can feel the hammering under my skin.
“And you still have them?” I snort as if it isn’t an issue, but it kind of is to me.
“I was hoping one day I’d finally get to use them.”
What? “What?”
“Never mind,” she says, pushing at me to step back, but I’m not letting this go. What does she mean she’d finally get to use her own husband’s condoms?
“Explain this to me,” I say, releasing my phallic part and tugging up one side of my pants as I sense us both shutting down a bit. My balls are going to ache bad if I don’t get inside her, but I have to hear this.
“I . . . I can’t.” Avoiding looking at me, she tugs at her skirt to lower it and then fumbles with her blouse, realizing a button is missing. Clutching at the loose material with a fist, she slips off the desk and shimmies her hips. One-handed, she smooths down the remainder of her skirt.
“Scotia, what do you mean?” This isn’t making any sense. How did she not use the condoms with her husband? Only a brief glance meets my eyes, and I see the security wall begin to slide around her.
Sighing, she walks around the desk, leaving me to fumble with my pants, righting my zipper and buckling my belt while I’m still mostly hard behind it. I gaze back at her, and it’s as if I see the armor curling around her and locking into place like a giant shield.
“Mr. Chesterfield, this is old news. My husband was killed in a case of mistaken identity exiting a motel room after spending time with his lover.”
“Your husband had an affair?” The words insensitively tumble forward before I can catch them, but I stare at her, taking in her body. She’s in excellent shape with an amazing figure. Great tits. Perfect ass. Who cheats on that? Unless he couldn’t take her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t sweet with him in the bedroom like she’s been with me. Was she verbally rough on him? Did she school him? Scold him? Scowl like she’s doing at me right now?
“Yes, thank you for so eloquently rewording it. He had an affair.” Her voice turns haughty like it can, and the final link of armor slams into place. She’s closed herself in and not letting me through the barrier.
“Don’t do that,” I demand.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t lock up like that.”
“There’s no reason to let you in.” She tips her head, opening a drawer of her desk. To my surprise, she pulls out the old box of condoms and sets them before me. “Perhaps you’re right. I shouldn’t have kept these. He had a small penis, and they’d never fit yours.”
I choke out a bitter laugh. She can’t be serious. Staring at her, I wonder who the hell she is and what the hell she’s hiding inside. Where did the vibrant woman of minutes ago disappear to? A better question is, why?
“What if I come back with my own?” I snark, hoping to restore a little humor to this awkward situation. Her eyes leap up to mine.
“Mr. Chesterfield, we both know you won’t be back in my office. What we had was one time.”
“What about this?” I point at the disarray on her desk. My heart starts to beat triple time again. This cannot be happening.
“This was a—”
“Don’t,” I growl, holding up a hand. I’ve heard the words before, and bile stirs in the pit of my belly. “Don’t need to tell me twice.”
You and I were never going to be, Chester. It was a mistake to think you could come back for me.
Turning for the door, I see myself out, passing Pretty Boy on the way to the front door and wondering if maybe he could fill out those condoms for the phallus princess.
Maybe has a small penis like her small heart.
Chapter 9
Halloween Surprises
[Scotia]
“Happy Halloween,” I call out to the boys when I enter the Harper House after my week banishment. I’m a few days early for Halloween, but I’ve brought each of the boys a treat in a plastic orange jack-o’-lantern.
“You spoil them,” Maura says, greeting me with a smile and taking a few buckets from my hands.
“Every child deserves to be spoiled.” I believe that. I spoiled my own child, maybe a little too much, but she was the only one I had when I’d hoped to have many. I miss my Darlene, but she’s busy following in her father’s doctor-footsteps, saving the world one patient at a time as Karl did. A Simmons through and through, there’s almost no trace of me in my grown daughter.
“Well, the boys will love this,” Maura says as I follow her into the great room where they play. It’s a beautiful room with two-story windows that overlook the mountain-scape, and on a sunny day, it’s a glorious space to be in.
“I’ve missed them,” I mutter. Maura catches my eye, knowing why I haven’t been present. She must also know that Chester apologized, although I don’t know if he included the fine details of his apology—an orgasm on my desk. Of course, there could have been more on that ancient piece of furniture, left over from my husband’s years as a prominent pediatrician, if I hadn’t killed the moment by mentioning the condom box.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me Chester Chesterfield was the benefactor of this place?” I ask Maura, who levels her eyes at me.
“Would it have made a difference?”
I consider my response carefully. “No, but it still would have been nice not to be blindsided by him.”
“I think he’s the one a little blind lately.” She winks at me and then calls out, “Boys, we have a visitor!” Her voice carries in the vaulted ceiling of the room. We both hear the scampering of feet, and for a second, I worry they won’t be as excited to see me as I am to see them.
“Mrs. Pickle!” Hunter cries out, and Louie almost plows him down, tryin
g to get to me first. I’m circled in an embrace at my waist, which nearly knocks me over, but Maura catches me from behind.
“You’re back,” Louie says, his sweet voice coming to me as he lifts his head but doesn’t release his arms from around me.
“Yes, I am.” I smile down at him. This child stole my heart the first moment I met him almost a year ago. Their story is so tragic, yet they’ve been given everything. They want for nothing, except their parents, I suppose. Maura is the only parent most of these boys have known to give them love, and Chester fits the bill as well.
“How’s Malik?” I ask Maura, still stroking my hand over Louie’s hair. I had to answer a strict questionnaire, pass sexual predator training (meaning I’m not one), and pass child protective services training (meaning I recognize signs of abuse) all to become a volunteer at this home. Maura keeps tight records on those who pass through the doors of Harper House. One thing I’d been told in my training was to withhold physical contact, but Maura assured me an occasional hug or an affectionate touch did not make me a sexual deviant or warrant pedophile concerns. I hope to never tell her how I know all about pedophile stigma and the types of people mislabeled with it.
“He’s missed you,” Maura says, her eyes drifting to the chair where I sat when Chester kicked me out. Malik sits behind it, staring out the large window. “He goes there every day after his schooling.”
There still isn’t any word on who Malik is or where he’s from. He seems to have appeared from nowhere, and he’s frightened of something. As Maura’s a registered homeschool instructor, she doesn’t send him to school. She worried about emotional or behavioral issues connected with putting him in school temporarily. Malik’s caseworker agreed with the homeschool option until more is known about him, as long as he proves he’s learning, which he does very efficiently and eagerly. He’s bright, following Maura’s instructions and more, but he still doesn’t speak to anyone, not even the other boys.
I lean forward to press a kiss to the top of Louie’s head and hand him a pumpkin bucket. “For Halloween, a few days early,” I tell him. Maura helps me distribute the remainder of the treat bags, and then I lower myself beside Malik.
“Malik, precious.” I speak softly to him, and he turns to me, eyes widening. Offering him the biggest, most genuine smile in return, I say, “I have something for you.”
Holding out the container, I watch him glance at the gift. His dark eyes are nearly saucers.
“It’s okay. You can take it.” The package holds more candy than a sweet store, a T-shirt with a pickle carved like a jack-o’-lantern and the words: Keeping it in the Family because cucumbers are related to the gourd family of which pumpkins are a member. We sell another shirt with a pickle in sunglasses and his thumb up, saying: Gherkin It, but that didn’t seem appropriate for a child. There’s also a book inside every bucket, one I specifically picked for each child with the help of Naomi’s recommendations. As a local librarian, she’s well versed in children’s reading interests.
“How have you been?” I ask him, but his response is only a shrug. “Maura says you’re doing well with your schoolwork.”
Malik’s big eyes examine each item in the bucket, lovingly holding them up before setting each aside. He isn’t looking at me, but instead fighting a grin at the T-shirt I’ve given him. Next, he reaches for the book, Artemis Fowl.
“I hope you like it,” I say as his hand skims down the front cover, and he flips it to the back. “It’s yours to keep.”
His head pops up, and he stares at me, his eyes questioning mine. I have my own set of inquiries. Who are you, precious boy? Where did you come from? Did somebody hurt you? Because I can’t imagine running away from anywhere unless you were hurt in some manner. Deputy Fredrick Boone has been out to investigate, but as Malik wouldn’t go to him, Maura had to snap a picture of Malik from her phone and share the image so the authorities could conduct their search. Malik’s case is a reverse situation. A child has been found, but we don’t know where he’s lost from.
“Should we read it together?” I offer, and Malik flips his position so he can sit with his back to the windows. I scoot myself to the wall, keeping my legs bent and angled awkwardly to my side because of my skirt. I open the book.
“Chapter one,” I begin when a loud voice immediately interrupts us.
“It looks like Halloween puked in here,” Chester says, scanning the room littered with boys, candy wrappers, and unpacked plastic pumpkins.
“Mrs. Pickle is back,” Louie excitedly tells his uncle.
“She brought me my own copy of The Red Pyramid,” Dewey announces him.
Hunter is already wearing his T-shirt over his other clothing along with a pair of sunglasses with pickle-shaped lenses. “How do I look?” he asks.
“Pickle-icious,” Campbell answers, and the boys break into laughter. Malik softly grins next to me and curls against my arm, tilting his head as if he can hide behind my small bicep. Chester meets my eyes and stiffly nods.
“Mrs. Pickle,” he states, and I dip my chin to him in return. So this is how it will be? Formal instead of familiar? Of course, I didn’t expect anything else. Expectation is the work of the devil. When you expect something, you are sure to be disappointed. That’s been a motto all my life. I’ve worked for all I have—Darlene and my business. I worked with Karl, but not in the way people would think. The devotion to our marriage took that word to a level different from an average couple.
Chester busies himself with the other boys, and I admire how he treats them as equals. I don’t know the full story, other than three are siblings. Maura is a mother figure to all the boys, but the three Maverik children do not call her mom.
“They had their own mother. He doesn’t want them to forget her,” Maura once told me, never offering me their mother’s name or the private patron to this facility. This large house is really more a private home with a collection of loving people living here, but it is also state-certified as a licensed foster home. I don’t understand all the particulars, but it never mattered. I’d been searching for a place to volunteer in child-related services when Maura found me through Naomi.
Chester lowers his large body to the floor, sitting eye level with the boys and listening to their exploits. Watching him, I see him as a different person once again. He’s been Chester the successful businessman, and Big Poppy the gruff biker, but this new side is another contrast. Uncle Chet is compassionate and caring toward his nephews. He’s watching them, interested in what they are saying, and adding his own thoughts to their conversations. He isn’t just present; he’s involved. When he catches me observing him, I lower my head once more.
My attention returns to Malik. “It’s okay, precious. Remember I told you he is a good man.” I don’t actually know how good Chester has been to the boys, but I have a sense Uncle Chet adds another dimension to a complex and kind human being adored by these children. “You don’t need to fear him,” I tell the boy huddling at my elbow. Malik meets my eyes and nods. He taps the book, so I begin reading.
Despite soulful eyes pressing on me from across the room, I don’t look up. Instead, I concentrate as best I can on the adventures within the story in my hands.
“Chet, it’s time for dinner,” Savannah eventually announces, and I realize I’ve lost track of time. My head lifts to the dark windows, and I curse inside as I hate driving down these mountain switchbacks at night. My older eyes trick me. Smiling down at Malik, I direct him to wash up as requested and notice Chester watching the young woman standing at the edge of the room. Savannah is some sort of kitchen help, mainly with cooking support, as Maura is a busy housemother of five, now six, boys.
I note how she addressed Chester moments ago. Chet. Only people closest to me call me Chet.
Just how close are Savannah and Chet?
Savannah is a pretty thing, possibly in her early thirties, quiet and sweet, and holding the interest of one man in this house. Chester can’t take his eyes off her, and
Hugh says something to his uncle. The teenager laughs, and Chester’s eyes find mine across the room. Then he reaches out for Hugh’s ankle as the teen walks away. The boy trips to the floor, and Uncle Chet holds him in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles in the boy’s hair. Ruckus ensues.
Louie and Hunter run to the rescue of the eldest house member while Campbell and Dewey can’t be bothered. Savannah observes all this with a tiny smile on her lips, and I wonder if she’s just as intrigued by the man wrestling with the boys on the floor. They’d make a stunning couple, even though he’s more than a decade older than her. Both have dark hair and deep-set eyes with tall statures. She’s thin to his solid frame. My imagination drifts to her under him, similar to how he was once over me.
I don’t like that image.
“Mrs. Pickle, stay for dinner?” Savannah addresses me, although both adult women know my real name. I roll to my hands, positioned on all fours, and then use the edge of the chair partially hiding me to help me stand.
“Oh, I best be going,” I say. I give another hesitant glance to the darkness beyond the window. Why did I stay so long tonight?
“We have plenty,” she says, pointing over her shoulder toward the dining room.
“She said she needed to go,” Chester interjects, flipping a final child tenderly over his shoulder and righting him to his feet. The loving uncle swats at Louie’s backside, who runs off to wash his hands. Hugh remains on the floor, catching his breath with his hair standing on end.
“Why can’t she stay, Uncle Chet?” Hugh interjects, becoming my defender as he did the day I was kicked out.
“She said she had to go,” Chester counters again, scrambling my thoughts. I didn’t say that, not exactly, and his dismissal of me encourages me to counterattack.
“On second thought, I’d love to stay for supper.”
Chapter 10
A Slice of Honesty
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 8