by L. B. Dunbar
We should talk about that uncertainty. Does she not feel how much I want her? My heart races. My fingers tremble. I’ll never be close enough even once I’ve entered her. I want all of her.
But I’m too wound up to talk, so I position myself and then take my time entering her. I’m not certain I’ve been this cautious, this reserved, but I want to worship her, savor every second. Every ripple. Every ridge. I want to feel her surround me, and I easily slide home, filling her. Then I still. I need a minute. With those sparkling silver eyes, intense and questioning, this moment seems like so much more. She’s important to me, and I want her to feel it. I was right when I teased her. Who said anything about sex? This isn’t sex. It has never been just sex with her.
I pull back, and her eyes roll closed. Rushing forward, I stress. “Open for me.”
Her lids lift, and she watches my face as I retreat once again. Her hands are already on my shoulder blades, but it isn’t enough. I thrust forward and groan near her ear, “Hold onto me.”
Her fingertips massage into my back and then lower to my ass, squeezing the tense globes as I set a controlled rhythm, dragging out the motions to fill her and repeat. In and out. In and out. It’s as if we’re dancing, and I never want the music to stop.
There’s a rumor going ’round…
No more rumors. Only truths. I want all of Roxanne.
“Billy,” she moans, her head lifting, her fingers digging into my ass, attempting to hold me in place as though she wants me to fill her, she wants me to stay inside her, she wants me. Her leg rises higher against my side, and I slip an arm under her knee, opening her even more to me. Still taking my time, I increase the tempo. Her body begs for more, and my body needs to up the beat.
“I love my name on your lips,” I stammer, thrusting faster. “I love your lips on my dick.”
Her breath catches, and I move faster.
My name is a soft plea to give her everything.
“I love how deep I am inside you. I love how you hold onto me.”
Billy becomes a strangled cry of relief and release as she unfolds around me. I take in her face. Lids lowered, teeth digging into her lip. I’d kiss her except she looks so fucking beautiful, and I implode, stilling all but my dick which jolts inside her, spilling into her depths.
I collapse, crushing her only momentarily before rolling to my side and dragging her with me.
“I thought you weren’t going to have sex with me with my socks on,” she teases, nuzzling into my neck.
“I didn’t have sex with you, Roxanne. I made love to you.”
And before she can speak, I lift her chin and kiss her.
+ + +
I wake to the soft murmur of her voice outside the room.
“Are you sure?” She attempts to remain quiet, and without hearing an answer to her question, I assume she’s on the phone. I reach to the floor for my boxers and slip them on under the sheets. It’s still warm from the heat of us together, but her side is cooling. I don’t like the sensation. I don’t want the night to end.
“Okay, well, tell Elaina that’s very generous of her.” I pause at the doorway to my room, looking past the stairs to Roxanne wrapped in the quilt I gave her earlier. She’s sitting on my leather couch, feet tucked up in the blanket. The rightness of her sitting there fills me again as I watch her speak.
“Okay, baby. We’ll see you tomorrow. I mean, me. I’ll come get you in the morning.” Her eyes close, and a shaky hand comes to her forehead. I step forward, and her head twists in my direction. “Night, Sadie.”
She clicks off the phone and sets it on the coffee table. “I just wanted to check in with her.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s close to midnight.”
I nod, scratching at my chin. “I guess I fell asleep,” I sheepishly admit. After kissing her and begging her to promise she wouldn’t speak, I just held her as she held me. Arms wrapped around one another, she slid to her back, and I followed, my head resting in the crook of her arm. Her bare breasts are distracting but not as distracting as her fingers massaging through my hair. I closed my eyes and gave in to her touch.
“You did, but it’s okay. You must have been tired. Anyway, your mother asked Sadie to spend the night. I guess Lucy is staying there as well, and they are enjoying some girl time. Your dad’s at the pub.”
I huff. As much as my father has always been uncertain of my decision, he financially supports it by sitting on a stool most evenings.
“Sounds good. Is that okay with you?”
Roxie shrugs. “It’s Sadie’s decision.”
“You doing okay? A lot is happening kind of quick. I knew my mother would easily cave, welcoming Sadie into the fold. It might be one reason I prolonged introducing her. I didn’t want to have to share her with all of them.” I chuckle half-heartedly. Or you, I should add. I don’t want to share Roxie yet, but I hold my tongue.
“This is what Sadie needs. A family. A big one. It’s something she’s never had, nor did Theresa or I. Speaking of, I want to discuss therapy with you.”
“Therapy for me?” I raise a brow, my arms folding over my bare chest. I’m standing in only my boxer briefs. Her eyes fixate on my pecs before shaking her head.
“No, William. Not for you. For Sadie.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” My arms fall, and I step forward, lowering to the sturdy coffee table before Roxie. She gives me one of her scathing looks.
“A lot of things have happened rather quickly,” she repeats my words, eyes narrowed.
Oh, right. “Sure. I think my mother mentioned something about a grief counselor.” Momma has good intentions, only I didn’t want to push.
Roxie still gives me this look like I’m dense.
“You know, I find it cute how you hate me sometimes,” I tease, reaching for what I suspect is her knee, tucked up under the quilt.
“I don’t hate you,” she states, sounding a little unconvincing.
“Then what do you do me?”
She laughs hesitantly. “I thought I just did do you.”
I laugh, a deep bark as I slip to my knees on the hardwood before her. I push at the coffee table with my feet, forcing it to move as it’s on wheels. My hands slide under the blanket for her ankles, and my knuckles brush the back of her thighs.
“Speaking of doing…whatcha wearing under there?”
“Do you know how creepy that sounds?” She laughs, but excitement fills her voice.
“Let me see.” I peek under the quilt to discover she’s naked other than my T-shirt, and I swallow hard. “Roxanne, is your naked ass on that quilt?”
She wiggles her hips. “And if it is?”
I tug her ankles forward, forcing her to drop her knees and dangle her legs off my couch. “Then I need to see.” Only I don’t look. I let my hands explore under the covers while she holds it pinned at her chest with a fist. My fingers quickly find her bare thighs, climb higher, and then press between them. She spreads.
“Someone’s eager,” I tease, but her eyes spear me in a warning. Touch or else. “And if I don’t touch you?” I flirt, responding to her glare.
“Then I’ll take matters into my own hands.” I freeze at her words. “Like I often do.”
“Sweet Jesus,” I mutter. “Show me.”
She gasps, but I pause, curling my palms over her thighs and spreading them wider. The top of her is still covered but her knees move the quilt, allowing me a peep show of her center. Fingers come into view near a patch of dark curls, and I watch.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispers, but I’m too mesmerized to speak as two collective fingers dip lower. Her head tilts back. Her lids close, and I can’t believe she’s showing me this either, giving this to me. Watching her touch herself feels forbidden and intimate at the same time. A gift, and I realize what she’s doing. She’s proving herself to me.
“Stop,” I command, and she does. Her head snaps up, and her fingers retract. I reach for her
wrist and draw her hand to me. Opening my lips, I suck at the digits just touching her. My free hand roams forward, brushing over the swollen clit, ripe and ready for taking me again. My finger enters her quickly, and her head falls back. Her fingers remain in my mouth, allowing me to lick them clean while I add another finger to my attention to her lower lips. Her legs spread wider, and she sighs.
“You’re so bad, Billy,” she cries, and I work faster, delving deeper.
“Yes, but you love me.”
Her breath hitches as does mine, and we both still. I should retract my fingers and my words, but I don’t. I press on, hoping to distract her, hoping to erase what I’ve put out there. She told me once she could love me. Could she still?
She comes as I wish, and I reach around her for her backside, tugging her to the edge of the cushions. I hike her leg over my shoulder and lean up over her. Open. Satiated. Willing. I shove down my boxers, stroking the naked tip over her folds as I did earlier, stiff and weeping to enter her bare. I continue to tease, moving in a way she coats my length.
“Tell me you want it and I’ll do anything you ask, but I want all the words. I want all your thoughts.” I want your heart.
“My thoughts?” she snarks, her eyes widening and then quickly lowering. “You can’t handle my thoughts, William.”
“Meaning?” I snap, comfortable sparring with her in this sexy position. I’m back in control. The rightness sensation when I made love to her was beginning to freak me out. Our eyes meet in the battle of wills I so love about her. She’s holding back from me. I sense it, but I’m also fool enough to ignore it because I want what she’s offering at this moment. Her.
“It means…just fuck me, Billy.” Her voice softens, a mix of lust and confusion. She wants me. I know she does, and perhaps it puzzles her. It certainly snuck up on me, but I’m all in now. There’s no turning away from her, no turning away from giving her what she wants.
Could she love me?
“Time’s wasting, William.” Her voice mocks my name, but she’s teasing me. Her hand lowers to her inner thigh again. She’s a vision, all glistening and skin. Her fingers move toward her center, but I swipe at her hand, batting it away.
“For me,” I cry like a spoiled child. “I want…” to love you, be with you, hold you. Guiding myself to her entrance, I allow only the tip before her hips tilt, and then I rush forward. She lets out a gasp, and I still, holding inside her. Hell yes. This is wild and reckless and a little dangerous, and everything I want from her.
I draw back and then ram into her, hammering at her as her breasts jiggle and her breath hitches in a thrusting rhythm. I turn my head to suck at her calf resting over my shoulder. This is insane and incredible, and I’m never going to get enough of her. My hands balance me over her hips. Her channel clutches at me, and the base of my spine warns me.
“Roxie. I…it’s gonna be huge.” I can’t last. Her warmth. Her wetness. Her saucy stare. I still and explode, silver stars dancing before me. My dick juts, spilling into her. I jolt again, and her eyes watch my face. A knowing smile greets me as she bites the corner of her lip.
“I…” I love you, I almost blurt.
Where is that coming from?
From the sex, William. You just had sex with this woman on your couch—this woman who stole your heart—and it’s messing with your head.
32
Wall sex woes
[Roxanne]
While Billy sleeps late, I’m awake early. Our internal clocks are set different as we discussed last night after round two. He’s a night owl, and I’m an early bird. I help myself to coffee and sit on the leather couch once again. I’m wearing his T-shirt with the quilt draped over me just like the night before. I might steal this quilt.
He trusted me last night with some heavy secrets, and I don’t take that lightly. I’ve been holding the secret of Sadie’s paternity for sixteen years. By not only accepting his honesty, I wanted him to know I trust him. I trust him to do right by Sadie and me.
I made love to you.
Does he love me?
Is that the direction we’re headed?
He’s had a lot on his plate over the years.
Rachel Hollycock liked women more than Billy Harrington? He sounded like a faithful, passionate lover to her, and she cheated on him.
I’m trying to prove myself.
He has nothing to prove. Son. Husband. Father. Man. I want the charade to stop with me. Aware of the truth, I see how much it hurts each time I mention his past indiscretions, and I promise myself to do better. Trust. It’s been a difficult thing to give in regard to Sadie, but I also need to trust in myself.
He is not his reputation.
He made love to me last night.
He is more than something casual.
“Morning,” he says, standing just inside his room, his hair rumpled. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized Georgia State sweatshirt. He’s dressed like a teenage girl, and I chuckle.
“What?”
“You’re ruining the fantasy,” I tease.
“What fantasy is that?”
“One where you walk around only in your boxer briefs.” He looks down at the sweatshirt, tugging it forward by the hem.
“Yeah, well, it’s cold, and someone keeps stealing my quilt.”
Ha. He’s been willingly giving it to me.
“I can share,” I tease, flipping over a tiny corner.
“Don’t overdo it,” he mocks, his voice a little rougher this morning. There’s a strange vibe rolling off him, but I dismiss it for early morning. The morning after. Has he not spent the night with a woman in the past? Does he typically steal off once they finish? I hate that my thoughts return to these things.
He’s here with you, I remind myself.
“And my fantasy is seeing you wear those black boots again and only your lacy underwear.”
My mouth falls open, and he rubs his hand down his front, adjusting the tent pitching in his pants. “Maybe we should have some breakfast first. How do you feel about pancakes?”
He seems confused. He doesn’t know what to do with me in his home this morning. Pancakes are his specialty with Sadie, and it touches me a little that he’s willing to share the experience with only me, but I can’t shake the weirdness coming from him. Speaking of Sadie…
“Maybe we should go get Sadie. Or maybe you should take me home and I’ll pick her up. She probably shouldn’t know I spent the night with you.”
“Why not?” he snaps.
“Because she’s only sixteen. That’s not a very good example to set, if I go out for dinner with some guy and don’t return until the morning after.”
“Some guy?” Billy barks. “Got a list of them?”
What the hell?
“No,” I snap, irritated and hurt. He already knows I haven’t dated or been with anyone for three years.
He takes a deep breath and rubs up his chin with his knuckles. “I need coffee,” he mumbles, shaking his head and stalking off for his kitchen.
Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Grumpy.
While the fantasy of him in only his boxers isn’t dead, I wouldn’t be upset with him wearing only those pajama bottoms hugging his backside, accentuating the firmness with each movement of his legs.
This gives me an idea.
+ + +
Making my way to the kitchen as quietly as I can, Billy has his back to me, flipping pancakes on the stove. He’s removed his sweatshirt but remains in the plaid bottoms. His backside is so fine it’s a crime, and I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and then lean on the opening between the dining room and the kitchen.
Billy stills, spatula in hand. “Look,” he starts without turning to me. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just crabby when it’s so early, and I haven’t had any cof—”
His words halt as he turns to face me. Spatula still in hand, raised slightly and outward. He looks like a hot pastry chef minus the pastries.
“Roxie,” he breat
hes.
“Was this the fantasy?” I stand before him in the knee-high boots and his tee. My fingers twist in the cotton material, not feeling nearly as brave as I did a moment ago. He gulps, eyes wide on me. “I just wanted one more time,” I whisper. One more time before we need to go back to thinking about Sadie and her future and what that means for both of us.
His eyes appraise me until he squints. “Whatcha got under there?”
I shake my head once.
Exhaling, he sets the spatula on the island and turns off the stove. The look in his eyes almost frightens me. It’s so direct and intense and focused. It matches my feelings for him. Direct. Intense. Focused. I want us to continue like we did last night. This relationship has grown more than casual and crossed the line to complicated.
For some reason, I twist and walk quickly away from him, despite the high-heeled boots and the lack of underwear. Billy chases, and I squeal. He easily catches up to me just inside his bedroom and pins me to the wall.
“You tease,” he groans at my ear, flattening my chest to the plaster. Outlined through the thinness of his pajama pants, he protrudes into my backside, barely covered by the length of his T-shirt. His hand slips over the curve of my ass and then under. He continues forward until two fingers impale me. I cry out, and he stills.
“Is this what you want?”
I want you. The words remain in my throat. My hand slapping on the wall is my only response. I want everything from him. This is more than his body and casual sex. I want his thoughts. His heart. His soul.
I made love to you.
But does he love me?
Or is he using pretty words to dress up what we are doing?
“Fuck, Roxie. Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I don’t. I only know what he’s doing to me. He’s marking himself on my heart, and I won’t be able to walk away easily. I can’t stay in the casual zone. I won’t be able to just stay friends, a united front before Sadie, if this all goes sour.
I haven’t answered him, his fingers distracting me as they slide back and forth where I’m wet and ready for him. Behind me, he struggles to lower his pajama pants with one hand. He isn’t wearing boxer briefs underneath the flannel. His foot kicks at my heels, forcing me to spread my feet.