by Jordyn White
I settle on the carpet across from him, and watch my boy. He’s full of pent-up tension. Not for the first time, I wonder how much of it is normal kid stuff and how much is due to the fact that in his little life, it’s been one upheaval after another. I’ve tried to give him as much stability and routine as I can, but I haven’t been able to protect either one of us from the storm his mother has been. I couldn’t do it when we were married, and I haven’t been able to do it since our divorce.
Soon, I tell myself for the hundredth time. Hopefully that will change soon.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here on this carpet wondering yet again how to handle him. He’s so little, we can’t exactly talk it out as much as I’d like, and anyway, we’ve had plenty of conversations designed to try to help him cope better. But sometimes, I think there’s just so much talking we can do. It doesn’t really fix anything, in the end. Sometimes, I think he needs to brood and I need to let him.
At least, I think that’s what I should do. More often than not, I have no idea.
Max, grabs a little purple Hot Wheels car lying nearby, and puts it in front of me. “You be this car, Daddy. Let’s race.”
“I don’t know if my little car can beat your big one,” I say teasing, knowing that’s the point.
He nods. “Big cars win.”
I go up on my knees, holding the car in place on the carpet. “Maybe you should give me a head start.”
“No, Daddy.” He puts his little hand on my arm, as if to stop me. “You wait.”
“Are you sure? I’m so small. I think I need a head start.”
“No, no.” He scoots next to me, holding his car in place, several inches ahead of my own. “You have to wait until I say go.”
“All right.”
“One...” he says, dragging it out. “Two...” His truck scoots forward a quarter of an inch. He waits for what feels like an eternity. “Three...”
“Go!” I push my car forward slightly, and he squeals, bolting forward on all fours and pushing his truck as fast as he can.
I laugh and follow, just close enough behind to get him to really hustle. He reaches some imaginary line and says, “I win!”
“Good job.”
“You cheated.”
I laugh. “No, I didn’t.”
I get to my feet and hold out my hand, hoping he’s ready and will follow my lead without any further prompting. He gets to his feet and takes it, then raises his other arm, asking to be picked up.
Another sign that it’s been a rough day for him. I pick him up and he sinks onto my chest and shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around my neck. I hold him firmly, giving him a minute. Once he seems to relax a bit, I squeeze tighter, shaking him playfully and growling like a bear.
He laughs and squirms out of my arms, running toward the door on his own. I follow, relieved.
Later, when Max is settled in his room playing and I’ve started a pot of noodles, I send a text to Lizzy.
Me: Is Camillo the Great there yet? Has she given her room the white glove treatment?
I set my phone on the counter and stir the meat mixture on the stove, the faint aroma of diced onion in the air. I can get away with onions in the meat as long as they’re tiny and not too many, otherwise Max picks them out.
My phone dings and my heartbeat seems to ding right along with it. I pick it up and read the message.
Lizzy: No white glove treatment, thank god. She just checked in a few minutes ago. She has a new assistant, poor girl.
I smile, turning and leaning back against the counter, letting the meat simmer while I type.
Me: I hope she’s not fussy about the condition of her bed.
Lizzy: Ha ha. With Katherine for a boss, that’s the least of her worries. She’ll get a break when we go to dinner though. Katherine wants Commoners tonight. Score.
Me: Why score?
Lizzy: I’ve been craving chef’s salmon. And wine. And Connor tells me there’s a new dessert on the menu. Italian Butternut Cream Cake. Drool.
Me: Not to make you jealous but that’s not as exciting as the goulash I’m making. Stellar stuff.
Lizzy: I’ll bet. I wish I could have a taste.
Me: Me too. I resist the urge to tell her to come on over after dinner. I don’t know that I want to look as eager as I am. Actually, I just wish I could have a taste of you.
Lizzy: If you play your cards right.
Me: My cards are out of commission until Max goes to bed at eight-thirty.
There’s a pause long enough to prompt me to put down my phone and tend to the items on the stove. I mix the simmering meat mixture, then glance at my phone. The screen is dark. I stir the noodles, tapping the wooden handle on the side of the pot a couple times before setting the spoon back on the counter. My phone dings. I pick it up immediately.
Lizzy: And what time do you go to bed?
My heart starts pounding thickly.
Me: That depends. If I’m talking to you, one o’clock sounds about right. If not, I get bored and go to bed at a more reasonable hour
Lizzy: I’d hate for you to get bored.
My heart’s really pounding now. She might be suggesting we talk on the phone later, but I’m going out on a limb.
Me: You could come over after Max goes to bed and keep me entertained.
So much for not looking too eager. I realize our first date was two days ago, but the thought of this day ending without holding her in my arms again is getting to be too much.
Even though she replies right away, the time between when I sent that text and when she answers feels like much longer.
Lizzy: What do you know? Your cards aren’t out of commission after all.
I exhale in relief, then smile, my body lighting up in anticipation of seeing her tonight.
Me: I’ll text you when he’s asleep?
Lizzy: Sounds perfect. We’re off to dinner now. See you later.
Me: I look forward to it.
Why is it when you really want your kids to go to sleep, that’s when they do anything but? It’s like they know.
I do manage to get Max bathed and to bed on time, after which he comes back out no fewer than five times over the next forty-five minutes. He needs a drink. He needs to go to the bathroom. He needs another drink. He wants another story. I end up reading him his bedtime story again (The Foot Book, which I know by heart I’ve read it so many times) if he promises to stay in his bed.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s finally asleep. I’ve been keeping Lizzy apprised of the situation as it went along, but now that it’s over, I call instead of text. “I love my son,” I say when she answers, “but sometimes I love him best when he’s sleeping.”
She laughs. “You sound worn out.”
“Do I? Parental exhaustion is sort of a given. You stop noticing after age two months or so.” She laughs again. I might have father fatigue, but that laugh of hers is doing wonders for it. “You still up for coming over?”
“Are you still up for having me?”
“Oh yes.”
“You’re not sick of me yet? You don’t need a break?”
“I’ve had a break. It’s been long enough.”
I swear to God I’m usually more smooth than this.
“It’s been long enough for me, too,” she says, her voice low and inviting. Smooth as pudding. “I’m on my way.”
“Good. Because I have big plans to torment you.”
She lets out a soft breath. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Carmichael.”
Chapter 22
Brett
When I hear Lizzy’s car pull into the driveway, I open the front door and lean on the frame, waiting for her. Light from the room behind me spills onto the outer entryway, then fades gently into the night sky. She comes around the corner of the garage in jeans, calf-high suede boots, a black tank top, and a soft, flowing cardigan the exact same shade as her boots. She spots me and gives a warm smile as she comes up the darkened walk.
“Well, look at you,
” she says. “Awake and everything.”
“You’re here just in time for the nap.” I go forward to meet her, and she folds into my arms as naturally as breathing. God, she feels good.
“You don’t look quite in the mood for sleeping.” She wraps her arms around my waist and looks up at me.
“Well, something involving a bed, anyway.”
She smiles and I lean down and kiss that smile, lingering and breathing her in. My hands spread wide on her back as I hold her against me. Maybe I should keep this kiss brief and bring this poor girl inside, but I can’t seem to stop myself from drinking deep. She’s eager too. Her embrace around my waist tightens, and she presses herself against me. I’m already growing, wanting to take her. I tell myself not to pounce on her right away, that I should at least invite her in. Get her a drink. Try not to treat this like a meaningless booty call.
But damn she tastes so good.
I manage to pull my lips away, but the rest of me stays close. “I’m glad you came,” I say quietly.
“Me too.”
I give her another kiss, then turn and lead her into the house, my arm around her. Once inside, she looks around, still smiling. There’s a great room—with a large, sectional sitting area that’s comfortable as hell—that flows into the open kitchen and breakfast nook. Opposite the kitchen, a hall leads to Max’s room and my study to the right, and the master to the left. It’s a nice enough place—nothing compared to my old house or, I realize, hers—but there’s plenty of room in the backyard for my grill and for Max to play. We even had room to bring the trampoline over from the old house.
I tidied up before Lizzy got here, but it looks well lived in. One corner of the great room is Max’s play space, with a couple beanbags, one shelf with books and another with fabric drawers filled with toys. There’s also a wooden train table that looks presentable at the moment, but is frequently in disarray when Max is up and active. Stuck to the refrigerator are a few of Max’s drawings from preschool.
Turns out, my place is not exactly a chick magnet, which is something I’ve literally never thought about until this moment as I’m standing next to Lizzy, who’s taking it all in.
“So this is the bachelor pad,” she says smiling. Her arm is still around my waist, and her hand is slowly rubbing up and down my back. She’s keeping me more than simmering. I’d still love to throw her down on the couch right now and have my way with her. Frankly, I’m not sure I won’t.
“Yep.” I pull her around so I can hold her. “Complete with Legos, plastic lightsabers, and Hot Wheels.” She smiles up at me, squeezing around my waist and pressing against me. “Also, I’m fully stocked on chicken nuggets.”
She laughs.
“And beer.”
“Sounds like you have everything you need.” She runs her hand down my side and to my waist.
Not quite, I think, lowering my lips to hers. She comes up on tiptoe to meet me, linking one arm around my neck and pressing her chest against me. That isn’t the only place she’s pressing against me. She’s getting the full picture of my erect cock, I can tell you.
I have the passing thought that I should at least offer her a beer. A drink of some sort? Invite her to sit down and chat. But that thought passes through and keeps right on going. Instead I taste her bottom lip, and take her fully as she opens to me.
She lets out a low whimper and my dick surges harder in response. I run my hand up the inside of her shirt, along the soft, smooth skin of her stomach, and to the full cup of her breast. My thumb rubs over the hard nub at her peak, then I squeeze gently.
She breaks our kiss, exhaling hotly, and glancing toward the hall before coming back and kissing me again. Her hands rub along my back and down to my ass. She squeezes hard, the intensity of her kiss increasing as our tongues taste each other eagerly.
I have one hand on her other breast, which is bare and exposed under her shirt since I’ve pulled back the lacy fabric of her bra. My other hand is on her firm ass, pulling her against me, sharp peaks of pleasure pulsing in my cock where we touch.
She moans again, and again breaks our kiss long enough to glance toward the hall. I follow her gaze—the hallway is empty, as I knew it would be—and grin at her, amused.
“I don’t want your son to catch us,” she whispers.
“Don’t worry.” I get a glimpse of the creamy skin of her exposed neck and dip down so I can have a taste. “Once he’s out, he’s dead to the world.”
I take her warm skin gently into my mouth, and her body loosens in my arms. Her head tilts, giving me more room. I work my way lower on her neck, savoring her with greedy kisses, and she exhales heavily. Her hand comes around to stroke the length of my cock.
Now it’s my turn to moan. Also, my turn to worry about the hall. Chances of Max getting up once he’s asleep are slim, but aside from not being ready for him to meet someone I’m dating, she’s right. I definitely don’t want him to find us like this.
I pull back slightly, take her face in my hands and give her a kiss designed to hold her for a few minutes. I take her hand and she follows willingly as I start leading her toward my bedroom. “Just in case.”
“Yes,” she says, her green eyes dark with wanting. “Good thinking.”
I lead her down the hall, past the collage of family photos. “Or I could get you a drink? We could talk first?”
I’m teasing though. I not only see the heat in her eyes, I feel it coming off her body. She doesn’t want to wait any more than I do.
She gives me a wry look. “That would be tormenting me.”
“Which would be pretty good motivation.” I open the bedroom door and bring her into the mostly dark room, not bothering to turn on the light. The curtains are open and there’s enough moonlight to make do. “But I have a different kind of torment in mind.”
I shut the door and lock it, to be safe, then take her face in my hands once more. That’s the only tender thing about what I’m doing to her, though. I’m kissing her like it’s a preview of what’s to come, and she’s kissing me right back, clearly wanting it.
She’s whimpering more frequently, running her hands over my back, chest, ass, cock. My hands are claiming her too. Soon we’re shedding clothes—our jeans, shirts, and underwear all falling to the floor—then I pull her naked body against mine, my cock brushing against the soft skin above her pelvis.
I back her two steps toward the bed, then pick her up, wrap her thighs around me, and carry her the rest of the way. I set her on the edge of the bed, leaning her back and coming on top of her, but my feet are still on the floor.
And now I’m free to explore her body the way I’ve been wanting to. I eagerly taste her neck, collarbone, and shoulder. I move to her breasts, sucking and caressing them. Practically worshipping them. They’re so perfect, and her slight, dark peaks so inviting, that I could make love to them all night if my dick wasn’t demanding its turn with her.
I do linger though, caressing her stomach and thighs in between squeezing her breasts, running my tongue around her hard nipples and bringing her into my mouth fully.
She’s breathing hard, her hands on my shoulders and my back and in my hair, her pelvis rocking up against me. Her hot pants are punctuated with little whimpers and moans. She wraps her legs tight around my waist, rotating her hips so the soft, wet warmth of her folds presses against my stomach.
My cock, already so hard, surges more, demanding her. But I have to taste that silky wetness of hers. I have to bring her velvety petals into my mouth. I slide down, sucking on her stomach first here, then there, lower and lower.
She moans again softly. “Brett.”
My heart pounds harder at the sound of my name on her lips. I want to come inside her, feel her wrap around my cock, but her pink folds are right under me now and I want them too. I give a soft swipe on the outer lip on one side, then the other, deeply breathing in her scent.
Her thighs open wider and she unfolds beneath me. She’s glistening with moisture,
a slight pool of it at her entrance. I lap it up, reveling in her sweet taste. She blows out a long, hard breath. I trace my tongue up her central folds and to the hard little bud at the top.
She gasps and I peek up at her as her back arches off the bed, her head thrown back. Her beautiful breasts are soft in the moonlight, calling to me. I reach for one, squeezing gently as I slide the flat of my tongue back and forth over her little bud. It swells against me, growing slightly bigger and harder.
I return to her entrance, taking more of the moisture she’s producing at a steady pace. Oh god, the thought of pushing into her tight wetness gets my cock throbbing even harder. As do her moans as I lick up to her clit once more. I work my tongue over it, giving it a slight suck in-between swipes, and feeling her grow and throb against me.
I bring one hand closer to her warm entrance, finding it with two fingertips before sliding in. Her hands suddenly grip the back of my head and she thrusts up toward me.
“Oh god,” she whispers tightly. “Fuck.”
Mmm-hmmmm.
My cock pulses hard and I’m surrounded by the eroticism of her scent and her taste and her moans and her movements. I pump my fingers in her tight channel and work her stiff bud as she pushes down on my head, wanting me harder against her. Following her lead, I increase the pressure, then curl my fingers slightly against her inner wall.
She gasps and tightens around my fingers, spreading yet wider.
“Yes,” she whispers, as I slide my wet tongue over her harder and faster, fingers curling again.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
She curls in hard, her breath halting, her trembling thighs tightening.
There you go, baby. Come on.
Then she does. She lets out one gasp after another as she tightens over and over again. I throw my forearm over her hips, hanging on and working her hard as she bucks against me. Fuck, she’s so hot I almost can’t handle it.
She claws at my arm and head desperately, gasping for breath. Still I keep going. My cock is so hard it hurts. Deliciously hurts. I draw it out as much as I can, rather congratulating myself (if you must know) for how long she goes on.