by Selena Kitt
But the thought was fleeting because Rob was taking her now, giving into his own lust, taking her with him on a one-way ride to ecstasy. Leah cried out when her head hit the headboard, putting her other hand above her head to keep herself from sliding further up, her other too busy between her legs to move it, but Rob didn’t notice.
“Oh yeah,” he groaned, and she felt him swelling inside of her, just when she thought he had filled her completely, there was more. Leah’s body stiffened, her toes curling into the small of his back, calling out his name, screaming it as she came, feeling him exploding like a rocket burst into space, leaving trails of white streams in its wake.
Leah blushed and buried her face in the pillow when she remembered how loud she’d been, how the headboard and banged and shuddered. Rob just laughed, gathering her up and kissing the top of her head.
“They really should nail these things to the wall,” she mused, pressing her hand against it, making it rock. “See? Too loud!”
Rob chuckled. “I’ll leave a note on the suggestion box when we leave.”
They both drifted for a while, exhausted from not only the wedding, but from the tension and strain of the court case coming up.
“We will be back in time for court, won’t we?” Leah asked for the hundredth time at least, but Rob reassured her again anyway that yes, they would be home on a Friday night and the court date wasn’t until Monday. They’d make it back, even if the flight was delayed or cancelled.
“I want to look for a house,” Leah said, fingers trailing over Rob’s chest hair.
“A house?” He didn’t even open his eyes.
“I want to move out of the warehouse,” she said, leaning up on her elbow. “I want a real house with walls and rooms and a deck and a backyard and a fence and a dog and a nursery for Grace…”
“Wait…” Now his eyes were open. “A dog?”
“If you buy a house, you have to buy a dog. I’m pretty sure there’s a law.”
He smirked. “And where do you want to buy this house?”
“I was thinking… New York.”
“New York!”
“Well, that’s where the School of American Ballet is,” she reminded him. “And if I get in, it would be a long commute from Detroit. I mean, you can work anywhere. And Erica will probably end up at a school out east anyway. We’d all be closer.”
“New York…” He considered it, staring at the ceiling for a while. Then he smiled, shrugged, and said, “Okay. New York it is.”
Leah squealed. “You mean it?”
“I would move to the ends of the earth to be with you, Mrs. Nolan.” He pulled her closer and kissed her smiling mouth.
“Well, luckily, we don’t have to go that far.” She laughed. “Want to order room service? I’m starving.”
“Yes, Dear.”
She giggled. “Spoken like a good husband.”
“I’m learning.”
Chapter Ten
Erica fell face-down on her bed and slept until noon the day following the wedding, waking up with a champagne headache and cotton in her mouth to the sound of nothing. Complete silence. Solie, who still had that hacking cough, had said she would come by today, had promised Mr. Nolan she would check in and make sure Erica didn’t burn the place down trying to cook for herself, a comment which had elicited a tongue stuck out in his direction from his daughter.
She stumbled out to the kitchen in her bra and panties—she had managed to hang her bridesmaid dress and take off her garters and stockings, but that was it, before she’d passed out, so exhausted she couldn’t see straight. Putting together a wedding in a week—including personally calling everyone on the invitation list, because she wasn’t sure, even though many were sent by courier, that they would all arrive in time—had completely wiped her out.
Coffee was the only thing on her mind. She put the percolator on, smiling as she remembered Clay driving her home the night before. She had asked him to stay over—“No one will be home,” she reminded him—but he said his mother would have a heart attack. It was probably best anyway, because she would have done nothing but snore in his ear all night, and she didn’t want to spoil her feminine magic and mystery this early in the relationship.
Relationship.
Yes, she had to admit she was in one. She didn’t know, exactly, how she felt about that. Her own emotions, everything in her life, actually, had taken a backseat to the crazy wedding planning. She had run around like a mad woman setting things up, plunking down her father’s American Express card to pay for it all. She didn’t even want to think about the bill he was going to get in the mail next month and she hoped he’d really meant it when he handed it to her and said, “The sky’s the limit. Just make it happen.”
And she had.
The day had been the magical, fairy tale wedding Leah had wanted and deserved. Erica was proud of her accomplishment, even if she was still feeling her way around this new relationship of “twin” to the girl who had been her best friend since—forever. And she had definitely not gotten her sea legs when it came to accepting Patty Wendt as her mother, although they had sat in the loft for an hour, talking about it.
She had just been getting used to the idea of being adopted when that bomb had been dropped on her. And Father Michael’s revelations had been like the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Erica hadn’t told anyone that little secret, not yet. She wanted Leah and her dad—she still thought of him that way, and probably always would—to have a good time on their honeymoon and giving either of them any more drama or heartache would just be cruel, under the circumstances.
The doorbell rang just as Erica was pouring herself a cup of coffee and she groaned, taking her cup with her to the door, sure it was Solie. She probably forgot her key. Erica yanked the door open, standing there in her bra and panties, hip cocked and mouth firing off without thinking.
“I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself, you kn—ohhhhhhboy.”
“Hi.” Clay grinned, gaze sweeping her nearly naked form. “Wow, I need to knock on your door more often.”
“Crap. Get in here.” Erica stepped out of the line of sight, letting him in and shutting the door behind. “I thought you were Solie. What are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you too. Missed you at church.” He was still staring, mostly at her cleavage, and he held up the brown bag in his hand. “I brought donuts. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re very fetching in your underwear?”
She smirked, sipping her coffee. “Are you a dog? Do you want to go fetch?”
“Woof.” His eyes met hers. “Can I come in or are we just going to stand here in the hallway?”
“My dad said I shouldn’t let strange boys in the house,” she teased, very aware of the way her hips swayed as she walked the length of the hallway.
“Am I strange?”
“The strangest.”
“Wow, this is your room huh?” He followed her in, looking around as she grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor. “Awww, no, don’t get dressed on my account.”
“Solie could show up any minute.” Erica smiled as he slipped his arms around her waist, turning her face up, ready for his kiss.
Clay lowered his lips to her neck, kissing under her ear, a spot he’d discovered, much to her ambiguous protest, was quite sensitive and elicited the type of reaction he seemed to be going for. “Well, I’d hate to have her interrupt…”
“Damn it.” Erica swore as the phone rang down the hall. “Stay here. Don’t… don’t be bad. I’ll be right back.”
She waggled her finger at him, pulling her sweatshirt on as she ran for the phone.
“Hello?” she said, out of breath.
She was greeting with a horrible whooping and hacking sound. Erica held the phone away from her ear, wincing. When the ruckus had died down, she put the receiver back to her ear and asked, “Solie?”
“I’m sorry, I—” A deep, whooping breath and more coughing. “I’m too sick to come t
oday. Can you manage? I put a casserole in the fridge. It’s tuna. No milk delivery on Sundays but—”
“Solie, stop talking. I’m fine. Go to bed. Good Lord, you sound awful. Don’t even say goodbye. Hang up the phone.”
More coughing. Then the line went dead. Good. Poor Solie.
Erica went back to the bedroom, finding Clay sitting on her bed, sifting through her 45s.
“That was Solie,” she told him. “She’s sick. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
He frowned when he saw she’d put her sweatshirt on.
“You’re just making more work for me.” He patted the bed, tossing her records on the night table.
“I haven’t showered. I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she protested, but she went, sitting next to him on her bed.
“That’s okay.” Clay grabbed the edge of her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. He put his hands on her hips, looking down at her cleavage like a starving man standing in front of a buffet. “I like you dirty.”
“You are a very bad, bad man.”
He nodded, bending and kissing the tops of her breasts. “I’m about to get badder.”
“Worse,” she corrected him.
“If you insist.” Clay unhooked her bra, cupping her breasts and letting them fill his eager hands. Erica moaned when he tongued her nipple, bathing it with saliva before moving to the next, and she gave in, letting him guide her back to the bed she’d just recently vacated.
“You are entirely overdressed for this party,” Erica reminded him, tugging on the ends of his t-shirt. Clay peeled it off, kneeling up between her thighs to do so and looking down at her, a strange expression on his face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious, moving to cover her breasts with her arms.
“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head and smiling. “I’ve just never seen you in the light before like this. You’re… beautiful.”
“Stop it.” She swatted at him, rolling her eyes.
Clay unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his jeans, sliding them down his hips. Erica reached out and grabbed the elastic edge of his boxers, stretching them out until they were taut, forcing him to lean into her.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, their eyes locked. Clay leaned in and captured her mouth, exploring the soft recesses of hers with his tongue. When they parted, Erica sighed, shaking her head. “That’s not where I wanted you to kiss me.”
He grinned, moving down her body, unable to resist stopping at her breasts again, sucking her nipples hard and leaving them that way before heading south, pulling her panties down. Erica found herself more than ready for him, annoyed with the teasing licks and gentle kisses.
“What are you doing?” she cried, half-sitting to look at his big, surprised eyes appearing over her mound.
Clay blinked. “I was savoring the brownie.”
Erica looked at him and then cracked up. “Let’s skip to Tootsie Pop.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
“And don’t call me ma’am.”
Once Clay focused, Erica found herself taken away. No longer having to chase her climax, she let her knees fall open, threw her arms over her head, and enjoyed the roller coaster ride. Clay fully made up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in actual skill, and all she had to do was close her eyes and remember the look on his face the first time he came in her mouth, the feel of his thighs tightening, the hot, rhythmic pulse of him as he flooded her tongue with his seed, and she pushed herself over the edge, of course, not without the help of Clay’s mouth and tongue, working furiously between her quivering thighs.
“Oh I like that,” Clay breathed, kissing that button, making her shiver and cry out at the sensation. “More? Can you do that again?”
“Not yet,” she panted, covering her mound with her hand. “So, do you want my mouth or….” She parted her labia with her fingers, giving him a glimpse of wet, glistening pink.
“Oh God, Erica,” he groaned, his gaze focused between her legs. “You are so beautiful right here. So fucking beautiful. It’s like looking at the stars or the moon or something you couldn’t ever describe to anyone even if you tried, it’s everything, it’s like God, right here, between your legs.”
Erica blinked at his sudden soliloquy and then laughed. “Come here. I want you inside me.”
He crawled up to kiss her, and she tasted herself, just like she had before, sucking at his tongue as she rolled him into his back and straddled him.
“Oh wow.” He grabbed onto her hips, looking up at her in wonder. “I don’t know which is better, my view, or the fact that I’m not sticking to the backseat of my car right now.”
“Yeah, sex in a bed is better,” she admitted, rocking her wetness on him, slick, up and down her slit. Then she tilted her hips and in one easy motion, she slid down onto him, all the way down to the root.
Clay let out a pent-up breath, watching her as she began to ride him, rocking into the saddle of his hips like riding a horse, catching a rhythm and then squeezing him between her thighs, going just a little faster. He bit his lip, trying to hold onto her grinding hips, his eyes closing, then opening, then closing again, unable to focus.
“Are you close?” Erica whispered and he nodded, his breath coming fast. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
He did, blinking as she rocked on top of him, faster, faster.
“Look,” she murmured, leaning back just a little, showing him, giving him a clear view of himself buried inside of her pink cavern, the swollen lips of her labia hugging his length.
“Oh Erica!” he cried, the sight of them together like that clearly too much—she’d done him in, and she knew it, rolling her hips in circles to finish him off, feeling him writhe and shudder and thrust as she milked every last bit of his orgasm with the tight, contracting muscles of her sex.
Erica collapsed on top of him, smiling at the way he touched her, even now after it was all over, he kept his hands moving, stroking her shoulders, her back, her sides, making her shiver with delight.
“Do you smell something burning?” she asked, sniffing the air.
“You’re just catching a whiff of how hot you are,” Clay joked, eyes still closed.
“I’m serious. I smell…” Her eyes flew open. “The coffee!”
She bolted to the kitchen, yanking the percolator off the stove and tossing it into the sink, turning on the water. It hit the hot pot with a hiss and steam rose from the sink as she turned off the burner. Clay came wandering in wearing just his boxers, standing there, staring at her naked in front of the stove.
“I promised I wouldn’t burn the place down.” Erica glared at the percolator like it was all its fault as she turned off the water in the sink.
“Well, disaster averted.” He came over and looked into the sink, picking up the percolator and opening the lid, peering inside. “Black as sin in there. I think you’re going to need another pot.”
Erica peeked into it and frowned. “Great.”
She took his hand and he left the burnt coffee pot on the counter, following her through the living room. “Oh, hey!” She perked up, pointing to the rows of boxes—wedding presents—stacked against the wall that had been arriving over the past few days. The delivery boy from Hudson’s was making out like a bandit in tips. “I bet there’s another percolator in there somewhere. Whew. I’ll go through them later and find it. No one will ever know.”
They went back to her room and Erica pulled on a t-shirt, much to Clay’s disappointment, which he vehemently expressed, but she complained of cold, so he relented.
“Well, we might be low on coffee but…” Clay held up the paper bag. “We have donuts!”
Erica snatched it, opening the bag and fishing out a powdered one, taking a big bite and tossing him the bag.
“I kind of like you all messy with white stuff all over your face,” he remarked, watching her lick her fingers.
They each ate two donuts and then crawled into bed, bellies full, utterly satisfie
d. They talked about school, which started back up tomorrow for the both of them. They talked about what they wanted to be when they grew up, which involved writing for both of them, but Erica wanted to go into broadcast media, while Clay wanted to be a “newspaper man”—whatever that was. They talked and talked, and Erica was sure they slept, at least a little while.
When she opened her eyes, the light in the room had changed, the shadows different, and Clay was wedged between her legs, hugging her thigh, his cheek resting there.
“Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“Just admiring the view.” He smiled. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
She ran a hand through his hair. “Anything.”
“This scar.” He ran a finger across her lower belly. “What really happened?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He raised his eyebrows, just looking at her, staring her down.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time there was a couple who couldn’t have children…”
She started it like a fairy tale, and that’s how she told it. There was an evil priest villain and an evil witch social worker, and twin sister heroines, and in the end, Erica found herself telling him everything, absolutely everything from the beginning, her own beginning as a twin in the womb with Leah to Father Michael’s revelations about his parentage and Father Patrick’s sick and twisted crimes.
He didn’t interrupt her. He didn’t ask questions.
He just listened until she ran out of words.
“Say something,” Erica whispered finally, unable to stand the silence one minute more.
Clay lifted his face and she saw the tears on his cheeks. “I love you, Erica. You are the most beautiful, special, precious human being I’ve ever met. I don’t care if you don’t love me and I don’t care if we never see each other again, I will remember you for as long as I live.”
Erica blinked back her own tears, swallowing around the lump in her throat. She had told the story in such a way that she could remove herself from it completely, but he brought her back in an instant and her mouth quivered when she told him, “I love you too, Clay.”