Foundation

by Lainey Davis

  So until I find a culprit for her insurance to sue, we’re stuck spinning our wheels planning a restoration, rather than executing.

  The sun peeks out around three in the afternoon, so I decide to head over to her place. I’ve got the plans in my truck for the apartment complexes nearby, and after studying them a bit, I stand in her yard, just staring. These are new, trendy construction projects, with roof gardens and shit.

  One of the condo buildings even has a damn labyrinth in the back courtyard. I scoff, imagining people walking laps back there, trying to find inner peace. Hell, my dad will probably crash their labyrinth party and walk out of there with six new contracts to engineer meditation chambers in everyone’s office.

  I kick a beer can that’s rolling along the sidewalk, wondering why I can’t see what it is that led to Nicole’s yard just falling off the back of her property. Yes, this is Pittsburgh and these things happen. But it’s always after an unseasonal torrential rain.

  And then, as if I conjured the weather by thinking it, the sky rips open and it begins to pour. “Fuck,” I shout, but I don’t head for my truck.

  I stand with my hands on my hips staring at the neighboring building, with its rain garden and its rain barrels. I stand there, getting soaked to the skin, hoping above hope that a solution presents itself to me, that I can find something. But all I’m feeling is wet.

  “Isaac! Isaac Brady!” Nobody calls me Isaac, except Nicole, and I love the sound of my full name on her lips. I turn to find her standing on her patio, waving her arms at me to come toward her. And of course I do. “What in the hell are you doing out here in this weather?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  I shrug. “Engineers frequently work outside in all sorts of weather,” I tell her, trying to sound nonchalant, but my teeth start chattering and the jig is up.

  “Well, come inside and get warm at least,” she says, heading in through the sliding door.

  “You finally gonna give me that laundry tutorial?” I stop right inside the door, not really sure what to do. I can’t very well walk through her house and streak mud everywhere, drip streams of water on her oil finished hardwood floors. I take off my hard hat and set my phone on the little table inside the door.

  She just stares at me, considering.

  I’m considering, too. What am I doing inside her house? Can I handle it if I’m inside her again and then she tosses me out? Nicole bites the side of her lip and crosses her arms over her chest, and I realize that not fucking her is impossible right now.

  She sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Well I can’t very well give you a tutorial if you’re still wearing the wet, muddy clothes.” She raises a brow at me and I’m done.

  I unzip and peel off my sopping wet fleece jacket and toss that down on the mat inside the door and, not taking my eyes off hers, I start to slowly unbutton my shirt. It’s a terrible idea being in here with her. It’s terrible for me to give in to my feelings for this woman, because I don’t just lust after her.

  I crave her smart mouth and the way she cares about her elderly neighbor, even if she acts like Valerie is a pain in the ass. I crave her attention to detail, the way she’s carefully set up her home so that everything has a place.

  I know I will come to regret this, because I can’t let myself get attached to anyone who might leave me. My own mother didn’t want me. I’ve got my siblings and my cousin, and that’s enough for me. Women have always just been a diversion for me. I end relationships before they get serious.

  But I don’t care about any of that as Nicole stands in the hall, beckoning for me. I brush my hair out of my eyes and walk toward her, ignoring the gnawing fear that Nicole will become one more woman in my life who walks out on me just as I succumb to needing her.

  I finish unbuttoning my shirt. I want those detail-oriented fingers on my skin.

  Nicole stands, considering me, watching as I strip in her kitchen. I pull the belt from my jeans and toss it next to my fleece and I unfasten my pants, letting them pool at my ankles. Wearing just my boxers, I bend over to untie my work boots. I hear Nicole’s breath increase in speed as she watches me.

  And then my teeth start chattering again and she approaches me. “Come with me,” she says, stooping to pick up my stuff. I follow her down the hall, close enough that I know my breath tickles her neck as she shoves my clothes in her washer. “Do you have anything else in your pockets that shouldn’t get wet?” She sets my wallet and keys on the counter in her laundry room.

  I shake my head and press myself against her back, craving her heat and her nearness in equal degrees. Cranking the dial to start the machine, Nicole sighs and turns around. Her green eyes meet mine and we stare at each other, our breath matching pace.

  “You going to stare at me all night while I shiver in your laundry room?” I feel like giving her shit because I want to see how she responds. Her mouth curls up in a grin.

  “I considered it,” she says. She reaches out a hand and traces my dick through my boxers, and even though I’m chilled through, it springs to life at her touch. “As you saw, I’ve got some pretty good hardware to service my own needs.”

  “I shouldn’t have signed for it,” I say, snaking a hand through her messy curls. “I should have turned them away and walked directly upstairs and shown you what a real cock can—“ Her mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my comeback.

  I back her up against the washer as her tongue probes my mouth. Her teeth close on my lip and we moan together. As she drags her short nails along my shoulders, I shudder again and she pulls her head back. “Bed,” she says. “It’s warmer there.”

  Grabbing my hand, she starts striding through the narrow house and up the stairs. I notice that the hardwood doesn’t even creak beneath our feet, and my mind starts drifting to the work she must have done installing a sub-floor, before I shake my head and focus on the woman in front of me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Nicole

  I WASN’T GOING to invite him inside. I really wasn’t. But when I saw him standing there in the rain, just staring at the apartment building a few doors down, the water streaking off his coat, rolling off his hard hat…well, it made me want him to bend me over the counter again.

  Now that I’ve got him inside and mostly naked, he’s not bending me over the counter, so much as trailing behind me, drooling and shivering. I shove him into my bed and pull the covers up from the foot of the bed, where they’re still bunched from when I climbed out this morning.

  My bedroom is the only messy place in my house. In my universe, really. I keep everything else strategically, painstakingly organized. But this room? Nobody is ever in here. My housekeeper doesn’t even come in here. This king-sized bed is mine to thrash around in, and I’ve got mismatched blankets chosen not for looks, but for comfort.

  The flannel sheets I’ve got on there right now? They feel like…well they feel like really nice flannel fucking sheets, and I shove Isaac onto them with a grunt, shirking out of my clothes as I climb in on top of him.

  He props himself half up on his elbows, a move that shows off the ridges of his stomach muscles. I guess that’s what ten miles a day will do for a body. “Damn, Brady,” I say, straddling him and shoving him all the way back down to the sheets. “I didn’t even get to see you naked last time.”

  The smug fucker laces his fingers together behind his head and grins at me. “You can stare at me naked all you want, Ms. Kennedy.” I like the way he says my name like that, deep and slow, teasing but still holding a hint of danger that reminds me of the feral way he plowed into me the last time we tried this.

  “This is a terrible idea,” I mutter, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. I hadn’t planned on seeing him today, on him seeing me, but I’m grateful for the deep red, satiny bra that hoists my breasts inward and upward. I can see his dick twitch in his boxers as I peel away the bra.

  “Just awful,” he mutters, his rough palms reaching up to my breasts. He cups the sens
itive skin there, weighing my tits in his hands before rolling the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, and there’s a serious look in his eyes that I don’t like.

  It’s a look that says this is more than just chemistry, more than just two people whose pheromones attract. I ease out of his grasp and kneel on the bed, sliding his boxers down his legs as he lifts his hips to help.

  “Oh shit. Oh god. Nicole,” he starts muttering as I lick my way down his firm legs and squeeze his cock, jutting out of the dark tangle of pubic hair that stands out in stark contrast to his pale, muscled skin.

  I take my time studying this unfamiliar terrain with the tip of my tongue and one careful fingertip. “Is this ok?” When I look up to his eyes again, they’re screwed tight and I see he’s biting his lip.

  “Fuck, yes, Nicole. Do not stop. Please. Oh god.” One of his hands twists into my hair while the other smacks the headboard as I start to circle his cock head with my tongue.

  My hand slides down his shaft, his foreskin bunching in my hand and making a sort of cushion while I stroke him. No wonder this felt so good inside me. His dick is magnificent, long and hard and smooth. A perfect cock. I slide my mouth over him, bobbing my head up and down a few times before releasing him with a pop. “You ready to talk about laundry now? Feeling warmer?”

  When his eyes meet mine this time, I swear he growls at me as he sits up and lifts me from under my armpits. He rolls us around so he’s on top of me then, and his mouth drops to my nipple. He laves his tongue along the hard nub and, pushing my tits together with his hands, switches over to the other side as he rocks his cock along my wet underwear.

  “The only laundry I care about right now are these dirty panties,” he says, and he moves to start sliding them down my legs. And then he brings them to his face and fucking sniffs my panties, moaning before dipping a hand right to my center.

  Jesus, he’s filthy and crass and I fucking love it. “Obscene,” I murmur, rocking my hips to encourage his hand closer to my pulsing core. I gasp as he slides a thick finger inside of me. Apparently Isaac Brady is fantastic at fucking me frantically in the kitchen, and leisurely in my bed.

  “You’re as wet as my clothes,” he murmurs, sliding his finger deeper, deeper still, before crooking it toward him in a move that sends waves of pleasure right through me.

  This is where I should explain to him that I have to be on top in order to come, that guys have been trying for years to get me off in various other layouts and it just doesn’t work unless I’m the one controlling the friction, controlling the pace. The last time was a fluke, and my clit has been broken. But before I can tell him, he pulls his hand out from inside me and smacks my clit sharply.

  “Eyes up here, Nicole,” he says, and my mouth drops open. He pinches my clit, then rubs it, then slides his finger back inside me and I splinter to pieces as my eyes lock on his. I swear I can feel the lightning bolt travel between us. He urges me on with just the fire of his gaze, and he sends me the orgasm through his flaming pupils.

  Staring into his face, I come undone. “Isaac,” I wail, a guttural noise seeping from my body as I moan and thrash around on the covers. “Isaac!”

  I come so long, so hard, I swear I’m going to come out of my skin, but his hand is on my shoulder, holding me flat and grounding me. “You look so fucking sexy when you come,” he says. He withdraws his hand from my throbbing channel and strokes my upper thigh, staring at me like I’m the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

  And then he actually says, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” and I gasp.

  “I need you inside me,” I tell him, my fingers fumbling on the slick skin of his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. I could drown in his eyes in this moment, the way he’s looking at me like I’m everything to him.

  “Hm,” he says, not moving. He stares at my bedside table like he’s looking for a condom, but we already discussed this last time.

  “Ugh, it’s fine. I’ve got a shot in my arm. I won’t get pregnant.” I don’t make a habit of fucking men without protection. In fact, I never do that. But I was so carried away and he felt so god damned good, the way he took charge of me like that, made me come. Literally MADE me come. I shudder.

  I press a finger against his swollen lips. “Now fuck me.”

  He bites the tip of my finger as he thrusts inside. My eyes roll up in my head at the pleasure of feeling stretched by him. His cock is everywhere as he grinds and thrusts. He’s pounding into me until my tits shake, and he stares down at them from his position propped up on his elbows.

  “Fuck yeah,” he says, grinning. He thrusts a few more times and then abruptly pulls out and rolls me on my stomach. “On your knees, Nicole.”

  I’m too overcome to consider not following his instructions. I rest my weight on my forearms and lift my ass, and he slams into me as his palms press down on my shoulders. I love it. “Jesus, Isaac. This is amazing,” I grunt out as he presses me down while filling me up.

  The angle of this sends pleasure rippling through my entire body. I can feel him stroking every nerve inside my pussy. “Where do you come from?” I roar and moan and just succumb to him pounding through me, bare and so hard compared to my swollen softness.

  He growls again and stiffens and I feel him swell inside me. And then, abruptly, he pulls out and I feel the hot splatter of his release spray across my back. I look over my shoulder to see him holding his dick, staring as it spurts.

  It’s the dirtiest thing anyone has ever done to me, and I love it so intensely I’m not sure what to do. While Isaac’s dick twitches, he reaches between my legs and rubs slow circles above my cleft until I come again, shuddering and writhing beneath him and both of us heave, out of breath and exhausted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nicole

  “YOU GOING TO kick me out again?” Isaac mops at my back with a tissue until he cleans up most of his hot mess. He rolls up on his side and brushes the matted curls off my sweaty forehead, then flicks my nose.

  I frown at him. “Not just yet. You hungry?” He nods. I climb out of bed and reach for my pajamas—I’ve got a ratty college t-shirt and mesh shorts stationed near my bed—when I remember that all his clothes are in my washer.

  “I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit you,” I say, frowning. He climbs out of bed naked and presses up behind me. I can feel his half-hard cock against my ass in the mesh shorts.

  “Why should I get dressed? Aren’t you going to strip me again soon enough?”

  I turn toward him as I start to gather my hair into a loose ponytail. “What makes you think you’ll get lucky again?”

  When he smiles, I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him truly do that. His whole face lights up. The glow of it warms my heart a little, which makes me nervous. “I’ve got plans for you and that exposed brick downstairs,” he says, stooping to grab his damp boxers and sliding them up his legs.

  I stare at his long quads, so firm and defined. I really should go running with him more often. We walk downstairs and he starts going on and on, admiring the mortar I repointed inside, rubbing his hand along the drywall and complimenting the smooth finish.

  When we pass the laundry room, I shove him right up against the washer and peel out of my pajamas. “You’re just using me for my home renovation skills,” I tease, loving every one of his keen observations about the work I’ve done on my house. I watch as he quickly gets hard and my eyes water as he pulls out his dick. He lifts me and sits me on the edge of the washer, then spears into me as if we didn’t finish fucking ten minutes before.

  We fuck, frantically this time, as I mutter that I’m so happy I can’t even see straight. I’ve been so fucked in the head between work and my fear that I might lose my house. I can feel the stress shaking loose from my bones as I give in to the pleasure I’m drawing from Isaac.

  After, I pull a pizza from my freezer and we eat naked in my kitchen, not giving a
shit who sees us through my glass patio doors. He reaches out to wipe a dab of sauce from my lip and sucks it off his finger, and I decide I’m in trouble, because I want to fuck him again.

  “I don’t really do relationships,” I tell him, reaching to take a sip from the beer we’re sharing, since I only had one in my fridge. I have to defuse the energy between us before I get used to the way I feel around him.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Is that what this is? I don’t do relationships, either,” he says. Then he grins. “I thought I was just here to learn about laundry.”

  He takes the beer back and downs a big swig of it. He wipes his mouth with his wrist, which should be gross, but neither of us has plates or napkins as we eat from the tray, leaning on my counter. “Seriously, though,” he says. “You heard about me and my mom. That pretty much fucked me up for relationships.” I don’t say anything, just look at him. What’s to say?

  “My parents didn’t exactly foster attachment,” I tell him with a sigh.

  “Well don’t hold back on me, Nicole. Seems fair I should know about your shit since you know why I’ll be holding you at a distance emotionally.”

  I snort out a laugh. “Did you ever watch the Gilmore Girls?” He shakes his head. “It’s this show about mothers and daughters…the grandma character is a filthy rich country club lady with pearls and sensible pumps, and no real tolerance for behavior outside the expected.” I sigh, reaching for my hair.

  “This was never refined enough for my mother. And she resented my smart mouth and the way I always insisted on being given credit for being right—I’m always right, Isaac Brady. Let’s just clear that up right now.”

  “We’ll see,” he says, finishing off the beer.

  I nod my head toward a framed picture of Emma and me on our college campus in the Oakland neighborhood of the city. In the picture, we’re beaming, arms around each other in our caps and gowns, standing beneath one of the pink cherry trees on campus on graduation day. Both of us have wild hair—hers red, mine brown—and both of us have mothers who never quite understood us. “My parents refused to help me pay for college because I chose a partial scholarship at a state school instead of a posh, all-female college they felt was more appropriate.”