by Lila Monroe
I clear my throat, intruding. “Hey. How they doing?”
Cal turns his head, still splayed on the ridiculously huge bed. “They’re okay, I think. Hanging in there.”
I nod. His shirt has ridden up the tiniest bit, and I can see the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, and the narrowest sliver of tanned, flat stomach.
Hello.
I glance away—but not before he catches me checking him out. A slow smile spreads across his face. Just for a moment I imagine climbing up onto the bed with him, straddling that delicious torso and—
“Hungry?” he asks, sitting up abruptly.
“Yes.”
And yes.
“Want to go out for dinner, or stay in?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. His hair is annoyingly, temptingly mussed. “I can grill a mean steak.”
“Umm.” I clear my throat again. Suddenly, it feels very important to get us both out of this bedroom, and into a place that has other people in it.
Lots of other people. Preferably some cops, too, who can drag me off to jail on public indecency charges should my hormones get the better of me.
“Out,” I say quickly. “Show me some of the island, while we’re here.”
“Yes ma’am,” Cal replies with a lazy grin, and I realize cops won’t be enough.
You’ll need the whole damn army to keep my hands off him if he keeps smiling at me like that.
13
Jules
It’s not a date,” I tell my reflection firmly, reaching into my duffel for my The Future is Female shirt and a pair of baggy boyfriend jeans Kelly refers to as the Man Repellers. I pull on my sneakers, throw my hair into a messy ponytail, and march down the stairs to where Cal is waiting in the living room. “Ready?” I ask.
If he notices my super-casual getup, he knows better than to comment. “Ready,” he says. He’s wearing dark jeans and a vintage black T-shirt, and despite the antique Rolex watch on his wrist, he doesn’t look like a billionaire or a race car driver or a playboy.
He looks like somebody I want to take home to my mom.
“Not a date,” I mumble one more time, yanking my purse off the hook in the foyer harder than is probably necessary.
Cal raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile, shooing him out the door. “Let’s go.”
The sun is sinking lower in the sky, sending pinks and cotton-candy hues across the horizon as we drive across the island to another one of these small, picture-perfect towns. This one seems fancier: the houses are all perfectly manicured, and the cobbled streets are full of designer boutiques. The restaurant is a cozy little bistro up a flight of stairs in a renovated barn, all white linens and low lighting and a table by the window with a view of the sunset ocean. Immediately, I feel like an idiot for dressing like a scruffy hipster. Still, I remind myself, better to field a few curious looks than give Cal the wrong idea about what we’re doing here.
Boundaries, right?
Luckily, the “other people” part of the plan is working great. The place is packed, busy with . . . couples.
Simpering, romantic couples gazing at each other over romantic candlelight.
Whoops.
I stare at the menu. “Can I get you two something to drink?” our server asks.
“Wine?” Cal suggests.
Oh no. Alcohol is the last thing I need. “Just a Diet Coke,” I say firmly. Cal’s lips twitch.
“I’ll get a soda, too,” he says, smiling. The guy retreats, and I fix my gaze on the menu—and not the hot man opposite.
“Mmm, looks good!” I exclaim brightly.
Real smooth.
“Oysters are the specialty here,” Cal says helpfully. “And the chocolate bomb mousse is to die for.”
Oysters, chocolate . . . also known as: aphrodisiacs. There’s no way I’m risking any extra romance tonight, so when he returns to take our order, I pick a garlicy pasta dish instead.
“With extra garlic,” I add. “Just, smear it all over the joint. And maybe add anchovies, as well?”
“Coming right up.”
“Garlic, huh?” Cal asks, looking amused, when we’re left alone again.
I smile brightly. “I love it.”
I run through my list of unsexy conversation starters. What’s the most embarrassing place you’ve ever gotten diarrhea? Have I ever told you about the hundred thousand words of Twilight fanfiction I have saved on my computer? Hey, want to do a double order of the wheatgrass shots?
I’m just about to ask when his last colonoscopy was, when Cal meets my eyes across the table with a look so devastatingly intense, my mind goes blank.
“What are we doing, Jules?”
“Um, having dinner?”
My heart starts beating faster.
“You know what I mean.”
I reach for my ice water and gulp.
“Do you want to sit here, making small talk and trying to ignore what’s happening between us?”
“That depends,” I try to joke. “Just how good is the pasta?”
Cal’s jaw tenses. Damn, but he looks hot when he’s annoyed. “Maybe I’m imagining this,” he says. “But I don’t think so. I think you feel it too. So, we can keep doing this dance, pretending like everything’s fine. Or, we can get out of here right now.”
Oh fuck.
There he goes being all commanding again. My nipples get hard, and heat surges through my body. “But . . . we just ordered,” I stutter.
“So? They can put it on my account.” Cal holds my gaze, a challenge. “What do you say?”
I say I need a cold shower and a good fuck, but only one of those is on the menu tonight, and damn, if it isn’t the most agonizing “choose your own adventure” of all time.
I bite my lip, a hundred conflicting impulses tumbling through me at once. I meant what I said to Kelly this afternoon on the phone: this is a terrible idea. But it’s ridiculous—and damn near impossible—to resist when a hot man is inviting you back for a night of mind-blowing pleasure.
To hell with the consequences. I choose to orgasm my brains out.
“Yes,” I say finally, pulling my napkin off my lap and tossing it onto the table as Cal stands up. “Let’s go.”
Cal damn near breaks the speed limit on the way back to the house. I almost tell him to just pull over half a dozen times, but hey, the things I want to do to him aren’t exactly possible in his car, no matter how roomy that backseat is. He pulls into the driveway with a screech, and we’ve barely made it up onto the porch when Cal pushes me back against the wall and kisses me, hard and passionate.
Yes. I wind my arms tight around his neck. He grips my ass and lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, eager to feel him pressed against me.
“Sorry,” I mutter against his mouth. “I’m heavy.”
Cal shakes his head, kisses me harder. “You’re perfect.”
I hang on like a chimpanzee as he punches the code into the keypad, but it takes him a couple of tries. “Tell me you remember,” I gasp, and he chuckles.
“Excuse me for being a little distracted.”
“A little?” I kiss him again, and the code is forgotten for a long, delicious moment. Finally he gets the door open and we make it as far as the living room, kissing and groping breathlessly all the way. Cal tears himself away to throw a couple of logs on the fire and light it, but by the time he turns back to me, my brain has started catching up with my other, less logical organs.
“Cal—” I start, a hundred different reasons to call it off ready on the tip of my tongue. I’m your employee. This will complicate things. We ought to be focusing on the kids.
“Jules,” he says, giving me a smoldering look, and just like that I forget every last one of them. “Come here.”
So I do.
“This is quite the ensemble,” Cal says, grinning. “All you’re missing is some long underwear and tie-dye and you could move to a hippie commune.”
“Fuck you,” I say with a lau
gh, raising my arms so he can pull the T-shirt off. “I was trying to keep things from getting romantic!” I raise my eyebrows. “Also, who says I’m not wearing long underwear?”
Cal raises his in return. “Only one way to find out.” He kisses me again, for real this time, slow and deep and good. He reaches for my ass, squeezing, and suddenly the air between us feels like it’s about to combust. God in heaven, I want to climb him.
Cal clearly feels the same way—it’s like his hands are on me everywhere at once, rough and desperate, palming a breast through my T-shirt and reaching down to cup between my legs. I moan shamelessly, grinding against his fingers through my jeans, and I swear his eyes go a full shade darker. “Fuck, Jules,” he says, nudging my head back so he can lick along the tendon in my neck. “Take all your clothes off right now.”
“Take them off me,” I whisper, and he does, peeling off my jeans and my lacy underwear set, which is new and which I brought and put on underneath this ridiculous outfit without letting myself think about why. Cal barely even looks at it. “Bed,” he mutters, but I shake my head, reaching down and palming his cock through the denim. The house is too big, and the bedroom is too far. I can’t wait that long.
“Right here,” I tell him instead.
Cal doesn’t miss a beat; he pulls me down to the plush carpet in front of the fireplace, our mouths still fused together like we’ll die if we break apart. I reach up and yank at his sweater, tossing it somewhere in the vicinity of the coffee table, but he catches my wrists as I go for the button on his jeans. “Let me,” he mutters, leaning over and biting at my hipbone. “Jesus, Jules, I want to taste you so bad.”
I gasp at the words, I can’t help it: I’ve never had a guy say it to me so starkly before. Already I want to hear him say it again. I stretch out in front of the fire, one heel over his shoulder while Cal licks and sucks and bites, reaching up to roll my nipple and pushing his clever tongue inside me.
“Yes,” I gasp.
Holy fuck, yes.
I feel like the last few days have been 24/7 foreplay, and I break apart in no time at all. The orgasm slams through me, but it’s not enough. “Fuck me,” I hear myself beg. “I swear to god, Cal, I just need you to—”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
Cal strips off his jeans, and grabs a condom from his wallet, and then, hallelujah, is settling back between my thighs. I pull him down, greedy, running my hands over his gorgeous body and wriggling in anticipation. “Now,” I demand, and he chuckles against me.
“I forgot, you always get what you want, don’t you?”
I close my fist around his cock in answer, pumping a few times until he tips me back and braces himself between my thighs. He nudges against me, and I gasp.
“Shit,” I say out loud. “Shit, I forgot you were this big.”
Cal grins at that, wicked. “How big?” he asks, pushing in another gentle inch.
I reach up and scrape my nails through his hair. “What do you want to hear?” I tease. He sinks deeper. I gasp. Goddamn. “That you’re the biggest I’ve ever, ever had.”
Cal looks pleased. I laugh out loud.
“Easy, tiger,” I tell him, biting back a moan. “It’s not what you’ve got, it’s what you do with it.”
Cal answers with a hard, deep thrust that takes my breath away. “Oh yeah?” he asks, sinking his head to suck my nipple. “How’s that?”
I manage a moan, and he laughs, thrusting again. “Fuck. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”
I nip at his bottom lip, teasing. “Three days?” I ask.
Cal shakes his head. “Try three years. Ever since you walked out of that hotel room, I’ve wanted to feel you again.”
He drives into me again, and I dig my nails into his skin, hips arching up to chase the feeling. “Oh my God,” I say. “Oh my God.”
And then there’s no time for words, no fucking space in my brain for any coherent thought. Cal’s body knows exactly what I need, and damn, does he give it to me: deep, and hard, and fast, until I’m screaming his name, shattering in a spiral of pleasure that leaves me breathless and sweaty in his arms.
We lie there for a long time once it’s over, sweat cooling on our bodies and the fire flickering quietly in the hearth. Cal drags a throw blanket down off the couch to drape over us, and I catch my breath. There’s a part of me that wants to stay like this forever, but finally I snuggle closer and whisper in his ear: “Hey Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m fucking starving.”
Cal laughs out loud; I can feel the rumble of it all through my body, like we’re one person instead of two. “Come on, princess,” he says, kissing my shoulder before hauling himself upright. “Let’s order some food.”
14
Cal
Jules is still asleep when I wake up the following morning. The sun streams through the windows, making swirling patterns on the sheets. “Hey,” I say, kissing her shoulder.
She stirs slowly, then abruptly startles awake. “Jesus Christ,” she says, eyes widening when she sees me.
“Well, no,” I tell her, grinning a little. “Just me.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” Jules makes a face but she rolls over to face me, sheets slipping down to reveal the curve of one soft breast. “What time is it?”
“Kind of late, actually,” I tell her, glancing at my phone on the nightstand. “We slept.” We finally traipsed up to bed after midnight, full of takeout and beer—not the most romantic of dinners, I guess, not that we let that stop us.
“Oh yeah?” Jules stretches a bit, looking pleased with herself. “I wear you out?”
“Seems that way.” The truth is I don’t usually sleep that well with another person in the bed beside me, but last night I didn’t wake up once. For a second I wonder what that means, if it means anything, then decide it’s probably just because it’s the first time in a week that I didn’t have one ear cocked for the sound of the kids.
Either way, I duck my head to kiss her, reaching down under the blankets to cup her between her legs. “Again?” Jules mumbles, but she’s smiling.
“Again.” I trace my finger along the seam of her body, drawing circles around her nipple until I’m hard as a fucking rock against her thigh. Fuck, I cannot get enough of this woman’s body: it’s her tits, obviously, low and heavy and almost mind-bendingly full, but more than that it’s her hips, the absurdly dramatic way she flares out below her ribcage. I can’t remember the last time I was with a girl whose body did that. Never, probably.
Still, the last thing I want is to be late picking up the kids and wind up having Vivian complain in court about how irresponsible I am. “We should go, probably,” I say finally, pressing a kiss against her collarbone. “If we want to grab breakfast before the ferry.”
Jules rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, don’t act like you can’t just charter a helicopter if we miss it.”
I raise my eyebrows, suddenly interested. “Are you intending on missing it, counselor?”
“Maybe.” She sits up then, shoving at my shoulders until I lie back on the bed. “Depends on whether or not you behave.”
I laugh. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, slinging one leg over my thighs and ducking her head, biting her way down along my rib cage. “Now shut up. I’m good at this.”
I start to laugh at her cockiness, but suddenly she’s got her mouth around me and I couldn’t put a full sentence together if my life depended on it.
Fuck.
She's wasn’t kidding about being good at this—taking me deep with no warm-up, hot mouth and clever tongue and the expert flick of her wrist. I pretty much lose my mind, and I want to be gentlemanly about this, but it’s taking every single bit of restraint not to move. I think that’s what she might be angling for, in fact—me fucking her mouth—and the thought of it alone almost does me in. “Jules.” Finally I reach down and haul her off myself, gasping. “Jesus Christ,” I pant.
“Well, no.” Ju
les smiles smugly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just me.”
“Cute,” I tell her, already grabbing for the nightstand and the condoms I remembered to stash there. I flip her onto her hands and knees and sink into her from behind.
Jesus fucking Christ, she feels perfect, and at this angle, I have to clench my jaw and use every last ounce of self-control not to embarrass myself.
Jules rocks back against me. “Harder,” she demands, and I nearly lose my mind.
I plunge deep again, slamming against her, and she grabs the sheets and moans. “Fuck, yes, Cal.”
I hold on for dear life. The world contracts to just the blur of our bodies and the sweet friction of her pussy and the way her body is clenching me like she’s never fucking letting go.
Jules moans, tossing her head back, and I fist her hair in one hand, thrusting harder. Oh Jesus, she needs to come now or I am never, ever going to last for her.
I reach between us, finding her clit, and rub in time with my thrusts, and just like that, she goes off with a scream and I finally let go, unleashing as the pleasure rips through me like a fucking tornado and I fall into oblivion, holding her tightly.
This woman. Fuck, this woman will be the death of me or heaven, one way or another.
I just know I can’t get enough.
We catch the ferry by the skin of our teeth and make it to Vivian’s just in time. The kids come thundering up to the front door when we ring the doorbell, Ezra clutching Howard by one foot. “Hey, dudes,” I say with a grin—something loosening in my chest at the sight of them, just as whole and healthy as they were when I left. I sling an arm around each of them, lifting them into the air before setting them down again. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Lottie says sulkily.
“That good, huh?” I tease. “I missed you dopes.”
“You guys ready to go?” Jules asks the kids, just as Vivian sashays into the foyer. She’s wearing another one of her Wholesome Homemaker outfits, tan ankle-length pants and driving moccasins. I wonder if the social worker came by here, too. “Want to go pack your stuff up?”