Tapped

by Liz Crowe

  Yes, she thought. An easy enough word to say.

  What’s my problem with it?

  Yes, she thought again.

  “Yes,” she whispered to herself, before she turned to the dark bedroom and padded over to the large bed. The large, comfortable bed in her large, comfortable life where her man loved her and she had no reason to worry about anything.

  She hesitated a few seconds, content to listen to Austin breathe, to the whirr of the ceiling fan, the light hiss of rain hitting the window.

  “Yes,” she whispered again as she lifted the covers and slid underneath, curling herself around Austin’s warm back. “Yes,” she said, kissing his shoulder. “Yes,” she repeated, as she ran her hand across his bare chest.

  He stirred and mumbled something. Evelyn smiled, loving how in tune she was already to his little tics and nuances. Loving him so much at that moment she wanted to weep. Instead, she reached lower, repeating the one, easy word between kissing his shoulder and the nape of his neck. She stroked his cock to full hardness even as he remained half asleep.

  “Yes,” she said, when he rolled to his back and she climbed on top, taking him inside her with a sigh from her and a low moan from him. As she rocked against him, taking her own pleasure and watching his dark-stubbled face, tears did fall, alarming her but also reaffirming the word.

  The one word—the yes.

  She moved her hips faster, leaning over him and letting her hair curtain their faces. She kissed him, shoving her tongue between his lips, needing that connection almost as badly as any other.

  Austin matched her downward movements with upward thrusts of his own, finding their familiar rhythm. He broke the kiss and watched her as the orgasm made her shudder from head to toe as her body pulsed with a sort of energy only Austin could provide.

  As her body calmed, she lay on his chest, hating the tears but knowing them for what they were. He stroked her hair a few seconds, then lifted her chin so she met his eyes in the dark.

  “Nice way to wake me in the middle of the night, dear, thanks.”

  She sniffled and nodded, but the anxiety remained at bay. This was her place. She could let go now, be with him, fully, side by side at work and at home.

  This home. Their home.

  She sensed his cock inside her, still hard, and she smiled down at him, lifting up on her hands so he could get at her breasts. He cupped their heavy, firm curves, lapped at their tender, rock-hard tips. She sighed as her hips moved again in a primal way, reacting to his touch, as if there were a little string connecting her breasts to her pussy and Austin knew exactly how to give it the perfect tug.

  Evelyn arched her back, tilting her hips and exposing her ass as she gave into a now-familiar fantasy—one she’d not found the courage to express to Austin, even though he’d indulged her fantasy at the B & B. In her imagination, Ross’ strong hands were on her hips, his lips were on her nipples, his broad, chest was below her, and her fingers were tangled in his long, blond hair while Austin was poised behind her.

  She glanced in the mirror, taking in the sexy view—her back arched, her ass ready to receive him. “Oh…God,” she moaned as her fantasy took her there, let her have both men, let both men have her—let Ross pleasure her, too.

  As if sensing something new, Austin released her swollen nipples and dropped his head back. She glanced down at him, her body on the ragged edge of a monster climax thanks to the imagined sensations swirling through her head.

  “I want on top,” Austin growled as he hooked one of her legs with his and rolled them, the king-size of his bed allowing for it. She sighed and wrapped her legs around his hips, taking him ever deeper. “Evelyn, look at me,” he said, his voice low, his breathing fast.

  She opened her eyes and put her hands on either side of his face as he pounded into her. “Fill me,” she commanded, even as the orgasm she’d fantasized herself into gripped her and she cried out with him as he came inside her.

  “Damn.” He sighed, once he’d opened his eyes again. She glanced down where their bodies were joined together. She felt her face flush with a combination of embarrassment and a sliver of illicit anticipation at the memory of the fantasy—one she’d entertained more and more lately. But first things first.

  Keeping her legs locked around his waist, she looked into Austin’s eyes and said, “Yes.”

  “Okay,” he responded as he flopped onto the bed beside her, one arm over his eyes. “So you’ll take the job, then.”

  She propped up on her elbow and ran her fingertips across her man’s smooth, mostly hairless, firm chest. “Yes, that too.”

  Austin blinked at the ceiling, then turned his head and stared at her. She smiled and touched his lips. “Yes,” she said for the millionth time, mainly because it felt so damn good to say it. “Yes, I will marry you. Where’s that damn ring?”

  Austin rolled to his bedside table. He handed her the ring box in silence. She opened it and took the beautiful piece of custom-made jewelry from its velvet bed. Without a second’s hesitation, she slid it onto her left ring finger then held it up, allowing herself to admire it for the first time since he’d been after her to wear it.

  “Jesus, finally,” he said, his voice slow and sleepy-sounding. He held out his arm and she snuggled into his side, her head in the crook of his shoulder and chest. Her left hand draped over his chest. Moonlight split the blinds and hit the emerald, making it shimmer. “I love you,” he said, kissing her hair and heaving a deep, I’m-about-to-go-to-sleep sigh.

  “I love you too,” she said, staring at the ring and wondering just what she’d gotten herself into, on all fronts, with Austin Fitzgerald.

  Chapter Twelve

  One month later

  “Austin, honey?”

  When he looked up from the computer screen on his desk, all his senses seemed to open at once, bombarding him with noises, sights and odors. He’d spent the last half hour crunching final numbers for a massive report Evelyn had requested for a ‘special project’ and he’d likely been faded out for half of that time, ever since he’d seen the first, tell-tale flashes of light around the perimeter of his vision.

  They’d been putting in extra-long days lately, mostly thanks to his new marketing director. She’d been pushing him not only to jump start sales by kicking his sales director in the ass but was also exploring expanding their distribution into both Florida and New York—to markets she claimed were ‘ripe’ for their more ‘tame products.’

  And now, this damn special project thing that required the full history of his sales, plus all the investments he’d made in the tap room attached to the brewery. Not that he couldn’t put his hands on it, but she wanted it in a very specific reporting style, which he’d apparently done wrong the first time, leading to this, another seven p.m. moment in his office after way too many of them in a row.

  “Babe?” Evelyn put a hand on his shoulder but even her touch hurt at that moment. “What’s wrong?”

  “Migraine,” he muttered, shocked, since he hadn’t had one in almost fifteen years.

  She leaned over, studying the miles of spreadsheets he’d been crunching as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, willing the looming brain-cruncher of a headache away.

  “No, babe, I need it this way.” He felt her push his chair aside and opened one eye to see her tapping away at the keyboard, altering the structure of the spreadsheets yet again. Her look, when he caught it, was one of tight, barely concealed impatience mixed with frustration.

  “You know, if you’d just tell me what this was for…”

  “I told you already. It’s a surprise.” Her voice was tight with stress, which ramped up his anxiety, which in turn, made his headache worse.

  “Ugh. Jesus. I gotta go home.” He rose, stumbling a little when his equilibrium wouldn’t do its job. Without saying anything to him, Evelyn merely slipped into the chair he’d vacated, her attention still fixed on the damn computer screen.

  He signed and leaned back against th
e long work table where he had the entire history of his brewery spread out in a series of thick, three-ring binders, blueprints, and, of course, more spreadsheets. Evelyn had promised to work wonders, but to piss a lot of people off in the process. So far, she’d delivered. Half the time he wanted to strangle her—after yet another disgruntled Fitzgerald employee had come running to him, complaining that she was a ballbuster, a know-it-all, too demanding.

  All things he’d known her for, which was why he’d hired her in the first place. As he watched her tapping away on his keyboard, a rush of exhaustion hit him, making him more than a little weak in the knees. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. She shot him a quick, wan smile. If he were working around the clock, she’d given new meaning to the phrase.

  “Let’s go home. We can talk, or do more about this, there. I need to get out of here.”

  I need to get laid.

  He took in the long line of her neck, exposed by the messy bun she had her hair yanked into. They’d done more arguing than he liked but he’d sort of anticipated that, as she established her territory around her at the brewery. But by God, it was almost eight p.m. on a Friday, and he needed his woman, not this somewhat deranged-looking, hyper-focused, out-to-prove-something harpy.

  Ignoring the alarming way his vision wobbled since taking his eyes off the numbers on the screen, he touched her arm. When she didn’t respond, he put his other hand on her shoulder, and slid the other down her arm and around to cup her left breast under its layers of blouse, camisole and bra. It felt great and he knew this was the right thing. They needed their physical connection to re-establish their own relationship equilibrium.

  Grinning, he pressed his lips to her neck, tasting her lotion and the slight, malty tang that was inevitable, working in a large brewery. She continued ignoring him, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth as she worked away on the god damned spreadsheet. “Evelyn,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe around the diamond drop jewelry he’d given her the week before. “Baby…” He sucked in a full breath of her, of her skin below her ear, still cupping one breast, his position awkward and unsustainable over the back of the desk chair.

  She shook him off like so much rain on a raincoat. “Not now, Austin. If I could just get this…I’m almost…” She never even glanced at him. Trying hard not to yell at her, he stood back up, grabbed his phone and keys and walked out of his office, his brain on fire with need, pain and frustration.

  When he got home, he downed two pain killers and two powerful sinus pills, praying this old remedy would work and he could avoid the prescription pills he used to have to take in high school. As he leaned on the counter, counting backward from a thousand to calm his racing pulse and quell his rising fury at Evelyn’s single-minded focus on his business—and not on him—the doorbell to his condo rang, making him flinch when the noise settled deep in his aching skull.

  Without checking to see who it was, he opened the heavy wooden door and found himself face to face with his mother. She was dressed to go out—little black cocktail dress, high heels, gray hair swept back and held in place with a familiar, decorated hairpin. Austin dragged a hand down his face and turned away from her, stumbling as he made his way toward his large leather recliner.

  “Austin.” Her voice was sharp with worry. He felt her hand on his arm as he found the chair and flopped into it, hand over his eyes. “My dear. Whatever is wrong?”

  He sighed, unable to find words for this odd, after hours meeting with one of the many women in his life whom he adored but who had seemingly gone out of her way to making him miserable.

  God, don’t be such a whiner.

  “I’ll make you some tea,” she said. “Do you have honey?”

  He watched, bleary-eyed, as she took control of his small but well-appointed kitchen and let himself drift, coming back to consciousness when she reappeared with a steaming cup of tea and a tray of some kind of food.

  “There, now,” she said, smiling at him in such a genuine way, he felt his inner small boy, eager for his mother’s undivided attention, rise and grip his chest. “Here.” She handed him the tea cup. He sniffed it—honey, a touch of lavender, an undertone of mild tea leaves. He hadn’t even realized he’d owned a tea that smelled like this—like heaven. He sipped and she observed him in silence.

  “So,” she said, taking a small slice of fruit off the tray and holding it in her hand. It was what she did, he now recalled, to appear as if she were eating. “What’s all this I hear about major life changes for you? You can’t be bothered to tell your own parents that you’re engaged to be married?” Her tone was mild, neutral. A trap, and he knew it well.

  He put the cup on the table between them and leaned back. The headache was fading, slowly, but was putting up a fight as it went. Going from the frying pan of Evelyn into the direct flame of Virginia was not how he’d imagined this unbelievably stressful day might end.

  “Yes, Mother. But based on your one and only meeting with her, Evelyn has asked me not to involve you or Dad. And I respect her wishes.”

  “Hmm.” She nibbled a corner of the apple slice. He grabbed one off the plate, chewed and swallowed it, which seemed to shove the pain back into its cage even further so he inhaled the rest of them along with the grapes and some kind of a cracker he also didn’t know had been in his pantry. “Seems to be going well so far,” she said, eyeing him as he devoured the snack. “You’re here, in real pain, starving for dinner and she’s…” Virginia waved her fingers and rolled her eyes ever so slightly—an expression he recalled from his boyhood that used to drive his father mad with fury, at least until got his first drink into him.

  Austin closed his eyes, refusing her bait. Maybe, if he pretended to sleep, she’d just leave him alone.

  But where the hell was Evelyn? He figured she’d be pretty much right behind him. But it was pushing nine o’clock now and his phone hadn’t even buzzed with any communication from her. A hand touched his knee.

  “Why don’t you get a shower? I’ll find some real food for you.”

  “Mother, I don’t need you to—”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m happy to help.” He opened one eye and studied her, wary of this, yet somehow grateful.

  “You’re going out,” he said, stretching, then standing slowly, relieved when the pain didn’t reemerge. “You look too nice to be here babying me.”

  “Oh, I’ll go later. My son needs me. That’s more important right now.” He eyed her, shocked, even more wary but too damn tired to process or fight it. “Shower,” she said, pointing to the rear of the condo. “Do you have a preference for takeout?”

  “Anything but Chinese,” he said, making his slow way down the hall, realizing he should grab his phone and warn Evelyn of their unexpected dinner guest while at the same time thinking it would serve her fucking right, showing up at whatever hour still dressed for work and finding him sharing takeout with Virginia.

  The shower helped and when he emerged, pink-skinned and dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft sweatshirt, he found his mother sitting on the couch, legs primly crossed, flipping through a magazine. A small glass of clear liquid with a slice of lime sat on a coaster on the coffee table. He blinked, still amazed that she could conjure all these things. They barely kept the kitchen stocked with much more than the basics—coffee, orange juice, bread, some fruit. And at that moment, as he was pondering the odd sparseness of the past month, even with Evelyn officially moved in, wearing his engagement ring, working alongside him, the door opened. The distinct and alarming lack of sex since they tended to fall into bed, side by side around midnight and drop immediately into sleep.

  “Austin, baby, I’m so sorr—” She froze. The strap of her expensive briefcase slipped off her shoulder, sending it to the floor with a soft thump. Austin watched her swallow, then put her purse on the foyer table, then her keys, then her phone. She was buying herself time not to explode in anger and he knew it. But hell, he had every right to be mad, too. So let her p
op off, and see how that went with the present company included.

  Oh, Jesus H. Christ. Fitzgerald, you did not mean that.

  Maybe I did.

  He watched, fingers tucked into the jeans pockets, his skin tingly from the shower, his brain still somewhat echoey from the migraine. As he and Virginia watched, the doorbell rang behind her, so Evelyn turned, accepted the bags of food and walked into the kitchen without a word to either of them. Virginia met his gaze with a ‘oh, dear, dear, what’s wrong now’ sort of expression that made him clench his jaw.

  He followed Evelyn and watched her as she pulled out the various dishes and placed them on the counter, then got out two plates and some flatware. Finally, she turned to face him. Austin felt immediately guilty at the lines of exhaustion on her face. Damn it, she was working this hard for your sorry ass. For the betterment of your floundering sales and market position. Cut her some slack. He was reaching for her, pulling her close so they could just stand in each other’s arms for a minute or two when his mother appeared.

  “Well, then, thank you, Evelyn, for putting out some dishes for dinner.”

  “I’m sorry but I wasn’t aware we were hosting you for dinner, Virginia,” she retorted, the distinct edge in her voice making Austin’s nerve endings fire.

  “Oh, I just stopped over to see how he…how you both were doing.” Her gaze dropped to Evelyn’s left hand. “To congratulate you, on the impending wedding.”

  Evelyn shot him a hard look then trained her gaze back on Virginia. “Thank you. And thanks for stopping by. A call first, next time, perhaps? By this time of night, we’re usually, well, a bit indisposed, if you know what I mean.”