This made me exceedingly happy for a couple of reasons.
“You’re just gonna have to deal,” I replied.
One of his hands swept up to my jaw.
He turned my head and kissed me.
When he was done, I felt his words against my lips when he said, “Clean up and sleep. Yeah?”
I nodded my head.
But he didn’t move away.
“You on birth control?”
He wanted to end it with the condoms.
Although it was messier for me the other way around, I wasn’t hip on any barrier between Toby and me, so I wanted that too.
But regrettably, I had to shake my head.
“I have a prescription,” I told him. “I just didn’t have the copay money to fill it.”
Or any reason to do it since sex with anyone but Toby (and I couldn’t have Toby) was the last thing on my mind.
“I’m payin’ for that too.”
“To—”
“Shut it.”
Then he didn’t exactly shut it for me, but he stopped me from speaking by kissing me again.
After that, he shifted away but touched his mouth (and beard) to the small of my back, a move that was so sweet, it made my molars hurt, before he got out of bed.
I located then put the vibrator on my nightstand.
Earlier, I’d introduced Tobe to my version of winter-warm bedwear, something he took off me about five seconds after I appeared in it. But right then, I reached for it where it was draping off the edge of the bed and tugged the cream, low V-neck nightie with the bell-ish long sleeves and slight slant hemline that went mid-thigh on my right, low hip on my left.
I found my panties and pulled those on too.
I did this ending it cross-legged and thinking.
I had to give him the copay.
I had to make that compromise.
He got more out of it than me, and not only the fact he didn’t have to buy condoms. I wasn’t a guy, so I didn’t know how much sensation wearing a condom took away. I just knew no guy who’d said, “Great! I get to roll on a rubber before doing you!”
This wasn’t, I told myself, about swallowing my pride. Taking a handout.
This was giving Toby something he wanted that I would not spend money on if I didn’t have a hot guy who wanted to fuck me.
So I had to chill.
I stopped thinking about this when the bathroom light was extinguished, and he came out naked.
I watched him go to his bag (precisely I watched his chest then his ass as he went to his bag), reach in and shake out a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.
He tugged them on and then strolled to me.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked when he spotted me sitting cross-legged in bed and not lying in it.
“How much sensation does wearing a condom take away?” I asked.
He stopped beside the bed. “You don’t want me to quit usin’ ’em?”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
He nodded once.
“Right. They suck. Most women I’ve been with, puttin’ them on, they take me out of the moment. You, I’m so in the moment, it doesn’t matter, nothing will take me out of it. They still suck.”
That was sweet.
But . . .
“Outside of taking you out of the moment . . .” I prompted.
“You ever had your fingers inside you?”
“Hmm . . .”
His eyes flared, and he muttered, “You’ve had your fingers inside you.”
He entered the bed on hands, then knees, and watching him do that, I wondered if he had more condoms right then.
When he got to me, he pushed up and sat on his ankles with his thighs splayed.
And I again hoped he had more condoms.
“You get really wet,” he said, taking my attention back to our conversation. “And there’s a lot of good to feel inside you. But just sayin’, I’m gloved, I not only can’t feel you like I should, that bein’ I mostly feel tight and warmth and friction, not a lot more, including your wet, you can’t feel me.”
“I’ve never noticed the difference.”
His eyes shut down.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“What?” he asked back.
“You just shut down.”
My open, out-there Toby, he didn’t make me work for it.
“I don’t wanna ask if you’ve had with another guy, especially the one you picked to marry, what you got with me,” he explained.
Two could be out there.
“I’ve never, not once, had with another guy what I have with you.”
His expression opened right up, he reached, caught me at the back of my neck and pulled me up to his mouth so he could kiss me.
He kept his hand at my neck to settle me back down and murmured, “You’ll feel the difference too. But if it’s too soon for you, we’ll wait.”
“I was just curious, Talon. Seriously.”
“All right.”
“I’ll get the prescription filled tomorrow at lunch.”
“Okay, baby.”
I understood shutting down when I had to ask, “Do you need to be, um . . . tested? Because I’ve had my annual exam since getting quit of Perry so I’m good. But . . .”
“Right, we’re here,” he muttered.
Oh shit.
Again, he didn’t make me work for it.
“I was into you the second I laid eyes on you,” he announced.
I felt my own eyes get big.
“I’ve always been careful with protection,” he carried on. “More like obsessive.”
“Well, that’s good,” I murmured.
“That’s not all.”
“All right,” I said.
“Never went that long without pussy, but didn’t want it, it wasn’t yours,” he continued. “So I haven’t been checked, but I also haven’t fucked anyone since I met you.”
That had been a really long time.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
“Toby, that’s sweet,” I whispered.
But it wasn’t sweet.
It was . . .
It was . . .
It was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.
“Mm,” he hummed.
“Really,” I stressed.
“Unh-hunh.”
I slid my hand up his chest, got on my knees, then pressed the rest of me to his chest and glided my hands in his hair.
“How did you go that long our first time if you haven’t—?” I started to ask.
“Baby, I got a hand and I’m not scared of lube, and you’re all that’s you and I got an active imagination. What do you think?”
I grinned.
His dark brows rose. “Those vibrators seen any action ’cause of me?”
“They’re named Toby One, Two and Three.”
His arms suddenly snatched me to him and he twisted, falling to his back in the bed with me on top.
“Actually, I should have called them Toby, Tobias and Talon, but I wasn’t feeling inspired in that way,” I shared.
He was grinning when he asked, “What way were you feeling inspired?”
“Let’s just say, in Toby and Addie Fantasyland, you’re addicted to my blowjobs.”
He burst out laughing and rolled us so he was on top.
But all of a sudden, I wasn’t feeling anything was funny.
“I’ve got some miles on me, honey,” I admitted.
“So?” he asked. “I do too. You got a problem with that?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head, feeling the relief that Toby was all things Toby.
“You want me to get tested?” he offered.
“I think for you and me, it would be wise.”
“I’ll get tested,” he murmured.
“Toby?”
“Yeah?”
“Just to say, you’re pretty awesome.”
He smiled and lines fo
rmed beside his eyes when he did.
I’d probably noticed them before, but being all about that beard, those white teeth, his hair (and incidentally, his lips), I hadn’t taken in his eyes.
They were as awesome as the rest of him.
“Day one is done with us and we got our shit tight,” I bragged.
His smile got bigger and he kissed me.
When he finished doing that, he did this cute thing with rolling us this way and that to get us under the covers.
He reached for his lamp.
I reached for mine.
They went out.
But the glow from his Christmas lights outside filled the room.
He pulled me in his arms.
I settled there.
I gave it a while before I shared, “You should know, even with it being just after that ugly scene with Perry, the second I noticed you, it was you for me too.”
“I know, Adeline. You told me I was perfect so that wasn’t lost on me.”
I tipped my head back and looked at him through the glow. “I did?”
“Yeah, and I hadn’t even got the shot to be as perfect as I actually am.” His arms tightened around me. “So you might have lost your touch with that dick of an ex-husband, but you got your good instincts back when you noticed me.”
“Sadly,” I groused “cocky is hot.”
“I know that too.”
“You need to shut up and go to sleep,” I informed him.
He tipped his beard into his neck, brushed his lips against mine, and whispered there, “Okay, honey.”
Then he cupped the back of my head, shoved my face in his throat, his beard now brushing my forehead, and relaxed into me.
I stared at his throat.
And something struck me.
“You don’t have to feed Brooks in the morning.”
He gave me a squeeze. “Shut it.”
“Or take care of him until I get home Thursday and Friday. I can ask Iz or Margot.”
I found myself dragged up the bed so we were face to face.
“Makin’ this clear only once even though I thought I already did that,” he began.
Oh man.
I had Toby’s ticked-off growl.
“I get you come as a package,” he declared. “I picked that package. My choice. Nothing against how beautiful you are or funny or feisty or all the other shit I dig about you, but honest to God, don’t know if I’d be in this deep if Brooklyn wasn’t a part of you. So get over this and do it now because I want you and I want him and that’s it.”
And that’s it.
That was it.
“Okay,” I said shakily.
“You over it?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“You have another second to be sure about that.”
That second came as silence.
Then he asked, “You over it now?”
I really wanted to bust out laughing.
I didn’t.
I whispered, “I’m over it, Toby.”
“Jesus,” he muttered irritably, pushed me back down and then tucked me close again.
Being ticked and tucking me close was funny too.
I didn’t laugh.
I just pressed closer and remarked, “You Gamble Men really don’t fuck around, do you?”
“No, babe, we don’t,” he stated firmly.
I didn’t bother with beating back my smile.
I gave him some time to cool down before I said, “Goodnight, honey.”
“’Night, baby,” he replied.
Day one.
Done.
And seriously.
We had our shit tight.
It Was Family
Addie
ON SATURDAY, TOBY drove my Focus into town with me in the passenger seat and Brooks in his seat in the back.
It had been a week of Toby and me having our shit tight.
I noticed he was a mellow dude and there was very little he put his foot down about, and this was good since I was not a putting-a-foot-down-man type of woman.
Since we weren’t talking about him buying groceries (and incidentally, he came through my line with Brooks on Thursday night and filled some of those kickass burlap bags again (four of them) to take food to my house, and I was pretty proud of myself I didn’t say a word—then again, he’d spent every night at my house since we got together so he was eating the food along with me) . . .
Or paying my copay (something he handed me a twenty on Tuesday morning in order that I could do) . . .
Or taking Brooks on, along with taking me . . .
It was all good.
That was, it was all good until we were set to go into town for the Fair and we couldn’t put the car seat in his truck because his truck had a bench seat, therefore we had to take my, car and I told him no one drove my car but me.
This was when I found out that, unless you had a dick, Tobias Gamble did not ride shotgun.
And even if you had a dick, there was a discussion.
But no dick, no way.
He’d said this, straight out.
“You won’t let a woman drive?” I’d asked.
“Babe.”
That was his answer.
Babe.
Obviously, that was no answer at all, so I called him on it.
“Why?” I queried.
“It’s just the way it is,” he replied.
“Yes, but . . . why?” I pushed.
“Adeline, there’s some things you don’t question about a man.”
“That’s insane.”
I used that word rather than the word “chauvinistic,” the phrase “macho-man lunacy” or the like.
“It isn’t, since getting the answer might piss you off . . .” he took a pause to assess me and finished, “more.”
“It is because you know in explaining it it’ll still just be insane.”
Or chauvinistic, etcetera.
“Why do you put on mascara?” he asked.
“It makes me pretty,” I answered.
“No more pretty than you are without it.”
Well, shit.
“Okay then, I think it makes me prettier,” I retorted.
“You’re wrong.”
“I can’t be wrong about an opinion,” I snapped.
“Exactly. I drive because I’m more comfortable bein’ in control of the car, especially if I got bodies in it I care about, and the two bodies that are gonna be in it, I seriously care about, and it’s my opinion I’m more than likely better at it than you. That might be wrong, but it bein’ wrong would be subjective. So unless you got some serious hang up about ridin’, I drive.”
This was infuriating.
Because how could you argue with that?
Thus, me riding into town shotgun in my own damned car.
And he did drive kind of fast.
But he was a good driver.
Even though it was already busy in town, Tobe scored an awesome parking spot.
He parked, and we got out.
I went to Brooks.
He went to the hatchback to get Brooklyn’s stroller.
As I stood on the sidewalk holding my boy, he shook it out then put his boot to the thing that locked it in place and he did this like he designed the damned contraption.
He then swung Brooks’s diaper bag, which was a big, black leather bag with a gold guitar and Johnny Cash’s name on it that a friend of mine had given me at my baby shower (a kickass bag I obviously adored) into the net at the bottom.
When he got the stroller sorted, I bent to strap Brooklyn in, muttering, “You had a good explanation about the driving thing, except about the fact you’d only ride with someone who has a dick.”
“You been chewin’ on that since the acres?” he asked.
I finished with Brooklyn and straightened, shooting a glare at him even before I saw he appeared amused, stating, “Yes.”
“Addie, men have a protective instinct with shit like that.”
He did not just say that.
Though, he did.
Because he did, I slammed my hands on my hips. “And women don’t have protective instincts?”
“No thought, just answer. Danger happens, you got two choices. Get your boy, your phone and find a place to hide and call for help or grab a gun and go out and eradicate it?” he tested me.
“I don’t have a gun.”
“Then find a weapon,” he amended.
I understood his point.
Still . . .
“I would hope you also wouldn’t go out with a gun to eradicate it,” I remarked.
“What I’d do is get a phone, you, Brooks and make sure you’re safe, tell you to call emergency then get my gun and stand watch so I’d be in the zone to neutralize it if it got close to you while we wait for emergency.”
This was a good answer.
“You have guns?” I asked.
“Two rifles,” he answered. “Inherited. I don’t use them because I don’t hunt like Gramps and Dad did. But they’re worth money and sentimental, and I like hitting the target range.”
I might like hitting the target range with him.
That was, until Brooks got older, and if Toby and I were together, as in living together, those guns would have to be out of the house.
“This doesn’t explain why you only feel comfortable with a man driving,” I noted.
“There’s active protection and passive protection and both of them are good but only one of them I want behind the wheel of a car.”
“You know what bugs me the most?” I asked.
His lips hitched. “That I make sense?”
“That and that you know what bugs me the most.”
He moved around the stroller, bent to brush his lips against mine and pulled away to say, “Grab your cards and let’s drop ’em at Macy’s so we can hit he square.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
But I did what he said, having let that go not because he made good points (that were still macho-man lunacy), but because this meant something to him and it didn’t mean a whole lot to me, thus I saw no reason to push it from a discussion to an argument.
After I slammed the door Toby beeped the locks on my car.
Yeah.
Whatever.
We hoofed it to Macy’s, and the minute we went inside, even though she had a lot of customers, when she spied us she called, “Oh good! More cards. I’m sold out!”
She was?
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she answered.
She took the cards I handed her that I’d been able to make because Toby was over at my house every night, and when I told him I filled my gas tank selling cards, he took over feeding, and if it was bath night, bathing Brooklyn, so I had a little me time to make some.
The Slow Burn ~ Kristen Ashley Page 17