by Nicole Helm
She would focus on those feelings, the ones she knew what to do with that had a clear-cut path. Get naked. Have sex. Release.
Maybe then she could muddle through love.
He cleared his throat. “Right. My...desk. And...you, in the red dress.”
“Mmm.”
“Bent over the desk, so I could, uh...you know, do things.” He let out a disgusted breath. “Holy shit am I bad at this.”
The giggle escaped before she could manipulate it into something a little less emasculating. She rested her forehead on his leg, trying to swallow down more laughter.
“Oh, go ahead, laugh it up.”
“I’m sorry. I am.” She tried to bite her lip, think about anything that might stop it. But another laugh slipped out. And then another. “Oh, I am sorry. It’s not funny. It’s just...” When she dared to look up at him he was staring at the ceiling. Though his mouth was curved in amusement, she couldn’t help wondering if there wasn’t something else under it, not nearly so pleasant.
“You don’t have to be perfect, you know?”
His gaze dropped to her. “Was I trying to be?”
“Sometimes I think...” She inched her hands up to his waist, tugging at his sweater, so he bent forward and she pulled it off along with the T-shirt he wore underneath. She sighed. He might not be smooth with the dirty talk, but who needed to be when you looked like that?
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest. “Sometimes I do think you try to be perfect. To be what everyone else wants. And I always seem to like you the best when you fail at that.”
“That’s somehow both warped and flattering at the same time.”
“Leah Santino, warped and flattering. I’ll add that to my business cards.” He chuckled but stopped abruptly when she kissed him again, lower, somewhere around second level of ab. She slid her hands back over his thighs, not stopping until her fingers were at his waistband.
The rest of his chuckle was more of a hissed breath. “I apologize for laughing, though. I’ll make it up to you.” She flipped the button of his fly and when he made a strangled grunt in the back of his throat she quirked an eyebrow at him. “Did you have something to say?”
“Uh. No. No. Carry on. Be my guest, et cetera, et cetera.”
She grinned, pulling the zipper down. “Take off your pants.”
“You know, in my fantasies, I tend to call the shots.”
“Then be my guest, et cetera, et cetera.”
“All right.” He brushed his fingertips across her temple, the falling-out tendrils of hair from her braid. One fingertip traced the curve of her ear. A move so sweet, so loving...
Guh.
“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”
She didn’t remove her hands from the waistband of his jeans. “You know, even in this scenario, I really hate taking orders.”
He chuckled. “How about this. We both agree to get naked, no orders necessary.”
“A compromise.”
“I have a feeling we will be negotiating many over the course of this.” Then his other finger traced her other ear and she felt like melting into the floor. She couldn’t think of a time anyone had touched her like this. It wasn’t a careful touch, as though she was fragile and might break. It wasn’t a desperate touch as if she’d die tomorrow. It was sweet and appreciative, but it asked for nothing in return.
She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him, but he leaned forward and kissed her before she could. Cupping her face, drawing her close, and she let herself go to...everything. Not just passion or attraction, but the depth of what she felt for him. And that really, truly was a first.
His fingers slipped under the fabric of her shirt, gently pulled up until they had to break the kiss to remove it completely. She was still kneeling, and he was still sitting on the edge of her bed. He skimmed his palms down her arms and grasped her elbows as though he meant to pull her onto the bed, but she wasn’t quite ready for that.
She moved her arms out of his grasp, moving her hands to his jeans. “I’m going to finish what I started. Or start what I started. Or something because apparently I, too, am not good at the sexy, sexy talk.” She shook her head, not feeling self-conscious so much as a desperate need to forget about words of all kinds. “So, please remove your pants.”
“Impossible to say no to ‘please,’” he said a little breathlessly, moving to his feet and shoving his pants and underwear down and kicking out of them.
She rocked back to her heels and just took him in. “It is really not fair how good you look naked.”
“You’re right. You should probably be naked, too.”
She smiled, couldn’t help it. Had she ever smiled so much during foreplay? She couldn’t remember that ever being a thing, but she liked it. How...comfortable it made everything. She unhooked her bra and let it fall, but instead of taking off her pants, she got back on her knees and grasped his erection.
Hard and hot and smooth as she traveled the length of him. “This would be easier if you sat back down.”
He was back on the bed before she even had the entire sentence out, and her smile never once died. She inched forward on her knees until she was close enough to lower her mouth to the tip of his penis.
When she touched her tongue to him he groaned loud enough she had to shush him. She ran her tongue down the thick length of him, the undercurrent of power heating in her veins, centering at her core.
When she looked up at him, his head was thrown back, the tendons of his neck taut as he made a much quieter, low guttural noise in his throat. So, she took him in her mouth, getting a kind of perverse glee that he had to be quiet, that she was making him not want to be.
She used her mouth until his fingers came to her shoulders, then tangled in her hair. Breathing harsh, he pulled her head away. “Leah, I need you...”
He pulled her onto the bed before she could do anything about it. She was under him in a flash, though he leveraged enough on his arms that she could wiggle out of her pants and underwear.
He needed something from her. He’d said it. Desperately. No one ever needed her. Aside from always being the one needing, she tended to shy away from someone depending on her. She knew how fragile that dependence would be.
But she couldn’t find that normal fear of connection, of a future that would end a little soon. She couldn’t be afraid of anything with Jacob lowering his mouth to hers, with his “I love you” still echoing in her head.
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a thing to be afraid of.
* * *
JACOB GRABBED THE condom from the dresser and they both fumbled to put it on, breathing heavily, laughing a little when it was the wrong way and they had to flip it over.
He was desperate to be inside her, to lose himself and all these damn feelings in the pleasure of release. But if he did, he wasn’t sure he could keep his dignity long enough to give that to her, as well.
So he slid his palm down her abdomen, carefully ignoring the scar right above. Her words from earlier popped into his head—you don’t have to be perfect—but he shoved them away. He wasn’t perfect at all, but he could give her what she wanted.
He slid a finger across her, wet and hot. He explored until she was arching against his hand, biting her lip, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Only then did he slide inside, holding her still while he ruthlessly held on to his control. He had to believe he could control some part of this, because everything else seemed so far out of his grasp.
The thought annoyed him, undercut the buzz of arousal, so he withdrew almost completely and then plunged deep.
She had been in the driver’s seat on her knees, but now he was. He was in control and he would drive her as crazy as she’d driven him. He’d give her what sh
e wanted, everything that she wanted, and then...things would somehow be right.
Even in his hazy state he knew that didn’t make sense, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except bringing her to orgasm. Maybe then she’d love him back.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Screw you, brain.
Luckily, Leah took that moment to pull him close and whisper “Harder” in his ear. Yes, they needed hard and fast and crazed or he would keep thinking and that was wrong.
So, he plunged deeper, thrust faster, holding tight on to her hips to keep the bed from making too much noise. His heart thundered in his ears and he could barely feel anything but her tight warmth around him and the breath staggering in and out of his lungs.
She said his name, her hands sliding off his sweat-slicked shoulders, but then she grasped his hips, pulling him even deeper, arching to meet each thrust until she whimpered in release.
He slowed his pace, wanting to draw out the last few minutes, slowly withdrawing, moving deep again, relishing in the feel of her smooth skin under his rough palms. Relishing the feel of everything about her.
She was his. If she didn’t love him yet, she would. This was everything he’d been looking for and failing at finding.
She grasped his hand, linking her fingers with his, her gaze meeting his. He leaned forward, touched his mouth to hers and was lost.
Her fingers traced up and down his spine until he worked up the strength to pull out and move off her. He kissed her cheek, then got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
He disposed of the condom and washed his hands, looking at himself in the mirror.
As sure as he was of his own feelings, of her returning them at some point, as sure as he was of them as a couple, something about her not saying it back made him feel off.
But he plastered a smile on his face and walked back to the bed. You don’t have to be perfect. He pushed that thought away. Of course he did. That was how a person got what they wanted. Being good and making the right choices.
He got back into bed, sliding his arm under her neck, full of all sorts of fake cheer. “All right, tell me one place.”
“One place?” she asked sleepily, nuzzling into his shoulder.
He wondered if that feeling would ever get old. Her cozied up to him, sleepy and satisfied. Tough-as-nails, hard-ass Leah content and cozy against him. “One place you’ve fantasized about us having sex. You have to have at least one.”
She chuckled, but went silent for a while. He thought she wasn’t going to answer, but then she gave him a little poke in the side. “Your truck.”
“My truck?” He grinned, some of the cheer becoming less fake. “Like, while it was moving? Going to or leaving a job? What are you wear—”
“Shut up, Jacob.” She blew out a breath, linking her hand with his. She’d tensed a little, though he couldn’t tell why. So he kissed her forehead and let the conversation go.
“For the record,” she said in a very quiet voice, “the love thing... Well, I think—” She swallowed, but then she buried her head in the curve of his shoulder. “I love you, too,” she mumbled.
He closed his eyes, and every last muscle in his body relaxed. He’d known it. Or hoped it or something, but the words were still a relief. He hadn’t made a mistake. He hadn’t miscalculated. She loved him, too, so this thing they were doing was right.
And nothing could change that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LEAH WAS IN HELL. Shopping-with-Mom hell. But it was Mom’s last full day, and Leah had agreed to do whatever she wanted. She just hadn’t expected it to be shopping.
“You don’t wear any jewelry,” Mom tsked as Leah longingly thought of Marc and Dad ice fishing at the state park. She didn’t love fishing, but she did love not shopping. In fact, she’d rather be at work.
With Jacob.
She wasn’t sure that was a happy thought or an uncomfortable one or what. This whole love thing was beyond new. It was something she hadn’t allowed herself to believe she’d have.
“How about these?” Mom held some giant dangly blue earrings against Leah’s face.
“Mom, where would I ever wear those?”
“A date?”
A date. With Jacob. Crazy, but not crazy enough to wear those earrings. “I’m not huge into big and dangly. Can we go a little understated?”
Mom shook her head. “My only daughter and no sparkles. No pink. She wants black and understated. Where did I go wrong?”
“I wouldn’t blame yourself.”
“You’re right. All your father’s fault, always letting you tinker with the cars. Humph.” Mom picked up another pair of earrings. They were black and sparkly and still a little big for Leah, but when Mom looked at her hopefully, she forced a smile.
“Those are great.”
Mom grinned. “That’s my girl.”
Leah’s phone dinged, and she totally did not get a little gooey at the fact it was Jacob texting her. She was so above gooey.
Keep telling yourself that, Santino.
She brought the message up, suppressing a smile as she read. Jasmine Street house accepted my offer. Get ready for some overtime, baby. She wanted to be mad at him for getting another project, especially one this difficult and with no client involved.
But it would be the most challenging work of her career, and just the thought of it had her palms itching to start planning.
“That’s from Jacob, I assume.”
Leah looked up from her phone to see Mom with the earrings clutched to her chest, dreamy smile on her face.
“Yes, but it’s about work.”
“That smile is not about work.”
“We just got a really exciting project.”
Mom shook her head, wandering over to the next jewelry display case. “No one gets a smile like that over work.”
Leah wasn’t so sure about that, but she couldn’t deny it might be at least a little about Jacob. Of course, the warm and squishy feelings disappeared when she realized what Mom was looking at. Rings.
“You should start dropping hints, honey. Nothing worse than a hideous engagement ring. Now, some girls do the ring shopping with the boys these days, but that seems tacky to me. A few hints and a smart man like Jacob should get it right.”
“Mom...” Leah found her eyes trapped on the rings. She wasn’t a jewelry girl. She wasn’t an engagement-ring girl, but she also had to accept that if things went right with her and Jacob, this might be where it led. And as much as that scared her, she’d already taken that step. Jacob had crawled under all her defenses and excuses, and if they ended up here, could she really say no now?
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Mom made a girlie squealing sound. “You’re opening up to the idea of getting married, aren’t you? See? You need me here. If I hadn’t been poking you about it, you’d still be all determined to say no to marriage.”
The anxiety in Leah’s stomach twisted harder. She didn’t know how to deal with all of this. It was all so...soon. She needed time and...a plan. Which was funny since she was always making fun of Jacob and his plans.
Leah turned away from the display. She couldn’t deal with that right now. Mom thought they’d been together for a year, not a few days. This part, if it even ever happened, which was a big if, was far away.
Mom being around all the time...that seemed a lot more imminent. “There’s...no way I can convince you that you don’t need to move here? That I’m okay. Better than okay. The life I’ve built for myself here isn’t just what I want, but what I need.”
Mom blinked at her, perplexed, maybe, damn it, even a little hurt. “But don’t you want us here?”
Leah swallowed. She kept trying to be honest and getting kicked in the head by Mom’s logic, but at the same time,
honesty was giving her something with Jacob. Maybe if she kept trying. “Have you considered things might go back to the way they were? The fighting? The misunderstanding?”
“Believe it or not, I have.” Mom pressed her lips together, grasping Leah’s shoulders, the plastic of the earring package digging into her sweater. “And I hope we both learned something from that time. From the time apart. Maybe a little bit on how to bend and compromise. I will always—” she made air quotes as she spoke the next words “—‘overworry,’ as your father calls it, and I’m sure you do, too. And I’ll never pretend I won’t, but I can try to give you more space. I will. Because I won’t want you to shut me out again.”
Leah wasn’t sure it made her feel any better. Words like try and overworry didn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence in her that things would change. But she had grown up and she had learned some lessons, too, so maybe it wouldn’t be all bad.
“Can you try to be at least a little happy about it?”
The words twisted in her heart. “Mom, it’s not that I’m unhappy. I’m just...worried. I want us to be like this, not like then.”
Mom released her shoulders. “I do, too.”
And Leah needed to remember that. As much as Mom’s worry and seeming lack of trust was hurtful, she wanted them to be a family. She wanted them to get along. It wasn’t mean or vicious; it just was, and maybe with some closer proximity they actually could work through some of that “overworry.”
So, she smiled, and she actually meant it, at least partially. “I’m starving. Are we ready for lunch?”
“Oh, can we go somewhere a little fancy? I can barely drag your father to Wendy’s these days.”
“Your pick, Mom. It’s your day.” And it wouldn’t kill Leah to do this on occasion. Like Mom said, bend. It didn’t make her less of herself or set her on a path to being that miserable teenager. It wasn’t breaking; it was balancing. If she could do it with her health, surely she could do it with her life.
* * *