by Clare James
“Have you ever?” I ask.
“Good point, but take her original ass-kickings and multiply by infinity these days.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask. “There’s not a junior chef cooking in Jules’s oven, is there?”
“No, hell no. Not yet. She just has a big assignment coming up. But … we do have some news.”
“Okay, as long as it’s not a baby, I think I can handle it.”
“We adopted a dog,” he says. So serious, so domesticated. I have to stifle my laughter. “From the shelter.”
“Mazel tov,” I say, but he stands there like he’s waiting for more.
“That’s all you have to say? This is a big step. Real responsibility. It’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“Okaaaaay.”
“I’m serious,” he continues. “You don’t just get a dog unless you’re ready to settle down and be responsible. Big step, my friend. Big. Step.”
“Why do I have the feeling it’s a side step?” I ask, watching the guy, who was so happy a minute ago, start to unravel.
“Fuck, you’re not going to believe this,” he begins. “And I’m not supposed to say anything, but Jules does want a little chef in her oven.”
“Really?” I ask, not all that surprised. Unprepared, but not surprised. They’re married and they have the money. In my head, I knew it was going to happen eventually. Still, there’s piece of me who wants all of us to stay put.
What we have going on right now—hanging out with friends on a Saturday night, my job at the paper, cohabiting with my girlfriend in an affordable townhouse—I can handle. Tab can too.
But there’s another piece of me that is insanely jealous we aren’t anywhere near where Foster and Jules are. I stuff that feeling down as far as I can, hiding it from the light of day.
“She just dropped the baby bomb on me a few weeks ago,” Foster says. “And she’s ready. As in right the fuck now.”
“So, you opted for a dog instead?”
“Bingo.” He flicks me the finger gun. It’s actually pretty funny to watch him get all riled up.
“Okay,” I say, manning up to be a good friend. Just because I’m not ready doesn’t mean I can’t be there to support two of the best people I know. “So, what’s the problem? You’re with kids at the center all the time. By choice. You’re great with them. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I really doubt you could get any more domesticated.”
“It’s not that,” he says, and now I see the fear in his eyes. “It’s just … I’ve only been sober for eighteen months.”
“That’s a long time.” I’m adamant.
Foster went through a bad patch there for a while, but I’m convinced most of his drinking was because he was punishing himself for Ben. But with his family history and all the alcoholism on the rez, he is terrified of ending up like his dad.
The fact that he is so terrified is the exact reason I’m not worried about him at all.
“Yeah, but it feels like yesterday that I was that fuckup. I have to be sure I’m ready. So you better be fucking ecstatic in there when we make the announcement about Wolfgang.”
“What now?” I’m having a hard time following.
“The dog, dumbass.”
“Of course. The dog is named after a famous chef. Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m there for you, man.”
“Good,” he says, using a towel to wipe his forehead. The poor guy is really stressed. “Now help me toss the salad.”
“Fine, but I’m not wearing an apron.”
Once everything is under control in the kitchen, we join the girls. I take a seat on the couch. Tabby walks over to the bar the very next moment, bringing the bottle of booze back with her.
She fills my glass, and Jules snickers.
Yep, definitely trying to get me drunk.
“So, how’s life at The Daily Bugle” Jules asks me.
“Eh,” I say, unenthused. And then I proceed to tell her about my life-altering assignments, like digging through the garbage at Senator Jones’s home, announcing weddings, and writing obituaries. Jules loves it when I tell her that I had to apologize to a family for getting their pet’s name wrong in Grandpa’s obit. I thought it was a typo. Who names their dog Popper, anyway?
“What about a byline?” Jules finally asks the most dreaded question. “Will we see your name under the StarTribune masthead any time soon?”
“I highly doubt that,” I tell her.
Jules was my partner in crime on the campus newspaper. I uncovered the dirt and she’d get a great shot of it. She made the right choice by going into photography rather than law. She is so talented. But, like my job and Tabby’s, it’s not the most stable of professions.
Who would’ve thought Foster would be the responsible one?
Tabby’s dad comes up from behind me. “You have plenty of time to get that byline, son.”
Shooting the shit with Jules, I didn’t hear the Kellys come in.
“Professor.” I stand to shake his hand. He’s asked me so many times to call him Jake, but old habits. He was my journalism professor for four years and our faculty advisor on the paper. It’s too weird to call him by his first name.
Shit, I hope he didn’t hear too much of my bitching to Jules. I have to be careful about shoptalk with Mr. Kelly around. He found the opportunity at the paper and gave me a recommendation. I own him so much.
“Hi, Amy,” I greet Tab’s stepmom. I have no trouble losing the formalities with her. She’s so warm and welcoming, I feel like I’ve known her forever. She steps around the professor, revealing an amazing dress. I’m sure Tabby would have some fancy name for the color—one that belongs to an obscure fruit or gem stone, but I’d say it’s the perfect shade of purple.
Tab’s stepmom is a knockout—top-grade MILF, if I were to be crude. Her waves of dark hair spill down her back, and she rocks a body that should be on a twenty-year-old woman rather than a forty-year-old one.
As she stands next to the professor who has rumpled hair and is wearing a Nirvana T-shirt under his signature herringbone blazer, all I can think is that he is one lucky man.
“Noah.” Amy comes over and plants a loud kiss on my cheek. “Always so handsome.”
“Sheesh, Mrs. Kelly. If you think that’s handsome, get a load of this,” Foster says, modeling his apron.
“Be still,” Amy says, patting her chest. “There is nothing sexier than a man in an apron.” She gives the guy the same treatment—the attention hog that he is.
“Don’t get him all flustered, Amy,” Jules says. “He needs to keep his head on our meal.”
“Right,” Amy whispers to her. Then she calls out to Foster, “Need help in the kitchen, hon?”
“Nope.” Foster struts like a peacock. The guy is completely serious, not to mention arrogant as hell, when he’s cooking. “You just sit down and have a glass of Pinot while I finish up.”
Tab is smiling from ear to ear. She is so happy when her family’s around. Growing up, she only saw her dad a few times a year. They’ve been making up for lost time ever since she moved to Minneapolis.
Damn, she looks incredible tonight. Forget Mrs. K. My woman is wearing some flowy shirt-thing with leggings and her hair is in a long braid. It’s impossible to turn away, especially knowing that she’s all mine. At least for now.
I’m not an insecure guy. Jealous? Maybe. Insecure? No, definitely not. I just know what it means when someone starts to pull away.
Tab flips the braid over her shoulder, running her delicate fingers along her silky rope of hair. I don’t have to touch it to know what it feels like. I’ve made it my life’s work to worship every inch of that girl. Though as I do, something disturbing sinks in. A not-so-innocent vision of how I could hold her down with that braid.
This is what I’ve been worried about. Once you release the beast, how do you put him back in his cage?
A shiver slides through me as that vision comes into focus, bringing with it a vicious pu
lling sensation that tugs low and deep in my balls.
I’m beginning to hate the fact that she’s brought this out in me. Not that I didn’t have this need with her before. I did. Hell, I’ve always wanted her. And it was more than an exercise in patience when I had to wait.
We went so slow at first.
She was terrified of touch, and absolutely repulsed when I’d look at her. The hardest part was that she wouldn’t talk to me about it. So I did what I always do—went searching for a solution.
I used this technique called sensate focus. Sex therapists use it to help create intimacy for couples. As Tab once said, whoever created it is a fucking genius.
It took weeks before I could lay a finger on her. And once I could, it was in designated areas only. Holy fucking hell. That first time we went for the below-the-belt action blew my damn mind. I can remember it like it was yesterday.
I slid down the bed and propped myself on my arms. She was hot to the touch, and I could taste the salt on her skin as she started to perspire. I eased her along, trailing kisses from her neck, down her chest, to the most amazing breasts I had ever seen. Breasts that were heaving with excitement. I watched her as I took her nipple deep into my mouth.
Tab’s eyes rolled back in her head.
Then I started nipping and teasing, working her over. It was hard to keep control. I tried to move slowly, but her hands dug into me. Her body wriggled under me. But I knew that if I made one wrong move, it’d be over. So I pushed that desire down so my brain could take the lead. Not that I didn’t enjoy myself. Because, fuck, I did. I just also had to be sure to temper my movements.
Still, I had to desensitize her to my touch, so I wasn’t gentle when I bit her nipple.
The way she responded to that made my world shift on its axis.
She shuddered, every part of her so alive and responsive.
“You liked that, huh?” I said. “Let’s see if I can make you do that again.”
I moved farther down her body and drew a line down her stomach with my tongue.
Her teeth scraped across her lower lip, digging in so deep that it almost drew blood.
Then I made my way between her legs. They parted so easily. I continued placing hot, wet kisses up and down the inside of her thigh.
“Is this okay?” I asked.
“It’s amazing,” she said. At least that’s what I think she said. In between her words, was a slew of incoherent pleas.
“Tabby,” I exhaled, letting my breath caress her on her most sensitive spot.
Her hands fisted the sheets, and she cried out. Her hips rose up to meet me. Then my mouth found her.
She was almost panting as my head began to move. She was watching, and it was hot as hell. I don’t know how I lasted that night when all I wanted to do was drive into her—deep and hard.
Instead, I found her sweet clit and teased the hell out of it. Circling my tongue over that tight bundle of nerves, I was fast and quick. Unrelenting. She began rocking in toward my mouth, taking everything I offered.
Her movements built with each flick of my tongue. So I slowed the pace. Unhurried, I laved her center, high on the taste and smell of her. My fingers found their way inside, joining in—stroke for stroke. And when the pressure and intensity of my movements reached a fevered pace, I flattened my tongue and thrusted my fingers so hard that she fell over the edge.
Chapter 5
What the hell am I doing?
Sitting in my friends’ living room, with my girlfriend’s parents, reliving the first time I went down on my woman. I have serious issues.
And I swear the professor can read my mind.
Did he just give me a dirty look?
I excuse myself to the bathroom to regroup and readjust my dick like a friggin’ teenager. Something’s gotta give with this situation.
Tabby knocks on the door. “Hey, it’s me.”
Isn’t that convenient?
Without thinking, I open the door and yank her inside.
She giggles, and I so want to show her that there’s nothing remotely funny about my current condition.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You seemed, I don’t know, a little weird out there.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, wrapping my fingers around that sinful braid.
I completely contradict my words when I pull her hair to bring her closer, lining her up as I crush my lips against hers in the most punishing kiss. That’s exactly what this is. I want to punish her for having put me in such a state.
I nip at her lower lip, and not in a playful way. It’s purposeful. Yet I’m there to soothe the bite with my tongue. When she whimpers in my mouth, the crows come back with a vengeance, erratic wings flapping against my chest. I feel feverish, lightheaded, like I’m outside of my body.
I can’t wrap my brain around what’s happening to me. I’ve been with Tabby for two years. Though I confess, I am more careful with her than I’ve been with women in previous relationships.
Still, I’m not shy about having her. In fact, I’ve been known to be both greedy and demanding where she’s concerned. But her needs, her safety, her wellbeing always comes first.
And I’m always able to reel it in before we go too far.
This is something different going on. Something new—both seducing and dark. And as thrilling as it is, I don’t like what it is doing to me. A point I’m proving—or maybe not—as my hands find their way into Tabby’s panties.
“God,” she pants. “Where’s this coming from?”
“This is coming from you,” I growl in her ear. “Putting all these depraved thoughts in my head. I can’t turn them off now.”
I grab her leg and hook it around my waist as I push the blunt tip of my finger inside. She leans in toward me and rolls her hips, but I push her back against the wall.
“Slow down,” I order. “I want to see you.”
I add another finger and inch them in as deep as I can. Tabby’s eyes are dancing now. Gone is the innocence I usually see in them. I watch as her pupils dilate, and all the air in my lungs pushes out in one long breath. It is the most sensual, carnal thing I’ve ever witnessed.
With a crook of my fingers, I find the Promised Land. Tab opens her mouth, and I instinctually cover it with my other hand. I know she’s about to scream.
Her eyes go wide, but she isn’t scared. I can tell that much. No, she’s just surprised. I’ve never covered her mouth before. I’ve always worried it would remind her of that night.
It’s something that’s never far from my mind. I worry about triggers and buried memories. I never want to bring them to the surface when she’s with me.
But right now, I’m not thinking clearly.
Her cries continue, so I pull my hand away and capture the rest of them in an intoxicating kiss.
“We will finish this later,” I say, releasing her leg. Then I walk out.
***
How we get out of the bathroom with no one the wiser, I’ll never understand. Or maybe they all know.
Don’t know. Don’t care
How’s that for a new mantra?
I rejoin the group in much better spirits than I left it. Though I’m not enjoying the kind of release that Tab most certainly is at the moment, I did find some much-needed breathing room.
Fuck, that felt good to go and take and not give a damn. I mean, yes, I do give an enormous damn about Tab. But I know, without a doubt in my mind, she’s okay.
The shit-eating grin plastered on her face when she came out of the bathroom only confirmed it.
“Okay, guys,” Foster finally says. “Food’s on.”
Whoa. I definitely feel the scotch when I stand up again. My early strategy of trying to drink away the dirty images of Tab only served one purpose: to get me drunk.
We take a seat in the dining area, and Tab places her hand on my thigh, giving me a look of pure gratitude. She leans over and turns her lip up in that way of hers. With her other hand, she toys with my cross that hangs
from a chain around her neck. The one she started wearing the first night I met her. Other than the dance performances, she never takes it off.
Tab pats her hand to her heart, and it sobers me up instantly—well, at least for a minute or two. I lace my fingers in hers, and she leans her head on my arm. I swallow the lump down, because sometimes, Tabby brings me to my knees. And sometimes, loving her is the most inconvenient thing in the world.
Foster dishes out our salad plates and passes around five different kinds of bread. He went all out. About every fifteen minutes, he comes out with something new before he brings out the main course.
“This smells amazing, Foster,” Tabby says while the entire table oohs and ahhs.
The six of us dig into Foster’s masterpiece. I don’t think there’s any talking for the first five minutes. Just a lot of moans and groans, because, damn, dude can cook. I’m absolutely ravenous.
“Wow, Foster,” Amy finally says. “You have to give me this recipe. It’s incredible.”
“I’d be happy to swap recipes with you, Mrs. K.”
We are all stuffing our faces, talking about school and jobs and the news of the day, when the tiniest of barks erupts from the bedroom.
“What the heck is that?” Tabby asks.
“We have an announcement.” Jules beams. “We just got a puppy.”
“No way,” I say. “Wow. That’s a big step. Big. Step. A dog. A flipping dog.”
I may have carried on a bit more. Actually, I’m sure I did, because Foster is currently shooting eye daggers at me, and Tab smacks my arm.
I don’t care. I’m drunk.
Tab and Amy bust into the bedroom with Jules to free the dog, and the rest of the evening is nothing but puppy love.
Little Wolfgang is a Shepard and Lab mix—black and brown fur with ice-blue eyes. He’s irresistible. Even I get in on the fuss. Old Wolfy is no dummy; he ignores me and hangs with the ladies.
The next hour is a blur of more scotch, more food, and more conversation.
At one point, I stumble into Tab’s discussion with Mr. Kelly. Apparently, her brother, Michael, is upset that he doesn’t get to see Tabby more often.
Once Michael started dating Jenna, his presence around the house became pretty scarce. Tab is not exactly a fan. Unfortunately, they’ve been together for over a year now, so it doesn’t look like Jenna’s going anywhere any time soon.