Rick picks up a container of steamed chicken and vegetables with no sauce or rice. It’s the same thing he always used to order. He would laugh when I scrunched up my nose at the boring choice, telling me that his body was a temple, and from the glimpses I’ve had of him over the last few months—most of our sexual encounters, he stays mostly clothed—it still is. Where I have softened around the edges with pregnancy and then life, Rick has stayed hard-bodied, ripped abs and all, and it’s bullshit.
This time, it’s his turn to smirk when he understands where my mind has traveled when he catches his disgusting dinner choice in my direct line of sight. He knows I love his body, and I always have. But it can’t go on like this. So I silently force out a heavy sigh and then eat the rest of my feelings and mu shu.
When the movie is over, Rachel quickly clicks over to Pitch Perfect. And I want to laugh at the look on Rick’s face. I don’t. I come close, but I find some restraint.
“Something funny over there, pretty girl?” he asks me.
“No, not a thing,” I answer before moving my hand across my chest in an exaggerated X. “Scouts honor.”
“So when does old Dad get to pick a movie?” he asks, and Rachel shoots him a look that would make mere mortals cower. I like to think she gets that look from him, like it’s coded in her DNA.
“Why?” she asks suspiciously. “What would you pick?”
“I don’t know… Braveheart, The Patriot,” he suggests. “No?”
“Uhh…” I laugh. “Don’t you think those are a little bloody for an eight-year-old?”
“Umm…” he says, looking uncomfortable, and I want to put him out of his misery.
“Ice cream time!” she shouts before pausing the movie and running into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I say softly. “She’ll be ready for your brand of entertainment before long. Now let’s go gorge on ice cream.”
“How about you?” he asks softly, his husky voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Are you ready for the brand of entertainment I have planned for you?”
I swallow back my nervousness audibly and don’t agree or disagree. I change the subject like a chickenshit. “I think I’m ready for ice cream.”
“Sure,” he says, smiling that wicked smile that reeled me in like a big mouth bass on day one. “I’ll let you have that play. For now.”
I make my way into the kitchen and feel Rick’s steps follow me. His heated gaze could burn a hole through the ass of my leggings, and the moisture pooling between my thighs reminds me that I will never not want him.
“Holy fu—” he bites out as he takes a look at all the crap Rachel and I bought at the store earlier when I was distracted. My lack of parenting skills is piled up on the island for all and sundry to see.
“Whoops,” I admit. “We might have gone a little overboard at the store earlier.”
“You think?”
“I was distracted, and the tiny powerhouse I birthed took advantage of me in a weak moment,” I protest.
“You’re the parent,” he grumbles, and it’s not quite loud enough for Rachel to hear, but all it takes is one look at her face to know her confidence with her dad is slipping.
“We have an audience,” I say out of the side of my mouth. “Smile.”
“So where do we start?” he asks our daughter.
“Ice cream,” she answers, clearly realizing his displeasure was with me and not her. I made a point to talk to her when he entered her life, and I told her that sometimes grownups disagree. It is never, not ever, her fault and that no matter what, we both love her more than anything in this world.
“Sweet.”
“That’s the idea.” I wink.
“Mom likes half a banana in her bowl,” Rachel says, side-eyeing me. “I do not.”
“I would love to split a banana with Mom,” Rick says, snatching one up from the hammered copper bowl on the counter and peeling it with his nimble fingers. Fingers I know all too well what they’re capable of. He breaks it in half and hands it to me with a knowing smirk, the bastard.
I take it and break it into chunks with my hands before dumping them into my bowl. I scoop out my favorite chocolate ice cream, and Rachel passes me the chocolate syrup. We have created an art form over the years of ice cream sundae assembly. When we’re done, we high five each other with our spoons and then look at Rick, whose bowl contains half a banana and one scoop of plain vanilla. To be honest, I’m not even sure where the vanilla came from, because Rachel and I wouldn’t waste our time on that shit.
“That’s it?” I cry. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Uhh… no?” he asks before carefully shaking out three plain M&M’s into his bowl. Plain! I shake my head at him and then walk back into the living room.
We resume our places from earlier, and Rachel picks up the remote, pressing Play on Pitch Perfect. We eat more ice cream than we probably should; well, Rachel and I do. I’m not sure Rick has ever had ice cream before. I hope his stomach can handle all that rich dairy and sugar. I cringe thinking he might have a long night ahead of him, but it doesn’t look like he actually ate more than the banana.
We laugh through the movie, even Rick. And I will admit, it’s one of my absolute favorites, and I love that my daughter loves it just as much. We sing along most of the time, but this time we both seem to enjoy Rick getting to see it for the first time. I wonder, not for the first time, what his life has been like since I left. I know he hasn’t dated, and I know he had never seen Pitch Perfect before tonight. But I can’t help but wonder what he did for fun.
It’s late by the time the movie ends. Rachel is sprawled on the length of the sofa like a college coed after their first frat kegger. She does this so often on movie nights that it doesn’t even faze me anymore, but the look on Rick’s face when he notices her is one I will never forget. The way his face gentles, she brings out a softness in him that I thought was long gone. And if I thought he was sexy before, seeing him as a good dad is earth0shattering and devastating all at once, because he is everything we should have had if it wasn’t taken away from us like it was.
“Can you help me get her upstairs?” I ask. “She’s getting too big for me to carry anymore.”
“Of course,” he says, and I can hear him try to clear the emotion from his voice.
“Thanks,” I reply, leading the way up the stairs. I don’t look back to see him scoop her up like a newborn baby and hold her with all the reverence a first-time parent feels when they hold their child for the first time. I can’t. I know it will shred my heart, and I have to guard that organ fiercely so I can protect our daughter in the coming days.
I pull back the covers of her bed, and he gently puts her down, and I cover her up. I pretend not to notice when he lets his fingertips trail gently over the threadbare baby blanket with the little blue anchor stitched in the corner folded up next to her pillow. When he stands up, I smooth her hair back from her face and walk out of the room, flipping the lights off as I go. Rick stops in the doorway and looks back at our daughter, who is sleeping peacefully in her bed like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I’ve protected her from the monsters outside her entire life, and I would go to hell and back to keep her safe.
Failing is not an option.
I walk back downstairs and start gathering up bowls from the coffee table. I dump them all in the empty dishwasher and then start putting away our junk food fest in the fridge and cupboards. Rick silently helps. He doesn’t ask; he just dives in and starts putting things away. The task is done in no time at all, and now I’m left with a frustrated Rick, who is prowling like a tiger when I need to put distance between us.
“Well,” I start awkwardly, “thanks for the help.”
“So that’s it?” he asks after watching me for a long length of silence. “You’re just going to dismiss me?”
“No,” I lie. “That’s not it at all.”
“Then tell me what it is?”
&nbs
p; “It’s late, and I have to work in the morning and get Rachel to school….” I trail off.
“And that’s different than any other night we’ve spent together since moving here how?”
“Rick… this has been a mistake.”
“Bullshit,” he roars.
“A beautiful mistake but we’re both headed for heartache here,” I tell him, which is truer than anything I’ve said tonight.
“Maybe I’m already there.” His words hang in the air between us like a ticking time bomb. Everything is about to explode. I can’t have him in our lives, because the results could be catastrophic, but I can’t figure out how to keep him away either.
“No,” I whisper.
“I’m in love with you, Cara,” he says, stabbing his fingers through his dark hair. “I have always been in love with you.”
“You can’t,” I plead. He doesn’t know how dangerous his words are, but I do. He has to stop. This has to end.
“I do. I think I always have, and I know I always will,” he says, stalking toward me. “I know you’ll never tell me why you left, and I’m at peace with that. I know you’re spooked now.”
“Rick—”
“Hell, I’m scared too. If anyone has the ability to crush my heart, it’s you,” he says, cornering me. He’s backed me through the kitchen and into the living room. The backs of my legs hit the arm of the sofa. “But I refuse to let you run this time.
“Rick, you have to let me go.”
“Give me one good reason why,” he says softly. Rick bends his knees so that he looks into my eyes instead of down on me.
“You know I can’t,” I whisper.
“That’s not a good enough answer anymore,” he says gently, and then he touches his mouth to mine. He kisses me so softly, so gently at first that I almost can’t bear it.
“Rick—”
“Let me make you feel good,” he pleads, and I think, Why not? What’s one more time? “Let me love you.
“Yes,” I whisper, and he kisses me again, breaking apart only to pull my tank top over my head, leaving me in only a white lace bralette I like to sleep in. Things aren’t as firm or as high as they used to be before I had a baby.
There’s a hint of a playful look on his face that I can’t decipher right before he places his hand at my belly and gently pushes me back, over the arm of the sofa, making me laugh. But I don’t laugh long, because he shucks his T-shirt over his head, giving me a much-wanted glimpse of those washboard abs I love so much.
My breath is sawing in and out of my lungs by the time he grabs the waistband of my leggings and panties and pulls them both down my legs in one swift motion. I bite down on my bottom lip as the cool air hits my overheated skin.
I hear the clank of his belt as he loosens it before letting his jeans fall to the floor, where he steps out of them. He grips the base of his cock in his fist, and I watch with rapt attention as he strokes himself from root to tip once… twice… and then a third time before he puts his knees to the sofa cushions in between my spread thighs.
He lets go of himself to lean over me, bracing his weight on his arm over my head. Rick presses his mouth to mine, his kiss everything we want to say but can’t… or shouldn’t; I don’t even know which anymore. All I know is this moment is ours. It’s for us to make up for all the years we’ve lost and all we won’t ever have.
He lets his fingers trail down my body, between my breasts, and over my belly before letting them slip even lower to part my center. Rick gently slips inside me, and I lift my hips to meet his gentle thrusts. He skims my clit with his calloused thumb, making me gasp. Every inch of my body flushes hot and is centered on the one spot where he touches me.
Rick watches me with unwavering focus, his dark eyes never leaving mine even as he adds a second finger, slowly filling me over and over again while he gently abrades my overly stimulated flesh with his thumb.
“Rick,” I pant as I reach for him. “I need you.”
But he gently kisses my palm and returns it to the sofa next to me. “No, Cara,” he says softly, never stopping my deliciously slow torture while he pushes me closer to an orgasm one tiny inch at a time. “You know what I want you to give me, and I want it all.”
“I need you,” I plead. I want to feel his cock deep inside me when I come. If this is going to be our last time together, I need to be joined with him in the most basic of ways, even if it’s just for a moment.
“I know what you need.”
And then he curls his fingers inside me as he presses down on my clit harder than before, making me see stars. I close my eyes, my body bowstring tight, and then I come with Rick’s name a whisper on my lips.
He covers me with his body then, the tip of his hard cock poised at my entrance, and with his eyes still locked on mine, he slides deep.
If I thought this would be a hard and fast fuck, I would have been wrong. Totally fucking wrong. There’s something about tonight; we’re both racing the clock against fate. She’s a cruel bitch, and we both know it. Tonight is about showing each other how we feel. It’s about showering each other with the love that can never be spoken out loud.
Rick lays more of his weight on me, and I wrap my arms and legs around him. I would happily take all of it. I need to feel him like this. I need so much tonight. He slides his arms underneath mine and holds my head in his hands. I feel so delicate, so cherished in his arms, and I always have. Even when he hated me, I felt special in his arms, but it was nothing like this.
He touches his mouth to mine, breathing me in, touching, tasting, and I blossom underneath his kisses. He licks into my mouth, but it’s not aggressive; it’s gentle and sweet. His nose brushes against the side of mine.
And then he begins to move.
Slowly, oh so slowly, he slides in and out of me, making a torturous pattern back and forth where our bodies are joined. I hold him tighter in my arms, silently begging him to fuck me, but he won’t relent. Rick knows what he wants, and he’s not giving in.
We hold each other tight, drinking each other in as he plunges in over and over. Our bodies rock together in a delicate dance just for us, and if I could live in this moment forever, I would be tempted to try.
“Rick,” I gasp and dig my heels into his ass, begging him to move faster, harder, but he only smiles against my mouth, keeping his maddeningly slow pace. He arches his hips, changing the angle and deepening his penetration. “Yes.”
Finally, he moves faster. He is still gently gliding in and out where our bodies join, but now he’s moving faster, hitting a spot deep inside me that has my toes curling into the soft fabric of the sofa.
He thrusts deeper still, and I dig my nails into the backs of his shoulders. My body burns hotter while he pushes me to soar even higher. And finally, when I can’t take anymore, he drives in one more time, sending me over the edge.
“Cara,” he gasps as he follows behind me into bliss.
Rick drops his forehead to rest on mine while we both work to catch our breaths. A fine sheen of sweat coats both our bodies, and I can feel his heart beating just as wildly as mine is.
This was a beautiful goodbye. Poetic even.
This was the most excruciatingly beautiful goodbye that could ever be shared between two people who love each other as much as we do, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Marry me,” Rick whispers, his sex-rough voice breaking the eerie silence.
“Wait, what?” I ask, knowing there is no way I could have heard him correctly.
“Marry me,” he says louder this time. “Again.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he implores me. “Marry me again. Let’s be a family. A real one.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, and if you did, you wouldn’t be asking.”
“Well I am,” he snaps. “This is right, and you know it.”
“It isn’t,” I cry as I push at his shoulders. He relents and sits back on his knees, his c
ock slipping from my body, making me feel cold and empty. “This can’t happen. You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand,” I hear him say through my rising panic. Tears slip free from my eyes. “I love you,” he adds, and it sounds both sweet and menacing all at the same time.
“I know.”
“And I know that you love me too.”
“I know that too,” I whisper, the devastation in my voice laid bare for both of us.
“Then marry me.”
“I can’t.” I barely push out the words before I choke on a sob that rises up from my chest before I can even try to stop it.
“I should have known you’d say that,” he bites out as he stands and shoves his legs in his jeans. He buttons them and buckles his belt faster and angrier than I thought possible of anyone. He stabs his arms through his T-shirt after scooping it up off the floor, yanking it down over his head. “This is far from over.”
“We have to stop this, Rick,” I plead. “It hurts too much.”
“I just fucked you bare, Cara,” he says, and I feel shock give way to horror as the emotions shift like old vacation slides across my face. He was so meticulously careful and it had felt like a punishment of sorts every time he slid a condom on, like I couldn’t trusted not to run off into the night with another one of his children and now he throws caution to the wind. The night had gotten away from us, I was there, I know. And Rick wouldn’t try and trap me like that. But he damn well could have anyways. “I see you get it now. If you think I’m going to let you go again. With a baby in your belly. Again. You’ve got another think coming.”
“We don’t know that anything happened.” I try to get the train on the tracks as he stalks toward the front door.
“Wrong fucking answer, Cara,” he bites out. His own hurt and anger are riding him hard. “We’re in this now, and there’s no way out until we see this through. I can promise you that.”
“No,” I whisper as the ramifications of Rick’s resolutions play through my mind one after another, but he doesn’t give me time to explain.
Caught by the Chief of Staff (A Presidential Affair Book 2) Page 8