We must’ve looked like two idiots there, toothy smiles and all. Dean seized me up from the chair and hauled me to his chest in a heavy embrace, kissing me hard, his tongue twirling with mine for the longest stretch of time. He backed me to the bed, and I tripped over my skirt, delirious with ecstasy and the look on his face. When my legs hit the mattress, he laid me back and shoved my skirt up to my waist. His fingers came quick to my folds, winding me up, sinking so far inside I cried out.
“Oh, fuck!”
“I want to do this with you, all the time. Anywhere. Everywhere,” he murmured, fucking me with his fingers and pushing his slacks the rest of the way down with his other hand while I shuddered at his touch. He didn’t bother fully undressing, his briefs chasing his pants down. Instead of draping himself over me, Dean guided his cock to fill the void his fingers had left behind, and I gulped in air as he shoved in to the hilt. I was overwhelmed by his speed. His smile.
His invitation.
“Oh my God.” Breathless, I took him in. My heart thudded with the gentle slide of his fingers over the curve of my cheek and the way he collapsed over me to kiss my lips while he thrust deep inside me.
“I love you. Christ, you’re perfect.” Dean drove in again. He clutched my breasts through the fabric of the dress, the tulle digging into my waist. We were sweaty, hot, our breaths wild between crazed kisses, and I wrapped my arms around his torso and hoisted up my legs. I clung tight to him as he thrust deeper, and deeper still. Dean filled me with his heat, forcing me to clamp onto his bottom lip, my body quaking not all that long after him in another blissful cascade.
“Yes, yes!” I cried, part for ecstasy, part mind-blowing happiness.
Dean withdrew and stayed over me. A tiny drop of sweat trickled along his hairline while I reached up to run my fingers through his hair, and we beamed at one another for what felt like a glorious eternity.
* * *
The blissful bubble I’d coasted in the rest of the weekend popped the second I walked into WOFC Monday morning.
My Friday absence had left me a huge list of things to make up for, but they were trivial compared to the two hard-core intakes that occurred within an hour and a half of opening our doors. Maddie hadn’t even gotten to settle in her chair before she headed off with the first woman, an older mother of two who’d come in wearing worn clothes and a face smeared with tears. The second one was a woman in her late twenties, an artist who’d fallen in with the wrong guy three months ago, but her cold expression tipped me off to something else going on the second I’d sat with her in one of our private offices.
Over our thirty minutes together, I watched her closely, recording details I observed as well as many of the things she said. I had a virtual script that segued off the form she’d filled out in our lobby, but with years of practice, I also knew where I could switch things up to best assess her situation. From her description, it didn’t sound like there was immediate danger. She was being proactive, though. That was good. She walked me through recent events and noticeably fidgeted while she spoke, her movement shifting the hair she wore in a poorly done, uneven cut, with multiple blond strands dyed black. She was emaciated, her eyes rimmed with thick kohl liner, and with the erratic shifts of her story, I gathered there might be drug use complicating her life at home.
I scribbled down more details until she quieted, then I folded my fist under my chin. My job was to assess her safety and inform her of the resources available to her, but if there was drug use involved, it opened up another can of worms that needed its own tending. I had to navigate carefully in order to best screen and help her.
“Sheila, you’ve provided great details about Mike, and I’d agree, there’s a pattern of emotional abuse there,” I said. “You don’t need to face this alone, nor should you.” She scratched at her finger, her gaze darting from my face to the walls and back. “It sounds like you’re aware of the situation, and that you want to leave it.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That’s great. We can line you up with counseling and resources for that step, for sure. What I’m wondering is, are there other factors that could be affecting your dynamic with Mike? Any other issues I should be aware of, things that might be making it more challenging for you in the environment?”
She sat back, her thin lips pursed in a tight grimace. “Like?”
I rested the notepad on my knees. My job was not to judge, nor would I; I’d seen the gamut in the eleven years I’d worked there, women in need for so many reasons. Some cases were harder than others, and sometimes we got nowhere, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to help. “Well, for example, any drug or alcohol abuse might impact his behavior, or could be used for coping with the abuse. Sometimes that fuels things. If this is a concern, I’m happy to refer you to several resources.”
“Yes. Drug.”
“Okay.” I wrote this down and breathed a quiet sigh. Often, denial came into play. When clients were forthright, it helped in getting them the treatment they needed. “Of course, barring a safety concern to you or others, everything we discuss will be kept in the strictest confidence, unless you permit otherwise.”
“I understand.”
“All right. Can you elaborate on how this usage comes into play in your relationship, or in the house?”
She said a couple of things about it, focusing on how it’d become a good coping strategy for her. The correlation between domestic violence and substance abuse was not insignificant, so we’d established many connections for WOFC clients.
“I can refer you to counseling or a treatment provider to help. Are you open to that?”
She leaned back, resting her arms on the top of the couch she sat on. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
I acknowledged this with a soft smile. “All right. That is something we can set you up with, no problem. Our goal is to provide you with all the resources we can. Does that make sense?” Her head lifted in acknowledgment, though her eyes were fairly glassy. I hoped this was clicking for her. “Great, Sheila. I’d like to set you up for a follow-up session next week, where you can start working through these things with a regular counselor. Will that work for you?”
She agreed to it. For the next few minutes, I described our protocol in regards to regular counseling, and gave her some informational pamphlets about the local treatment centers I wanted to send her to. She struck me as receptive, but out of it. Still, as always, I tried to be positive that it would work out for her in the end. After I walked her out and said goodbye, I swung by the mail cubbies that Tania, our front desk secretary, had set up years before. She was by far the most organized person in the office, making things mighty easy for us even on the occasions she was out on lunch, like she was currently. I grabbed Maddie’s stack of mail with my own, then took a detour by her desk to finally say hi.
Maddie held up a finger as I stopped at her cubicle, typing a couple more lines and once again amazing me with the sound of her speedy fingers while I shuffled through the mail with my name on it. There were a bunch of administrative things I’d need to handle soon, based on the return labels on each of the envelopes—but the last item didn’t have any address, save for the typed WOFC one below my name. Curious, I set all the mail I held on the edge of Maddie’s desk and started to open the envelope, sliding my fingertip under the flap before Maddie finished with a dramatic lift of her hands off the keyboard. She spun in her chair to face me.
“Good timing. Five-minute break. I need water,” she said. She pointed at the stack and stood. “Anything good?”
“Not so far.” I headed with her toward the water cooler near the service room at the far end of the office and withdrew the decorative, embossed card from within the envelope before turning my attention to her. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine. Low-key. Errands, laundry, playtime. Which is good, because next weekend Timothy is invited t
o not one, but three birthday parties!”
“Yikes.”
She rolled her eyes. “The joy of parenthood. But more importantly, how was the wedding?”
I’d managed to open the card, the autumnal scene on the front nice but not as sweet as the inscription inside. A flush warmed my cheeks when I read, I’ve been thinking of you, Maya. Looking forward to seeing you again.
“What is it?” Maddie asked.
“Hmm? Oh.” I waved the card, distracted for a second by the words Dean had obviously sent, and also somewhat amused he’d typed the note rather than written it by hand. The formality of it reminded me of the times he used to surprise me with assignments and directions by text, back when we started. Though we didn’t play exactly the same way anymore, the thought that he’d randomly sent me a note at work—and even tried to make it mysterious by not putting his name on it—turned the anticipation of our next stage and all we had in store twice as exciting. I clutched the card in hand and propped my elbow on the wall behind the cooler, resting the textured card against my cheek while Maddie started filling her cup. “I think Dean just wanted to let me know he was thinking of me.”
“He sent you a note, here? Hello, smitten kitten!”
“Ha. We both are.” I tamed my smile. “Speaking of smitten kittens—and in answer to your question... My God, Maddie. The wedding was so beautiful! Selby was crazy happy, and Alex was, too. It was gorgeous.”
“No catastrophes?”
“None!” Though, the memory of Dean and Ryan’s weird encounter flickered in my head. I’d managed to push it aside for the most part, since I was floating over Dean asking me to move in, but it was there.
“And they’re going where again? Italy, is that right?”
Maddie’s question tugged me from my thoughts. “Yep. They’re on the scenic Italy tour. Everything is calm once more!”
She chuckled, having seen me handle a plethora of last-minute phone calls right here at WOFC before I’d left on Thursday. “I bet. Good for them.” She sipped from her cup and then stretched in place. “How about the rest of the weekend? Is Ryan enjoying his stay?”
“I think so. He’s watching their house, but I didn’t talk to him much after the wedding.” We’d sent sporadic texts, mainly because he’d asked questions about instructions Selby had left for him. I’d checked on us getting together for dinner during the week, too, but we hadn’t yet arranged that. It felt like he might be avoiding me, which made me even less sure about how he’d take the fact that I was moving in with Dean. I hoped he’d be okay with it. I certainly was and I was dying to tell Maddie, too. My stomach fluttered as I leaned in to drop the news. “But I’d say it’s good timing he’s over there rather than crashing at my house, since I’m about to make a mess with boxes. I don’t know how that would be comfortable for him...”
Maddie blinked. “Wait. What?”
I couldn’t prevent the grin breaking over my face. “Dean asked me to move in.”
“No shit!” She clapped her hand over her mouth, since she’d said it much too loud. She got a look from Karen, one of our counselors, but after Karen went back to her work, Maddie did a little dance and lowered her voice. “That’s fantastic! Skipped right over the drawers, huh?”
“Guess so. He was sweet about it, too,” I said, remembering the heaviness in his eyes when he’d popped out from under my skirt to propose it. I flattened the card on my chest before the two of us headed back to her desk. “Thanks for your excitement. I needed a co-conspirator with Selby out of town.”
“Are you kidding? She’s going to freak when she hears. In a good way.” I agreed. “You’re going to tell her...?”
“Hello. Already emailed. Haven’t heard back yet.”
“She’ll be excited. Who wouldn’t be? You two have been adorable since you started. This is the best news on a Monday ever.”
I laughed. “Thanks. I’m pumped.”
“Are you waiting, or diving right in?”
Dean and I had gone over that Sunday morning at length, so I recapped for Maddie. “We figure that since I have to give thirty days’ notice on my place, I might as well give it start of September. Then I can take my time packing up and heading over, and Dean can help before he leaves for L.A. And while he’s gone for those weeks, I can adjust to the place, you know? Not that I think I’ll need it. It’ll be great.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s perfect. You know me—why wait?” she said, which I assumed was in reference to her speedy engagement to Henry years ago.
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking! I’m just not sure how my brother will take it.”
She tilted her head. “Why do you say that?”
“He and Dean aren’t getting along, I guess? I don’t know if I’m misreading or what, but it looked like they had heated words at the wedding.” Maddie frowned. “Ryan was awkward when I introduced them, but then I saw them talking privately at the wedding and they both looked...kind of ticked? I haven’t gotten anything out of either of them over it.”
“Odd.”
“I know. I should probably dig more.” I considered what I’d seen. “We did our dinner, and Dean was trying, but Ryan was for sure throwing him off. Because he was...off. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but crap. It’s my life.”
Maddie pointed at me with a fierce bob of her head. “Ding ding ding! That’s my girl.” I snorted, her comment lightening the mood. Maddie had always been positive and enthusiastic over any of my choices involving Dean, and she’d long subscribed to my theory that life was all about embracing opportunities. I adored her for it. Her computer chimed behind her with the notification of a new email coming in, and she grumbled. “Ah, dammit. I don’t even want to look at how bad the inbox is, but I should get back to it. I know you’re swamped, too, so let’s talk more later. I want details. Maybe coffee or lunch or something, ASAP.”
“Sounds good.”
She plopped into her chair and flinched at her screen before grinning up at me. “Way fucking happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
Despite the tense start to the morning, I sank back into my desk chair warmed up all over again and tossed my mail aside to handle later. Except for the card. I stuck it in my purse and dug my phone out to shoot Dean a text. To think that text, phone and weekly visits as our only contact would soon become living in the same house had my heart doing cartwheels. The excitement would probably subside once I started the hard work of packing, but until then, I rode the high. We had furniture to sort, piano movers to book, arranging to do...but I was confident we’d work it out.
In a couple of short weeks, I’d get to wake up to Dean—sexy, charming, incredible Dean—every single day. How fabulous was that?
I tapped out my text. Hey, you. Did I mention you’re the sweetest man ever, and I’m so excited to pick up boxes after work?
I’d just turned back to my computer before Dean’s response rolled in. Well, I’m happy to hear that. And I’m excited for you to pick up boxes, too. I was thinking this morning how cold my bed will be until you get in there...when I can wake up to you every day.
Ah. Sounds delightful. Will we ever be able to leave it?
Hard to say. Definitely not if I’ve tied you to it.
Whatever sentimental thoughts I had over the card were swept away at that, and I bit my tongue picturing the endless possibilities. I knew damn well our dynamic wouldn’t change, but I hadn’t put a ton of thought into how it would play out living together, twenty-four seven. I squirmed in my chair for a second, because as playful as Dean could be, the dominant side of him would certainly make this interesting.
I typed back a tease. Only the bed? Here I thought you’d tie me up everywhere.
Oh I will, Maya. In our house, anything is fair game.
Our house. The words sent a shiver through me.
I had to be grinning like a nut for someone sitting there in a cubicle in the middle of work.
Can’t wait, I sent. I should probably get to it, though. All good over there?
All great, thinking of you. Call you tonight? We can figure out when to start hauling you my way...
I stifled a chuckle. Love it. Love YOU.
You too, beautiful. X
I slid my phone into my bag and took a huge breath. We’d have days, weeks, months to smother each other in affection once we were living together.
For now, I had to get back to work.
Chapter Seven
I’d moved eight times in my life. Twice as a kid, once into the dorms at Cal, then into an apartment with Selby that I’d loved until I’d packed up for the nightmare situation I’d shared with Charlie. After I left him, I’d bounced between two temporary roommate arrangements before I’d settled into the small condo I was about to leave behind. Each move had felt like growth with some measure of crap ditched along the way, creating a shiny new horizon of opportunities ahead. Where most people hated packing, I almost cherished it. I enjoyed getting rid of things I didn’t need and reminiscing on history captured in the things I did. The idea of bringing all these things into Dean’s home—our home—sparked a new sensation in me. It was one of anticipation for sharing our relationship together every day, but also of compromising to make it happen.
Charlie hadn’t been one for that; my entire move-in process had been soiled with his anger, something I should’ve seen as a foreboding of the trouble that lay ahead. I’d been much too young to recognize it, or accept it, and it had spiraled off into three years of terror, agony and strife.
In contrast, Dean was not only inviting, but he made it simple. By Tuesday night, we’d had several easy conversations about furniture we’d both give up and how we’d mesh what we had left together. In truth, Dean’s large house with nicer furniture already had me more willing to part with a lot of the things that’d filled my one-bedroom condo, but what remained was no burden on him, a fact that made me feel loved and comfortable.
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