by Max Monroe
I prayed the inside matched the outside.
“I can’t believe I’m not going to have to live in that shitty apartment in Chinatown anymore!” Charlotte slapped at my shoulder and stomped her feet on the sidewalk like a kid, all the while letting out an adorable shriek.
It had been two days since she’d won her dream home at the sheriff’s auction, and the second she’d obtained the keys, she’d begged me to go with her to see it. Although, the begging wasn’t necessary—I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
Nor did I want to miss seeing her face light up when she walked inside for the first time.
Unfortunately, it’d taken me two days to find time in my work schedule to make it happen. I’d been shocked she’d managed enough self-restraint to wait for me.
I laughed and grabbed her jaw, stilling her body and tilting her head back until her eyes met mine. “It’s exciting. You should be really fucking proud of yourself.”
I touched my lips to hers just once, softly, and she hummed a smile as I pulled back. “I am.”
“You are?” I asked.
“Proud of myself. I’m a badass.”
I laughed and touched my lips to hers once more. “That you are. Should we go inside your house now? See what kind of a renovation nightmare you’ve gotten me into?”
“Gotten you into?” Her eyebrows pulled together, and I laughed.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got to help my girlfriend renovate her house, don’t I? I don’t want to be forever known as a prick.”
“You’re the best.” She smiled big and sincere.
But with her excitement too much to keep in, that moment lasted all of two seconds. Charlotte jumped around me, bounding up the stairs and sticking her key into the lock before turning to look back at me over her shoulder, a wicked smile creasing the sharp eyeliner wings she’d drawn at the corner of her eyes. “Ooh. Too late,” she teased and threatened to shut the door before I could step inside.
But I was quick. And in this case, too quick for her. I jumped forward and wrapped her body up, tickling her as she fought to escape and finish opening the door at once.
Her laugh echoed through the stately entrance of the old house, a checkered black-and-white tile floor giving way to one of the most impressive wooden staircases I’d ever seen.
I whistled as I set her back on her feet, her body still thrashing. “Wow, Char. This place is really fucking impressive.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her laugh cutting off as she spun in a circle to take in the walls around her. “This is amazing.” She paused on some of the cracking paint at the top of the far wall. “A little touch-up work, sure, but so far, I’m impressed with my skills.”
I smirked. “Skills. More like luck.”
“Skills!” she argued.
I shook my head. “It was an auction for a house you’d never seen the inside of. Not to mention, your first bid was technically on the pizza. You got lucky.”
“Party pooper,” she accused, pointing at me with a scolding finger and giving a shake of her hips. I opened my mouth to tease her back when motion at the end of the hall snagged my attention.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered. There were people here.
“What?” Charlotte whisper-yelled, turning around in paranoia after seeing the look on my face.
There were people in the house she just bought, and under any other circumstance, I would have been terrified.
But the people walking toward us, with confusion on their severely wrinkled faces and hands on their walkers, were anything but frightening. Jesus Christ, they looked like Betty White and Jerry Stiller.
“Can I help you?” the Betty White lookalike asked.
Charlotte’s hair whipped as she turned to look at me, pleading for help.
I didn’t know what the fuck to do, but I figured starting in a hostile place wasn’t the best bet. So I introduced myself instead. “Hi, Nick Raines.”
“Betty” looked back at “Jerry,” who stepped forward and held out a hand to me. “Harry Williams, and this is my wife, Doreen.”
I took his hand and shook it before reaching for Doreen’s. “Nice to meet you.”
Charlotte looked back and forth between us before discretely jerking her head at them while her eyes stayed locked with mine. I wasn’t a mind reader, but her thoughts might as well have been written on her forehead. Do something.
“So, uh,” I started. “You folks live here?”
Doreen’s eyes lit as she ran a shaking, age-spotted hand along the ornate banister. “For fifty-seven years.”
I glanced to Charlotte to see her eyes close painfully.
I’d heard of this happening. Buying a house at auction, as-is, only to get hit with the liability of existing liens and problems…even existing tenants you were then responsible for evicting. But I’d never imagined the tenants who needed to leave were something other than a hooded vagabond.
Jesus Christ, these people looked how I remembered my grandparents.
I shrugged at Charlotte. Fuck if I was going to be the first one to say something.
Her face turned a shade of nearly violet, and her voice dropped to a ventriloquist-like whisper. “Man the fuck up.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I smirked at Charlotte, and then I stepped forward to address Doreen and Harry Williams. “Sorry to bother you folks.” I scoured my mind for what I could say that wouldn’t seem weird as fuck. I mean, technically speaking, we’d just walked into the house unannounced. I was surprised these two hadn’t already called 9-1-1. “Your house is beautiful,” I added, and Doreen glowed at my words.
“I’m so glad you think so. Would you like to see the rest of it?”
“Now, Doreen,” Harry muttered. “I’m sure a couple of youngsters like these two have better things to do than tour this old house.”
Considering we’d just let ourselves in, through the fucking front door and with a key, I think it was safe to say we didn’t have anything better to do.
I glanced back to Charlotte to find her cheeks flushed and ruddy. I pulled my lips into my mouth. God, she was cute.
“Oh no, Harry,” I responded with a soft smile. “We’d love to see the house.”
Doreen nearly squealed. “Oh, yay!” She clapped her hands together and held them there, ordering, “Harry, go get my cane.”
It appeared these two were completely unconcerned that two strangers had just magically appeared inside their home. I was both relieved for us and terrified for them. Obviously, they needed someone to keep an eye on them. I tried not to laugh as I pictured Charlotte as their future caregiver.
“Doreen—”
“Harry, go! You know I can’t climb the stairs with my walker.”
Harry glowered, not altogether dissimilar from the look Charlotte was giving me, in fact. I guess, no matter their age, couples are all the same in some simple sense. One brain versus another, just trying to find some middle ground without giving in to the urge to commit murder.
“Fine,” Doreen huffed, turning to go back down the hall. “I’ll get it myself. But consider yourself in the doghouse!”
Harry muttered to himself before following her back where they’d come from. No doubt he was going to grovel or apologize, whatever he’d figured out worked in the world of Doreen sometime in the last sixty or so years.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte whispered angrily, yanking my arm to turn me to face her.
I shrugged playfully. “Going on a tour of the house.”
“My house.”
I winced. “Looks like you’re not the only person who thinks that.”
She smacked at my shoulder, and I laughed. “Come on! This isn’t funny. This is my house. We have to get rid of them.”
I chuckled dryly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course. We’ll just tell them the home they’ve had for nearly sixty years is ours and they have forty-eight hours to get out.”
Charlotte huffed. “We’ll be nicer than that.”
“Ugh. Fine. But I sure hope Doreen and Harry are into ménage because if they’re not going, I’m still moving in, and I fully intend to live in the goddamn master.”
It’d been almost a week since I’d won my house—and then subsequently found out that I couldn’t move in to my house. We’d gone on the Harry and Doreen tour a few days ago, and I had to say, those two were pretty fucking adorable and seemingly helpless. I mean, it took them until the end of the tour to finally question how we’d gotten into their house, and when I’d vaguely admitted the sheriff’s office had given me a key, they hadn’t continued that line of questioning.
Either they knew a lot more than they let on, or they were completely clueless. Neither explanation felt good. And no matter what they knew or didn’t know, or if they were acting oblivious on purpose, guilt clenched my gut every time I thought about giving them the boot.
But, it was my house. I’d paid good money for it, and I was tired of living in my shitty apartment, especially when I knew almost eighty percent of my bank account had gone to a much bigger, way more beautiful place.
The house had a fenced-in terrace and a rain shower, for fuck’s sake. It also had an out-of-date kitchen, creaking floors, and stains on ninety percent of the upstairs carpet, but those were remarkably easy fixes for the chance to have some space.
Which explained why tonight, while sitting inside Nick’s apartment without any work responsibilities hanging over my head, I scoured through everything Google could provide on sheriff’s auctions in its search engine.
I had to find a way to get them out of there without leaving them high and dry and without any place to live.
“Apparently, I'm supposed to let the sherriff's department know the house still has the original tenants, and they send them a written notice to vacate,” I explained as I read through various online forums with equally nightmarish situations as mine. “How in the hell am I going to make Doreen and Harry leave their home? They love it like a baby…a baby Doreen could never have.” They’d shared their sad story of infertility as we’d listened, a fresh pot of soup steaming on the stove, the table set for dinner.
What? They’re likeable and my stomach was growling. Doreen offered to feed the beast. Am I supposed to have the willpower to say no to that kind of thing?
“Uh-oh.” Nick smirked at me from his kitchen as he poured a fresh cup of coffee.
“What?”
“You like them.”
“No, I don't,” I retorted, but I didn't even believe myself.
“You like them, and worst of all, they already have your sympathy.”
I let his words sink in and sighed. “Ugh. Can you blame me?”
“No,” he responded and sat down beside me on his sofa. Gently, he removed my laptop from my thighs and shut it. “But you're going to have to find a way to remember that you just paid a lot of money for that house, and it's no longer Harry and Doreen's, or else—”
I cut him off immediately. “Or else what?”
“Well…or else I hope you're not going to mind spending your evenings watching Wheel of Fortune with your roommates.”
I threw myself onto the sofa and covered my face with a pillow, “This sucks!” I shouted beneath the soft material, my voice muffled.
Nick chuckled and removed the pillow from my hands. He picked me up with ease and set me into his lap. “How about we forget about the house debacle for a little bit and find a way to relax and just hang out here tonight? Order takeout. Watch a movie. Have sex.”
Surely, my eyes lit up on that last part. “Keep going…”
He smirked. “We can even eat dessert in bed.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin with my index finger. “What's for dessert?”
He waggled his brows. “I know what I'm having. You need to decide on yours.”
Oh my…
“And what are you having?”
He pressed a slow, delicious kiss to my lips, and I melted into his embrace. He moved those lips of his to my jaw, then my neck, until his fingers cleared a path to my ear by slowly brushing my hair over my shoulder. “We can eat at the same time,” he whispered. “You enjoying whatever dessert you're in the mood for and me savoring my favorite spot in the whole world.”
I shivered at his words.
“Sound good?” he asked and leaned back to meet my eyes.
I shrugged. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you talking about my pussy?” I questioned, and he laughed outright at my blatancy. “Because if it’s anything but my pussy, I’m not digging that plan.”
“I'm definitely talking about that perfect cunt of yours.”
I giggled and waggled my brows. “Count. Me. Motherfucking. In.”
“Fantastic.” He smiled and then stood up with me still in his arms. He carried me into the kitchen, set me on the counter, and then got to work on finding our takeout options in his menu and junk drawer. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Dessert.”
He quirked an amused brow in my direction. “Before dessert?”
“Hmm…Mexican sounds good. Isn't El Toro only a few blocks from here?”
“Yep.” He nodded and held up their menu from the pile.
I clapped my hands together in excitement. “Ohh, hell yes! I could go for some chips and queso right about now.”
“All right. Mexican it is.” He handed me the menu with a little smirk etched across his lips. “Figure out what else sounds good, and then I'll call it in. They don't deliver, but I’ll run out and grab it.”
I blew him a kiss. “You’re the best.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned. “I’ll throw on a fresh shirt and shoes while you decide.” He pressed another kiss to my lips and then headed in the direction of his bedroom. But his footsteps stopped somewhere along the way, and he walked back toward me.
I quirked a brow. “Change your mind about Mexican?” The more that I thought about it, the more I realized maybe I needed to reconsider. It might not be the best thing to eat before he put his face in my vagina.
“No, I want to tell you something.” He shook his head, and his eyes turned a darkened shade of brown. Serious. Determined.
Oh, shit. This wasn’t about flatulence. This was something way bigger.
My heart started to pound in anticipation.
Jesus. I hope this isn’t bad…
“Okay…”
“I like you, Charlotte. I really like you.”
“I like you too,” I said simply, but my voice didn’t hide how curious I was to see where this was going. It dipped and hollowed at the end like the sentence didn’t end at too but instead ended with but.
“I think we're great together,” he continued. “And I haven’t been this happy in a long fucking time, if ever.”
I smiled at his beautiful words and relaxed a little. So far this was going good places. “Me either.”
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I know this isn’t the best way to bring up the conversation, but I can’t beat around the bush any longer.”
Oh my God. He’s got a wife in Boise. I just know it.
“I want you to meet my daughter.”
My eyes widened in surprise, and hell, a little bit of relief. Boise could go fuck itself. “You want me to meet Lexi?”
“I do.”
“Are you sure it's the right time?” I questioned and then added to it through a babble. “I mean, obviously, I want to meet your daughter, but I don't want you to feel forced in any way. I want you to be sure about it.”
“I'm sure.”
I searched his gaze and found exactly what I was looking for. Trust. Honesty. And something deeper. Something that said if there was going to be any wife, Boise or otherwise, it was most likely g
oing to be me.
Meeting his daughter needed to happen, and it needed to happen soon. I hopped off the counter and stood on my tippy toes to press my lips to his. “I'd love to meet her, Nick.”
He smiled against my mouth and wrapped his arms around my body, hugging me tight to his chest. “Thank you, Char.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
“Ditto, Doc,” I whispered.
Without another word, our gazes locked and Nick lifted me into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, and carried me to the kitchen table. He sat me down gently before spreading my thighs.
My breath hitched when his hands turned greedy, shoving my dress to my hips and sliding my panties to the side with wandering fingers. Riveted, I watched as he cupped me with one hand and unzipped his pants with the other.
“I need you,” he whispered and pulled his already hard cock out of his pants. “I need to be inside of you, Charlotte.”
God, yes.
I moaned at his words. At the sight of him, hard and ready and heady-eyed. And the fact that he was already pushing my panties to the side and sliding the tip of his shaft through my arousal.
“Now,” I whimpered, and he listened, filling me up in one smooth and firm thrust.
I wrapped my legs around his waist as he started a delicious rhythm—alternating between slow and steady and then wildly changing to fast and deep.
I felt delirious as I listened to our ragged, wanton breaths while my gaze fixated on our connection, watching him move in and out, in and out. God, it felt so fucking good. He felt so fucking good. Us, together, was something I never wanted to stop experiencing.
With my hands in his hair, I pulled his lips down to mine and kissed him like my next breath depended on it, our mouths moving recklessly with one another.
He moaned against my lips when I clenched around him.
And then we were both lost, chasing each other’s pleasure with desperate, needy abandon.
“More, more, more,” I urged him like a woman possessed, and his thrusts became uninhibited, deeper, faster, harder as his cock slid in and out of me.