“After our date,” Everett speaks, giving a happy sigh as his back and bottom press harder against my front. He has a knack for waking me up instantly. With just a hard press of his soft body against mine, I feel as if I’ve grabbed a live wire.
The fog of sleep is banished by nothing more than a little wiggle of his hips, and a soft moan from deep in his throat. He is intoxicating in his ability to light my whole person on fire.
“You sound as pleased as a kitten with a cup of cream,” I tease and he laughs.
The sound is vibrant and warm, reminding me of all the times we played tag, or just read a book together on our daily walks. That is when he laughs the most; when I discover the most about him. Those are the times I enjoy most, too. Being with him makes me . . . happy.
He is an extraordinary person. Every day since the first, I have found something that only adds to his appeal. Whether it be his intelligence, humor, happy-go-lucky attitude, perseverance, commitment to our relationship, or something minuscule, he is always impressing me in some small way; he is always doing something that speaks to me on a deeper level.
“Don’t you mean a dog with a bone?” he asks and this time I am the one laughing. He chuckles along and I shake my head, dropping a kiss on his shoulder that has him leaning into me with another content hum.
“If we’re going to discuss bones, let’s talk about this morning,” I mutter. Everett turns over, his fingers sliding up my chest as his head tips back. In the low light streaming through the parted window curtains, I notice the dark tint of his cheeks, the bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallows hard.
“What about it?” he asks. There is something hungry in his voice, an invitation I’d be insane to accept while in my parents' house, but the glow of his sapphire eyes encourages me and my body responds by growing instantly hard.
Everett rocks forward, probably emboldened by the rigid length pressing against his thigh, while his fingers climb higher up my chest before he latches onto my shoulder. His grasp burns like a match fire as his grip tightens. If these were the olden days, I’d be the kindling a torch caught on fire. Of course, he would be the torch.
The glint in his eyes is pure excitement when he pushes me onto my back and tosses his leg around my waist. For the past couple of weeks, I have been dreaming about him coming over top of me, sliding his hands up my chest and sinking onto my body with a moan much like the one he makes when his hips rock upon the length pressing against him through my pajama bottoms.
That is why I didn’t protest this morning when he took it upon himself to start his seduction and why now, instead of pushing him away, my fingers curl around his hips to hold him closer. I want Everett. Not just because he is a body and I am a man who enjoys sex, but because he is my husband and I honestly adore him.
I adore the way he kisses me softly in the morning or brings me tea in the afternoon. I adore when he sits with me while I work, sketches while stretched out on my office floor or hums softly while showering. It is endearing how he never fails to make the bed or when the clothes aren’t folded a certain way, he redoes the entire set himself.
There isn’t one thing about him I dislike. I crave his touch and over the last few days, he’s been encouraging mine by touching me first.
Why does he tease me so? Are his reasons the same? Does it matter?
Everett made it quite clear this afternoon, and the night he was injured, he was interested in doing more than just kissing. If he is willing, I am not going to deny him.
Pressing upwards, my hips roll against him and he gasps, a wildfire in his blue gaze. Drawing him against me, my arms curl around his body and I roll until I am over top of him. His legs cradle my hips as I thrust forward.
He is hard and hot with just the right amount of give and smoothness under my fingers to make my head swarm. A shaky breath rocks his chest as his sapphire eyes meet mine in the dark. Warm breath washes across my neck and collarbone as he exhales. Instantly, my eyes drop to his mouth. As if feeling my gaze, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. If at all possible, I grow harder watching the sweep of his tongue.
Rolling my hips against him again, I groan. He gasps, arching toward the thrust. Reason abandons me as I capture his mouth in a hungry quest for satisfaction. My tongue sweeps between his lips, swirling inside as I explore, plunder and absorb the sweetness of his soul.
Shoving his fingers into my hair, Everett draws me closer, moaning into my mouth as he urges me to do more than devour him. Sliding one hand down his side, I pull his pajama bottoms down his hips. He rocks toward me, a cry of pleasure pulling from deep in his throat as my fingers closed around his length.
The bedroom door ricochets against the wall. Everett yelps, his body folding against mine as Mason shouts, “Sleepover, motherfuckers!”
Fingers curls around my bicep; Everett scrambles to cover himself. Lilith’s grasp is like an iron vice as she drags me from my bed.
Sophia hauls my startled husband up and shoves him in the back, urging him forward. Everett stumbles along with wide eyes as Mason leads the way down the hallway with a skip to his step that makes me want to break his neck.
“Aren’t we all a little ol—”
“No,” all my mother’s mistakes cry as one.
“You’re never too old for a sleepover,” Sophia assures us, but I am not entirely sure she knows what the hell she is talking about since we haven’t had a sleepover since I turned twenty-one—ten years ago.
“I’m too tired to play games with you three,” I protest.
“Quit your bitching,” Sophia orders.
Mason holds open the entertainment room door and Lilith shoves me through. A dozen blankets create a tunnel lit only by fairy lights; it leads into a round fort stuffed with pillows, board games, and snacks.
Everett slams into my back, causing me to stumble further into the structure my siblings have constructed. I ask, “Is this necessary?"
“Calm down; eat a bag of dicks,” Lilith calls just as a plastic bag smacks into my chest. Snatching it out of the air before it can hit the ground, I look down and shake my head. Everett looks around my shoulder and lightly laughs.
It is literally a bag of dicks—different colored, gummy dicks.
“That’s clever,” Everett says and I pass him the bag. He rips it open, digging inside with glee before popping a couple of the squashy gummies in his mouth. I would have much preferred if my organ—so long as teeth aren’t involved—was in his mouth right now.
“I guess we better get comfortable. There is no escape.” Mason, Sophia and Lilith are already finding their places, claiming their snacks and attempting to decide on a board game.
“No rest for the wicked,” I hear behind me and turn, shaking my head at the new arrival.
“They got you, too.” Duke Cooper shrugs, coming forward with two large bowls of popcorn. He is in a pair of pajamas and appears to be fully prepared for a sleepover.
“Poppyseed—” his nickname for my father, “—called earlier with concerns about the warehouse. Somehow a meeting turned into dinner then a sleepover.”
I shake my head while reaching up and running my fingers through my hair. I guess since I am not feeling tired anymore, it won’t be so bad to hang out with my family.
Now is a good chance for them to get to know Everett, too.
15
Den Of Sin is the kind of place that serves alcohol by the keg, food by the table, and makes big city living seem modest by only letting small bands no one has ever heard of attempt to make a name for themselves on the little stage close to the front exit every Friday. The atmosphere is warm, the people friendly and the service top notch.
Our orders have already been taken.
Everett looks around the spacious room, seeming to take in everything. I watch him as a smile pulls at my mouth. He was so excited yesterday when I mentioned a date and that hasn’t faded in the slightest. On the drive here, he bounced in the car seat and couldn’t stop talking about the good
reviews Den Of Sin and the movie we planned to see received. Now, he is silent and seems awestruck by our surroundings.
“You know,” I say, drawing Everett’s attention, “I never did apologize for my siblings last night. I probably should.” The three of them are a nuisance. Everett and I were in the middle of having a good time when they burst in like lunatics just to force us to play board games, eat junk food and tell old terrible jokes. My night would have been better if they had left us alone.
“No,” Everett shakes his head, “don’t apologize. It wasn’t what I wanted to do but it was fun.” I know what he wanted to do. It was the same thing I’d wanted to do. We’d been so close to having a brand new kind of fun we hadn’t experienced yet but I suppose it was a good thing they interrupted before I had Everett naked and under me. It would have been far more embarrassing if my siblings caught Everett and me in the middle of carnal enjoyment.
“Lilith seems to be over the fact I married before her,” I reply, changing the subject because diving down the rabbit hole of our sex life is a good way to end our date sooner than I would like. “I’m glad because she is a lovely woman despite her attitude.”
I know her to be kind, considerate and loyal when the mood strikes. Of course, I also know she has the temper of a caged cat, and the mood swings of a bipolar—which she actually is—lunatic. Lately, she has been in a foul mood but hopefully her medications are being adjusted to help her cope. I want Everett to see the better sides of her.
“She said sorry last night,” Everett tells me. My eyebrow arches.
Lilith apologized? When did that happen? Where was I? Maybe she made her apology when I’d been deep in conversation with Duke concerning the warehouse and how we needed to proceed to make sure Valentine didn’t start snooping more than she already had.
That conversation had been a waste of time because we didn’t find a viable solution, which leads me to believe that I am going to end up back at the police department fielding her questions sooner or later. I am not looking forward to the prospect but if it helps her back off, I will do whatever is necessary. Keeping my family safe, all of it, is what matters the most.
“I’m supposed to have lunch with her and Sophia next week,” Everett carries on, pulling me from my own thoughts.
“That’s great, although I feel as if I should warn you, lunch with those two is code for ice cream and shopping.” Everett laughs softly as the waitress puts our food on the table. We both thank her and she asks if we needed anything else. After telling her no, she leaves and I go back to Everett. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house, though. I hope you have fun.”
My sisters will drag him from one store to the next, buying one thing after another. No doubt by the time they go home, my father will be rubbing his head. I would pity the old man if it wasn’t his fault for giving his two daughters and youngest son a bank card.
If Mason goes with them, we’ll probably end up with a low funds warning on our family bank statement. That boy can out shop anyone. Heaven save our souls if they go into a book or arts and crafts store.
“Would it be okay if . . . ” Everett pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
“What?” I prompt, already knowing whatever he asks of me, I am going to give him.
He hasn’t asked for anything since we married. I put funds into the bank account I set up for him and he hasn’t once touched it. I suppose there hasn’t been much of an opportunity for him to spend any money. His lunch with my sisters will give him more than enough.
“I’m running low on art supplies. Would you mind if I got some?” He bows his head slightly while picking up his fork and pushing his food around.
“Get whatever you need, Everett.” If he needs art supplies, he can buy as many as he wants. If he sees something on a shelf and desires it, I’ll encourage him to make the purchase. If something strikes his fancy and it is a whimsical buy, I will have no protest.
“Really?” Everett asks, his smile wide as his eyes dance with excitement. I nod.
Outside of the funds my family draws in from our many business ventures, I have my own set of affairs that fill my personal bank accounts. Money isn’t an issue for me and it won’t be for him either. He doesn’t need to ask for my permission to spend. I am not his master or personal keeper. The bank account in his name is his to do with as he pleases.
“Whatever you need, Everett. You don’t have to ask my permission either,” I tell him. “And I couldn’t help but notice you don’t have a studio. I know how much you love the sunroom. If you want to set up a studio in there, I don’t mind.” He uses it far more than I ever have. I am happy the room is finally getting properly enjoyed by someone.
“Are you sure?” Everett asks.
“I’m positive. I want you to be happy in our home.” I want him to be happy, period. If art supplies and a proper studio please him, it is a small price to pay considering after only twenty-four days of marriage, I’d go to war for him if he desired it. I am positively smitten.
“Thank you, Thanos. I . . . I really appreciate everything.” Shaking my head, I reach across the table and lay my hand on his. He looks up from his food and I offer him a kind smile.
“You don’t have to thank me, Everett. The estate is your home. You deserve a proper studio in it.” I should have made the suggestion earlier. If I was thinking, I would have.
“I’ve never had one before,” he says and I frown. He’s never had a studio before? How could his family deny him such a simple pleasure? Do they really disapprove so much? I shake my head at their treatment of him. It goes unsaid that they are bastards.
“Now you do,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “Lilith will help you get everything you need. If you want to move the furniture out or around, feel free. The sunroom is yours.” From this day forward, I lay no personal claim on the room. Much like the office is my own personal domain, the sunroom will be his. I won’t invade so much as ask permission to enter.
“Of course, if you desire something more to do with your days, I was thinking maybe you’d like to open a gallery or art workshop?” Everett isn’t required to wait around on me and I don’t want him to believe that is the case.
“Why are you so kind to me?” Everett asks. Releasing his hand, I reach up sliding my knuckles along his jaw as he watches me carefully. Why am I so kind to him? That is easy.
“Besides the fact that you deserve kindness, you are my husband.” Everett smiles and turns back to his meal.
“I think I would like to open an art workshop. I’d have to find a suitable building but after that maybe I could give art classes to the inner city. I always wanted to teach art.” Everett pushes around some of his food but doesn’t meet my gaze.
"I think that's a wonderful idea."
Looking up, Everett's eyes are wide. "Really?" he questions.
"Of course. Tell me about your idea." Everett speaks quietly but passionately about an art shop. He has a million ideas. All of them clash together as he skips from one thing to the next. His eyes are bright as he gestures with his hands.
The waiter is robbed of his pen as Everett sketches blueprints on a napkin and hurries to explain everything he has dreamed of. It seems as if instructing art classes is something he's wanted to do for most of his life.
I listen carefully, giving input when it is warranted. We finish our dinner and leave afterward to make it to the theater just before the movie is scheduled to start. Midway through the show, Everett curls his fingers with mine and I find myself watching him instead of the movie.
He is . . . breathtaking. I am mesmerized by the way he laughs, cringes and takes delight in the movie. It takes me a moment to realize it is over but when I do, I pull Everett from his seat.
Curling his arm around my waist, Everett is bouncing slightly as I drop my arm around his shoulders. The joy he displays is infectious and I am unable to fight my smile, unable to beat back the utter happiness that rushes through my bloodstream just because he
is so unnecessarily happy about something so trivial as dinner and a movie.
“That was amazing,” Everett says as we exit onto the sidewalk.
“Which part?” I tease. He laughs again, pushing on my side sharply.
“Don’t make me choose. It’s impossible. I loved it all,” he whines. Grabbing his hand, I draw him against my chest. His head tips back as his eyes sparkle. If he enjoys the theater this much, I will have to bring him more often. What would he think of a live show? Or a concert? The possibilities are endless.
“Okay, bu—”
“I never thought I’d see the day Everett Dawson sunk lower, but here it is,” an all too familiar voice drawls. Everett turns in my arms just slightly, his eyes going wide. Oliver stands less than ten feet away. My fingers on Everett’s back curl into a fist.
“You’ve been officially collared by a leech’s last name. How very pathetic, Everett.” White hot anger burns through the happiness, leaving nothing but a foul acid tickling the back of my throat as Everett’s ears turn a shameful shade of red. He turns his head into my chest and I feel the desire to not just start a war, but commit murder.
How dare this asshole talk down to my husband as if he is anything more than a second choice, born of a man’s inability to accept his son. Doesn’t he know between him and my husband, he is the pathetic one begging for scraps at a dinner table he wasn’t even born to sit at? Someone needs to inform him of his place at the water bowls, with the rest of the mutts.
“Everett,” I say, grasping his shoulders and pushing him back. He lifts his head, his brows pulling down as his blue eyes swim with unshed tears. My fingers touch his jaw and I smile but Everett doesn’t. Oliver needs to pay for taking the joy out of our night. “You are my husband, as well as my Second. There is no shame in our union.” My gaze skates to Oliver.
After The I Do Page 10