“Mother,” I growl, glad I’m no longer holding Betsy. My fists are clenched at my sides as I watch her play one of her maddening games.
“I think you should let your daughter decide who she wants to procreate with and you should worry more about whatever is burning in the kitchen,” Lance shrugs.
As soon as he says it, I smell the odor of burnt toast. Mom must too because she gets to her feet and heads towards the kitchen.
“Babies come when the time is right, but I’m starting to wonder if she will ever find a man to settle down with,” Mom says dryly like she just commented on the color of the sky.
“That’s none of your business,” I sputter.
Lance smiles at my mom. “Maybe Mariah is pickier than most women. Maybe when she does settle down, it won’t end in divorce.”
With her eyes narrowed in our direction, Mom heads through a doorway to the right. The room heaves a collective sigh as soon as she’s out of sight.
“You have to cut her some slack,” Chrissy says. “She’s under a lot of stress right now.”
I must not have heard her correctly. “She’s under stress?”
“Yes. You know she doesn’t handle it well.”
“And how does that make up for the other years I’ve been alive?” I ask.
“It’s not you, Mariah,” she contends. “She just can’t deal normally like you or I can.”
“It is me and that’s fine. It can always be me,” I shrug. “I don’t care anymore. That’s where you both lose.”
There’s something freeing about putting that into the world. A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I watch Chrissy’s reaction to my words.
“Mariah …”
“No, Chrissy,” I say, shaking my head. “No.”
“I …” Chrissy looks at Betsy on Eric’s lap before looking back at me. “I’d like to talk to you alone one of these days. Do you think that’s possible?”
There’s no easy answer to this. I have so much to say to her and yet nothing at all. So many years’ worth of questions but none of the answers even matter anymore.
I look up at Lance and he smiles down at me.
“Maybe,” I say to Chrissy. “Let’s talk about it later.”
Chrissy agrees, forcing a smile. “Come on, Eric. Let’s check on Mom.”
Lance’s chin dips as soon as they disappear. “I’d like to talk to you alone one of these days. Do you think that’s possible?”
“You’re talking to me alone right now.”
“Talking was a euphemism.”
I giggle, twisting in his arms so I’m facing him. If there is one easy part of today, it’s being with him.
He looks at me with an incredulous, almost reverent glimmer in his eye and the entirety of it—that look, his gorgeous face, the way he stood up for me today and let me lean on him—is too much.
I’m sure I could’ve faced this on my own, but it was so much easier with him by my side.
Every brick I’ve stacked between us is starting to fall down. It’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t want anything to do with Lance. It’s becoming impossible to tell myself to stay away from someone I’ve been attracted to for so long, especially now that he’s showing me so many sides of himself.
He rests his chin on the top of my head, lacing his fingers together at the small of my back. It feels good to be able to rest on him for a moment, feel the strength of his arms around me.
“What the fuck is wrong with your mom?” he asks.
“I warned you,” I giggle.
“You couldn’t have prepared me for that. Wow.”
“I’m never prepared, even though I know what’s coming.”
He kisses me just behind the ear. I’m running on adrenaline and his touches; his sweet little gestures are enough to make my head nearly explode.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I breathe, feeling my body go limp in his arms. “Seriously, Lance. I can’t take it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Be a dick,” I laugh. “Stop being sweet and kind and touching me …”
He rolls his hips ever-so-slightly against me. “Do you feel how hard I am for you?”
“I think you’re always hard.”
“This isn’t for some app girl or another version of you. I’m so fucking hard for you, Mariah Malarkey, that I can’t stand it. But I will stand it because you hold all the cards. Why I’m okay with that, I have no fucking clue and it might be my undoing,” he chuckles.
Feeling more confident, more brazen than I’ve ever felt in my life, I turn and stand on my tiptoes. It’s my mouth on his ear, my breath hot against his skin. In a voice so low I can barely hear it myself, I whisper, “I’m so wet for you, Lance Gibson, I’m going to have to take my panties off.”
His jaw falls to the floor. I get a quick glance at it before I have to look away so he doesn’t see the pink in my cheeks.
“Come on. Let’s get lunch,” I call out, walking away as quickly as I can.
Eighteen
Lance
“He’s a monster,” I add, not sure what more to say. Eric has been attempting to make small talk the entire meal. Two things are clear: one, he’s no Einstein and two, his sense of humor is nil.
He continues on about the new fighter out of Crew Gentry’s gym in Boston like he knows something about fighting. His terminology is all wrong, explanations of fighting styles downright backward, and he fumbles through it with the confidence that only an idiot can have. It’s kind of impressive in a strange, uncomfortable way.
Keeping an eye on Mariah, I take off my glasses and clean them with a napkin. She’s said just enough during the meal to remain polite and sophisticated. Her back, though, is rigid. Her shoulders are as stiff as a board.
While I listen to Eric babble on, I rest my arm over the back of her chair. She leans toward it. I only notice because I’m paying attention.
My hand goes to the back of her neck, working the tense muscles back and forth. My touch alone causes her to relax some, but as I press back and forth, her entire body slackens.
She molds to my hand. She bends as I press on her delicate skin and she shifts in her seat. My fingertips stroke up her spine and draw back down. Listening to Eric’s stumbling story takes more effort than I care to spare.
“I hear what you’re saying,” I say in an attempt at getting him to shut up, “but Pike isn’t as strong on the ground. I know he’s with Gentry now and that was his specialty, but he doesn’t have the skills Crew had. Not yet, anyway. Watch his footwork while he’s standing and then watch him scramble when his back hits the mat. He wants to be upright.”
“I guess you’re right.”
No shit.
Betsy’s cries can be heard softly from the living room. Chrissy shoves away from the table, but Taylor gets to her feet first. “Let me go, Chris. I can’t enough of those precious snuggles.”
Chrissy settles down across from Mariah once again. While she chitchats with Eric about Betsy’s feeding schedule, Mariah focuses her attention on me.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine. You?” she asks sweetly, like she already knows the answer. She rests her palm on my thigh. Her fingers flex against the denim, taunting me with how close she is to my cock.
I haven’t been able to erase her tease from earlier. I’ve sat the last forty-five minutes wondering just how wet she really is.
It still surprises me when she says things like that, things that remind me of Nerdy Nurse. It was sexy before, but paired with the proper librarian I know from my nine-to-five makes it perfection. This is the things songs are written about.
Dirty, raunchy, hip-hop songs.
Maybe sweet country ones too.
This is my problem.
We trade a secret smile. My hand clasps around the corner of her shoulder, pulling her closer to me. Eric’s gaze sits square on the side of my face. I want to look at him and tell him exactly what he’s missing,
everything he tossed away. The problem is he’s been inside her and I haven’t and that little detail gnaws away at me until I’m almost raw inside.
It’s not a competition. She doesn’t want him. It’s my thigh her hand is on. But there’s a carnal need swirling around my gut, begging me to mark her. To leave an imprint on her that she won’t be able to forget as easily as she’s forgotten him. To bind her like she has bound me.
Drawing a line down her arm, I lean towards her, angling my head away from the others, I whisper, “Still wet?”
“Are you still touching me?” she breathes. “Pretty self-explanatory.”
“Your hand is killing me,” I warn. “If you move it any closer …”
She leans her head just enough to block anyone from seeing my reaction as she glides her palm down my swollen shaft. Hissing, I move in my seat, trying not to make a spectacle but almost coming undone.
“You’re evil,” I tell her.
Mariah’s eyes dance with a lightness I’m not sure I’ve seen before. It makes the entire dinner, including the forced conversation with Eric, and even the weird looks from Taylor worth it to see her this way. Her laughter pulls Chrissy’s attention our way.
“So,” Chrissy says, hands clasped together, “how long have you two been together?”
“Oh,” Mariah says in surprise. “Um, well, we …” She grips my thigh as if jostling me to help.
“We’ve known each other a while,” I explain. “A couple of years, actually.”
“That’s great. You look very happy,” Chrissy coos.
“We are,” I reply, trying to smoothen my features. “I feel like I’m constantly finding new layers to her I didn’t know existed.”
Mariah’s nails bite into my thigh as she scoots herself closer to me. “How sweet,” she says. Her arched eyebrow is nothing less than a coded go fuck yourself. It’s all I can do to not laugh.
“You’re sweet,” I wink, watching the arched brow go higher. “Then you’re …” The words fall as her hand rests on the crotch of my pants. It’s like she’s hit the mute button and I suddenly can’t speak. Every bit of focus is now directed to the spot where her palm sits heavily on my dick. “You’re full of surprises.”
Pressing my palm on top of hers, I wait for her to pull back. She doesn’t. Suppressing a growl, my insides rioting with all they have, I work her hand harder against me. My cock is so swollen there’s no way I could stand up right now.
Mariah, on the other hand, just looks at her sister with the most subdued look on her face. “We are. Just having fun.” She turns to me sweetly, as she inches her fingers even closer to my shaft. “Are you having fun today, Lance?”
Chuckling to cover the burn in my throat, I swallow. “Absolutely.” Lifting my hand from hers, I scoot it onto her lap. I work her dress into a ball. “I think you’re a barrel of fun.”
As soon as my skin touches the silkiness of her bare thigh, the hand that was touching me goes to her throat. A small laugh escapes as she responds to something her sister says, but she doesn’t look at me.
I turn in my seat, angled towards her, and toss a few words back at Eric to keep him talking. Moving my fingers towards her inner thigh, I let the weight of each fingertip rest against her before moving the next. Each touch dries my mouth, tangles my gut, and sends my heartbeat soaring in my ears.
She’s soft and smooth. The muscles in her legs tighten as she spreads them, moving one in my direction, opening herself up for me, making my blood turn to fire.
“Yeah, not much of a hockey fan,” I tell Eric when I realize he’s waiting for a response. He’s satisfied with this and goes back to whatever he’s watching on his phone.
Chrissy is telling us about Betsy’s last doctor’s appointment, lost in the flow of a story that is sure to take a while. Mariah watches her with what would seem to anyone to be rapt attention—anyone but me. I know her better than that.
The heat from her pussy reaches my hand as I move my fingers forward. I cup the inside of her thigh just inches from her panties. She steadies her features but doesn’t flinch.
Studying the side of her face, my skin suddenly not big enough to contain everything trying to spill out of me, I lift one finger. With my palm pressed into the top of her leg, I creep one digit towards the apex of her thighs.
Her breathing shakes as she pulls in lungful after lungful of air. My chest matches hers move for move.
Her skin is damp from the heated desire nestled between her legs. The edge of her panties form a distinct line around the curve of her hip to a sweet spot beneath her. I fix my gaze on the pout of her lips and try to remember that there are other people here.
“Eric,” she says, “how is your mother?”
My laugh is covered by a cough as I drag the edge of my finger beneath the lace covering her slit. It’s wet even there, the dampness creating an all-too-easy path along the side of her pussy.
She laughs again, this time with a tremble. Her body flexes forward as if she’s craving the contact as badly as I am. There’s no way that’s true. I’ve wanted this woman for as many days as I’ve known her.
Betsy’s cries from the other room pulling her parents’ attention elsewhere. Mariah sags back in her chair, a move that just gives me more access. As our lunch partners murmur amongst themselves, I slip my finger to the edge of her opening.
Her cheeks burn red. She reaches for a glass of water as I shift in my seat, the tightening in my balls so fierce I cringe. She’s so wet that her juices trickle down my finger, so hot the moisture from her body dampens my hand.
Just as the glass reaches her lips, I sink the tip of my finger into her opening. Her eyes fly wide as her shoulders drop in relief.
Eric’s voice is on the periphery of my senses. It’ll have to wait. With every push of my finger into her body, her muscles tense around my pointer. My stomach twists into a knot I’m sure I’m not going to be able to unthread.
“I’m going to check on Betsy.” Chrissy’s voice is barely audible over the rush of blood pounding in my ears. I follow Mariah’s eyes which are trained on the couple leaving the room.
“God,” she moans as I slip in a second finger. “I want to hit you for doing this right here.”
I still. “Want me to stop?”
She gulps a breath before turning to me. “Yes.”
My fingers withdraw immediately, the knot in my stomach straining.
She looks around in desperation, her eyes darting in a circle around her. Shoving away from the table, she yanks the hem of her dress back down. Her eyes hood as she looms over me.
Mariah has turned me on so many times. But not a single one of them, neither as Mariah or when she was promising me filthy things under the alias of Nerdy Nurse, has made me harder than I am right now.
“I’m losing my mind,” she breathes, a roughness to her tone that is the final fray of my self-restraint. “Follow me.”
She takes my hand, guiding me to my feet. Our footsteps tap across the tile. We go through an arched doorway and take a right.
Rounding a set of stairs, there’s a room tucked in the back. She twists the knob and we enter a butler’s pantry. It’s painted light grey with a set of cabinets lining the smallish, rectangular space. Shelves hang on the top starting a few inches off the cabinets and extending to the ceiling.
The door shuts behind me, a lock clicking into place. I look over my shoulder.
She’s standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes are almost feral as her chest bounces with each hefty breath.
A series of thoughts sweep through my mind as I look at her. I have no problem with one-night stands. I prefer them. I own them. But a rustle of uncertainty surges through me when I take her in and she doesn’t look like a one-night stand and I don’t know what that means.
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Shut up, Lance.”
My hands are on her face, my lips crashing against hers before either of us see it coming. Her back slams a
gainst the door. A box of cereal rattles off a shelf and falls to the floor.
Her mouth works effortlessly against mine, her hand tangles in my hair. She tastes of cherries as her mouth opens for me. My tongue parts her lips, lapping against hers. She moans, but my kiss swallows it.
Each second together feels like it took a second too long to arrive. Each moment bleeds into the next creating a dizzying high that rivals any I’ve ever had. I break contact with her mouth only to dot kisses across her chin and down the gentle slope of her neck.
Her body bends to mine, continuously moving to scratch the itch that is only going to be soothed with an orgasm.
“This,” she gasps, as I pull her dress over her head and toss it onto a nearby shelf, “is so inappropriate.” She leans forward, dragging our mouths together again.
“Like you care,” I say between kisses, fumbling with the latch on her bra.
She opens her eyes. Narrowing them as she bites down on my bottom lip, she shimmies her shoulders out of her straps. Her breasts are held up only by the cups of the soft pink bra that barely contains the gorgeous mounds.
“Fuck,” I hiss, kissing down her neck, yanking down the satin cups. Her breasts spring free. With one in each hand, I pull her taught nipple into my mouth. Mariah’s hips roll into me as she moans, her fingernails scraping against my scalp.
Hooking my fingers through the delicate bands of her panties, I give them a pull. They break free as easily as my willpower.
I take her in like a teenager seeing a woman naked for the first time. She’s so fucking beautiful with curves around her hips, her breasts, and a softness to her legs and stomach. I wish I had more time to appreciate this, to revel in how lucky I am to be the one with her right now, but I don’t. That’ll have to come later.
“Why do you still have clothes on?” she pants.
“Because you’re naked,” I say, kissing a line across her from hip-to-hip. “It’s kind of hard to stop licking you.”
“If it’s only kind of hard, then we better stop.”
I stop. It’s actually painful to break contact, get to my feet, and face her without touching her again. But I manage. Somehow.
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