For as different as Neil’s family was from mine, they grieved in the same style, clinging to the good memories of their mother. These were the anecdotes they would revisit whenever their grief returned. Though memories could never replace a silly pet name or the feeling of a mother’s hand stroking their fevered brow, at least they had them to comfort themselves as they grieved. How many funeral dinners had my family spent exactly the same way? Death was the great equalizer in more ways than one.
Neil excused himself, and when he didn’t return after what seemed like a long time, I left to follow him. He wasn’t on the first floor, so I crept upstairs, hoping Fiona wouldn’t view my wandering her home as a gross invasion of her privacy.
At the top of the stairs on the second floor, I found an open door and soft light spilling out. I stepped inside. Neil sat on the edge of a bed made up with a lovely floral bedspread. An oxygen bottle stood in the corner, a delicate porcelain bell on the nightstand.
Neil’s posture was a picture of total defeat, his shoulders slumped, his back bowed. He looked up when I knocked on the half-opened door, and his eyes were red and tired.
“Hey, baby.” I went to his side and sat with him on his mother’s bed. I took his hand.
“I think we should go,” he said, and followed it with a deep breath that would put a stop to his crying. Neil was a master at holding back emotion. He viewed it with a sense of pride and duty to his country of origin. “It’s getting a bit late, and if Valerie is coming to speak with us—”
“She can talk to us tomorrow,” I assured him. “I’ll call her. Maybe we’ll do breakfast.”
He smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I know it’s difficult for you to get along with her—”
“Don’t worry about that, right now.” I rubbed his back. “Let’s go to the house and just relax. There’s a wonderful hot tub I’ve been missing.”
“We have one at home you never use,” he pointed out, and there he was again, my usual Neil. Maybe the funeral had given him more closure than he’d expected. Not that I wasn’t anticipating further breakdowns in the coming weeks. Grief always seemed hardest when you noticed life going on without the person you lost.
“I could use a drink,” he said finally, looking to me as though asking permission. “But I don’t want to worry you.”
“I think a few drinks are okay, as long as you’re not using them to swallow handfuls of pills.” I paused. “Unless that’s enabling?”
“It probably is,” he conceded. “But I’ll take it.”
We left before Emma and Michael, who wanted to stay a bit later with Fiona. I called the house and asked Matthew, the head of the household staff, to turn on the hot tub for us before he left for the night. When we got home, we wasted no time opening some wine and heading down to the pool.
The indoor pool, sauna, hot tub and fitness room were all in the basement. The white marble columns and floors had been added to the house in the first decade of the twentieth century, when the space had been repurposed as a gymnasium. The pool had been updated since then, and modern facilities added, but I always kind of expected Annie to burst in singing about how she was going to like it here.
Neil turned down the dimmer switch from the inset lighting and pulled his loose tie from beneath the collar of his white dress shirt.
“Do you think it’s safe to get naked?” I asked him as I raised my shirt over my head. “What if Emma and Michael come back?”
“I’ll lock the door,” he assured me. “Besides, they can’t really fault me for needing a diversion, can they?”
“True story,” I agreed. “Although, I’m not sure what kind of ‘diversion’ you have in mind other than a nice long soak.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
I changed the subject. “Do you think Michael is going to ease up a little? He seems a bit…smothery.”
Neil didn’t look at me as he toed off his shoes and set them carefully aside, far from the water. “Better than cold and detached.”
Neil had massive guilt—and a part of me felt he probably should—over the way he’d treated Valerie during her pregnancy with Emma. He’d traveled non-stop to avoid the reality of becoming a father. He’d cheated on her with a woman from his father’s office. While I loved the man, I didn’t mind him feeling guilty about that forever, no matter how much I disliked Valerie.
“That’s true. But I think she’s getting tired of it.” I shed the rest of my clothes and put my toes in the water. Oh, that was heavenly. We had a hot tub at home, but I never really got a chance to use it; there were too many other distractions competing for my time.
Our London house held a lot of memories for me, but only a few of them were pleasant. We’d stayed here during Neil’s chemotherapy and the transplant that had almost killed him. It would never be my favorite place on Earth. I’d spent too many nights in our bed alone, sobbing at the unfairness and uncertainty of life. At least I could appreciate the hot tub.
I sank into the water and watched as Neil unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. His thin white undershirt came off next, and I took a moment to shamelessly appreciate his shoulders and back. Something about men’s backs—Neil’s, in particular—just did it for me.
Neil slid off his trousers and boxers and joined me in the water.
I regarded him with a cocked head as he settled against the curve of the tub. “You know, we’re naked around each other so often, sometimes I take it for granted. Then, I look at you, and I’m like, ‘Whoa, fifty is really his year.’”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell Dawn that you approve. Perhaps she’ll ease off a bit.”
His personal trainer, Dawn, was a loud, scary former Marine drill instructor who looked like Barbie and employed some pretty tough methods. Bringing a body back from the ravages of cancer had been harder than Neil had anticipated, and I knew that secretly, he was grateful to have found her.
I’d worked out with them once. Once was enough. I like being able to walk too much.
I stretched my leg above the water and rotated my ankle. “Remind me not to wear those shoes ever again.”
“Oh, the eight hundred dollar pair that I told you not to buy because they were shaped similarly to the other pair that you hate?” He raised his head to smile at me. “Thank you, Sophie.”
“For what?” I dropped my leg and snuggled down in the water farther, letting it rise to my neck.
“For being exactly the way you are.” He moved closer to me, until our naked skin brushed under the water. “Very little could raise my spirits today. You’re one of the few people who have cheered me. And you’ve looked after me; I appreciate that.”
“Well, you refuse to look after yourself.” I reached behind me for the bottle of 2002 Le Pin. We’d opened it, but we hadn’t bothered to bring glasses. I took a long drink and passed it to him.
He contemplated the bottle in his hand. “That’s too true. I don’t believe I thanked you for your help yesterday. With…” He gestured vaguely then took a drink.
“If we can’t rely on each other, who can we rely on?” I leaned my sweating head against his shoulder. “Do you want, like, a condolence blow job or something?”
Neil jerked forward, sputtering wine everywhere. He choked and coughed and wiped his mouth, still laughing. “Not while I’m taking a drink, Sophie. That’s really not fair play.”
“Sorry.” I giggled. “But the question still stands.”
“I’ll take you up on that, perhaps, in the morning.” He leaned his head back again. “I’m so tired I wouldn’t stay awake long enough for the pill to kick in.”
“In the morning, then,” I promised. “Is there anything else I can do for you, though?”
He thought for a moment. “Be with me. That’s all I need, right now.”
I leaned on him again and kissed a drop from his collarbone. “That, I can do.”
* * * *
I woke to the fee
ling of a freshly showered, still slightly damp body beside mine in the bed.
“I hate when you do that,” I mumbled into my pillow. “You get the bed all wet.”
“No, you hate it because it makes you self-conscious that you haven’t showered.” He had me there. I felt gross when his skin was all clean and soft and mine was sleep funky. Still, a promise was a promise. I slipped from the bed. The lovely blue Carine Gilson nightgown, the one he’d bought me for our first Christmas, fluttered to my ankles to puddle on the floor, and I gave him an arched brow over my shoulder.
“You’re not going to make me wait while you shower, are you?” he asked, sounding disappointed.
“No, but I don’t want to go down on you with a dirty mouth.” I dashed into the bathroom, quickly brushed my teeth, swished some mouthwash around then came back.
“You are the only person I know who brushes their teeth before performing oral sex.” He threw the covers back and patted the bed beside him.
“I can’t believe you’re horny the day after your mother’s funeral,” I said, and then, I wished I hadn’t. “Sorry, that was meant to be funnier than it was.”
“I don’t fault you for trying.” He reached for me and pulled me in. His skin, warmed by the blankets, felt so good against mine that I moaned. He chuckled against my neck. “Oh, we’re already there, are we?”
“Hey, we’ve been a little stressed-out this week. Any small relief I can get, I’ll take.” I trailed my fingertips through his chest hair.
“Believe me,” he said as I kissed my way down his stomach. “You’ll get it.”
“You first, though.” I gazed up at him as I rolled to lie between his legs. “Are you my Sir, this morning, or are you my boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” he corrected, reaching down to cup my jaw. “And Sir is far too tired to make an appearance this morning. Although, his sub is very enticing.”
“Even with bed head, huh?” I stroked my fingers down his hardening length then curled my hand around.
He sighed and crooked one arm behind his head. “Especially with mussed hair. And smeared eyeliner. In my opinion, women always look best if they appear freshly fucked.”
“I’m not sure women care how men like them to look.” I slowly pumped him in my fist and gave him a quirk of my lips. “But, if that’s what you want, then why do I bother getting all dolled up for you?”
“Mmm. Because I like making a mess of you.” He shifted his hips and relaxed into the bed. I sat up and grasped his thick erection in one hand. I rolled the foreskin up and over the head, then back again, and ran my nails lightly over his scrotum.
He gazed at me with a blissfully content smile, and my vagina clenched tight. I got so much pleasure from making him feel good, I almost felt guilty. But our sex always seemed cyclical; I got pleasure from giving him pleasure, and he took pleasure in mine.
With every stroke of my hand, Neil lifted his hips a little more. His breathing quickened, and he turned his face to the side on his pillow. I leaned over and let a thin stream of drool trickle from my mouth onto the head of his penis, stroking him all the while. When I parted my lips and let my open mouth hover over the head, he opened his eyes and smiled, the halfway one that would have been panty melting had I been wearing panties. I slid my mouth down about halfway and released him with sucking pressure. Then, I nibbled my way lightly down his shaft. He bobbed against my lips, twitching impatiently as I made my way back up to the tip to slip my tongue between his foreskin and glans.
“You’re a tease, Sophie,” he scolded in his sex-roughened voice.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I gave him what he wanted, closing my mouth around him and sucking him down until I gagged. What I couldn’t get into my mouth, I manipulated with my hands, circling him and squeezing as I slid them up and down his wide cock. His breath caught; he moaned. I maintained eye contact with him and lifted my mouth, strands of saliva bridging the gap between my puffy lower lip and his rock hard erection.
“I want to make you come, Neil,” I moaned. I shifted position, straddling his thigh and rubbing my sopping pussy against his skin as I tugged his cock. “I want you to come in my mouth and splash all over my face.”
His hips jerked. “Come here,” he growled, reaching down to dig his fingers into my hips. “I want that beautiful cunt on my face.”
It used to freak me out to let Neil go down on me when I hadn’t showered immediately beforehand, but that was always the time he most wanted to do it. I turned to face away from him and almost laughed at the desperate way his penis twitched, begging for sensation. He groaned and sniffed deeply as I lowered myself over him.
“You smell like heaven.” He pulled me down and sucked at my labia then pushed his tongue between to run it around my engorged clit. He sucked it, releasing me with an obscene slurping sound that made my thighs quake.
“I love that sucking my cock gets you wet,” he murmured against me. His dirty talk could get me to the edge faster than any sex toy ever could. I leaned forward, an elbow on either side of him, and took his cock in my mouth again. Now, sucking him off wasn’t the only thing getting me wet. Neil knew every sensitive spot to lick, when and how to increase pressure. He was the best thing that had ever happened to my cunt, oral sex-wise.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, pulling me harder against his face. His hips jerked upward, and he shot stream after stream into my mouth, panting and rubbing his face against my slick, wet vulva the whole time. His chin bumped my clit, and it was the very last straw; my orgasm pushed a long, shuddering moan from my throat, and I choked on his cum. I swallowed some, and some ran down my chin.
Exhausted, I rolled off him and reoriented my position to snuggle at his side. We kissed with the taste of each other on our mouths, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“Thank you. I needed that more than I realized.” He rubbed his hand over his glistening chin.
“What time is it?” I asked. My phone was charging on the bedside table, but I was too loose-limbed and comfortable to reach for it.
“It was eight-thirty when I got up. Then, I ran six miles on the treadmill, took a shower, and got a fucking incredible blow job from an utter sex goddess, so…eleven?”
I had to take a shower and call Valerie. She’d said she needed to speak with both of us, though about what, I had no clue. It seemed like that meeting, whatever it was about, would go so much better if I didn’t show up with semen in my hair.
I yawned. “I’m going to go get ready. Find us something for breakfast?”
“Don’t you need to be conscious to eat breakfast?” He traced the shell of my ear with one finger.
“Killjoy.” I pushed myself up reluctantly and yawned.
I was halfway to the bathroom when Neil said, “Thank you for the diversion.”
“The condolence blow job,” I reminded him.
He chuckled. “Yes, well. Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure.” I grinned and wiped my chin. For the first time in a while, Neil’s smile in response was spontaneous, not forced, and I was so relieved to see it.
CHAPTER FOUR
I usually dressed for planned Valerie encounters like I was the president and I was about to strong-arm a nuclear treaty with Vladimir Putin. Today, I just didn’t have time to put that effort into it. I needed to let that go, anyway; Neil wasn’t going to compare me in Old Navy to Valerie in Versace and go, “Gosh, Sophie looks so ugly that I have now forgotten all the problems Valerie and I had in our relationship, and I’m going to go back to her.” It hadn’t happened in something like twenty-six years; it wasn’t going to happen today.
Neil seemed to have the same theory. When Valerie arrived, he went downstairs ahead of me in an R.E.M. tour shirt and gray sweatpants, so clearly we didn’t need to make an impression. I put on a green long-sleeved tee and black yoga pants, pulled my shower-wet hair into a sloppy braid and followed him.
I found them in the sitting room. Valerie was dressed smart, but cas
ual, in skinny jeans and a long black sweater. The loose sleeves were pushed up her arms, and her elbows were braced on her knees. She sat back in her chair when I entered and said a quiet, “Hello, Sophie.”
“Hi?” I said as I looked to Neil. He was on the sofa across the coffee table from her. His jaw was tight, his eyes utterly humorless. I glanced between them. “Did I miss something important?”
Valerie’s gaze snapped to Neil, her expression wavering somewhere between uncertainty and shame. What the fuck has she done?
“It’s all right. Sophie knows everything,” Neil told her. The coldness in his voice could have frozen water off the coast of Miami in August.
I sat beside him, my entire body suddenly tense, like I was watching someone trail a thumbtack over the surface of a balloon. Whatever was about to blow up, I wanted to brace myself for it, but covering my ears was also an attractive option.
I couldn’t read Valerie’s reaction. If I had to put a name to it, it would have been a combo of wariness and surprise and unpleasant shock. Warpriseock?
Even my gift for portmanteaus had deserted me.
“Then, you know…” She cleared her throat. “Sophie, your book was very popular, wasn’t it?”
You know it was popular, bitch. It was on The New York Times list. “Yes… Is this something to do with me?”
“In a way.” Valerie glanced at Neil again, like she was asking permission to do something horrible. “You know that my brother, Stephen, was…involved with Neil.”
“Yeah, he told me.” This conversation sure was jumping around. “He said he was with Stephen before he was with you.”
“We were never ‘with’ each other. We had sex on occasion. There was no romantic relationship.” I’d only heard Neil use his current tone on a few occasions, and they’d all been serious as fuck. Like when I’d casually dismissed his worry over his cancer. And when he’d found out that I’d been kind of double-crossing his company.
The Ex Page 5