by Lavinia Kent
Her brow furrowed. “Does that make me sound like a slut? I mean, I’ve had plenty of relationships that were monogamous—by some definition, they all were. I don’t think I’ve ever gone back and forth between partners—just that some of the relationships have been pretty short. Once I moved on from a guy, I didn’t go back.”
Brian couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “If you’re a slut, then I am too. That sounds pretty much like my life—no, that’s not quite true. I did have a good friend who I fell into bed with a few times over the years, but there were never any romantic feelings.”
“Sounds sort of like what I wanted for us—or, I’ll be honest, for me—to be able to sleep with you and not end up getting involved.”
He reached across the table and brushed that annoying curl off her face. “I think I prefer getting involved.”
She looked down at her food, mumbled something.
“What was that?”
She looked up, but still spoke quietly, as if afraid to hear her own words. “I can’t say that I disagree.”
“So, are we set, then?”
She blinked. “I think so.” And then she gave him a little smile. “Although, you still haven’t told me what you’re studying for and waiting for.”
And that might open a whole new can of worms. “You’re right. I do need to tell you more about my situation, what I want, what I plan—and how I feel about what’s happened to me. And I want to know what happens if your father makes you a partner—or if he doesn’t. Are you willing to work for your sister?”
Veronica started to pace. “Fuck. I try not to think about that. I just can’t believe it will happen. I mean, I have so much more experience than her—and Dad knows it. I can imagine him giving us equal equity—and that’s bad enough. Even now, when she’s technically my junior, she manages to leave me her work.” Her pacing sped up.
“Now it’s my turn to say fuck. That was certainly not the result I meant to inspire. I actually was trying to do a wrap-up so I could figure out how to get you up to bed—whether it was fastest to walk Baxter and do the dishes together or to each take one task.”
She stopped and pulled in a relaxing breath. “You’re right, that can be the worry for another day. Why don’t we walk Baxter together, and then I’ll slip the dishes in the dishwasher. It’s not like there are a lot of them—one of the great things about takeout.”
“If that’s how you want to do it.”
“I think I need that moment to walk, and I’d rather be with you than alone.”
That was progress. She wasn’t kicking him out tonight. “I’ll get the leash.” He pushed off the couch. Baxter raised his head, clearly knowing what was coming.
* * *
—
Veronica felt drained, far more than she should have. The last few days of work combined with her relationship worries had caught up with her. Brian held Baxter’s lead and she stared at her feet as they walked, longing for that hot shower she’d skipped earlier.
They walked down to the beach in silence. For once, Baxter was cooperative, not trying to sit every five steps.
When they reached the top of the sand, Brian turned to her. “It’s so beautiful, so peaceful. I understand why you love it here, why you never want to leave.”
“The ocean is magic. Just staring out at it makes the whole day seem easier. As long as I can come and do this, I think I can handle anything.”
“I understand that.” There was something sad in his tone that didn’t quite match his words.
“You sound like you have more to say.”
He turned away from the water and gave a gentle tug on the leash, heading back toward her home. “Not really.”
“That’s not a no.”
“We’ll talk about it in a bit. I feel like we have enough to digest right now.”
She followed for a moment, but then stopped. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You’ve hinted that there is and this has gone on far too long. I feel like every time I get things back into balance, there’s something else to knock me to the side.”
“There isn’t.” He kept walking—and after a moment she followed. “It’s just I know I’m not staying here. I might love Forbidden Cove, might love being with Aunt Mols, might—” He cut himself off and stopped walking, turned to look at her. “But my life isn’t here. I had an incredible time this summer, but as I said the first time we met, it was a break from real life.”
“Surely you could find a life here? You’re the one who’s been pushing for us to be together. You might have mentioned this before now.” Her voice broke a little as she spoke. She wasn’t positive that she was ready to ask this of him, but the thought of him leaving tore at her heart. Her heart. Was she admitting that her heart had become involved?
“I can’t, really.”
“You could commute to the city.”
“Having watched you do it, I don’t think so. It’s not absolutely impossible, but I want a family with kids, and that’s not the life I would want with them, leaving early and coming back after they’re already in bed. It barely works with a dog. And there’s something else, the thing I’ve been waiting for.”
God, did she want to know this? “What?”
“I am applying for med school. Or at least I am hoping to.”
She blinked, and blinked again. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“So, are you waiting for your acceptance?” Something felt off about this.
“No, my MCAT results. I should have them Friday—and then if they’re decent, I’ll be applying before the end of the month. I am really late to the game, but if I don’t do it right away then I have to wait a year.”
And would that be bad? “So you’ve been waiting for your results before you told me?”
“Yes, before I told almost anyone. If I don’t do well enough, then I’ll have to figure out a different plan.”
“Maybe a plan that could include staying.” She put her hand up. “Forget I said that. If this is what you want, then of course you should pursue it.” She turned and started to walk, putting distance between them.
He started to follow, the pace of his steps increasing until he was beside her again. “It would be almost a year until I started. We’d still have time together.”
“A year for me to get more involved? A year for me to begin to care?” Was she trying to start a fight? And she’d told him earlier this evening that she didn’t like to care because whenever she did people let her down.
“You sound tired.” She could hear the genuineness in his comment; he was not simply changing the subject. “I don’t want to argue. I am sorry I waited so long to tell you. I wanted to know if things were definite. My aunt Mols is the only one who fully knows my plan.”
“I am tired.” She pulled out a treat for Baxter. “It was a long day and I just want a shower. Is that rude to say?”
“No.” He smiled warmly, his earlier irritation disappearing. “Why don’t I load the dishwasher and you can take that shower?”
“I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you could. My only question is, do you want me to leave when I’m done?”
Did she? She always had before when she felt like this. “Do you want to leave?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”
“I’d like you to stay. This evening hasn’t been quite what I thought it would be, but I know that I want you here.”
“Then go take your shower.”
* * *
—
The water was still running, a small trail of steam escaping from under the bathroom door. He’d finished the dishwasher, done a quick look about to be sure everything else was in order, and then he’d come up, planning on pulling off his clothes and getting in bed to sleep. But now his mind was turnin
g in different directions.
That small trickle of haze had all sorts of images flowing through his mind, each one more delicious than the last. He placed his hand on the doorknob, considered. He certainly didn’t want to be pushy. She had seemed tired, but was there anything better for relieving stress than a long bout of hot sex?
He didn’t think so—but then, that was him, and he was a guy.
Were soap bubbles sliding off the tips of her nipples?
Was her back arched, her ass slick with invitation?
Was her face turned into the water, her hair smoothed back, her lips open?
He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable, still unsure.
And he was not an unsure man. It was time to follow his instincts, not second-guess himself. If she gave any indication that this wasn’t what she wanted, he could always make a hasty retreat. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His shorts and underwear hit the carpet. He scooped everything up and tossed it on a chair.
Easing the door open, he slipped into the bathroom. A cloud of steam met him, the air thick and hazy. For the first moment he just breathed, pulling the hot, moist air into his lungs.
The glass door of the shower was hazy, and he stepped forward to more clearly see Veronica’s outline through the glass. Her full curves blurred, but were all the more desirable for it. Sometimes seeing only a little allowed one’s fantasies to run wild.
He hesitated again.
He didn’t want to stand here, a voyeur, but he also didn’t want to startle her.
Tapping lightly on the glass, he slid open the shower door.
Charlotte’s head turned, her eyes finding his. They widened slightly, but showed no displeasure. Her head turned to face the wall. “Would you rub my shoulders? They’re quite tight. Normally the hot water is enough, but right now I think they could use a little extra.”
Now, that sounded inviting—and he was happy to get his hands on her any way that he could.
He stepped into the shower, closing the door behind him. Reaching past her, he picked up the soap. A light floral scent hit his nostrils. He lathered his hands, then brought them down upon her shoulders, kneading and massaging. Her arms came up and pressed into the tiles, supporting her weight as she leaned forward, granting him greater access.
He forced himself to concentrate on her shoulders, on working on the knots and tight spots, despite the full curves of her ass, now arched toward him. Well, at least he forced his hands to concentrate. His eyes, however, had a mind of their own. It was impossible not to watch the heavy beads of water slide down over her smooth, creamy skin, not to imagine licking them as they slipped between her round cheeks.
Knead. Press. Knead. His fingers moved about her neck, working at the tight tendons at its base.
A long, low moan left her throat—a sound that definitely had him thinking of far different types of massage. He allowed his hands to slip a little lower, working at her sides, right under her arms, fingers slipping forward to stroke the sides of her breasts.
She slapped them away lightly. “Don’t be impatient.”
He withdrew, letting them slide even lower, working the muscles at the base of her back, just above the first curve of her ass, pressing firmly at the tight muscles.
He shifted his hips forward slightly, letting his now swollen cock brush against her skin. That felt so good, made him want much more.
She didn’t pull away, but neither did she press back into him.
“Keep rubbing,” she commanded.
He complied, feeling her flesh soften beneath his fingers. Her hips eased back slightly, her legs parting. His eyes fastened on the darkness between them. He ached to slip his fingers between her legs to the wetness there, to see if her own juices were beginning to flow. It was so easy to imagine pressing her into the tile while his fingers worked her, preparing her for his cock.
Another moan.
His cock jerked on its own, rubbing against her, expressing its need.
She gave no indication of having noticed.
Finally, he did let his hands move lower, beginning to work at the strong muscles of her glutes. Her legs slipped farther apart—and, after a moment, he gave in to his fantasies, letting his fingers begin to slip between her cheeks.
Her head fell forward to rest against the tile, turning sideways so that he could see her dark lashes lying in spikes against her pale cheeks.
Unable to help himself, he curved his body above her so that he could lay gentle kisses at the base of her neck. Her eyes fluttered open and fixed on him for the barest of moments, before slowly closing again.
Her ass pressed further into his hands. He began to knead again, firmly, but without true force, inviting her toward him rather than demanding. He slipped one hand about her hip, letting it settle between the front of her legs. She murmured something he couldn’t quite hear. He slipped his fingers between her legs, between her folds, finding her clit.
She was wet—and not just from soap and water.
Another of those delightful moans.
He slid his other hand up her body, bringing it about her ribs to settle on her left breast. He circled and played before moving to the nipple, caressing and then tugging. This time, she did not protest.
Still playing with the tip, he levered her body back against him, bringing her upright, until no space separated them, until no drop of water could have slid between. Her long back lay against his chest, her head resting upon his shoulder. His cock pressed hard against the upper curves of her butt, fighting hard to make its presence known—not that there was any way he could have forgotten. The desires of his body fought against those of his mind.
Holding firm, he worked his fingers about her clit while continuing to play with her breast.
Her breathing began to speed, growing fast and heavy. One of her hands, which a moment ago had rested by her side, slid back, her nails pressing into the skin of her hip.
He moved his fingers faster, listening to her breath, feeling her gasps, experiencing each muscle twitch with her. The tension began to grow, her muscles straining and tightening as she pressed against him. He matched her unconscious rhythm, urging her faster, harder, needing to bring her that release.
“Fuck, I needed this,” she whispered as her head moved back and forth.
He slipped a leg between hers, using it to lever her slightly, to tilt her hips forward, to grant his hand greater access. He caught her nub between his fingers as his other hand worked harder at her breast.
Her whole body stretched. More moans, this time with a frantic air.
His cock pressed between her buttocks, wanting more, needing more.
He felt his own desire grow, the need to push into her, to thrust and seek, to…
No, not yet. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her flesh beneath his fingers, imagining only her wants, her pleasures.
He felt her rise on her toes. The movement of her head grew more frantic.
A moment of absolute tightness and then he felt the deep shudder, felt her come apart beneath his fingers. Her body stretched tight until it seemed that she would break—and then, with one great gasp, released and grew soft.
He was about to ease her away, to cradle her gently against the wall, when she spoke again. “Take me now. I need to feel you in me. I want you, all of you.”
“But…” Damn, he wanted that, too, but he should give her a minute, let the thoughts return to her brain.
“Now. I want you now.” Her legs spread farther and tilted slightly, granting greater access.
And before he could even form a thought, he was in her. His cock sliding between her cheeks to find her pussy. It needed no direction, knowing well the way to its home.
God, that was good. Warm and tight and still shivering from her climax.
He began to move with care, aware of her oversensitive body. In. Out. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.
“Harder. Faster,” she murmured.
And his cock obeyed. His eyes closed as thought left him, until there was nothing but the experience of her tight about him, squeezing, pressing. Harder. Faster. Harder. He obeyed her command.
He felt her hands come up to brace against the wall and then she was matching him, pushing, demanding, making clear exactly what she wanted.
He tried to count, tried to hold on to his sanity, but it was useless with her moving against him, about him—and he gave in, became nothing but desire and sensation, nothing but—
It hit him fast—no further buildup, just pure blinding pleasure, pleasure so extreme that he felt his knees buckling even as his hands reached forward about hers, finding the wall and using it to hold them both upright.
God.
God.
God.
And then it was over, the last waves of pleasure coursing through him.
He stood still, afraid that if he moved they would both slide boneless to the floor.
She turned in his arms, wrapping hers about his waist and holding tight, her head cradled against his chest.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but the water began to cool, losing its muscle-easing heat. His hand slid over the tile, grasping the knob and turning it off. This was not the moment for a cold shower.
She hardly moved as he bent and slid an arm beneath her knees, carrying her back to the big wide bed.
Chapter 20
How could each time manage to be better than the last? The thought played at the edge of Veronica’s mind as she cuddled into the quilt. It wasn’t exactly that each time was more pleasurable or more overpowering, on a strictly physical level—it was just that each time was better.
There was no other way to describe it.
She turned her face into Brian’s chest, tickling her nose against his chest hair, enjoying the incongruity of the scent of her floral soap mixing with his manly musk.