Flirting with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 9)

by Whitley Cox

Atlas grunted. “It would be worth following up on. I can take care of that, call him tomorrow.”

  “And I’ll get McGregor to do some hunting, too.”

  “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  “You certainly do. And hey, Emmett’s throwing Zara a surprise birthday party Sunday at Paige’s bistro if you want to bring the girls. And maybe … ”

  “Where did this sudden interest in seeing other people happy come from?”

  “You’ve gone from Eeyore to Tigger in the course of two weeks, man. Tessa is either a witch and cast a serious spell on you, or she just makes you happy. I can’t ridicule that.”

  “Look at you going all soft,” Richelle teased.

  “Will you come to the party?” Liam asked her.

  “No, and you knew my answer before you even asked.”

  “I’ll think about it. Thanks, guys,” Atlas said, rolling his eyes at their weird relationship. “Let me know what McGregor says. Wait, why are you inviting me and not Emmett?”

  “He planned to message you when he got home from work tonight, but I said I’d relay the invitation when I spoke with you today.”

  “’K, talk soon.” He hung up and turned to the sad woman beside him. The look on her face shredded his heart and made him want to go find Forest himself just to see her smile again. “We’ll get him back,” he said, tucking a knuckle under her chin.

  “I’m beginning to think it might be hopeless. Forest must be so confused. He was a rescue, you know. Found malnourished and neglected with matted fur and a large, infected wound around his neck from being chained up. He’s going to think I’ve abandoned him just like everybody else.” Hot, plump tears dripped from her glassy eyes, and she turned her face into his shoulder. Soft sobs caused her slight frame to tremble. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

  “Shh,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out.” Her warm tears fell with abandon on his shirt, soaking through to his skin. “You’ve got three lawyers, and he’s got a first-year law student. If we don’t kick his ass, get your dog back and take him to the fucking cleaners, then I’ll disbar myself.”

  Of course, he was exaggerating. This was a small claims case over a single piece of property. Lawyers weren’t even really needed. But that didn’t mean he and his friends couldn’t lend her a hand and help her get her best friend back. He just wanted to reassure her that he, Richelle and Liam were going to do everything they could to help her.

  Her laugh was breathy and forced, but when she lifted her head to look at him, her gaze tired and beseeching, he saw just the smallest glimmer of hope still hiding behind all the pain. “Thank you. I don’t know if I would have had the strength to go this alone.”

  He wrapped both arms around her and tugged her into his lap. “You’re not alone.” He kissed her on the forehead and held her tight. She kissed his neck. He kissed her temple, then her cheek. Her lips, damp from her tears, fell to his jaw, her teeth scraping along the scruff of his beard.

  “I feel safe when I’m with you,” she whispered. “With my mom in the home and my dad gone, I have no one … besides you.” She arched her back and pulled her head away from him, her sapphire eyes glittering from the tears but with more hope and less agony swirling inside them than before. “You take away some of the hurt.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, and their mouths collided.

  From gentle kisses and soft touches, their movements and passion went from a flickering cinder to white-hot dancing flames. The movie on the screen was forgotten as they peeled away layers of clothing, kissing and biting each new bit of exposed flesh. She had an incredible body, soft and feminine with just the right amount of curves. But she was also fit. He knew she took care of herself, ate well and went to the gym. The woman was disciplined. And the way she responded to his touch was enough to get any man’s engine going.

  Every caress, every kiss she would moan or shiver, buck into his hand or grip his hair and demand more. As fragile as she seemed at times, particularly just now, he knew her to be fierce and to go after what she wanted. She had, after all, texted him quite the scathing messages when she thought he was someone else. The woman had fire, the woman had passion, and he saw that more than ever when the clothes were off and it was just them.

  Relieving her of her tank top and bra, he scraped his teeth over her tight nipple, loving the way the skin around it and her areola prickled with gooseflesh. Her eyelids hung at half mast, and her top teeth dug into her bottom lip, creating little white marks beneath. She was easy to torment too, which was so much fun. Swirling his tongue around the taut bud, he slid his fingers down over the swell of her hips and between her legs. The hair there was sparse and nicely trimmed. Past her mound, he dipped his middle finger between her lips and pressed on her clit. Her hips instantly shot off his lap.

  “You’re evil,” she murmured, churning her pelvis in such a way his finger slid down through her folds into her wet heat.

  “Evil?” He chuckled. “Would an evil man do this?” He was on his knees with her feet on his shoulders and her pussy against his mouth before she could utter a word of protest, just a squeal of delight from his rough movements and demands.

  “Oh God.” She sank into the couch, her fingers finding her nipples and tugging. He loved to watch her touch herself, enhance her own pleasure. They’d only had sex three times so far, but he was already coming to know her likes and to read her body language.

  Reading a person was how he’d become so successful in the courtroom too.

  She loved to have her tits played with, her nipples tugged and bit, past the point of pain, it seemed. And when he sucked on her clit, she was like her motorcycle, purring when he hit the throttle just right.

  Sliding two fingers into her slick channel, he pumped as her ridges tightened around him, squeezing and drawing him deeper. His lips enclosed around her clit and he sucked hard, feeling it swell and harden when she drew closer to climax.

  He released her clit, enjoying the whimper of protest but relishing the moan of delight when he raked his chin over the hypersensitive nerve bundle.

  “Oh God.” Her groan fueled him.

  He hit her with his scruff again, and her hips jerked beneath him. Around and around her clit he whirled his tongue, until that warm gush of sweetness flowed over his fingers and the woman surrounding him came hard against his mouth. Her body went stiff, her clit even harder, even more swollen as her fingers pulled at her nipples and her upper body shot off the couch.

  She was a sight to behold when she came, whether from his mouth and fingers or his cock inside her. Last Wednesday, he hadn’t gone down on her, as they didn’t have the all-clear from the lab about her blood tests, but those results had come Friday, and he had her over again on Sunday so that they could celebrate properly.

  “Atlas,” she crooned, having reached her peak and then gently slid down the backside of her climax. She released her nipples and reached for him. “Inside me, now.”

  Grinning, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and crawled up her body. Now that they knew they were both clean and she was on the pill, they didn’t even have to think twice about stopping to locate condoms. He simply slid home, right where he fit perfectly, right where he felt like he belonged.

  Atlas inside her was the absolute best feeling in the entire world. Never in her years of being with men had she ever felt so utterly satisfied, so completely consumed, so … whole. He completed her, and the fact that they’d only known each other for a few weeks and how they came to know each other made it all the more scary and exciting.

  “I want you on top,” he murmured, dipping his head to scrape his teeth along her shoulder, sucking when he reached that sensitive spot that joined her neck.

  “Hmmm,” she hummed. “I want that too.”

  She felt the loss of him from her body the moment he pulled out, her pussy clenching and pulsating around nothing and growing more desperate by the second to yet again be filled. He sat up on the couch, and she scr
ambled into his lap, straddling him, lifting up and aligning their bodies so that she could drop her hips and once again take him inside her.

  Their sighs of contentment were simultaneous when he hit the end of her, his cock twitching, her pussy squeezing in response. They’d only been together a few times, but it already felt so natural, so right. With other men it’d taken time for them to learn what made her tick, but Atlas seemed to figure it out right away, and that was saying something for a man who could count his sexual partners on one elbow.

  Wet from her earlier climax, their bodies made some interesting noises, but neither of them seemed to care. Besides, those slapping and squelching sounds were drowned out by Atlas’s grunts of pleasure and her whimpers of delight as his lower belly hit her clit just right each time she dipped down.

  She arched her back and shoved her breast in his face, rubbing her nipple over his mouth until his lips parted and he drew the needy bud inside, sucking hard for a moment and then tugging even harder with his teeth.

  Yes. Just the way she liked it. He was a fast learner. She liked that too.

  Her hands on his shoulders weren’t enough for decent leverage, so she placed them on the back of the couch behind him and really started to move, up and down with a bit of a back and forth motion as well, feeling every hard inch of him inside her, coasting along her walls until just the tip remained inside. Then she’d sink back down, slowly, squeezing her muscles as she went, reveling in his quick, shallow breaths and the way he groaned against her breast.

  “Tessa.” His words were hot against her skin, his fingers tight on her hips.

  “Hold on,” she whispered. “Almost there.”

  She picked up speed a bit, dropping and lifting faster, taking him deeper, grinding her clit over his belly. Reaching behind her, she found his balls and cupped them in her palm, squeezing gently, then a little harder until he drew in a sharp inhale and growled, “Careful.”

  Smiling, she dropped her mouth to his ear. “What’s the fun in that?”

  He growled again, lifted his head from her breast, making sure to take her nipple with him for a bit, and then claimed her mouth with his. His fingers forced their way into her hair, and he angled her head just the way he wanted it, letting her know that he was in control now. Her pleasure, her kisses were all his.

  Her grip on the back of the couch tightened. She dropped her hips one more time, deepened the kiss and let the orgasm crash through her. Around and around, the spirals in her mind swirled as the pleasure shot outward from her core to her fingers and toes, causing them to curl and stiffen. Then the moment of pure bliss arrived, that euphoric drift of weakness and semiconsciousness, what the French called la petite mort. The little death. Because when she was with Atlas and she climaxed, it was like dying and going to heaven for just a blip in time. As the sensations faded, her senses reappeared and her synapses stopped firing all at once. She was reborn. Awakened with a new sense of hope and vitality—if not a little exhausted.

  When he knew she’d come, he broke their kiss, squished her breasts together, buried his face between them and came. He didn’t have to be loud to be passionate. She was learning that about the man too. Just a quiet grunt followed by a strained sound at the back of his throat, then a garbled, “Oh God.” A few long, slow exhales and he was done, his tongue laving at her nipples and a content, almost goofy smile on his face.

  They sat there in post-coital silence for a moment, letting their heart rates return to rest and their breathing even out. Even though it had been a hot day, fading into a warm evening, his basement was cool, and goosebumps broke out on her sweat-kissed skin as he trailed his fingers gently along her spine.

  “Feel better?” he asked, his face once again between her breasts.

  “A bit,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair. “I miss Forest, and as the days turn into weeks and I still don’t have him with me, my hope begins to dwindle.”

  He lifted his face from her chest. “I know. We’re going to do everything we possibly can to get him back.”

  She made to climb off him. “I know you will.” The downstairs bathroom was located across the hall from his office, and even though the kids were upstairs in bed, she still threw her skirt and tank top on before she made her way out the door to go clean up.

  She hadn’t even touched the bathroom door handle when a cry of “Daddy!” from upstairs made her freeze.

  “Shit!” Atlas murmured from inside his office. She heard him grumbling and swearing, and seconds later he emerged wearing just his jeans, his sexy torso and chest with the sprinkling of hair making her engine rev once again. He rolled his eyes at her as he passed. “Be right back.” Then he took off up the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

  Tessa entered the bathroom and got herself cleaned up and properly dressed. She didn’t like this sneaking around thing, but they both knew it was for the best at the moment. Things with Aria were going tremendously well both in therapy and at home. The last thing any of them wanted was to rock the boat of progress or cause some regression by confusing the poor child with who Tessa was to her and her father.

  Besides, she and Atlas were still trying to figure things out, and if they couldn’t put a label on what they were, there was no sense trying to explain things to an inquisitive, bright child like Aria. The questions would undoubtably be endless.

  Protests and cries from upstairs filtered down through the vents and flooring. Now it sounded like both girls were up. Oh man, he really had his hands full. No wonder his work had suggested he take some time off to get things sorted. She only hoped that the two of them getting together wasn’t adding to his stress pile and instead, in some little way, her presence helped him sort through his stress and maybe even reduce it a bit. But that wasn’t likely, not at least with the Carlyle/Forest/Blaire debacle currently weighing them down.

  Like the unicorn in shining armor that he was, he’d gone and made her problem his problem, and no matter what she did to try to convince him that she could fight her own battles, he insisted on helping her.

  He still hadn’t said how his wife had died. Did he have a bit of a failed hero syndrome? Did he think that because he couldn’t save his wife from … whatever she’d passed from, he was determined to save Tessa—from her narcissistic ex?

  She’d have to stew on that a bit more. It did make sense though. The same reason why he’d taken in Cecily after the baby’s father died and her mother was in the hospital, nearly burned to death. He had the savior complex. He was determined to save those he could because he hadn’t been able to save the one who mattered most.

  This was what she needed her own therapist for, to work through some of these complex issues. Her supervisor for her PhD was a bit like that. The two had known each other for years, and Tessa could talk to Carey about anything. In some ways, she was a surrogate mother for Tessa, but Carey was also very professional, and although they were friends, and mentor and mentee, Carey made sure not to let the lines blur. She had her own family: husband, children and grandchildren. As much as she liked Tessa and the two had a great relationship, she’d made it clear that if Tessa needed therapy, Carey—a trained psychiatrist—was not going to be the one to give it to her. That didn’t mean Carey’s calming presence and words of wisdom weren’t treasured when Tessa was fortunate enough to receive them.

  Perhaps she should go back to therapy, work through some of the crap going on in her head with her mother and Carlyle.

  Oh yes, that reminded her, she’d gone to see her mother again.

  Like a terrible daughter, she’d avoided going back to see her mother after Lily had lost it on Tessa when she was there the last time. She knew her mother wouldn’t remember the incident, but Tessa would never be able to forget it, and that was why she came up with every excuse and jumped on any distraction to delay seeing her again. At least until the wounds from her mother’s verbal slashing were no longer fresh. She gave the nursing home a wide berth for a full seven days, the long
est she’d ever gone without seeing her mother since moving her there. But she just needed the space.

  She also knew, though, that she needed to go see her mom. If something happened to Lily and Tessa hadn’t made a point of seeing her, she’d never forgive herself. So after work and before heading to Atlas’s, she’d stopped by to check in on her mother.

  “Hey Mom,” Tessa said, knocking on her mother’s bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

  “Tessa!” Her mother’s eyes lit up when she pivoted her gaze from the canvas to Tessa in the doorway.

  Was her mother lucid? Did she recognize Tessa? Holy crap.

  Stepping inside, she rushed to her mother’s side. “Yes, it’s me. Hi, Mom.” She hugged her mom and melted when her mother hugged her back. “How are you?” Tears stung her eyes. She’d caught her mother at a rare lucid moment, which was more priceless than gold these days.

  “I’m busy,” her mother said with a tired sigh, though her tone wasn’t the least bit testy. “Have you seen your father, or is he out in the garage tinkering on that bike of yours?”

  Damn it. She wasn’t lucid. She was just trapped in the past. Nineteen-some-odd years in the past.

  She knew to just play along with whatever time period her mother was currently caught in. It made the outbursts and upsets less frequent and kept the conversation pleasant—even if it did make Tessa’s heart feel as heavy as a bag of rocks. “I think he is, Mom. The engine was making a funny sound when I rode home from school, so he said he’d take a look at it after dinner. But you know him, he couldn’t wait until after dinner and he’s out there now.”

  Her mother smiled. “Nothing means more to him than your safety.” She dipped her paintbrush into some white paint and then dark green paint, swirling the colors together on her paint palette until they formed a light, celery-like color. “How was school? Did you enter your piece in the art fair like I suggested?”

  Smiling at the memory of a very similar conversation they’d had eons ago, Tessa nodded. “I did. My art teacher thinks I might take first prize.”