by Mia London
As he walked, he breathed into her neck, “You feel good against me, in my hands.”
She smiled. “I still think you’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.” He set her down on the tile floor of their bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. He shed his clothes, and quickly yanked the robe from her body.
He was magnificently hard for her—muscles taut over his abdomen. His chest showed off the sculpted definition he worked at. Moisture collected at her sex, and the dull ache became distinctive.
With little hesitation, he opened the glass door, stepped back into the shower, and holding her hand, guided her under the hot spray. The confines of the space brought them close. Mac’s hands roamed her wet body. He groaned.
She blinked the water out of her eyes, barely able to see Mac’s lips close over hers. She closed her eyes fully and savored his tongue stroking hers.
His erection pressed against her low-stomach. She reached her hands between them caressed his swollen member. He moaned into her mouth.
His hands slid up her torso to fondle her heavy breasts. He whispered over her mouth, “Do you know how fuckable you are right now?”
She gasped at his words, feeling a new rush of liquid heat.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled them off him. “Turn and place your hands on the wall.”
There was that commanding voice again. She hesitated the briefest of moments before she faced the wall, giving him her back. She didn’t know what he had planned exactly, but she didn’t care. She trusted Mac to make her feel good, and she couldn’t wait another minute.
She heard him pop the top on her body wash as the water cascaded down her back. Then, she felt the warm wet washcloth glide down her back while his other hand held tightly to her hip. He stroked her slowly up and down, over her back, shoulders, hips.
“Spread your legs,” he said, breaking her trance.
She gained stability in her stance as Mac squatted down to clean one leg at a time. It was only when she felt his left hand slide to her low belly that she knew what he wanted. He pushed against her, pushing her ass closer to his face.
She arched her back, giving him access.
“This ass is marvelous.” She strained to hear him, his breath hot against her ass cheek.
He rained kisses over her cheeks, licking and nipping as his hands massaged the backs of her thighs. The ache built inside her, making her needy.
Touch me.
The washcloth ascended her right leg—calf, thigh, and stopping at the crack in her ass. With two hands, he pulled the edge of the washcloth taut and made his way to center. Leisurely, the cloth stroked her sensitive rear.
“Oh, God,” she breathed. Her head fell forward. Mac stood and slowly, gingerly caressed her tight hole with the tingling washcloth.
“Arch more, Angie,” she heard him at her ear.
She felt like—what?—a stripper, trying to put on a show for the audience. Mac didn’t stop, and she was desperate to grab something, like the tile could serve as a sheet or blanket to bunch in her hands.
The warm, plush cotton brought her nerves alive in a way she never thought possible. Sensations flooded her body, causing her legs to tremble.
“Turn around,” he said as he removed the washcloth.
She wanted to moan in frustration.
While he loaded more body wash on the cloth, she glanced at his cock, standing at attention, looking delectable. She reached for him with her hand, and he moved back.
“Uh-uh. Hands on the wall.”
“Mac, I want to touch you.”
He stopped midway up the side of her torso. “I know, and you will. Right now, if you touch me, this will be over far too quickly.” He leaned forward, placing a quick peck on her lips.
Her hands flattened against the tile. Mac caressed her torso and cupped her breasts with the washcloth. She moaned and arched into his touch, reveling in the feel, her eyelids fluttered closed.
“Mac.”
His lips landed on her neck, kissing and licking in just that perfect way. His erratic breathing betrayed the calm in his movements.
She heard the washcloth drop to the floor, and she opened her eyes. His knee moved between her legs, nudging them open. At the same time, he grabbed her hands, stretching them over her head, pinning them to the wall.
“By now, I suspect you’re dying for an orgasm. Is that right, Angelique?” he asked in the same tone he’d used at the hotel.
His gaze locked onto hers, only his hands moved. Her wrists were transferred to one large hand while his free hand traveled down her torso to the tip of her breast.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”
He tweaked her nipple, hard. When she cried out, he caught her gasp in his mouth, claiming her. God, his mouth, his tongue, felt like heaven.
He devoured her mouth as his fingers trailed down her belly to her mons.
He pulled back only long enough to say, “The next time I bring you in here, Angelique, I’m shaving every last hair from your luscious pussy.”
His mouth swallowed her whimper. She would grant him anything right then. Anything.
The tip of his finger slid slowly down her sex and glossed between her lips.
“You are so fucking wet.”
She whimpered again. The anticipation was more than she could bear.
He dipped slightly and gathered her juices spreading some over her engorged clit. Finally!
He played in small, gentle circles, occasionally dipping his finger inside her. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She broke the kiss and gasped for air, water spilling over her face. Her hips bucked against his fingers.
He increased the speed and pressure over her clit. She bucked again, and Mac’s hands gripped her wrists tighter.
“Wider, Angelique.”
She spread her legs as wide as the space allowed, and he drove two fingers deep inside her.
“You feel incredible.” His fingers moved with singular focus.
She panted. “I’m close, Mac.” So close.
Then she felt three fingers dive into her channel as his thumb worked her clit.
“Unh.” She closed her eyes, her climax rising to the surface to surge through her.
She cried out. Mac maintained his rhythm for several moments before he released her hands and lifted her thigh to his hip. Bending at the knees, he aligned his cock at her entrance and drove in, lifting her off the floor.
“Fuck.”
She quickly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on. His pounding rocked her against the cold tile. She dropped her lips to his neck, sucking and kissing his delicious, masculine skin.
As he started to climax, she gently bit at the crux of his neck. He growled and pulled her hair, bringing her lips to connect with his.
His pumping slowed until he pulled out. She felt relaxed and energized at the same time—so alive.
“Damn, woman. That was hot,” he breathed into her wet hair, holding her close. His heart pounded against her chest.
“Absolutely.”
He kissed her one last time before releasing her thigh and straightening his spine.
She exhaled a quivering breath. “Let’s wash and get out of here before the kids come down.” She couldn’t help wanting to keep some decorum, at least where her boys were concerned.
“Okay.”
She washed and rinsed her hair, and slipped out to give Mac more room.
Hot. That was the only word she could use to describe the sex she was now having with Mac. What an amazing weekend. The last time they’d had sex like this they’d been in their twenties.
Everything felt new. She’d fallen in love all over again. With her husband. They were committed to making their marriage work. But how do we do that?
A small pit formed in her stomach. Truly, beyond sex, what had improved? What had they done differently? And if it was that easy to fix wouldn’t it be that easy to fall right back into bad habits?
Mac stepped next to her, wrapped a towel around his waist, and pulled a comb out of his bag. He caught her eyes in the reflection of mirror.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She must have looked worried. She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Truth. He deserved only the truth from her.
She turned to face him directly. “I was thinking how amazing this weekend has been. I love the way you touch me. The way you make me feel.” His eyes softened hearing her words. “I’m nervous it won’t last.”
* * *
Angie’s confession hit him blindside. Mac appreciated her honesty, and that same thought had crossed his mind once or twice. He hadn’t anticipated talking about it.
Mac took in a breath, set his comb on the vanity, and held her hands. “We work on it every day. We don’t take each other for granted. We may not have sex like this every weekend—I sorta think we are making up for lost time.” A smile tugged from her lips. “But if we both agree to try, to commit, it will be good for us. We won’t repeat the last several years. We can be better. We are smarter for what we went through.”
“We work on it every day,” she repeated his words.
“But Ang, you have to talk to me.” Her eyes went wide. He stepped closer, snaking his arms around her waist. “You have to tell me what you like. What you don’t. I won’t know otherwise. Can you do that?” He raised an eyebrow.
She nodded as if shy. “I can do that. I haven’t done a very good job of that in the past. Although I think you know quite a lot about what I like.” All her white teeth showed in her beautiful smile.
“I’m learning.” He leaned to kiss her swollen red lips, more gently than before. “I’ll get dressed and see if the boys are up. Take your time.”
He threw on some jeans and a comfortable knit shirt. It didn’t matter too much what he wore when he went to the office during the weekend.
He strolled into the quiet kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. Looked like the boys were still asleep. Teenagers seemed to sleep a lot. He smirked.
Angie was right on many levels. It was good now. So fucking good. And they’d have to work to keep it that way. He didn’t have all the answers, or know what they should do every step of the way. But he knew one thing for sure. He wouldn’t repeat what he’d been doing all these years. As Ryan had pointed out, what he’d been doing wasn’t working.
He loved his wife. Working to save their marriage—make her happy, make her feel good—didn’t seem like work at all. A picture of her in the throes of an orgasm flashed in his mind. Especially making her feel good.
After about twenty minutes, Angie emerged from the bedroom. Shortly thereafter, the boys came down. They didn’t seem surprised to see him, but they certainly seemed happy.
Over their breakfast, he asked about their plans for the day, and they both replied, “Homework.”
Angie said she had some cleaning and grocery shopping to do. “What would you like for dinner?”
That question was damn-near music to his ears. She’d included him in their activities, their day. Months of separation made every moment with his family feel like progress.
“I don’t think I have a preference. Surprise me,” he said with a grin on his face. “I’ll run to the office for a few hours, then to the apartment to grab some things.”
Both boys jerked their heads his way.
“Are you moving back in, Dad?” Robbie asked.
He glanced at Angie, leaning against the kitchen counter, and her eyes sparkled. “Yes, your mom and I decided to give it a try. Are you alright with that?”
“Yeah.” Robbie, first for any new adventure, nodded as his too-long hair flopped in his face.
“Of course,” Stuart agreed. Always the more responsible one.
“Good. Well, let’s have a productive day.” He rose from the kitchen table and strolled toward his glowing wife. “I’ll be back around four, and I can help you with dinner.”
He reached up with one hand and cupped the back of her neck, angling her head toward his. Then he sealed his lips over hers with a kiss to carry her through her day. Their tongues danced, and she leaned into him. Her body flush to his felt amazing. He could take her again—easily—but then he’d never get out of there.
Nearly breathless, he brought his lips to her forehead. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
She smiled up at him. “Okay.”
“Get your homework done, guys. San Fran plays Saint Louis tonight. It should be a good game.”
“Okay, Dad.” Robbie gave him a thumbs up.
“See you later.”
“Bye,” his family called after him.
Mac couldn’t seem to wipe the grin from his face. Not that he wanted to. His weekend with Angie had gone better than he’d planned or expected. They were on the right track. No doubt about it.
Using his keycard, he entered the office building and took the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor. He unlocked his office door. As much as he hated coming in on the weekends, he also loved it. The whole floor was quiet. He could think and work more efficiently without interruptions. Getting ahead of the curve would be good since end-of-year was rapidly approaching.
No sooner had his computer come alive when Camille appeared at his doorway.
“Hi, Mac. I didn’t know you would be in.”
“Hi. Yeah, trying to get some work knocked out before year-end.”
“Yes, of course. I was heading to get myself some coffee. Can I get you a cup?”
“Thanks. I’ll take—”
“I know,” she cut him off, “French roast or Sumatra, black.”
He smiled to hide his surprise. “That’s right.” How the hell did she know that? Well, obviously, through their years of working together, she was observant.
He dug into his reports when several minutes later Camille appeared, holding two cups of coffee.
“Thanks.” Camille took a seat across from his desk. He stopped typing, not sure why she was staying.
“You’re welcome. So, how’s it going?” The scent of her rich perfume filled the space.
She leaned back in the chair and crossed her denim-clad legs. He couldn’t imagine how comfortable that position was considering the tightness of her jeans. He also noticed her snug, deep V-neck sweater showing off an abundance of cleavage. He wouldn’t fault her; it was the weekend. Perhaps she had a date later.
“Good.” He really didn’t want to engage her in conversation. Hadn’t he just thought how productive working in silence was?
“You seem to be doing well. You look good.” Her smile glimmered.
What? “Thanks.”
“How much work do you have?”
“A few hours.”
“Me too.” Then she leaned forward as if to rise, but she didn’t. Instead she gave him a decent view of her voluptuous breasts and a hint of black lace beneath. She toyed with a gold chain at her neck. “So, how about after we’re done here we go grab a drink? Or something?”
And there it was, as clear as Ketel One vodka. His heart thudded in his chest, and not in a good way. Camille was a woman with goal—and that goal was him. Mac had been there before. Dammit! Best thing he could do was squash it before it got out of hand. He would not go down that road again, for the love of God.
“Camille, I cannot go for a drink with you. I will be going home afterward, to my wife.”
“Oh, I wasn’t trying to imply—”
“You weren’t?” He cut her off with a raised brow.
Silence. “I had heard you had moved out.”
What the fuck?! “Well, that’s ancient history.” He embellished. “My wife and I have reconciled, and I couldn’t be happier.” No embellishment there. He held her gaze making sure his words sunk in clearly and succinctly.
Camille straightened in her chair, and after just a beat, she rose. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to cross any lines between us. I certainly hope this doesn’t affect our working relationship.”
“
Not in the least.” He hoped. Furthermore, he hoped she wouldn’t turn into a kind of woman scorned. “Have a good day. See you later.”
She took the hint and left his office.
What the fuck? He should have seen it coming. Camille hadn’t been acting like herself lately. The big question, was this conversation enough to squelch any further advances? Did Camille understand they had zero chance of a relationship?
He rubbed his fingers on the side of his forehead. He needed to move beyond this, to focus. Reports and spreadsheets awaited him. And the sooner he got it knocked out, the sooner he could go home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Her heart raced with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The idea came to her that Tuesday morning after the kids went off to school—the perfect idea on how to repay Mac for their wonderful weekend. For never giving up on them.
It had been two days since Mac had moved back in. He’d hustled out of the house that morning telling her he had an early meeting, and he would see her for dinner. He’d kissed her soundly, awakening the butterflies in her stomach. The sexy, sultry smile on his lips would stay in her mind all morning, in the shower, over breakfast.
She dressed for work— and her plan. And boy, would it be good.
* * *
Angie strolled past Nicci’s cube. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you. Wait. What are you wearing?” Nicci stood, her eyebrows raised.
Angie glanced down at her black pencil skirt. The sleek garment had been stashed in the back of her closet, patiently waiting for her to fit into it again. When she’d slipped it on that morning, she’d felt so pretty that she’d smiled at her reflection—on top of the world.
“Oh, this? It’s not new. I bought this years ago.” She grinned at Nicci.
“You look hot. The whole ensemble looks great on you.”
“Thank you.”
Nicci hitched a hip on the side of Angie’s desk as Angie booted up her computer. “So things are still good on the home front?” Nicci dropped her voice a fraction, prying for details.