Sex Love Repeat
Page 20
“Tell me Madd,” he gasps, the hand at my waist sliding down, gripping the sore skin of my ass and forcing me on and off his cock. “Tell me that you are mine.”
I can’t. I can’t respond because my eyes are too tightly shut, my body racking underneath him, pushing harder, greedier against his skin, needing every stroke, every fuck, every inch of his thick c**k as I come, a bundling outpour of muscles flexing and contracting, a scream coming from my throat, his hands loosening around the muscles as I release the sound, my body growing rigid, his f**ks continuing, his own cl**ax close.
When I come up for air, I tell him. I tell him how I have always loved him. How he has always had my heart. How now, he will be the only one in it. I look over my shoulder at him, at his beautiful face, hair mussed, eyes vulnerable as he meets my eyes, relief spilling into those blue depths of perfection. He suddenly slows his strokes, the moment changing, and rolls me over, pulling out of me long enough to lift me onto the bed and settle down above me. He takes my mouth, kissing me deeply, murmuring soft words of love as he spreads my legs with his knees, and enters me again, slower this time, fully thrusting in and then pulling out, his eyes on mine.
It feels so different without Stewart. It feels, in ways, like the first time we’ve ever made love, like every other time was a threesome with an invisible presence watching over us. Now, as I wrap my legs around his waist, as he leans down and kisses my lips, I feel his relief. I feel an absence of fear, and I realize how unfair I have been to him. I realize how every experience must have seemed a competition, every visit I took to Hollywood prompting worry in him that I might not return. His touch on my skin is now shaky, as if he is unsure that I am really here, that it is really true, as if he has to verify it for himself.
I pull him to me, wrap my hands around his neck, lift my mouth to his. And I tell him, in between kisses, how deeply I love him. How I will never leave. How I am his as long as he will have me.
His breathing slows, his kisses deepen, then he closes his eyes, thrusts deep, and comes.
ONE YEAR LATER
SMUGGLING: [verb] To hide arousal, usually by
holding your board in front of you while walking.
There are ways you shouldn’t think about your future brother-in-law. Places that should be off-limits for your mind to wander. Like right now. I am watching him, his hand skimming down the open back of her dress, slipping inside and gripping her waist, his thumb rubbing a soft pattern on her skin. My eyes cannot pull from that spot, from the slow motion of his hand, the seductive pass over her skin. I know how that feels, know how frantic he gets when he fucks, how he pushes deep with his cock, pins you to the mattress, or the desk, or the floor, his hands hard on your wrists, his face intense above you, heat and raw need in his eyes. I blink, turning away, stepping to the kitchen, and look for Dana. Her strength grounds me; her knowledge of everything we have been through reassures me.
She smiles at my entrance, waving me over with a flour-covered hand. “I need those fingers. Come knead this dough.”
I wash my hands in the small island sink and pat them dry on a hand towel, joining her at the counter, my hands diving into the sticky dough, grateful for the job.
“How’s it going?” she murmurs.
“Fine.” I say softly, though no one is close enough to hear. “I’ve only spoken to him once—when he introduced me to her.”
“And...” she reaches for flour, sprinkles a line of it on the counter. “What do you think of her?”
I think about the question, how to word my response. “I think...” I pause to scratch my hairline with my forearm. “That she is nice. Accommodating. Stewart says she’s a web designer?”
She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly. She created a music-sharing site that just signed a deal with Apple.”
So the bubbly blonde with the sparkling smile is successful. Intelligent. I wait for the flow of jealousy that should come, should poke its green head up, but instead, a smile forms. I’ve spent so much of the last year feeling guilty. My life with Paul has been wonderfully easy—perfect. But every bit of happiness felt slightly tainted by the fact that Stewart was alone, left out in the cold as Paul and I continued full-steam ahead in our happy relationship. And now, with our engagement, I’ve been terrified of how Stewart will react. How the brothers’ new, fragile relationship will weather the announcement. To see him happy, with a girl who surpasses me...it lifts that guilt, sends a spike of relief through me. He will be okay. We will be okay. I can continue with my new life—guilt-free.
That doesn’t stop the attraction. Our entire relationship was built on sex. Hot, fuck-my-panties-to-pieces, sex. It was how we connected, communicated. It will be strange to move into a cordial relationship. One where we chat about life and friendship, and if the Dodgers will beat the Giants.
I feel arms slip around me, gripping my waist and pulling me tightly against hard muscle, a soft kiss nuzzled into the crook of my neck, a giggle bursting from my throat as I hold up dough-covered hands. “Stop,” I gasp. “The bread!”
“The bread can wait,” he says softly, spinning me around, his mouth taking mine, a soft kiss that presses back my head and deepens into something more, his pelvis dipping into me, my belly curling at the contact. I moan against his mouth.
“Wow.” The wry voice is really, really close. So close that I open my eyes in surprise, Dana’s half-smile only steps away. “Point made. You guys can heat each other’s clothes off. I got two bedrooms upstairs should you feel the need for more.” She stares pointedly at Paul. “Now ‘git, loverboy. Go back and tend to the steaks and let me have some time with her.”
He grins at her, lifting me without warning, his hands strong on my waist, setting me on the edge of the counter and taking one last kiss. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, glancing around quickly before shooing him away. “Now go, before Stewart comes back.”
“He’s too gaga over Website Barbie to notice,” he says happily, his relief matching my own. “He already invited us to join them in San Francisco next weekend.”
I frown. “San Francisco?” Stewart, taking a weekend off? That doesn’t sound anything like the man I know—knew.
Dana barrels through, shoving Paul aside, his wink disappearing in a blur of brunette dominance. “That’s it. Outside. You get all damn night with her. Give me a measly fifteen minutes.” She points to the back door, her expression firm, and he backs up, hands up, sending me a playful smile before heading outside.
She shoots me an exasperated look. “Please tell me he’s not like that all the time.”
I bite back a smile. “Okay.”
She pulls out a pan and unwraps a stick of butter, spreading it around the base of the pan.
“So... you hiding that ring for a reason?”
I glance toward the living room, the muted voices telling me where Stewart is. “You know why. I’m going to tell him tonight, but I want to do it privately.”
She stares me down until I met her eyes. “You scared?”
“I’m...nervous. It’ll be our first real conversation—in person at least—since the accident. It helps that she’s here. That he’s happy. Paul wanted to tell him, but this is important to me. I think we need this conversation.”
She nodded. “I agree. It was one of the reasons I invited everyone over. That, and that I’ve been itching for a family Thanksgiving since I bought this house.” She grins. “No other point in having a twelve-person dining room set.”
I try to return the smile but my stomach is suddenly in knots, the reminder of my impending news sobering.
The Thanksgiving meal is a success, the table filled with turkey, ham, and enough side items to feed a family three times our size. We eat our fill, and then move, leaving the dishes, the boys sprawling out on leather sofas in the den, football suddenly on the television. I stand in the doorway and watch Stewart for a moment before entering. Football. I’ve never known Stewart to have time for sports, save reading scores and standings while hurrying through the news. His arm is around her, her blonde hair against his sweater, her feet tucked underneath a thick blanket of Dana’s. I tap his shoulder gently, the contact causing him to jump silently, and his head whips around to look up at me.
“Could I speak to you for a minute?” I smile awkwardly at Mia. “I won’t keep him long, I promise.”
He squeezes her shoulder, placing a quick kiss on her head. “I’ll be right back, babe.” She smiles sunnily, turning back to the game, and responds to an insult Paul had just flung out to the television. She is so comfortable, with Paul, with Stewart, and I marvel at her easy fit into the strange dynamic that we make. Paul and Stewart have seamlessly slid back into old roles, their love apparent throughout dinner, jabs and insults exchanged as easily as compliments. I am the one at odds, my stiffness with Stewart causing a hitch in this renovated machine. I hope this conversation helps.
He holds open the door for me and we step outside, my skin standing at attention in the cool fall air. I shiver slightly and his eyes sharpen on the movement, his movement visibly restrained when he starts to move forward and stops. We both laugh awkwardly. “Want to sit on the steps?” he offers.
“That sounds great.”
We sit, his long legs stretching down the steps and he turns, facing me, his eyes close on and moving over my face, as if he is memorizing the features. “I’ve missed you.”
My eyes close, blocking out the view of his concern. I hesitate over the words, and then let them free. “I’ve missed you, too. We had some good times.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Most of our good times involved very little clothing.”
Color floods my cheeks and a grin breaks out at the truth in his statement. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. After the accident.” His voice is so somber that I look up to find his eyes on me, serious and dark.
I frown, confused. “You had work. You always have work. I understood that—that is how your life is.”
“Was.” He corrects me gently. “I’m trying to be different with Mia. Something Dana said—after the accident—it stuck with me. With her, it’s not the same—I’m putting aside work more, making time for her.” He looks apologetic as he speaks, and I smile at him.
“I’m glad, Stewart. I’m glad you have someone that you care enough about to do that.” I stutter, realizing how the words sounded. “I-I mean—I’m happy for you.”
“I’ll always love you, Madison.” He says quietly, my heart tugging at the words, his eyes on mine. “I love you for mending this family—for letting me see what is possible—for making Paul happy. But the ‘in love’ with you part... I’ve moved on from that. I’m really happy for you. For both of you.”
I blink back the tears that have found their way to my eyes. In a way, it is heartbreaking. I’m looking at the man I always hoped Stewart would become. A man who would spend Thanksgiving with family, who would sit on the couch and not look at his phone. A man who realized what was important, and who had found someone who he loved enough to adjust his life for. Someone who wasn’t me. I’ve never been so happy to be so easily replaced. “Working less, huh?” I choke out a laugh. “That makes me really happy for you, Stewart.
He reaches his arm out, wrapping it around my shoulders and squeezing me to his side. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”
“We better be,” I grin. “We’re gonna be stuck together for a while.“ I push away enough to look into his eyes. “In fact, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”
He moves a bit on the step so he can face me. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
I hesitate. “Nothing’s wrong. Paul proposed.”
If I have any doubt of Stewart’s sincerity, it disappears when the grin splits his face. A grin. Stewart... doesn’t really grin. Not normally. He scowls, he glints, but grinning... it is such an odd look that I stare at him in surprise. He grabs my hand, his smile dropping when he sees the bare skin. “You said no?”
I shake my head with a laugh. “No, I accepted. I just didn’t want to show up wearing a ring...without talking to you about it.”
He sweeps me into a hug, hugging me tightly, so tightly I squeak.
“You’re happy?” I laugh, pushing out of the hug.
“You’ll be my sister now, Madison. As totally creepy as that is, seeing as I still got a raging hard on when you walked in the house—”
“Shut up,” I choke out, blushing, my own inappropriate thoughts coming to mind.
“Seriously,” he says, grabbing my hand. “You’ll always be in my life now. That couldn’t make me happier. And Paul—he loves you so much. More than I ever did. He deserves you, Madd.”
“Madd? You’ve never called me that before.” I wrinkle my nose at him.
He shrugs. “Things are different now.”
“So...we have your blessing?”
He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling, and placing a quick kiss on my forehead. “More than that, babe. More than that. You have my heart. Both of you.” He releases me and stands, holding out a hand and helping me up.
“Did he get you a good ring?” he asks gruffly.
I nod with a smile. “He did good. You’d approve.” And he had done well. It wasn’t a Stewart ring, picked out by his assistant, wasn’t a huge rock that shouted my status while begging me to be mugged. But for Paul and me, it was perfect. A blue sapphire, the color of the ocean after a storm, tiny diamonds making up the band, leading delicately up to and framing the stone.
I can’t. I can’t respond because my eyes are too tightly shut, my body racking underneath him, pushing harder, greedier against his skin, needing every stroke, every fuck, every inch of his thick c**k as I come, a bundling outpour of muscles flexing and contracting, a scream coming from my throat, his hands loosening around the muscles as I release the sound, my body growing rigid, his f**ks continuing, his own cl**ax close.
When I come up for air, I tell him. I tell him how I have always loved him. How he has always had my heart. How now, he will be the only one in it. I look over my shoulder at him, at his beautiful face, hair mussed, eyes vulnerable as he meets my eyes, relief spilling into those blue depths of perfection. He suddenly slows his strokes, the moment changing, and rolls me over, pulling out of me long enough to lift me onto the bed and settle down above me. He takes my mouth, kissing me deeply, murmuring soft words of love as he spreads my legs with his knees, and enters me again, slower this time, fully thrusting in and then pulling out, his eyes on mine.
It feels so different without Stewart. It feels, in ways, like the first time we’ve ever made love, like every other time was a threesome with an invisible presence watching over us. Now, as I wrap my legs around his waist, as he leans down and kisses my lips, I feel his relief. I feel an absence of fear, and I realize how unfair I have been to him. I realize how every experience must have seemed a competition, every visit I took to Hollywood prompting worry in him that I might not return. His touch on my skin is now shaky, as if he is unsure that I am really here, that it is really true, as if he has to verify it for himself.
I pull him to me, wrap my hands around his neck, lift my mouth to his. And I tell him, in between kisses, how deeply I love him. How I will never leave. How I am his as long as he will have me.
His breathing slows, his kisses deepen, then he closes his eyes, thrusts deep, and comes.
ONE YEAR LATER
SMUGGLING: [verb] To hide arousal, usually by
holding your board in front of you while walking.
There are ways you shouldn’t think about your future brother-in-law. Places that should be off-limits for your mind to wander. Like right now. I am watching him, his hand skimming down the open back of her dress, slipping inside and gripping her waist, his thumb rubbing a soft pattern on her skin. My eyes cannot pull from that spot, from the slow motion of his hand, the seductive pass over her skin. I know how that feels, know how frantic he gets when he fucks, how he pushes deep with his cock, pins you to the mattress, or the desk, or the floor, his hands hard on your wrists, his face intense above you, heat and raw need in his eyes. I blink, turning away, stepping to the kitchen, and look for Dana. Her strength grounds me; her knowledge of everything we have been through reassures me.
She smiles at my entrance, waving me over with a flour-covered hand. “I need those fingers. Come knead this dough.”
I wash my hands in the small island sink and pat them dry on a hand towel, joining her at the counter, my hands diving into the sticky dough, grateful for the job.
“How’s it going?” she murmurs.
“Fine.” I say softly, though no one is close enough to hear. “I’ve only spoken to him once—when he introduced me to her.”
“And...” she reaches for flour, sprinkles a line of it on the counter. “What do you think of her?”
I think about the question, how to word my response. “I think...” I pause to scratch my hairline with my forearm. “That she is nice. Accommodating. Stewart says she’s a web designer?”
She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly. She created a music-sharing site that just signed a deal with Apple.”
So the bubbly blonde with the sparkling smile is successful. Intelligent. I wait for the flow of jealousy that should come, should poke its green head up, but instead, a smile forms. I’ve spent so much of the last year feeling guilty. My life with Paul has been wonderfully easy—perfect. But every bit of happiness felt slightly tainted by the fact that Stewart was alone, left out in the cold as Paul and I continued full-steam ahead in our happy relationship. And now, with our engagement, I’ve been terrified of how Stewart will react. How the brothers’ new, fragile relationship will weather the announcement. To see him happy, with a girl who surpasses me...it lifts that guilt, sends a spike of relief through me. He will be okay. We will be okay. I can continue with my new life—guilt-free.
That doesn’t stop the attraction. Our entire relationship was built on sex. Hot, fuck-my-panties-to-pieces, sex. It was how we connected, communicated. It will be strange to move into a cordial relationship. One where we chat about life and friendship, and if the Dodgers will beat the Giants.
I feel arms slip around me, gripping my waist and pulling me tightly against hard muscle, a soft kiss nuzzled into the crook of my neck, a giggle bursting from my throat as I hold up dough-covered hands. “Stop,” I gasp. “The bread!”
“The bread can wait,” he says softly, spinning me around, his mouth taking mine, a soft kiss that presses back my head and deepens into something more, his pelvis dipping into me, my belly curling at the contact. I moan against his mouth.
“Wow.” The wry voice is really, really close. So close that I open my eyes in surprise, Dana’s half-smile only steps away. “Point made. You guys can heat each other’s clothes off. I got two bedrooms upstairs should you feel the need for more.” She stares pointedly at Paul. “Now ‘git, loverboy. Go back and tend to the steaks and let me have some time with her.”
He grins at her, lifting me without warning, his hands strong on my waist, setting me on the edge of the counter and taking one last kiss. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, glancing around quickly before shooing him away. “Now go, before Stewart comes back.”
“He’s too gaga over Website Barbie to notice,” he says happily, his relief matching my own. “He already invited us to join them in San Francisco next weekend.”
I frown. “San Francisco?” Stewart, taking a weekend off? That doesn’t sound anything like the man I know—knew.
Dana barrels through, shoving Paul aside, his wink disappearing in a blur of brunette dominance. “That’s it. Outside. You get all damn night with her. Give me a measly fifteen minutes.” She points to the back door, her expression firm, and he backs up, hands up, sending me a playful smile before heading outside.
She shoots me an exasperated look. “Please tell me he’s not like that all the time.”
I bite back a smile. “Okay.”
She pulls out a pan and unwraps a stick of butter, spreading it around the base of the pan.
“So... you hiding that ring for a reason?”
I glance toward the living room, the muted voices telling me where Stewart is. “You know why. I’m going to tell him tonight, but I want to do it privately.”
She stares me down until I met her eyes. “You scared?”
“I’m...nervous. It’ll be our first real conversation—in person at least—since the accident. It helps that she’s here. That he’s happy. Paul wanted to tell him, but this is important to me. I think we need this conversation.”
She nodded. “I agree. It was one of the reasons I invited everyone over. That, and that I’ve been itching for a family Thanksgiving since I bought this house.” She grins. “No other point in having a twelve-person dining room set.”
I try to return the smile but my stomach is suddenly in knots, the reminder of my impending news sobering.
The Thanksgiving meal is a success, the table filled with turkey, ham, and enough side items to feed a family three times our size. We eat our fill, and then move, leaving the dishes, the boys sprawling out on leather sofas in the den, football suddenly on the television. I stand in the doorway and watch Stewart for a moment before entering. Football. I’ve never known Stewart to have time for sports, save reading scores and standings while hurrying through the news. His arm is around her, her blonde hair against his sweater, her feet tucked underneath a thick blanket of Dana’s. I tap his shoulder gently, the contact causing him to jump silently, and his head whips around to look up at me.
“Could I speak to you for a minute?” I smile awkwardly at Mia. “I won’t keep him long, I promise.”
He squeezes her shoulder, placing a quick kiss on her head. “I’ll be right back, babe.” She smiles sunnily, turning back to the game, and responds to an insult Paul had just flung out to the television. She is so comfortable, with Paul, with Stewart, and I marvel at her easy fit into the strange dynamic that we make. Paul and Stewart have seamlessly slid back into old roles, their love apparent throughout dinner, jabs and insults exchanged as easily as compliments. I am the one at odds, my stiffness with Stewart causing a hitch in this renovated machine. I hope this conversation helps.
He holds open the door for me and we step outside, my skin standing at attention in the cool fall air. I shiver slightly and his eyes sharpen on the movement, his movement visibly restrained when he starts to move forward and stops. We both laugh awkwardly. “Want to sit on the steps?” he offers.
“That sounds great.”
We sit, his long legs stretching down the steps and he turns, facing me, his eyes close on and moving over my face, as if he is memorizing the features. “I’ve missed you.”
My eyes close, blocking out the view of his concern. I hesitate over the words, and then let them free. “I’ve missed you, too. We had some good times.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Most of our good times involved very little clothing.”
Color floods my cheeks and a grin breaks out at the truth in his statement. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. After the accident.” His voice is so somber that I look up to find his eyes on me, serious and dark.
I frown, confused. “You had work. You always have work. I understood that—that is how your life is.”
“Was.” He corrects me gently. “I’m trying to be different with Mia. Something Dana said—after the accident—it stuck with me. With her, it’s not the same—I’m putting aside work more, making time for her.” He looks apologetic as he speaks, and I smile at him.
“I’m glad, Stewart. I’m glad you have someone that you care enough about to do that.” I stutter, realizing how the words sounded. “I-I mean—I’m happy for you.”
“I’ll always love you, Madison.” He says quietly, my heart tugging at the words, his eyes on mine. “I love you for mending this family—for letting me see what is possible—for making Paul happy. But the ‘in love’ with you part... I’ve moved on from that. I’m really happy for you. For both of you.”
I blink back the tears that have found their way to my eyes. In a way, it is heartbreaking. I’m looking at the man I always hoped Stewart would become. A man who would spend Thanksgiving with family, who would sit on the couch and not look at his phone. A man who realized what was important, and who had found someone who he loved enough to adjust his life for. Someone who wasn’t me. I’ve never been so happy to be so easily replaced. “Working less, huh?” I choke out a laugh. “That makes me really happy for you, Stewart.
He reaches his arm out, wrapping it around my shoulders and squeezing me to his side. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”
“We better be,” I grin. “We’re gonna be stuck together for a while.“ I push away enough to look into his eyes. “In fact, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”
He moves a bit on the step so he can face me. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
I hesitate. “Nothing’s wrong. Paul proposed.”
If I have any doubt of Stewart’s sincerity, it disappears when the grin splits his face. A grin. Stewart... doesn’t really grin. Not normally. He scowls, he glints, but grinning... it is such an odd look that I stare at him in surprise. He grabs my hand, his smile dropping when he sees the bare skin. “You said no?”
I shake my head with a laugh. “No, I accepted. I just didn’t want to show up wearing a ring...without talking to you about it.”
He sweeps me into a hug, hugging me tightly, so tightly I squeak.
“You’re happy?” I laugh, pushing out of the hug.
“You’ll be my sister now, Madison. As totally creepy as that is, seeing as I still got a raging hard on when you walked in the house—”
“Shut up,” I choke out, blushing, my own inappropriate thoughts coming to mind.
“Seriously,” he says, grabbing my hand. “You’ll always be in my life now. That couldn’t make me happier. And Paul—he loves you so much. More than I ever did. He deserves you, Madd.”
“Madd? You’ve never called me that before.” I wrinkle my nose at him.
He shrugs. “Things are different now.”
“So...we have your blessing?”
He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling, and placing a quick kiss on my forehead. “More than that, babe. More than that. You have my heart. Both of you.” He releases me and stands, holding out a hand and helping me up.
“Did he get you a good ring?” he asks gruffly.
I nod with a smile. “He did good. You’d approve.” And he had done well. It wasn’t a Stewart ring, picked out by his assistant, wasn’t a huge rock that shouted my status while begging me to be mugged. But for Paul and me, it was perfect. A blue sapphire, the color of the ocean after a storm, tiny diamonds making up the band, leading delicately up to and framing the stone.
