Fighting Fair (4 page)
Chapter Six
When Shane pushed inside, his thick cock stretched walls sensitized by infrequent sex, an hour of sensual torture, and an orgasm that only made her want more. Natalie drew tight around him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs and her arms slipped under his to grip his heavy shoulders. The low, flickering firelight sporadically illuminated his stark features. Lightning bursts of pleasure detonated along her nerves as he gave several experimental thrusts, using his braced feet for leverage. The chaise was short and narrow; pleasure and the precarious position tightened her vine-like grip on his body. Without his elbows at her shoulders she’d be driven to the carpet by his thrusts.
He moved, slow and sure, pulling out until the tip of his cock nestled in her folds, then driving inside, power building with every stroke. “I haven’t forgotten who you are, Nat,” he murmured in her ear. “Or what turns you on.”
His words seared her soul. She closed her eyes because it was true. He’d taught her to need him, mind, body, and soul, and then he’d all but disappeared from her life. Maybe he’d just missed their games. Maybe his hackles lifted because she was having drinks with another man when he wanted to go home early. Maybe he wanted to forget about a really shitty day at work. No matter. This kind of attention didn’t apply outside the bedroom.
The knowledge broke her heart a little more, rendering her defenses meaningless. “I love you, Shane,” she whispered. “How doesn’t matter. It’s always been you.”
He paused, buried deep inside her, his gaze searching hers in the flickering firelight, and for a moment she thought he’d stop entirely. But his eyes were the translucent blue of a winter sky as he said, “I’m listening.”
He was, she realized, as he pulled out, then used the full weight of his body and all the power in his hips and legs to drive back into her. A wave of white-hot sensation swept through her, and she arched and cried out. Shane heard her and didn’t hold back, didn’t go easy on her. Before long she sobbed and trembled under him, her awareness narrowed to what he made her feel. Longing, physical and emotional. Protected and taken, all at once.
Loved.
Each stroke glided over super-stimulated nerve endings inside and out, and the undeniable helplessness of his hips holding her open, his chest pressing her into the chaise, his shoulders and face and tousled hair gilded Viking gold in the firelight, wound her tighter and tighter until she clung to him, poised on the edge of shattering. His plunging thrusts drove her hips into the cushion and her shoulders into his elbows. Soft grunts huffed from his chest. She’d wrapped herself around him as the coil tightened inside her, so he didn’t have to bend his head far to whisper, “I love you, too,” in her ear.
The words flung her into oblivion. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her, forcing breathless cries into the waning firelight. He followed her over the edge almost immediately, his grip punishing and possessive as he jetted into her. Slowly the tension eased from his body until she bore most of his weight. As she relaxed she let her hand glide from his nape to his shoulder, then down his torso to his waist. As caresses went, it wasn’t much, but she gave it freely.
He lifted himself back, then off her, and walked into the bathroom. Blood rushed to her head as she sat up. By the time she got to her feet he was back in the bedroom, stepping into his boxer briefs.
“We need to talk, Nat,” he said as he plucked the fragments of the jar from the floor.
It was the first time he’d initiated a conversation in forever, and despite soul-shattering sex, fear wicked over nerves he’d laid bare and vulnerable. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she said.
In the bathroom she cleaned up, washed off her makeup, and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a soft t-shirt, and thick cotton socks, she padded down the dark stairs towards the light streaming from the kitchen.
Shane stood in the big room, lights gleaming off the stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops as he popped the lid back on a tub of ice cream. A big bowl of vanilla sat on the counter. He put the container back in the freezer, then poured chocolate sauce all over the mounds of ice cream, added a generous squirt of whipped cream, a handful of peanuts, and maraschino cherries.
Her heart in her throat, Natalie flashed back to one of their early nights together. By two in the morning, a discussion over dinner at his apartment had shifted into an argument that got heated, the dinner dishes abandoned for nails-in-skin, fist-in-hair sex. Afterwards she’d washed the dishes while he made a hot fudge sundae and they’d ended up on the floor, with him feeding it to her. He’d later told her that he’d fallen in love with her that night, because she fought as loudly and passionately as she lived, and loved. Until the chasm widened between them, they’d frequently made up over sex and ice cream.
This wasn’t just dessert. It was a peace offering. As such, she didn’t voice her concerns over the wet spot on the chaise.
Bowl and spoon in hand, he sat down on the wood floor with his back to the dishwasher’s smooth front. “C’mere,” he said.
She settled between his bent knees, her back to his chest, loosened her ponytail so it hung at the nape of her neck and not in his face, then opened her mouth for a spoonful of creamy, sweet treat. The flavors melted together on her tongue as Shane helped himself to some ice cream and she searched for the right place to start.
“I met up with Chris because we’re outsourcing the accounting and auditing functions and laying off another forty people. I wanted his advice on how to deal with the emotional strain,” she said quietly.
The hand dipping into the bowl halted. “Damn,” Shane said quietly. “Where?”
“A few in Tampa and Columbus, the rest in the city,” she said. People she knew, people she saw in the hallway every day who, for the most part, didn’t know they were about to be laid off.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
In those two simple words she heard layer after layer of apology and her carefully-tended list of his transgressions faded, then disappeared. She opened her mouth and accepted the ice cream. “It’s part of the job,” she said after she swallowed.
“Not an easy part,” he said.
Feeling his chest rise and fall against her back, his hips cradle hers, the burden didn’t feel so hard to bear. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and watched the stubble glint on his throat as he swallowed.
“Did he have any advice?”
She laughed. “We’d only been there about ten minutes before you showed up. Did you really think I was telling him about us?”
“For a second I wondered if I’d driven you to that point,” he admitted as he pressed a kiss into her temple, then sectioned off more ice cream. “When I saw you were drinking coffee, I knew it had to be business. Then I realized I had no idea what was going on at your work, and we did have a problem. Then it seemed like a good way to make you snap.”
Indignant, she sat up. “Did you pick a fight with me on purpose, to make me lose my temper?”
He moved both bowl and spoon safely to either side, then gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, but I got more of a fight than I expected. Always unpredictable. I love that about you.” Ice cream dripped onto his thigh; hastily he ate the spoonful suspended over his leg, but didn’t dip into the bowl for more. “On the train I remembered what you told me after our first fight, that you argued with people you trusted. I wanted to know if you still trusted me enough to lose it with me. If you did, we still had a chance.”
“We’ve been to one couples counseling appointment. That’s not the end. That’s nowhere near the end.” She plucked a cherry from the softening whipped cream and ate it, then settled back against his warm chest and accepted another mouthful of ice cream. “I’m sorry I ignored you. Why were you calling anyway?”
“The partner list came out today,” he said.
“I thought it wasn’t coming until next week,” she said, then tensed up as the implications ran through her head. “Didn’t Curt make it? You said he was in for sure!”
“He made it,” Shane said as he scraped melting ice cream from the side of the bowl and ate it. “So did I.”
She swiveled around to look at him, her hand to her mouth. “You made partner?”
“I did.” His eyes were calm when they should have been glinting with victory, but he’d known for hours.
“I thought...you said...it wasn’t supposed to happen until next year!”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t.”
Shame washed through her, made her stammer. “Shane. Oh my God. And I wasn’t there.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I am so—”
A well-timed spoonful of chocolate sauce and whipped cream cut off her apology. “And I didn’t know you had layoffs coming up. Besides, it’s almost better that you didn’t answer my calls,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you
weren’t
there. And I realized that as hard as I’d worked, if the price was losing you, I didn’t want it.”
“You’re not losing me,” she said.
“Three hours ago I was. Even now...” Worry darkened his eyes. “You’re right about the hours. Twenty years ago making partner meant bankers hours and a seven-figure bonus every year. Today they still get the bonuses, but they work their asses off for them.”
“Let’s celebrate the accomplishment for a second,” she said quietly. “You worked so hard for this. I’m so proud of you. I’m proud to be your wife.”
“Thanks,” he said simply. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You were always there when I needed to vent, or strategize. I took that for granted. Whatever’s coming, I don’t want to do it without you. Without us.” He licked whipped cream from his thumb. “I lost track of my priorities for a while. I’ve got some leverage now. I’ll do a better job of balancing work and home.”
“We have a pretty busy social calendar on Fridays and Saturdays, but maybe we could make Sunday nights our night,” she said.
“There’s no reason why an old married couple can’t go on dates,” he said. “Reese offered his house in the Hamptons this weekend, if we want it. How ‘bout it, married lady? Want to get away for a few days? We can drive out tomorrow, come home Wednesday. We can walk on the beach, make a fire at night, watch movies...”
“...and play games.” Tears rose to her eyes at the thought of four whole days in the Hamptons with her husband. “Sounds perfect,” she said.
They finished the rest of the bowl in silence. Finally she said, “I feel awful that I ignored your calls and missed the celebration.”
He flicked a glance towards the ceiling, where the fireplace in the kitchen extended up into the master bedroom. “That was pretty good fight but I’ll go another round.”
It was her turn to smile. “It’s not coffee or drinks, but I think Dr. Lindstrom would be happy with our date. Learning to fight fair is an important part of marital harmony.”
A huff of laughter, then, “I’ll be on time next week.”
The promise meant everything to her. “You think we should keep seeing her?” she asked. She thought they should, but she’d been prepared to argue for it.
“Yeah,” he said. “Great sex goes a long way, but it doesn’t fix everything.”
“At least we’re communicating again.” His erection, thick and hard through his boxer briefs and her flannel sleep pants, prodded the base of her spine. “In fact, I’m getting a clear message right now. You’re definitely ready for round two.” She turned in his arms and kissed him, the lingering taste of ice cream and hot fudge sauce sweet and tantalizing. “But I’ll win this round, and that’s a fact.”
His blue eyes heated, went heavy-lidded. “Trash talk from a woman who just lost every piece of clothing she wore? You’re asking for it now.”
“You don’t lose often,” she agreed, then nipped his lower lip. “But that makes beating you so much sweeter.”
He smiled roguishly. “Game on.”
<<<<>>>>
About Anne Calhoun
After doing time at Fortune 500 companies on both coasts, Anne Calhoun found herself living in a flyover state. The glamour of cube farm jobs in HR and IT had worn off, so she gave up making a decent living to take Joseph Campbell’s advice and follow her bliss: writing romance. Her first novel,
Liberating Lacey
, won the 2010 EPIC Award for Best Contemporary Erotic Romance. Her next release,
What She Needs
, was chosen by Smart Bitch Sarah for the Sizzling Book Club.
Anne lives in the Midwest with her husband, son, and a rescue dog named Kate. She holds a B.A. in English and History, and an M.A. in American Studies.
For information on upcoming releases, visit her online at
or on Facebook at:
http://www.facebook.com/anne.calhoun
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Also by Anne Calhoun
Liberating Lacey
What She Needs
Under His Hand
Writing as Raine Latimer
On The Edge
