Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love #3) (4 page)

A hint of a smile appeared as he met my eyes again. “You want to get out of here?”

My toes tingled. “Yeah. I do.”

I watched her rush up the stairs to get her things, and as soon as she was out of sight, I adjusted myself in my pants. My dick had jumped to life the second she said
yeah, I do
, as if the question had been
you want to get naked and fuck?
rather than something much less suggestive. Not that I didn’t want to get naked and fuck—hopefully I’d last a little longer than I had in the broom closet eleven years ago—but I didn’t want to make her feel like that’s what I expected. She wasn’t a horny nineteen-year-old college student anymore; she was a doctor, for fuck’s sake. She was beautiful and smart and mature and sophisticated, and a woman like her did not want some Neanderthal who probably needed a haircut and a new pair of shoes to throw her up against a wall for a five-minute fuck.

A woman like that deserved attention all night long. She deserved someone who would undress her slowly and delight in each new inch of her skin as it was revealed. Someone who would run his hands all over her body and find out where she liked to be touched, how she liked to be touched, what she wanted to hear whispered to her in the dark. Someone who would wrap those gloriously long legs around his neck and use his tongue until she begged for his cock, then use his cock until she begged for mercy.

Fuck. I could be that guy.

Except I couldn’t be. Not tonight. Because I wasn’t a horny college student anymore either—I was just a horny single dad who didn’t have the luxury of taking a woman home and lavishing all my time and attention on her the way I wanted to.

As soon as I had the thought, I felt guilty. Scotty was the love of my life and always would be, and whenever I felt the slightest bit resentful about something I couldn’t do because of him, that resentment was immediately crushed by shame. He didn’t ask to be born wired differently, into a terrible relationship, to a mother who would decide she couldn’t handle being a parent, to a father who wasn’t prepared for any of it. He was completely innocent, and he needed me to be a better man.

You’re spoiling him
, Monica had scolded me tonight, as usual. She’d tried to make him wash and comb his hair before bed, which had resulted in a meltdown. Granted, the kid’s hair was dirty and disheveled, but washing it was such a battle I permitted him to wash it only once a week, on Sunday nights. She’d also wanted him to change his pajama top, since he’d gotten chocolate milk on the front of the one he was wearing. But in Scotty’s world, there is no pairing the dinosaur pajama bottoms with a plaid pajama top. There is also no changing into the plaid pajama bottoms, because he’d already planned on wearing the dinosaurs. Plaid was for school nights.

You let him run the house. He’s the child; you’re the adult. He’s manipulating you.

I’d heard it from everyone in my family, which was a huge part of the reason Scotty and I had moved away. They meant well, but they didn’t understand that Scotty’s inflexibility wasn’t just him being a brat—he experienced physical pain when something felt “wrong” for him. I wasn’t letting him get away with things; I was making compromises the way all parents do, trying to find the right balance between being strict and being compassionate. Why couldn’t they understand that?

Running a hand through my hair, I exhaled and wondered if I should ask Jillian for a rain check on a night when Scotty’s usual sitter could be there. If he woke up again and I wasn’t home yet, he might never get back to sleep. We’d be up all night, tomorrow would be miserable, and the whole start to the week would be off.

But she was so
beautiful
. And I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in
so long
.

“Fuck,” I muttered, checking my watch. What was the right thing to do? If she were a different sort of woman, if her brother-in-law weren’t my friend and client, if we lived three states apart…if any number of circumstances were changed, I’d grab her hand, drag her out to my car, and spend the next thirty minutes fucking her brains out in the back seat. It would feel so good to take control that way, to lose control that way, to release some of this fucking tension. But was that fair to her?

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

“Hello?”

“He’s up again.” Monica’s voice was strained, and in the background I heard the familiar keening of a nighttime meltdown. My chest hurt, the way it always did when Scotty was upset.

“Shit. OK, I’m on my way. Twenty minutes, OK? Thirty at the most.”

“OK.”

“Tell him he can play on his iPad.”

“That’ll just rile him up more. He’s tired. He needs to go back to sleep.”

I clenched my fist. “Just do it, OK? It will help calm him until I get there.”

As I ended the call, I heard footsteps above, and then Jillian appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a small suitcase. I watched her descend, the tightness in my chest growing. Also the tightness in my pants. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, her face concerned as she reached the ground and saw my expression. She set down the suitcase. “What’s up?”

Sighing, I put my phone back in my pocket. “I have to get home. Scotty woke up and he’s upset.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide it, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“That’s OK. I understand.”

“Can I call you?”

“Of course.” She smiled, and her lips looked so soft and inviting, I took a step closer.

If you kiss her, it will be that much harder to leave.

I knew it was the truth, but I couldn’t help myself.
One kiss. Just one. And then I’ll go.
I moved even closer and took her head in my hands.

The curve of her smile deepened. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about kissing you.”

“Stop thinking.”

I lowered my lips to hers and let them rest there, fully intending the kiss to be short and sweet, just a goodnight.

But I couldn’t break it off. I wanted more—I wanted to taste her. Slanting my head, I changed the angle of the kiss, teasing her mouth open with mine, slipping my tongue between her lips. A little sigh escaped her, and my dick jumped to life again.

You have to go, you have to go, you have to go.

But her hands were moving up my chest and my fingers were sliding into her soft brown hair and I could smell something sweet and citrusy on her skin and it mingled with the taste of whiskey on my tongue and oh God, I wanted my tongue everywhere on her body. I wanted to make her come with it just so I could hear that little sigh again and again and again. And I wanted to feel my hands in her hair just like this while she got on her knees and took my cock between her lips, looking up at me with those big blue eyes…

Groaning, I forced myself to take my lips off her before I completely lost my senses. “God, I wish I could stay,” I said, resting my forehead against hers. “I wish a lot of things.”

“I know.” She played with my tie again. “I wish I was taking this tie off you, not straightening it.”

“What a coincidence, that’s one of my wishes too.”

She laughed and kissed me quickly. “Another time, maybe. You better go.”

I sighed and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. Her hair smelled good, too. I inhaled, trapping the scent of her in my lungs, memorizing the feel of her in my arms, so that later when the house was dark and quiet and I was alone in bed with my dick in my hand, I could imagine she was with me.

If I could get the house dark and quiet, of course. Sometimes I couldn’t.

And before the cycle of resentment, guilt, and shame could set in, I dropped a kiss on her head and let go of her. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I unlocked the screen and handed it to her. “Will you put your number in here so I can call you?”

“Sure.” She tapped her number onto the keypad and saved the contact info before handing it back to me. “There you go.”

“Thanks. I’m so glad I came tonight. I almost didn’t.”

“I’m glad too. It was really good seeing you.”

“You too. I haven’t had the chance to tell you this yet, but you’re even more beautiful now than you were then.”

She smiled and shook her head, but I could tell she was flattered. “Stop.”

“Truth. I swear.” I kissed her cheek. “Night, Jillian.”

“Night.”

• • •

When I pulled into my garage twenty minutes later, I couldn’t resist sending her a quick text, even though I’d talked to my sister on the way home and knew she still couldn’t get Scotty back to sleep. It would be probably be a long night, but I was feeling oddly optimistic right now.

Hey. Pine Sol here.

Just wanted to tell you again how glad I am your clumsy ass ran into me tonight.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

I missed him after he left. How crazy was that? We’d only spent a couple of hours together, but once I was alone again, I kept thinking about him and wishing he was there. I sat and watched people dance for a while, but in my head all I did was replay my time with him, from the accidental body check to the goodnight kiss, over and over again. Every time I thought about his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressing closer, I shivered.

When would I see him again?

When I was ready to leave, Skylar said to just have the limo driver take me home and come back for them, since she wasn’t quite ready to call it a night. I said goodnight and went upstairs to get my stuff from the suite. As soon as I pulled my phone from my purse, I saw the text from Levi and gasped—first with embarrassment that he’d figured out the Pine Sol nickname, and second with pleasure…he couldn’t stop thinking about me?

In the limo, I read the words over and over and over again, my insides dancing, until I could close my eyes and see them glowing on the back of my eyelids.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

An hour later, when my dress was hanging in my closet and my face was scrubbed clean, I popped two Advil, pulled a soft cotton t-shirt over my head and stretched out between cool sheets with my phone in my hand. It was late, nearly one in the morning, but I texted him back.

Can’t stop thinking about you either.

P.S. Totally embarrassed about the nickname. Sisters!

I set the phone on my nightstand and turned off the lamp. But I couldn’t sleep. My body was tired but restless, with too much sexual energy trapped inside it, and all I could think about was Levi’s kiss. And his voice in my ear. And his hands on me.

Sweet Jesus, those hands.

I sat up and reached into the nightstand drawer for Magik Mike.

But I hadn’t charged him.

“Fuck!” I threw him back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Now what?

I was considering left-handing it when my cell phone buzzed.

Still awake?

Smiling, I picked it up again.
Yes.

Cleaning the bathrooms with Pine Sol?

Hahaha no. You’re up late. How is your son?

He’s OK. He fell asleep in my bed, but I just put him in his, and he stayed asleep. Miracle.

Glad to hear it. Is your sister still there?

No, she went home. Did you have fun tonight?

Yes.

Did you have to dance?

NO, thank god. Aunt Irene let me be. She means well, but she drives me crazy.

Why?

Always bothering me about why I’m not married, don’t I want a family, I work too much, the clock is ticking, etc.

Do you work too much?

I sighed and answered honestly.
Yes. But I love what I do, and I worked my ass off to get where I am.

Do you want to get married and have kids?

I knew what he meant, but I had to tease him.
It’s a little soon for that, isn’t it?

Ha. I guess I did just accidentally propose, didn’t I? Oops.

Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to it. I do want it eventually. I just don’t like the way people bug me about it. Like I have an expiration date or something.

My family bugs me too. They try to tell me how to live my life, raise my son, point out everything I’m doing wrong. Then they guilt me for not coming around enough.

Yes! God, why can’t people leave well enough alone? Tonight I was told I’m not getting any younger, I’m too picky, and I’m unapproachable.

I approached you once.

With your smooth Harry Potter pickup line.

That was so ridiculous.

Hey, it worked.

It did. So clearly you are not that picky.

That made me smile.
You didn’t even need a line tonight. I ran right into you.

You did. I quite enjoyed it.

There was a long pause, during which I chewed my lip and considered the interesting places this little conversation could go. Maybe we hadn’t gotten a second round in the closet, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t still have some fun tonight.
So. What are you up to now?

Just lying here.

Me too.

Are you in bed?

Yes.
I took a breath and wiggled my toes, which I do automatically when I’m excited about something.
Are you?

Yes.

I grinned.
I feel like I should ask you what you’re wearing. Is that pervy?

Ha. No. Especially since I am not wearing anything too exciting. I never changed.

Still in your suit?
Damn, that was exciting enough for me. I love a man in a suit and tie. Add a wristwatch, and my panties melt. I lay back on the pillows, getting more comfortable.

I took off the shoes and coat.

Tie?

Still wearing it.

My fingers trembled a little, but I typed the words I was thinking.
Take it off.

He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if I’d gone too far, or if he was really doing it. This was the problem when you couldn’t see someone’s face. I chose to imagine he was taking it off, and pictured his hands loosening the knot and sliding it free from around his neck.

My phone buzzed.

Done. Your turn.

I’m not wearing a tie.

What are you wearing, smartass?

A t-shirt. Underwear. And I’m sorry to say they are not sexy at all.

Take your shirt off.

My heartbeat pattered faster as I set the phone aside, pulled my shirt over my head and lay back again.
Done. Unbutton yours.

Done.

I hesitated, breathing hard and wondering what to do next. Was this really happening?
Undo your belt.

Hey it’s my turn.

I’m only wearing one more thing!

OK fine. But you’re bossy.

I grinned and imagined those hands on his belt buckle, my stomach flipping.
Unzip your pants while you’re at it.

OK Bossypants. Done. Now take off your underwear.

I pushed them down my legs and kicked them off, leaving them under the covers at my feet.
Done.

So you’re naked?

Yes.

Fuck.

Are you hard?

Are you kidding?

No.

Fuck yes I am. I wish I was there.

I bent my knees and flattened my hand on my stomach.
What would you do to me?

I’ll tell you. But first tell me. Are you wet?

I slid my left hand between my legs, widening my knees a little, dipping a fingertip inside.
Yes.

His next few messages came one by one, in no particular hurry.

I’d want to taste you first.

I’d bury my head in your thighs and lick you up down and sideways.

I’d do it softly just to make you beg for more.

I’d do it hard until your legs shook.

I’d fuck you with my tongue.

As he talked, I touched myself in just the ways he described, first with light, gentle strokes, soft little circles over my clit that made it ache and hum, feather-light brushes over tingling nerves. Then harder, pressing more firmly, dipping one finger inside myself, all the while imagining the feel of his beard against my skin, the sight of his dark hair between my thighs.

Yes yes yes
was all I managed to type. The hum was building into a buzz, spreading throughout my whole body and I encouraged it, opening my legs wider, moving my fingers faster, dropping the phone on the bed and taking one hard nipple between my fingers. I glanced at the screen one last time.

I’d use my fingers inside you and my mouth on your pussy until you came so hard you couldn’t breathe. I’d feel it happen on my tongue and fingers, hear you scream my name, watch your back arch off the bed.

At this point I stopped reading because my eyes were closing and my body was tight with tension, bursting with the need to come. His words and the thought of him doing what he described pushed me over the edge and I sighed his name as the orgasm crashed through me in blissful, rolling waves.

Then I lay there for a moment, panting and sweaty, until I recovered enough to pick up the phone.

Oh my god

Oh my god

I can’t

Type

Are you breathing?

Heavily

Did you come?

Hard

Did you like it?

YES. My turn.

I rolled onto my stomach, smiling mischievously.
If you were here, I’d be begging you to fuck me right now.

Would you?

Yes. You’ve got me hot and wet and wanting you.

What do you want?

First I want my hands on your cock.

I want to feel how big and hard it is.

I want to wrap my fingers around it and wonder how I’m going to take it all inside me. I’m remembering how hard you fucked me years ago, so deep it hurt.

But I liked it.

I think about it all the time.

I make myself come when I fantasize about it.
He wasn’t typing back. I hoped his fingers were busy.
Can you feel my hands on you?

Yes

Good. Now I want to straddle you and rub the tip of your cock against my pussy, so you can feel how wet I am.

oh fuck

I take my time, slide down onto you, inch by inch.

I take you all the way in, so deep I can barely breathe.