The next morning, though he felt low and sneaky, he examined Connie’s pill pack while she fixed breakfast. One more pill was missing over yesterday morning. She’d taken it. Thank God. He could stop worrying.
At least for today.
Chapter Five
Evelyn couldn’t take Rina until three o’clock. Connie felt like she was rushing all day, but she knew exactly what was making her flustered. She wanted to get to that shop in Saint Lucia, and she sure couldn’t take Rina with her.
She just had to get there. Handcuffs. Blindfolds. Sex toys. She wanted everything she did tonight with Mitch to be new and special. Off the wall. She wanted him to know she was willing to try anything he wanted. She’d even ask what he wanted her to buy for the next time. She’d felt shivery and weak all day, butterflies in her stomach. Like the first time he’d asked her out. She remembered it so clearly. She was eighteen, working at Foster’s Freeze, and he always came to her window. She’d stutter and stammer and get his order wrong every time, but God, she’d felt so alive, so excited, every moment with him etched in her mind. There was nothing like being young and in love.
They could get that feeling back. They could keep it. She knew they could. Mitch wanted it as badly as she did.
She’d dropped Peter at the Daigles, done the grocery shopping, gotten Rina an ice cream, managed three loads of laundry, and if she was lucky, she could finish it all before Mitch got home. She’d left one load going in the dryer, and put the last one in the washer just before leaving to drop Rina off at the office. Evelyn would take her from there.
Rina wanted to roll her travel bag into the office like a big girl. Connie could barely restrain herself, wanting to rush her little girl. Her baby was so cute, struggling to keep the bag upright, though really, it was nothing more than a backpack on wheels. She stuck her tongue between her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration, reminding Connie of Mitch. He got that exact same brow pucker when he was thinking too hard.
“I’ll help you, sweetie.”
“I can do it.” And Rina did, valiantly making it up the small set of steps while Connie held the door open for her.
Goodness, she was getting so big. In a few short weeks, she’d start first grade, gone every day, then before Connie knew it, she’d be in junior high, then high school. They grew up so fast. For a moment, her heart ached for another child, another little girl who would look just like Rina.
Soon. She’d convince Mitch very soon.
“How’s my baby?” Evelyn held her arms open.
Rina dropped her backpack, rushing into her grandmother’s big hug. “I’m not a baby, Nana.”
Connie set the backpack on its rollers. “She’s a big girl, Nana. She was just telling me that.”
“I’m sorry. Of course you’re a big girl. Do big girls still like homemade cookies?”
Rina bounced excitedly in her pink princess tennies. “Yes, Nana, big girls love cookies.”
As Evelyn described all the different kinds of cookies they could make together, Connie edged toward the door. The blinds rattled as she grabbed the knob.
Evelyn looked up. “Heavens, girl, what bee have you got in your bonnet?”
“Nothing, Evelyn, gotta run. Give Mommy a kiss, sweetie.” She bent down to give Rina a big hug. “And be good for Nana.”
Evelyn waggled her eyebrows. “I see there’s been some improvements in the household since the other day at Taylor’s.”
Big improvements. She smiled brightly, a laugh escaping her. “Everything’s great, Evelyn.”
“Then go. Rina and I will be fine.” She shooed Connie out.
She drove too fast, she knew, but she made her purchases—gosh, how could handcuffs and a blindfold be that expensive?—and was back home before four o’clock.
Mitch’s truck was already in the drive. She’d wanted to finish the laundry, and she didn’t want him to see what she’d bought until she took it out of the bag tonight, when she already had him so hot, he’d be willing to do anything to get inside her.
Okay. Revised plan. She’d leave the bag in the car, then sneak back out to get it while he showered. Or something. She’d find some way to surprise him with her little bag of goodies.
* * * * *
Mitch hung onto his temper with a thin cord of sanity. But dammit, how the hell could Connie go out and leave the freaking washing machine unmonitored? When he got home, water had been gushing out from beneath the back door. If she’d been home, she could have pulled the plug on the damn thing.
If, if, if. If he’d taken the washer apart. If he’d replaced it months ago when it first showed signs of a drainage problem. Shit.
He’d used a broom to sweep most of it out the back door, but it had still seeped beneath the linoleum. He’d probably have to tear the whole lot up and replace the floorboards so rot didn’t set in. Okay, that was worse case. But dammit.
Out front, a car door slammed. She was home.
He wouldn’t get pissed. He would not get pissed or yell at her. He would not ruin the evening they’d planned. He wouldn’t ruin what had happened between them yesterday or last night. He’d made a promise, and he’d keep it. He wouldn’t let them drift apart by starting the fights all over again.
He was sopping up the last of the water when he heard her on the back step. He wrung out the towel in the sink.
“What happened?”
He didn’t turn around as he spoke. “The washing machine backed up and overflowed all over the floor.”
“Did it at least finish the rinse cycle?”
Neither spoke. Mitch looked at her. Connie looked at him.
She wouldn’t get mad. She would not. If he’d taken a look at the washing machine when she first told him it was starting to act freaky. If he’d bought a new one. If he’d done something. She wouldn’t let him make her feel guilty.
All right, she shouldn’t have left it running while she was out. But she’d had things to do. Didn’t he know how busy she was? Running here, running there, three grocery stores so she could hit all the sales instead of saving time by buying what they needed at one store. She did her best to scrimp and save on every purchase. For him. To make him feel better. Which he never appreciated. He treated her like a child, as if she was incapable of managing the family budget or making necessary spending decisions on her own.
He would freak at her credit card bill when he saw how much she’d spent on the vibrator, the handcuffs, and the blindfold. He wouldn’t even notice how much she saved on groceries and looking for the cheapest gas. Not to mention the fact that she’d made her bridesmaid dress instead of buying some humongously priced getup she’d never wear again.
She would not get mad. She’d be an adult and admit her mistake, then when he blew a gasket, the fight would be his fault because she had been calm.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left until it was done.”
That really cost her a lot to say. He better figure out just how much or she would lose it despite her best intentions.
He drew a deep breath, then relaxed his shoulders. “I should have fiddled with it yesterday instead of the sink.”
What? Mitch admitting he might have been wrong? She knew better than to say that.
“No, no, you did a wonderful job on the sink. I should have told you I wanted to do laundry today, and you would have looked at the washer instead of the sink.”
God, they sounded like polite strangers. No, it’s my fault. No, no, I beg your pardon, it’s my fault. It might actually be worse than fighting. She just knew what it meant for their evening. It was ruined, all ruined. They’d sit on separate ends of the couch. They’d politely ask what the other wanted to watch on TV. Mitch would probably even do the dishes for her. But on the inside, he’d be pissed, seething with passive-aggressive male bullshit. Popping his antacids and extra-strength aspirins. And by bedtime, they’d be screaming at each other like they always did these last few months.
Her breath came a little faster, an
d she could feel her heart beating harder in her chest. She wanted to cry. One day, they’d had one good day, now this. Why did the crummy washer have to give out today instead of next week?
The tense silence pounded at her eardrums.
“It’s okay, baby.”
Baby? He was still calling her baby?
She didn’t realize she was standing with her eyes squeezed shut until she opened them. He was above her on the top step, his face in shadow, his startling brown gaze liquid and warm. The sun was hot on the top of her head and bright in her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to yell?” She spoke as softly as he had.
“I promised I wouldn’t.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, last night.”
He’d said he loved her. She remembered that. But he’d said that before and it didn’t mean they hadn’t gotten into the next fight. What else had he said? She couldn’t remember beyond that incredible mutual orgasm they’d shared.
“Let’s get some Chinese for dinner.”
He wasn’t going to yell at her and he was springing for Chinese food? She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I just have to fold the load in the dryer and put the other load in so it doesn’t sit around wet.”
He flipped the washer lid open. “It did get through the spin cycle. You go powder your nose, and I’ll take care of the rest of the laundry.”
Ha. She’d have to refold everything he folded. But she didn’t care. He’d offered, and he was taking her out for dinner. Things weren’t so bad. In fact, they were good, really good. “Okay, honey.”
As she sidled by him, he trailed his fingers down her arm. “I love you, Connie.”
She stopped, looked at him, searching for a flicker of insincerity in his too hot eyes. And found none.
This was getting too good. Almost too good to be true.
* * * * *
He was masterful. He hadn’t gotten angry. He’d even folded laundry. She was putty in his hands. She’d do anything he asked. Mitch was ecstatic. He should have learned years ago that arguing didn’t turn Connie into a yes-woman.
They didn’t need a quarrel to incite them to great heights. Yesterday was hotter than any damn make-up sex they’d ever had. And Connie had gone out to dinner without any panties. She’d told him that over the mushu and almost blown off the top of his head.
He helped her up on to the big bench seat of his truck, then went around to climb behind the wheel. They’d lingered over the Chinese, and the sun was just going down.
Now they had all night to enjoy dessert. Lots and lots of oral delight.
* * * * *
Oh boy oh boy oh boy. Life could not get better, not one single bit better. Well, except if she were pregnant and in her fourth month after she’d gotten over the sickness but was horny as all get out every minute of every day. That’s how she’d been with both Rina and Peter. She’d wanted Mitch all the time. Well, at least until she felt like a fat, bloated cow.
“You go inside, honey,” she urged sweetly once they were home. “I need to get something out of the car.”
“What?”
“Never you mind. It’s a surprise.”
Mitch backed off, then called from the front door. “It better be good.”
“Oh, it will be.”
Would he let her cuff him? Nine years of marriage and the truth was, she didn’t know. A few years ago, she’d have said yes, but now, she wasn’t so sure. Sometimes his reactions threw her off. Like his whole money thing. She knew Lou’s death had made it worse, but she didn’t know how to undo the damage.
She wouldn’t think about that now. Diving down beneath the junk in the back seat of the car, she pulled out the special flowered bag, heavy in her grasp.
Inside, Mitch leaned against the kitchen doorjamb, two wineglasses in one hand, an open bottle of wine in the other.
“What ya got there, baby?” He pointed with the wineglasses at the bag clutched to her chest.
She wagged a finger. “It’s a surprise. You can’t come into the bedroom until I call you.”
Holding the stems between his fingers, he poured two glasses of wine, then held one out. “Five minutes is all I can wait.”
His eyes blazed. The way he’d looked at her when she told him she wasn’t wearing panties had kept her moist all evening. On the drive home, she’d barely managed not to reach over and unzip his pants. Now, she’d get to do anything she wanted, and her whole body throbbed with anticipation.
Mitch wanted her, really wanted her, not just a hey-do-you-feel-like-doing-it-tonight want, but an I’m-gonna-die-if-I-don’t-have-you need. Married women all over the world would comprehend exactly how wonderful and powerful that felt.
She smacked him lip to lip, grabbed her glass of wine, then scurried down the hall to prepare the bedroom. After fiddling with the first handcuff, she got the hang of it and had the other three on the brass rails in no time. The fuzzy blue fake fur clashed with her flower-print bedspread, but she didn’t care. Oddly enough, the lined cuffs were cheaper than the brand preferred by cops. Of course, she could have gotten the leather cuffs which were lined with real lambskin, but Mitch definitely would have pitched a fit over how much they cost.
Ooh, bad thought, Mitch castigation was not allowed tonight.
She laid out the blindfold, which was really just an eye covering like you’d wear on planes to cut out the light, across the pillow. She didn’t need scented candles, vases of flowers, sexy lingerie, bubble baths, or romantic words. She just needed him to want her again. She needed his excitement. The stage set, she called out, “Honey, I’m ready.”
Oh boy, was she ready. First, she’d cuff him, then lick his nipples, because he said it tickled when she sucked them. Normally he wouldn’t let her for very long, but this time she’d do it for as long as she wanted. Then she’d climb on top to ride him. At her own pace, fast or slow, well, she liked to start out slow, then fast. Usually, Mitch let her do it for a while, but in the end, he’d flip her over onto her back and pound. Which was nice, very nice, but...she wanted to be in control.
His footsteps stopped in the doorway. When she turned, he stood, feet spread, the wineglass hanging heedlessly in his fingers. Then he raised it to his lips and sipped, his gaze on the handcuffs at each post on the bed.
“What would my mom say if she knew you were into bondage?”
Connie smiled. “She suggested them.”
His eyes went wide for a moment, then one side of his mouth quirked. “Liar.” He winked. “I like that you thought it up all on your own.”
He hadn’t said a word about the money she’d spent.
“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” she ordered.
He twirled the glass in his hand, looked from the cuffs, to her, to the blindfold, then back to the cuffs. “I think you’d look better in fuzzy blue.”
She shook her head. “No. They’re for you. You can use them on me later.”
He toed off his shoes, left them in the doorway, then sauntered to the end of the bed, and focused on the coverlet as if something lay on it.
“You know what I see in my mind’s eye?”
“No.”
“I see you. Blindfolded. Naked. Spread-eagled.” He leaned forward, one hand on the brass stead.
Her heart raced. She could see it, too. She could feel his words as if he were touching her as he spoke.
“I see your pretty pink pussy. It is so beautiful and so wet. It’s begging me to kiss it. Lick it. Suck it.”
He turned slowly, capturing her gaze with his. She saw her own reflection in his eyes, felt her breath trying to push past her throat, and tingled with a thrill that drenched her pussy.
“And when you start to come, I’m going to hold you down. I’m going to lick you until you can’t help but scream, until it’s so freaking intense that tears come to your eyes, until you think one more second and you’ll die from the pleasure. And then I’ll lick you some more.”
Connie couldn’t have done a thing to resist him.
Chapter Six
Without another word, he reached out and slid one spaghetti strap down her arm. All she wore was the thin cotton dress, no panties, no bra. He pushed the other strap off her shoulder. The bodice caught on her breasts, her almost painfully hard nipples. Eyes locked with hers, he put one finger in the center of the neckline and tugged the dress down.
Hot, breathless, wet, achy, she felt as if his gaze consumed her. This was brand new, as if they were first-time lovers when the heat and the need were all fresh and untried. When she couldn’t wait for his touch or the sound of his voice. When she’d go mad if he didn’t take her right this minute.
The dress fell past her breasts. His finger continued the trail across her abdomen, but with the zipper fastened, the material wouldn’t go over her hips. And still he gazed at her.
Tipping the wineglass to her lips, he let her sip the sweet wine, then he whispered a command. “Undo it.”
She couldn’t help herself. The wine went to her head. She unzipped because he told her to, then pushed the dress past her hips, letting it flutter to the carpet.
“Get on the bed.”
She wanted, needed, to do whatever he said. She climbed onto the bed, hands and knees first, her bottom facing him. Then she flopped to her side, turned, and looked at him.
“Now lay down and spread your legs and arms.” With a touch, he directed her to lay width-wise, so the bedstead didn’t obstruct his view of her.
She’d wanted to tie him down, yet his voice mesmerized her, his eyes tawny like a lion, heated, powerful. He managed to find the one thing she’d thought about in the shop, being forced to accept the pleasure, not being able to get away, the intensity almost unbearable. Allowing him control over when she came, how hard she came, for how long.
Somebody's Wife: The Jackson Brothers, Book 3 Page 5
