“You won’t want to.”
Mildly annoyed by the interruption of whatever golf gadget or tool for his workbench couldn’t wait until after his blow job, he opened the sealed bag and looked inside at what appeared to be a gelatinous pink sleeve that looked like a mini arm-floatie. “What the—?”
“It was a sex toy party.”
His cock began to swell thinking about Hope, surprised but amused, when she finally showed up and had a chance to survey the unexpected wares. “Seriously?”
Theresa removed the plastic wrap, squirted some sort of gel into the neon pink tube, and slid the thing onto what was already a healthy erection. “It’s called the Love Slave.”
Tim looked down at his cock, which looked a little too much like a pig in a blanket. “Sounds like my kind of toy, but…”
She began to roll the thing back and forth.
The gel warmed and began to tingle.
He relaxed into the cushions and pushed toward Theresa’s hand. The friction felt surprisingly realistic.
“Feel good?”
Almost as good as if he were being sucked off by a certain comely neighbor while they conferred over wall textures, light fixtures, and how good his cock felt in her mouth.
The sound of rolling latex and lubricant filled the room with a thwoop.
Almost.
***
“Tell me how much you want me.” Frank rubbed himself against Maryellen’s belly.
“I want you,” Maryellen whispered.
“Say it like you mean it,” he said, moving down toward her freshly shaved pussy.
“I want you,” she said. Her eyes remained tightly closed.
“Say it louder.”
“Eva might hear,” she whispered.
“She’s sleeping. Louder.”
“I want you.”
“Tell me you want my big hard manhood inside your tight, shaved cunt.”
“I do,” she mumbled.
It had taken him nearly a year to convince her to shave down there. “You want my hard manhood in your tight, shaved cunt.”
“I hate that word.”
“Turns me on.”
“I want your hard m … inside my tight, shaved cunt.”
“Yes, baby!” He spread her legs, took aim, and pressed her. “Am I making you wet?”
“Yes, Frank.”
“How wet?”
“So wet.”
As Frank pumped away, focused on pulling out just in time to enjoy the sight of his seed all over Maryellen’s flat belly, a disquieting thought popped into his head.
Trautman doing the same thing to Hope Jordan.
***
If anything, Hope was flattered by Will Pierce-Cohn’s admiration-from-a-distance. She truly appreciated Frank’s almost fatherly concern. Flirtatious men like Tim Trautman, however, sent her running.
Usually.
Tim was a shameless flirt. Normally the kind of guy she’d steer clear of, but for the fact he was so unabashed in his love for the mother of his children that he’d taken the morning off work to surprise her by planting flowers. She couldn’t deny the appeal of feeling desired but also safe knowing the desirer was more attracted to his wife and the life they’d built together to do anything about it beyond ask her to collaborate with him on a nursery for his twins.
As if there was much of anything she’d rather do.
She stared at the pink and blue shards of light reflecting off her Murano glass chandelier. “I can’t believe how much great work I suddenly have.”
“Busy is good.” Jim kissed her quickly.
He entered her even more quickly.
Thanks to the serendipitously named Mother’s Helpers lubricant she’d bought at Laney’s, any lack of preparedness was no problem. She opened her legs and envisioned sperm slip-sliding their way toward her fallopian tubes, destined for a crash landing with her eager egg.
A new life is ready to come through very soon.
She never expected to put so much faith in the predictions of a walk-in-welcome psychic, but the images Renata saw in the tea leaves were materializing, and repetitively. There was no doubt the awkward moment and party related to Frank’s call about the playground landscaping and Laney’s home shopping event. Then, Will Pierce-Cohn had that awkward reaction at the party while she was mid–white lie about why she’d been late. With everyone crowded around to see if he was okay, she could no more tell him she was really talking to Tim about a secret nursery plan than she could explain she was consulting on the landscaping because of Renata’s predictions.
How working on the projects made her feel so fertile.
She’d tell him what she could as soon as she had the chance.
Hope relaxed into the pillow.
A new life is ready to come through very soon.
“Not going to be around much this next month,” Jim mumbled.
She lifted her head. “What?”
He looked up, over her breast, made eye contact with her chin. “Have to go to London.”
“London as in England?”
The motion from his nod rocked her more than the movement in his hips.
“No,” she managed.
“No choice.” He reached around and cupped her bottom. “International retail chain facing significant restructuring.”
Despite a jolt of impending doom, she pressed against him. “When do they want you there?”
“Looks like the thirteenth.”
“But that’s Mother’s Day.”
“Hope,” Jim stopped for a moment, “it’s not like I can help the timing, I—”
“I don’t even want to hear it.” She pulled Jim close, pressed her hips against his. Hadn’t Renata seen the image of a wheel, signifying business advancement and some marital discord as an inevitable part of the process? Once he made VP, he’d control his travel schedule. He could pass the small jobs on to the lower-level associates. As soon as they had kids, he’d pick and choose where he was going. They’d have more time together. As soon as they had kids… A new life is ready to come through very soon. “How long will you be gone?”
He lifted her legs into the air. “Probably a couple weeks.”
She rested her ankles on his shoulders. “But you’ll be back by Memorial weekend?”
He didn’t answer.
“So that’s a no?”
“It’s an I don’t know.”
“I’ll try and figure out how to move up the nursery project and the landscape installation so I can come, too.”
“I need to figure out the lay of the land first, and you know the client won’t pay for that.”
“But if I’m not there and you’re not here—” Tears filled her eyes and began to zigzag toward her neck. “You’ll miss ovulation.”
“Won’t matter if we succeed this month.” He pumped harder.
“If we don’t?”
“God damn it, Hope, do you want me to lose my erection?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
This Community Patrols for Solicitors—Street Sign posted at Melody Mountain Ranch main entrances.
The scenario made sense—Trautman wanted to surprise his wife by planting flowers. Having no idea what to plant, he’d asked for help from his backyard neighbor, whose garden was already awash in spring bulbs. That said neighbor happened to be uncommonly helpful, and even more attractive, simply made the plan’s implementation all the more palatable.
Frank shut the French doors of his home office, stepped over to the desk, and picked up the phone to check messages.
Why did it bug the hell out of him, then?
He dropped the handset back into the cradle and powered up his computer.
The fact that Hope used their playground meeting as an alibi, particularly in the company of Will Pierce-Cohn, meant she wanted to let people know she was working on the landscape project. It could even be seen as a statement to the community about her new allegiance to him.
Frank clicked on his e-mail.
He’d planned
to schedule a landscape design meeting when he saw her at church. While they compared calendars, he’d have mentioned he heard she was talking about the playground. Hope would blush while she explained away her white lie, gush about the flowers she’d helped Tim plant to surprise his wife, or, if he and Laney had miscalculated the story somehow, fill him in on what it was she was doing over there. Were he so inclined, Frank might even reconfirm his nonsuspicions with a way to show up the neighborhood husbands pat on the back for Trautman when he came through the greeting line.
Had either of them shown up at church, he might have.
Had either of them shown up, the Dangers of Coveting sermon he’d dug from the back of the file cabinet and subbed for Give to Receive, wouldn’t have fallen on deaf and otherwise irrelevant ears.
But the commandment, as handed down by our Lord, expects that within the community of faith, the drive of desire will be displaced by the honoring of the neighbor, by the sharing of goods, and by the acceptance of one’s goods as adequate.
His inbox materialized on the screen.
There were three new e-mails; none of them were responses to the missed you at church or need to get a meeting on the schedule messages he’d left Hope by phone yesterday afternoon and by e-mail later in the evening.
And again before bed.
She should have left a late-night message. Could have…
He skipped a deposit due e-mail for a Men Who Pray workshop, and the next, an escrow installment reminder for the church land, which would only serve as a reminder to never again put the possible spiritual needs of one, possibly two parishioners, above the long-term best interests of the whole community. He was about to double-click on his Association of Colorado Communities newsletter when a new message popped into his inbox.
From: Hope Jordan.
Re: Missed you at church.
Finally.
He opened the e-mail.
Hi Frank,
Yesterday morning went in a completely unexpected direction. Not only did I have to miss church (unfortunately) but I’m just getting back to returning messages. I really do want to meet to finalize the plans. Do you have time today?
He instant messaged a quick, Are you there?
Before he could add, I’m working from home this morning, her return Hi popped up in the dialogue box.
He added and sent, Come on over and let’s chat.
His questions and her answers never seemed to catch up from that point on.
Great! Appeared on one line from her.
He wrote, See you soon.
How about a little later?
Meaning great, she would stop by a little later?
She answered by adding, I have to be somewhere soon.
Your exercise class?
Her No arrived a second after he added and sent, If so, we can meet at my rec center office afterward.
How about this afternoon like around one?
I assumed you’d be there this morning like usual.
One should work, he wrote back.
The confusion both dissipated and increased with her final out of synch comment.
Can’t this morning. I have a coffee date.
***
Even in a gray turtleneck and ass-flattering, but otherwise unremarkable, black slacks, Hope’s hello wave sent a rustle of desire through Tim and a rustle of disappointment through the male contingent of the Starbucks line. Bypassing the less lucky admirers, he took his place next to her and further marked his territory with a hello kiss to her cheek.
“Hi there,” Hope said, not seeming to mind the familiar greeting.
Or, his simultaneous touch to her upper arm.
She was too pretty to be unnerved by a little touchy-feely, but the fact that Hope decided to cap off her otherwise professional ensemble with spiky boots reflected positively on the stolen hour they’d shared during church Sunday morning while she measured out the nursery.
And he assisted with the tape measure.
Tim looked up at the drink menu. “What can I get for you?”
“A tall, nonfat latte would be great,” she said.
“A tall nonfat latte,” he said to the pierced, tattooed barista who looked less than thrilled to have him eclipse her moment with Hope. “And I’ll have a caffé Americano, tall.”
“Thanks.” Hope graced him with her smile again. “I’ll go set up.”
I’ll watch, he didn’t say, but did as her floral scent dissipated into the fog of slightly burnt coffee that would stick to his clothes for the rest of the day.
Remind him of her.
She considered a table for two, but continued on toward an overstuffed love seat nestled in the front window.
Yes.
Would she be a one-timer or more of an aficionado of the regularly scheduled marriage break? He’d have put money on her going the entitled-to-whatever-fancied-her-because-of-her-looks route had she not begun to unload the contents of her briefcase onto a long coffee table, which if he had to be honest, was the most viable workspace in the place.
“Tall, nonfat latte and a caffé Americano.” The barista placed two cups beside each other on the pickup counter.
Tim grabbed the coffees and headed for the cozy niche she’d set up for them. “For you.” He reached over the binders to hand her the latte. “I assume all this is for me?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “Since your nursery measured out the same as my guest bedroom, I thought we’d use a book of babies’ rooms I’ve worked on for our dimensions, at least as a jumping off point.”
He joined her on the love seat. “Jump away.”
She took a sip of coffee and picked up an oversized black binder. “I have to tell you, you’re the first man I’ve worked with on a babies’ room.”
“And so you figure I have some sort of design fetish?”
She laughed. “Actually, that didn’t occur to me.”
“Even worse.”
“Why’s that?”
“Means you’ve been dreading the prospect of remedial design 101 with the husband when we both know the wife is the real decision maker.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I brought along everything on babies’ rooms I have just in case you weren’t totally up on the gory details of nursery design.”
“I think I can handle enough of the legwork to get something pulled together for Theresa to change up.”
“Good.” She scooted close enough so he could enjoy the fresh, citrusy undertones of her hair. “Because there are a couple motifs in particular I’m thinking will work well with your color scheme and the modifications needed for twins.”
He brushed his arm lightly against hers as he opened the notebook. Resting the back cover on his left thigh, he let the front fall open toward her right leg.
She didn’t move away.
“This is a princess-themed room I did for a client,” she said pointing to a photo of a nursery made up of pale gray furniture, lace, and some sort of integrated play castle.
“Interesting,” he said, mostly in response to the unexpected turn-on of her warm, coffee-tinged breath.
“I don’t see this as the way I’d necessarily go for your project,” she added. “But I did include some info in case you’re interested in a similarly fanciful effect.”
“But you wouldn’t recommend it?”
“It’s a little frilly for the cribs and bedding Theresa already has in there.”
“Gotcha,” he said, doing a cursory leaf through the fabric swatches, curtain styles, and furniture spec sheets tucked into the pocket folder behind the photo. His eyes were already starting to glaze over. “Did you collect all this extra paperwork since yesterday?”
“Only what I didn’t have up-to-date info on, so depending on how you decide to proceed, we’re ready to roll.”
If they weren’t in a crowded Starbucks, he’d be hard pressed not to knock all the paperwork off the table and show her how ready to roll he was.
“Yo
u’re even more efficient than I expected,” he said instead, and for the sake of propriety, turned the page to a tropically themed nursery complete with a rainforest’s worth of stuffed animals sitting in a brown-and-green plush tree. “And even more talented.”
Their eyes met.
She looked down and added a little too quickly, “Something like this could work if we modified the theme to accommodate the lavender.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “A definite possibility.”
He hmmed his way through a mock-up of a cowgirl room and a few fairy nurseries before stopping briefly to admire an ingenious pink camouflage design.
“It’s a little on the edgy side,” she said.
“Cute though,” he said.
“I found that little play tent and matching camping chairs and couldn’t resist pulling something together.”
He flipped forward to the next page. The same room was done in an alphabet theme. “Is this your actual guest bedroom?”
“If I can see the room setup, I know if I’ve succeeded at what I was going for.”
“Must cost a fortune.”
“Only the paint is nonreturnable. Everything else goes back to the store.” She looked away. “Or seems to find its rightful home.”
“Truly amazing,” he said, continuing to ooh and aah over farm-, ocean-, and whatever-themed nurseries as though he cared. Then, he turned the page to a design entitled, The Garden. With a background theme of flowers, bees, and butterflies, the room looked exactly the way he pictured a twin nursery would look.
Assuming he’d actually ever picture such a thing.
“I like this one,” he said.
Her expression belied something he couldn’t quite make out. “Really?”
“You don’t think a garden theme would work?”
“I think it would be beautiful.”
“But you seem surprised.”
She took a drawn out sip of coffee. “I guess I didn’t expect this one to be your favorite.”
“It’s bright and happy, and, for lack of a better word, hopeful.”
She smiled.
“I think that’s what I like best.” He leafed through the previous page or two and flipped back again. “Definitely my favorite.”
The Big Bang Page 14
