by Julia Kent
He’d relied on himself, his extended family, and now Josie, to meet that need.
A pang of jealousy hit him in the solar plexus as he thought of the easy companionship between Trevor and Joe, and Mike and Dylan. Maybe, someday, he’d find a friend. Hadn’t missed that kind of connection until now.
Josie’s sob jerked him out of his distractions, his legs moving him to her before he could consciously think to comfort her, arms around her fast and unquestioning.
“My mom did it!” she bellowed, her mouth vibrating against his breast bone. “She found a way to get arrested and become an Internet meme, all in the space of one flight, Alex! Who does that?”
He had to agree. Marlene was gifted that way. He kept his mouth shut and made soothing, nonverbal tones that he hoped helped. With a mother like Meribeth, he had no framework for understanding Josie’s feelings right now. All he could do was be there for her. The wedding was supposed to be a time of joy, with the focus on the brides and the party, a gathering of family and friends to celebrate their love and commitment to each other.
For years, Josie had moaned and groaned about how awful Marlene was, and Alex had considered her to be a bit hysterical about it. Not exaggerating on purpose, but maybe—he’d thought—she just didn’t have the emotional distance to see Marlene correctly.
Uh, no.
She was dead right.
He stroked her back, sighing heavily himself, trying to let this roll off him. A man who was not drawn to drama, he prided himself on being calm and cool, warm and assuring in his work as an obstetrician, and the same in his relationships outside of work. He’d pulled strings to have his future mother-in-law evaluated in Cleveland and Pittsburgh, and the answers had been about what he’d expected: a traumatic brain injury that wasn’t going to improve. Marlene was who she was. The alternative was heavy psychotropic drugs that wouldn’t solve anything. Just dull her to the point of zombification.
Comforting Josie now, who was releasing more and more of her pain in the embrace, he wondered just what was in Marlene’s little cocktail of pills she carried in her purse.
Josie looked up and kissed him, the taste of salty tears in his mouth as she deepened the kiss, her tongue parting his lips, darting between his teeth. Returning the kiss, he was cautious, not wanting passion to dominate if comfort was what she sought.
As her hands slid under his loose cotton t-shirt, riding up between his shoulder blades, then across the expanse of his back to skim his ribs and hips, her breasts pressing against his pecs, he didn’t have to question what Josie needed.
Wanted.
He didn’t realize how much tension he held until his arms pressed her to him, tighter and more powerful, her heat mixing with his as he tried to fuse their bodies together with tongues and sighs and touch. The bed beneath them cried out for attention as did Josie, and by God, he was going to meet that request.
How long had it been? As Josie’s hands threaded through his hair, his own palm seeking one perfect, ripe breast under her thin summer shirt, he moaned, the days past flickering through his mind like calendar pages. Three days. Three days ago he’d had a shift change so he could take this week off and there had been an hour between his work and hers where the two had made love, lazy and layered, hot and full of the kind of unrolling of pleasure that came with giving themselves permission to lounge and to just be.
As Josie made hitched sighs and little moans from the back of her throat, her hands grasping harder, fingers kneading the tight muscles of his bare back, he realized they could make that happen again. Right here. Right now. Tension and stress about the wedding, her mother, the guests and the flowers and the music all fading as blood coursed through him, his erection pointing in one direction, Josie’s nimble fingers tugging at his shirt until he was half-clothed, hovering over her, and filled with the smoky haze that came when the sensual joy of anticipation replaced the world.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, eyes red from tears, smile shaky. He returned the favor, stripping off her shirt, thrilled to find her braless. Their years together had changed her body, making it softer, fuller. He loved her in any way, shape or form, his eyes taking in the contours of her skin, time like a buffet before them.
Sample this. Taste that. Dive in and make yourself full. Satisfy that craving.
Indulge.
“God, I’ve missed you, too.” As the sigh left him, Josie’s hand at his belt, loosening the buckle without asking permission, he felt his skin relax. Boundaries melted, the world less intrusive, his only focus the soft flesh of her inner elbow, the peak of her rosy nipple, the hooded eyes that stared at his jeans as she unleashed him. He ripped off his pants, nude and aching before her.
“Damn,” she said with a hiss, her gaze filled with an arousal that pinkened her cheeks. “You never disappoint.”
The laugh that came from him, a fast huff of surprise and mild self-consciousness, startled him. She could do that, though. Surprise him.
“I hope not,” he murmured, his own hands making quick work of getting her into a naked state like his own, the tip of his erection dragging against the soft curve of her belly, the sensation second only to that moment when he would slide into the wet warmth of her welcome, between her legs and possessing her, driving his love into her as if it needed to be planted there to grow.
“This is what this wedding is about,” he said with a sigh, covering her small form with his much larger one, her body wiggling to find the right position for his thighs to go between her legs, hip bones and knees settling, like panning for gold. “This. Us. Being together. Being free and naked and sticky.” He licked the hollow of her neck with a wide, flat tongue that made her giggle.
“Sticky?” Did you just say sticky? Is that in the vows?” Her giggle was the best gift he could possibly receive right now.
“Yes. Do you, Josephine Elizabeth Mendham, promise to love, honor, obey, and make sticky...”
“Obey?” she squeaked, pretending to be angry. He reached down and sucked one breast into his mouth, tongue teasing the tip as he gave gentle, then more violent, force to his attentions.
A strangled choke of surprise and ecstasy made her stop talking, his hand opening her thighs, finding the sweet pink spot that he knew would show her exactly how much obeying him—right now—would be in her best interests.
“Sticky,” he whispered as he worked to take Josie out of her crowded head and back into her body, a pleasure playground where Alex could create—and enforce—the rules. He found her slick and ready, the sultry wet heat between her legs making him harder, his thigh brushing against hers as he worked with mouth, hands, and his full self to bring her to a place where she was nothing but instinct.
“Mmmm,” she moaned, her wordless response all the encouragement he needed as he released her breast and kissed a line down to her parted legs, his tongue ready for the taste of her. There was no finer moment than the second he breached the distance between his own mouth and her tantalizing flesh between her legs, a mystery to him still. Josie liked to joke that he’d seen thousands of vaginas in his line of work, but none held his worshipful gaze like hers. Her soul lit up her body, and it was that beacon, the blinding spirit whose energy infused this flesh named Josie, that made her special.
As he stroked her, his mouth teasing with kisses along her inner thighs, her legs opening for him like a flower, her hips arching up in a muted please, he smiled, his own breath elongating, deep inhales and exhales like a cleansing ritual.
So he could fill himself with her.
She was so ready, her hips thrusting up against his mouth within seconds. He cursed himself for not knowing. The tension of the past few days made their need for each other increase. Connection was the antidote to chaos. He should have known that, and as he filled his hands with the luxury of her ass, his mouth playing her until her fingers buried themselves in his hair and she began to guide his rhythm, he resolved not to make this mistake again.
Connection first.<
br />
She came, crying out his name and fisting her hands in his hair, his body moving, on his knees and staying the course through her frantic orgasms, the spasms and nerves conducting a core joy through her cells that he would never understand. The female orgasm, often studied but never quite mapped, was the closest he felt to a spiritual mystery, that something greater than himself was out there.
In bed, at least.
She was on the pill, condoms no longer needed, and he looked up, skimming her body with his own, the kiss she took from him long and breathless, her taste savored by both as he entered her, his body rigid for a brief second as the sensation—so great, so much greater than himself—took over.
And then he was in her, deep and wide, her legs wrapped around his hips as she bit his earlobe and whispered dirty, dirty thoughts that made him grateful that the universe had led him to this woman.
He expressed his gratitude with thrusts so deep, curved and seeking, until she possessed him with muscles that seized him, making his movements more difficult but oh, so worth it. The all-body claiming that biochemistry made possible as adrenaline and oxytocin and other hormones and chemicals surged through him carried him out of his own mind. He became an animal, all sweat and slide, until his own release made him kiss her hard enough to bang teeth, to taste copper, to feel her fingernails claw his back and all he wanted was more, more, more.
And that would never be enough.
Chapter Five
Laura
“My dress doesn’t fit!” Laura wailed to no one in particular. Then again, no one was actually listening to her, so even if she had chosen a target for her cries of anguish, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Managing twin one-year-olds who had recently learned to walk and stumble after their three-year-old sister meant that lately, conversations were nothing but fleeting cries of caution followed by mutters as Laura cleaned messes made by humans who didn’t know any better.
And sometimes that included Dylan and Mike.
“You look like a Disney Princess, Mama!” Jillian said, stopping in her tracks. Her wide, blue eyes met Laura’s and her red cheeks turned to apples. “Can I be Elsa for the wedding?”
Laura looked down at the white dress she wore. Half her abundant boobage poured out like a tasty cupcake. The bodice dug into her ribs and the skirts made the skin on her thighs itch.
And then little Aaron came bounding around Jillian, chocolate smeared all over his hands and face.
“How did he get chocolate?” Laura asked, the words filled with an edge she didn’t want to have.
“I made him a cake in my little oven!” Jillian cried out with pride. The oven used a lightbulb for heat to cook the little cakes, and Jillian had been long warned only to use it with adults, but apparently Laura couldn’t take ninety seconds to change into her own wedding dress two days before the big day without having Jillian get into mischief.
She grimaced. Of all the days for their nanny, Cyndi, to have food poisoning.
Aaron took one, two, three steps in slow motion toward Laura. Eyes alight with conquest at learning to walk, he pitched forward and began to fall.
Instinct overrode wedding dress and she bent down to catch him before his head met the corner of the coffee table and—
Now her skirts looked like a very fluffy group of Dalmatians cuddled up against her legs. Chocolate smears everywhere, even in the tulle.
Aaron’s big, beautiful eyes filled with tears just as his twin, Adam, toddled over to get his equal share of attention from his mommy. Both possessed dark brown hair, wispier on Aaron but thick on Adam, and brown eyes like little puddles of, well—
Chocolate.
Aaron was the bolder of the two, but Adam more contemplative and serious. Identical twins, they were impossible to tell apart.
Except for Laura, Dylan, Mike and Jillian. They could always tell.
“Who do I get to marry, Mama? Papa or Daddy?” No one had taught Jillian to call her fathers by different names. And none of the three of them could pinpoint when she’d started calling Mike “Daddy” and Dylan “Papa”, but the names had stuck. Somehow, Jillian had instinctively known they were distinct, separate fathers with different identities. She never confused Daddy for Papa or vice versa. Dylan’s father was Grandpa.
Her only grandpa. She only had Dylan’s parents to fill the ‘grand’ role. Laura’s mom was dead and her dad long gone. Mike’s mom and dad still had no relationship with him, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Until two months ago, Laura had respected that.
Something about the whole wedding process—even if she couldn’t legally wed both Dylan and Mike—had triggered a sentimentality in her that made her weepy every time she looked at the children. Weddings were supposed to be sprawling affairs, with loads of extended family present to celebrate, the three of them had only Dylan’s family.
That was it.
And while his parents and his siblings were great, there was still a hole. Sometimes, Laura would watch Jillian sleeping and wonder if her own mother had done the same, watching a tiny Laura in the depths of her dreams. Did her mom stroke her hair from her forehead and marvel at the miracle of her own love? Did she feel what Laura felt for Jillian, Aaron and Adam? In the quiet moments of the night, when all the chaos had settled down into slumber and the children twisted their tiny bodies in their sheets, limbs flung hither and yon, all-too-often tucked in between her, Mike and Dylan in the enormous double-king bed that they had created, she pondered.
Maybe every mother felt the way Laura did.
The thought made her eyes fill with tears.
When her Uncle Frank had become a threatening presence two years ago, forcing her, Mike and Dylan to take legal action to secure custody rights in case Laura died, so much of Mike’s relationship with his all-too-alive parents had come out. Laura respected the fact that he didn’t want a relationship with them. Didn’t want to expose the grandkids to their intolerance. Unable to accept Mike’s unconventional choice of relationships years before Laura had even met the guys, they’d cut off all contact.
And yet surely, Laura had hoped, they would want to meet their grandchildren?
Grandchildren who were currently ‘painting’ the walls with chocolate-covered hands.
“Oh, boy,” Dylan said, marching into the room and giving Laura an appraising look. “Is that a new fashion statement?” He scooped up Aaron, holding the toddler’s hands out and away from his body as he walked toward the bathroom. Before Laura could answer, she heard the rush of water.
“Baf!” Jillian shrieked, sprinting down the hallway while waving a princess wand.
“Ba!” Adam mimicked, following behind like a man on stilts on the deck of a listing ship. Whump. He went down on his bum, then pressed his palms into the ground, butt up, body next, and the toddling resumed.
Laura looked down at her wrecked dress.
“New fashion statement?” she muttered to herself. “Did he really just say that? Sure. Skid mark bride.” She snorted.
“Uh,” said a deep voice behind her. She whirled around to find her nose in Mike’s chest. “Is that a new kink I’ve never heard of?”
The bubble of giggles that exploded in her throat made her nose bounce against a button on his shirt. Laura’s foul mood instantly lifted as she looked up to find kind, loving eyes capturing hers.
Eyes so much like Jillian’s.
As Mike pulled her into a warm embrace, Laura closed her eyes and let herself enjoy it. With the wedding preparations in overdrive, she lived on adrenaline, cortisol, coffee and hope these days. She was a live wire inside a flesh body.
One that didn’t fit her wedding dress.
“I am guessing Jillian had another culinary creation with that oven Josie and Alex gave her for her birthday?” Mike murmured in her ear, his own deep, rumbling chuckle making it impossible for her not to join in and extend her laughter.
“And the boys found their share,” she said into his chest.
/> “Hey! Water stays in the bathtub! Don’t pour it out onto the floor!” Dylan called out, clearly struggling to contain at least one errant child in the tub.
Jillian ran past Laura, completely naked, her princess wand’s ribbon trailing her. Laura peeked down the hallway to see a very wet, naked Adam toddling away. She pulled back to retrieve him, but Dylan popped out of the bathroom, scooped him up, and was back with Aaron in one second.
“Jeeeeee!” she heard Aaron—or was it Adam?—squeal as Jillian must have joined her brothers in the tub.
“Wine?” Mike whispered. “We could open a bottle of merlot and sneak out onto the deck and pretend we never heard Dylan’s call for help.”
“What call for help?” Laura asked, puzzled.
“Can’t I get some help in here?” Dylan boomed.
“Predicted it,” Mike said. She looked up. His eyebrow was quirked. He lowered his voice. “If we tiptoe away, we can—”
“I know you’re out there and can hear me! If you ditch me for wine again, I’m gonna feed the twins garlic hummus again before leaving them with you for the day, Mike.”
Laura felt Mike tense, then sigh. Parenting was so glamourous. When had threatening diaper bombs via garlic hummus had become a viable tactic to strong-arm Mike for help?
When Dylan had figured out it worked.
“So much for a nice glass of red wine,” he groused.
“We have the honeymoon,” she soothed. Their nanny, Cyndi, and her niece, Ellie, would take the kids for a week while Mike, Laura and Dylan spent a week in Paris. Laura was so excited she felt like she could burst. The three of them had never, ever had a trip without kids. She’d gotten pregnant with Jillian by accident so soon after meeting Mike and Dylan, and now that the twins slept through the night (mostly), they felt it would work well.
