I push her hands above her head, our fingers linked. All of me presses against all of her as I thrust into her again. No chance of being careful now. I’m heavy and hard and demanding as I take her right to the edge, as I make her tremble and shake for me.
“Fuck.” That’s what I’m reduced to, single word, guttural curses.
But she’s right there with me in the sex-drunk haze. I feel her lips on my neck, then her tongue.
Blackness starts to crowd at the corners of my vision as I plow into her. Savage, desperate rutting. I can feel her tightening up, clutching at me inside and her limbs tensing too. As if she were actually climbing toward that figurative peak.
“Come for me,” I say roughly. The headboard slaps against the wall and we both reach for it, pushing it into the wall in a desperate attempt to not wake anyone up.
Oh, how conditioned we are.
But we’re alone.
We can make as much noise as we want. I reach between us and cup her breast, catching her nipple between my fingers.
“Oh, yes!” She grinds against me as I bury myself inside her, holding still because I’m so fucking close to exploding and that can’t happen until— “Jesus, yes. Stew. God. I’m coming!”
I thrust again, losing myself inside her pussy.
My. Fucking. Wife.
“Love you,” I say, my voice ragged as I brace my arms on either side of her.
She kisses me, her breath coming hard and fast. “Me, too. Okay. That was worth the wait.”
And we still have time to share a shower.
Chapter 8
STEW
The return to work is a brutal, unforgiving return to reality.Gavin has decided to stay in Vancouver all week, which pisses me off because work is piling up. We’re all working longer days since his work day out west doesn’t end until well after dark in Ottawa. Whenever he wants to get his head sorted out straight and get his ass back here, that will make me happy. Until then, I do the best I can.
Ellie is working like mad on a communications strategy around donors and fundraising. I like what she comes up with, and I tell her as much. She’s done a lot under harsh constraints, because I don’t want her to give any hint of Gavin’s new direction to the party activists planning his next event.
By Friday, Gavin signs off on the plan, too, and even better, he decides to come back to the capital.
Finally.
I send the entire office an email ordering them to go home to their families, friends, roommates, cats or house plants. I don’t care, just don’t stay late.
I know I’m not going to be at work after six. It might be the last chance any of us have for a few weeks to have a bit of a personal life, and my family—my wife especially—deserves me to seize that opportunity.
My entire day is oriented around getting out the door at quarter to six.
I manage to leave at five to the hour. Good enough.
When I get home, the twins are skateboarding in the dead-end at the bottom of our street. I wave to them and head inside, where I find my oldest and my wife in a silent standoff of sorts in the kitchen.
I give Adrienne a look to ask, what’s going on?
She just shrugs.
I take a deep breath. “What’s for dinner?”
Adrienne points to the fridge. “Steaks are ready to go on the grill. I’ve got the potatoes almost ready, too. And a salad.”
“Your favourite,” Daniel says sullenly from behind his cell phone.
I sit on the bar stool next to him and nab the device from his hands.
“Hey!”
“Hey, what?” I keep my voice light.
“I was using that.”
“I could tell. Whatever you were doing, it can wait a minute. Look at me.”
It takes him a while, but his eyes finally flick up to meet my gaze. “What?”
He thinks he’s going to get in trouble, when really, it’s me that needs a talking to. “I’m sorry I’ve been missing a lot of dinners.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
“No. Not whatever. It’s not ideal. But it’s also not permanent, and I’d appreciate you not making your mom’s life that much harder just because I’m being an ass—”
“Okay, who wants to set the table?” Adrienne calls out, her voice unnecessarily loud.
Daniel cracks a smile and winks at me. “Don’t say ass in front of Mom, she doesn’t like it,” he whispers.
“Right,” I whisper back. “I forgot.”
He swivels off his stool and yanks open the cutlery drawer.
Adrienne waits until he’s grabbed forks for everyone and headed to the dining room before smiling at me. “Bonding through bad language?”
“Whatever works.” I get up and reach past her, opening the cupboard. I stop to give her a quick kiss. “Thanks for having faith in me.”
“Always.” She sighs. “Why is it so easy for you with him?”
“It’s not. That was just a brief reprieve. And he pushes harder against you because he knows he can. Because he knows you’re our rock, and you’re not going anywhere.”
Her eyes soften as she leans into me. “You’re not going anywhere, either.”
“I need to do a better job of showing them that.” I kiss the top of her head. “Can I grill?”
“Please.”
“Give me five minutes to change out of my work stuff.”
She pats my ass. “Go put on those tight jeans from last weekend. Give me a thrill.”
“Mom!” From the doorway, Daniel covers his eyes as he howls about how gross it is that his parents touch each other.
An unforgiving return to reality, indeed.
I give Adrienne a light kiss on the lips. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
THE END
Interested in Gavin and Ellie’s story? A kinky Prime Minister, a vanilla intern, and a scandal that shouldn't feel so right or cost so much. Prime Minister is available now. Links and the first five chapters for you to read can be found at www.friskybeavers.com. While you’re there, be sure to sign up for our new release alert because the next Frisky Beavers book is right around the corner!
~ Ainsley & Sadie
An Ordinary Hero - Lily Zante
Foreword
Meghan Summers still hasn't forgotten her high-school 'almost romance' with her teacher ten years ago. When the world around her was crumbling, he was the only one to give her comfort.
But when the past suddenly resurfaces and Lance Turner becomes the newest hero in her city, is life giving her a second chance?
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Copyright © 2017 Lily Zante
Lily Zante
An Ordinary Hero
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book through the internet or any other means without the prior written consent of the author is illegal and is punishable by law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and do not bear any resemblance to any real person, alive or dead.
Prologue
10 years earlier…
“He can apply his trigonometry to my triangle any time,” gushed Arla.
“What?” Meg asked, distracted. She checked the answer to her differential equations again.
“Mr. Turner,” sighed her friend. “It should be illegal for any school teacher to be that hot.” Her friend had turned all soft and soppy, capable only of staring at their new teacher. He wasn’t new per se. He’d been here over a year, but he was new to them, and he was now teaching them Math. Meghan ignored her and continued to work through the questions they had been set.
“I can’t concentrate,” moaned Arla, and stretched out, knocking over her penc
il sharpener. Because the lid to the small plastic casing wasn’t properly on, the mess of pencil shavings spilled like sand onto her book.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Meghan hissed. Arla could be a real klutz sometimes.
“Sorry.” Arla leaned over and tried to push away the shavings with her fingers but ended up making more of a mess.
“Stop!” Meghan cried, aghast.
“What’s going on in that corner?” Mr. Turner’s sharp rebuke slapped them to attention. They stared at him guiltily as his lake blue eyes pinned them to their seats.
“Well?” He asked, still holding a stick of chalk in his dusty fingers. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” Meghan replied, since Arla had suddenly become mute.
“What won’t happen again?” Mr. Turner snapped, making her jolt. She’d never heard that tone in his voice before. She’d never given him any reason to be angry with her, ever. Her homework was delivered on time, her grades were perfect and she always answered questions correctly. She was a clever and sensible girl who could do no wrong. Arla was usually the culprit.
Mr. Turner was usually laid back and cool but strict. Young looking, and approachable, students sometimes made the mistake of thinking that they could treat him like one of them, but he’d soon set them straight. He had a quiet and commanding way about him. Not heavy-handed, like the Science teachers, but in his own way. The girl students lusted after him, but lean and wiry, wasn’t her type, and, personally, she couldn’t see the fascination.
Right now, his gaze penetrated deep into her, and for a second it felt as if he could see through her. She opened her mouth, but decided her answer would sound too pathetic. “I want you to collect everyone’s sheets at the end of the lesson,” he said, then turned back and continued to write on the blackboard.
She nodded, and swallowed.
“Don’t forget about the test on Friday!” Mr. Turner shouted, when the end-of-lesson bell rang. Books slammed shut, chair legs scraped across the wooden floor and footsteps shuffled frantically as students herded out.
I’ll wait for you by the lockers,” Arla said, rushing passed Meghan who got up dutifully and collected all the sheets from the now haphazardly aligned desks. She shuffled them into a neat pile and walked over to the teacher’s desk. He’d finished erasing the blackboard and when he turned around the light dusting of chalk powder fell like loose lint onto his pale blue checked shirt.
“This is all of them, sir,” she said, placing the pile on his desk.
“Thank you.” She turned to go.
“I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he said, catching her by surprise. She looked back at him. He had the pile of papers in his hand. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”
She looked at him, but said nothing.
“Your test results,” he said, preventing her further from leaving the classroom. “They’ve been inconsistent lately.”
She held her breath.
“You might want to concentrate on the areas that you’re weak in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 1
Now…
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his stomach emptied. He heard the screams, shrill, blood-curdling, and rushed around the corner. A student sprinted towards him, her terror-filled eyes bulging. Unblinking. As she bolted towards him, everything else around him slowed down. It was like watching an 8mm movie with the projector playing up and running in slow motion. She screamed again, one long, ear-splitting scream.
And that was when he saw the shooter behind her. His face was calm, with almost a smile. But a smile didn’t belong here. He looked familiar, too, and walked quickly, not running, but moving with serious intent.
He pointed his gun at the girl, and Lance sprinted forward. Time slowed, almost stopped, as she lunged towards him. He grabbed her and spun her around, shielding her body with his.
A sound, small like a firecracker sounded around his ears, and then his shoulder cracked into two, as if a meat cleaver had sliced clean through it.
Chapter 2
“Have you heard?” Arla ploughed through her front door like a heat-seeking missile.
“Heard what?”
“You haven’t heard?” Arla marched into her living room and switched on the TV as if she owned the place. They both stared at the screen and listened to the breathless reporter speaking against a backdrop of police cars and officers and black and yellow police tape. Groups of shocked-looking students huddled together, hugging and comforting one another.
“Police officers commended college security who were able to apprehend the student but a college professor was shot in the altercation. Onlookers say that Lance Turner, a professor at Redmond College in Boston, shielded the shooter’s victim from fatal injury but was himself shot in the process. It is believed that the shooter was known to be an ex-boyfriend of his intended victim. He has now been detained. The young woman is safe and well. Let us now turn again to the man who is being hailed as the hero in what could have quickly become a tragic event. Lance Turner, a forty year old Mathematics Professor, has been teaching at Redmond College…” She no longer heard the reporter’s words but was instead fixated on a picture of her former high school teacher. Meghan gasped and stopped breathing. Her mouth turned dry. “That’s…”
Lance Turner?
“Mr. Turner!” Arla exclaimed, clapping her hands, as if she’d uncovered a huge plot. “Your Mr. Turner. Can you believe it? He’s a professor at Redmond College.”
“He’s not my Mr…” But her words tapered to a whisper. She stared at the screen, and it was as if tiny explosions erupted in her chest. Bang, bang, bang, bang. She was still trying to process the news, trying to make sense of it—the shooting and the fact that he’d been so near the whole time.
Redmond College.
Not far away at all, not in Nebraska, but here in Boston. Under her nose all this time. She sat down, trying to take it all in, but it felt as if someone had drilled a hole through her lungs and she was struggling to breathe. It had been a decade since she’d seen him and then during the past few weeks, she’d seen so much of him in one go.
“He saved that girl’s life,” Arla said proudly, as if she’d had a hand in it. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. It happened just a few hours ago.”
“What’s he doing here?” Meghan asked, more to herself, than expecting an answer from Arla.
“Didn’t you hear what they just said?” Arla shrieked. Of course she’d heard. But it was a total shock to her system to accept that he had been living and working here. “You know, it’s possible,” said Arla, her soft, round face flushed red with excitement. “It’s possible that the two of you might have shopped at the same store, you could have had coffee at the same café, you could have walked across the same str—”
Meghan tuned out and stared at the screen, unable to move her gaze away. There was no more breaking news, and she sensed that the story was done, but the networks would continue to show the same old clip over and over again. After all, it was big news. But it was comforting, in the way white noise was to some people, to see it over and over again. It helped her to absorb it.
“I cannot believe you didn’t know about this,” Arla repeated. “Have you had your head under a blanket the whole time?”
“I’ve been working. I haven’t turned on the radio or the TV.” She’d come home early to get caught up with the huge report she was preparing for a client. She’d been in intense working mode and hadn’t checked her email or social media.
Meghan frowned at the TV screen. “How badly was he hurt?”
“He’s at the hospital. I don’t think it’s anything serious.” Arla replied, with a twinkle in her eye. “This is soooooo exciting!”
“Why?”
“Why?” Arla squealed. “Why? Because he’s here! You wondered for years what had happened to him, and now you can finally find out.” She now wished she hadn’t confided in Arla as much about her high-school crush on Mr. T
urner. But it had been much more than a crush. It had almost been a real thing.
“Are you going to the gym?” She noticed Arla’s ultra-bright leggings and bright orange zip-up top. The sports center housed a large gym, squash courts and swimming pool and lots of different classes. It had become, over the past few months, Arla’s favorite hangout place.
“I was,” Arla replied. “But I can be here for you if you want.”
“Why do you need to be here for me?”
“I know what he meant to you.”
“That was a long time ago,” Meghan retorted. “And I wasn’t crazy about him.
“Yes, you were!”
She bit down hard on her clenched teeth. She’d been in love with him because when her teenage high-school heart had needed someone, Mr. Turner had been there. It had taken her a long time to get over him.
“Nothing happened,” she insisted, testily. Nothing had happened all those years ago, no matter how much she had wanted it to. Lance Turner had been decent…unfortunately. But he’d disappeared without a word, at a time in her life when she’d needed him, and for that she would never forgive him.
“He’s going to be all over the news now,” said Arla. “Do you think you can handle it?”
Chapter 3
“You don’t have to be here,” he said, opening his eyes and seeing Vivian by his bedside.
“You’re awake,” she said, smiling.
“Where’s Cassie?” He sat up too fast, then yelped as the pain hit him. Vivian was up and by his side like a mosquito. “Take it easy,” she soothed, resting her hand against his chest. “My mom’s over. I told her I didn’t want to leave you by yourself.” Vivian had been by his side ever since they’d brought him to the hospital yesterday. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to leave Cassie at home. He didn’t want his daughter to see him looking like this.
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