by Nina Lane
I writhe under him, trying to get my head back in the game, but my rhythm is off, and we both pull back at the same time. He slides out of me and stops, his breathing hard. His expression darkens.
“Where did you go?” he asks.
“Nowhere. Just, um…” I dig my fingers into his back and wiggle again. I strain for the resurgence of arousal, but it’s like trying to grasp a fistful of water.
Dean slips his hand between my legs, massaging my clit in the way I usually love. I sink back against the pillows, playing with my breasts and waiting for delicious arousal to coil through me again.
Did I tell Christine about the change in my work schedule? I can’t remember. I need her to take care of Nicholas on Thursdays instead of Tuesdays, and I need to shift the pickup time to…
I shake the thought off and reach down to palm Dean’s erection and guide him back inside me. I arch upward as he slides in, smooth and easy, his breath rasping against my temple. His body grows taut with familiar urgency as he pushes into me again.
I squirm, disliking the edge of unfulfilled lust, but knowing he won’t succumb to his own release until he knows I’m satisfied. For the first time ever, I wish he weren’t such a gentleman.
“Oh, Dean…” I breathe his name and wrap my legs around his hips. “You feel so good, so big… fuck me harder, please… yes, yes!”
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, simultaneously straining for both arousal and something to say in order to keep him, at least, in the zone.
“Do me, baby, good and hard. I’m coming… Oh my God, I’m coming. Yes… oh, God, yes!”
I shriek and writhe my hips, pushing up against him the second I realize he’s stopped moving. I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, his arms still braced on either side of my head and his chest heaving.
“Really?” he asks dryly.
A hot flush of embarrassment crawls up my face. Dean gives a half laugh, half groan and thrusts a couple more times. Though he comes, I can tell it’s hardly as powerful an orgasm as it usually is for him.
He rolls off me, throwing his arm across his face.
“You’re the love of my life, Olivia,” he mutters. “But you’re a terrible actress.”
My embarrassment intensifies. I should have known better than to think he wouldn’t notice. But after two weeks away from each other, I was sure I’d have no trouble reaching the finish line.
I turn toward him and put my hand on his damp torso. Lines of frustration etch his forehead, and his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Guilt stabs me.
“I’m sorry.” I prop myself up on my elbow to look at him. “It’s really not you. It’s me. I don’t know where my sex drive goes sometimes.”
Dean opens his eyes to meet my gaze.
“So what happened?” he asks. “You were into it before.”
“I started thinking about something I have to do tomorrow,” I admit.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t ride Dean’s cock,” he mutters.
I can’t help giggling. “No, but I’ll put that on my To Do list.”
I ease closer to rest my cheek against his shoulder. I slide my hand down his abdomen, tracing the ridges of his abs with my fingertips. Not only does my husband have an incredibly gorgeous body, he knows exactly how and when to both make love and fuck hard. He’s certainly not the reason I have trouble keeping my head in the game.
“Don’t do that again,” Dean says, his tone so implacably stern that I glance up.
He frowns down at me, his eyes narrowing with a sense of menace I’ve never before seen directed at me. For some reason, a shiver of excitement runs down my spine.
“I won’t,” I promise.
“You’d better not,” Dean murmurs, his deep voice rolling over me like a hot breeze. “You’re not allowed to fake an orgasm. Ever.”
“Oh.” I dart my tongue out to lick my lips, wondering why his unyielding command is making me all quivery inside. “Okay.”
“If you do that again, I’ll have to punish you,” Dean warns, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Given the little tingles racing through me, I’m not sure what the right answer to that question is.
CHAPTER TWO
‡
DEAN
Well, shit.
After two weeks away from my wife, I was unapologetically expecting explosive sex within a few hours of my return. But after last night fizzled out like a wet firecracker, and with Liv’s sex drive here one minute and gone the next, I don’t know when explosive sex will be on the agenda again.
Not that I’m deprived. Just a little tired of my right hand.
I take a deep breath and finish shaving. Despite the fact that last night hardly went as planned, I’m glad to be home. Thirteen days away from my family was thirteen days too long.
I’d hoped Liv could come with me to Italy—I’ve been working on the Altopascio dig for almost three years now, and she has yet to see the site—but the timing didn’t work out. It never has. We’ve made plans a few times for her and Nicholas to join me, but work and schedules always get in the way.
When I go downstairs, the high-pitched voice of Elmo comes from the TV, and the smell of coffee drifts in the air. The picture windows in the sunroom reveal a sky the color of metal and a springtime growth of weeds and plants sprouting from the mushy ground.
“Morning.” Liv is standing at the central island, putting out coffee mugs. She’s bundled into her padded robe, her hair all loose and tangled around her shoulders. Exactly how I like it.
“Morning, wife.” I slide a hand around the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. A surge of unfulfilled lust hits me at the feeling of her lips against mine.
After a minute, Liv pulls away from me and rests her hand on my chest. Guilt flashes in her pretty brown eyes.
“Sorry about last night,” she says.
So am I. I’ve never not been able to make her come, especially after two weeks apart. Never.
“It had just been such a bad day,” Liv continues. “And I wanted to make you happy.”
“I am happy.” I twist a lock of her hair around my finger. “But knowing you’re faking it makes me very not happy. You ever do that before?”
“No.”
I narrow my gaze. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” She slides her hand up to my neck. “And clearly you figured it out last night. Don’t you think you’d be able to tell if I’d done it before?”
Yeah, I think I’d be able to tell, but doesn’t every guy?
“You’re the one who said I’m a terrible actress,” Liv reminds me. “Really, Dean, I promise I’ve never faked it before. I was just exhausted. Nicholas had been pitching a level ten fit all day, my cake turned into a disaster, and my plans to welcome you home were a wreck. Honestly, I consider it a win that we got as far as we did.”
Can’t say I agree with that.
“Stop frowning.” Liv reaches up to smooth her thumb against the crease between my eyebrows. “You’ve always rocked my world hard, professor, and you know it.”
“Not always,” I mutter darkly. Not as recently as last night.
“Dean, I’m sorry,” she says again. “I swear upon everything holy that before last night, I have never faked an orgasm or anything else with you, but honestly, sometimes I can’t get into it. I mean, we’re so busy raising a toddler and working… Sometimes just snuggling up together in bed is better than the hot sex we used to have.”
Again, not agreeing.
Liv slides herself into my arms and hugs me around the waist. The feel of her against me eases my frustration. I guess I’ll consider it a win too, for Liv’s sake only, but I hate that she can switch gears right in the middle of sex—and then actually lose interest in what we’re doing.
It used to be that fucking was overwhelming enough to block everything else out. Now it takes work for her to even stay focused.
“I promise, things will heat up again,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against my neck.
I bite back a retort of “When?” because neither of us knows the answer to that, and being irritated about our sex life when everything else is so good… well, I’m not such an ass that I’ll complain about it.
Much.
“Hey.” Liv rubs her hand over my cheek. “I know you’re getting all hot and bothered. I really think once Nicholas starts sleeping through the night, and I start getting more sleep as a result, we’ll get back on track again.”
And if we don’t?
Again I don’t bother asking that question aloud.
“In the meantime, take your wounded male pride into the family room and watch Sesame Street with our son,” Liv orders. “As an apology, I’ll make you a very manly breakfast of eggs, black coffee, and thick-cut bacon.”
“Will you serve it to me naked?” I pull her closer.
She smiles. “Hold that thought for a morning when our son is actually sleeping in.”
At the rate we’re going, that’ll probably be when Nicholas is a teenager.
“Go,” Liv commands, gesturing to the family room.
I feel her up a little—squeeze her breasts, rub her ass—just to make sure she knows who’s still calling the shots. Then I obey her order and go to join Nicholas on the sofa.
He’s transfixed by the TV, but he edges over to lean against my chest when I sit down beside him. He smells like sleep and Cheerios, his hair rumpled and his sturdy little body clad in train-patterned pajamas.
My tension eases as my brain makes the shift to Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch.
“Sesame,” Nicholas tells me, pointing to the TV.
“Excellent choice.” I rumple his hair, feeling a familiar and yet still overwhelming rush of love fill my chest.
It’s a different kind of love than the one I have for Liv. My love for my wife is powerfully intense and secure, bone-deep, the essential part of me. It’s the solid ground under my feet, a feeling as inevitable as a sunrise.
With Nicholas, my love is almost scary in its fierceness and layered with so many other emotions I can’t even define them all. Awe. Wonder. Fear. Amazement. Hope. Every day, every time I see him, the love surges anew, like a tidal wave submerging my heart.
“I make puzzle.” Nicholas shoves off the sofa, apparently having lost interest in the cartoon, and waddles over to the puzzle of wooden pieces scattered on the rug.
I sit on the floor with him as he fits the dinosaur picture together, his face set with concentration. Tantrums aside, he’s a good kid—smart, curious, funny, creative. Half the time I can’t imagine he was ever a tiny newborn, and the other half I can’t imagine him ever being older than two.
“Hey, come talk to me,” Liv calls. “I want to hear about your trip.”
“Come on, Nicholas.” I grab another puzzle and push to my feet. “Let’s go hang out with Mommy.”
He follows me into the sunroom, where the kitchen table sits beside the windows. After settling Nicholas on the rug with the new puzzle, I pour a cup of coffee and join Liv at the table.
As we eat breakfast, I tell her more about my trip to Altopascio—the process of damage assessment after the earthquake, the cataloging of archeological finds, the details of my proposal to get the site on the World Heritage list of protected monuments.
“Brought you some things too,” I say, going to the travel bag still sitting beside the door. “I found Nicholas a set of Italian blocks and a pop-up book, which I’m sure he’ll destroy in about five seconds.”
I bring the packages back to the table, handing two to Nicholas and the rest to Liv. I’d gotten her Italian chocolate and coffee, a culinary travelogue, and a print of a Tuscan village.
“This will look perfect on that wall.” Liv gestures to the opposite wall and leans in to press her lips against mine. “Thank you.”
“Here’s one more.” I push a wrapped package across the table to her.
She opens it and takes out a leather journal with hand-cut pages. I’d had it specially made at a printer’s in Tuscany and embossed with Liv’s name on the cover. For a few years, she’s kept what she calls her “manifesto” of thoughts and ideas, and I’ve noticed her journal is getting a little ragged.
“Dean, it’s beautiful.” She runs her hand admiringly over the cover. “Thank you so much. Did you get one for yourself?”
She eyes me pointedly, as always unimpressed with my own habit of scrawling things on the pages of a loose-leaf notebook.
I’m saved from having to answer by the buzz of my cell phone. I smile at Liv and get up to answer the call.
“Dean West.”
“Dean, it’s Hans Klasen,” an accented male voice announces over some crackly static. “Did you arrive home safely?”
“Last night, yes. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll be in Mirror Lake next week,” Hans continues. “I was hoping you’d have a chance to meet, perhaps for lunch? We need to talk about the Altopascio proposal and your role with the World Heritage Center.”
“Sure.” I pick up my notebook, which I’d left on the desk. “Where are you staying?”
Hans gives me his hotel info. “Have you thought more about interviewing for the job?” he asks.
Shit. Not a conversation I want to have right when I just got home.
“No,” I reply carefully. “You know my priorities are the site and my work at King’s.”
“I understand,” Hans says. “But we continue to believe you’d be an excellent candidate for the position. Look over the documents I sent you, and we can discuss it more when we meet. I’d also like your opinion about the Novgorodian dig and the manuscripts.”
“Happy to provide it,” I tell him. “Do you need a ride from the airport?”
“No, I’m driving. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”
We exchange goodbyes. I toss my cell back on the counter and pick up my empty breakfast plate.
“Who was that?” Liv asks, coming into the kitchen.
“Hans Klasen, director of the World Heritage Center.” I load my plate with scrambled eggs. “He’s planning a visit to King’s next week. We’ve known each other for years, but haven’t had a chance to work together until recently. He stepped in to help with the aftermath of the quake, and I’m hoping he can push the proposal through to the UN Assembly.”
“Is that what he was calling about?”
“Partly. He’s also working on an archeological dig in Novgorod and wants my opinion on some things.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to Russia now.” Liv slips her arms around my waist from behind.
“Nyet, lyubimaya moya.”
She chuckles. “What does he want your opinion on?”
“Birch bark scrolls preserved by the unique chemical qualities of the Novgorodian mud.”
“Mmm. Sexy.” Liv reaches up to kiss the back of my neck.
I put my plate down and turn to face her. Liv’s perspective has always made me see things from a different angle. She was the one who told me I had to go work on the Altopascio dig almost three years ago—and though I’d refused at first, the work has turned out to be one of the most rewarding projects of my career. And because it’s expanded my professional reputation into areas beyond academia, it’s also bringing up new challenges I haven’t yet figured out how to handle.
“Hey.” Liv puts her hand on my chest, her forehead creasing. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I slide my hands down to her hips. “Just office politics. What time are you working today?”
“Morning shift. Do you need to go to campus?”
“No. I’ll spend the morning with Nicholas and go back to campus on Monday.” I kiss her nose, then pick up my plate and join our son at the table. “Are Archer and Kelsey back from California? I need to drop off Archer’s financial portfolio this afternoon.”
“They got back a few days ago, but I haven’t seen either one of the
m yet.” Liv puts the milk back in the refrigerator. “Kelsey emailed me that they’re getting the Spiral Project ready, so they’re both busy. I can take Nicholas for the afternoon, if you two want to stop by the café.”
“Sure. Call me if you need me.”
“I always need you,” she replies with a smile.
She heads upstairs to get ready for work. I leaf through some mail that accumulated in my absence, picking up a worn postcard with a photo of the Bronze Horseman statue in St. Petersburg. In scrawled handwriting on the back is the message:
Liv,
Candy-colored onion domes, painted nesting dolls, sour cream so thick you can stand a spoon in it. Serpentine canals, wedding-cake palaces, the Bronze Horseman caught in a moment of impossible glory. History both grim and beautiful embedded everywhere.
My adventure continues.
North
Northern Star Richmond—Liv’s old friend from the California commune where she once stayed with her mother and later found refuge when she had nowhere else to go.
I look up at the sound of her entering the kitchen. She spots the postcard and smiles.
“Once upon a time, I thought North would never leave Twelve Oaks,” she says. “Last month, he was in China, now Russia. No telling where he’ll end up next. Hey, I need to get going. You okay with the tornado over there?”
“Sure.”
She reaches up to kiss me, the air around her fragrant with the sweet smell of cherries, before she gathers her things and leaves. I turn my attention to Nicholas. He and I spend the morning racing cars, watching a wildlife program, constructing tall buildings with blocks and pretending we’re monsters knocking them down.
We break for apples and peanut butter, then head to the park for an hour to practice on the monkey bars before stopping at the Wonderland Café to see Liv as her shift ends.
“Hey, cute stuff.” Allie Lyons, Liv’s partner and close friend, emerges through the swinging doors of the kitchen.
“You’ve never called me cute before,” I tell her. “I like it.”
