by Poppy Dunne
But I gave my whole heart and soul, my complete earnest intentions to Gillian once. I remember it not being enough. I remember sitting there afterwards, hating how weak I’d allowed myself to appear. No. Weakness is not an option, and trust is essential.
Emma’s got to trust me, or I’ll have to walk out of this little hobbit hole with its Doritos and its cartoon drawings. I’ll have to stamp through a sea of clothing and books to get there, but I will find the door again.
“This is the truth,” I tell her at last. “Gillian and I dated. We broke up. The break up was entirely her decision. I wanted to get married, but she had other plans. Our relationship has been over for many years now, and I was truly having drinks with her about business. Finances, if you must know.” Yes, none of that is a lie. It’s not the whole truth, but for Gillian’s sake as well as my own I’d like for there to remain at least a little bit of dignity. “We’re still friends, but nothing more. If anyone told you something to contradict those details, then it’s his word against mine. You’ll have to decide whom you want to trust.” I speak slowly and with calm, but I mean what I say. I won’t dance like a fool so that Emma knows I’m no threat, that she can trust me. I won’t simper, or beg. If she believes me, she can accept this. If not, like I said: books, clothes, stumble to the doorway. “The decision is yours.”
Emma sits there with her eyes wide, worrying her bottom lip. Then she says, “Man. I feel like I just got handed a mission with the fate of the free world on my shoulders.”
Well, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor. I pick my way around piles of personal debris and head to the bathroom. I turn on the water and splash my face, merely to cool down. My brain is throbbing with the desire to go find Gavin and challenge him to a brisk, manly round of beating the absolute shit out of each other. Drying my face on a towel—a Hello Kitty towel, in case you were curious—I turn and come face to face with Emma. God, she must have been hovering behind me like a sexy ghost in one of those Japanese horror movies she loves so much. Only without the hair in her face, or the overt themes of the danger of modern technology.
“Okay.” She nods. “I’ve thought about it.”
The moment of truth, then. I won’t let her see how badly I want the right answer.
“And?” I say, one eyebrow quirked.
15
Emma
I know I wasn’t at my best when I saw Fraser outside my work. And the whole alpha male, ice god, thou shalt not question thing got a little frustrating. But he’s right. He’s the one I’m in a quasi-probably-very hot-relationship with, not Gavin. Fraser’s the one who hasn’t manipulated me, or jerked me around. He’s the one who’s always been straight.
“If that’s what happened, then I believe you. That’s it.” I throw up my hands. “Poof.”
Fraser was looking like a granite block of control before; at my words, he’s still got that chiseled expression, but it’s wonderful to see the light come back into his eyes. The hot, sexy light smoldering in those (warm, brown) eyes that are set in that (handsome, sculpted, take-me-now) face is enough to melt any woman’s heart. And panties.
“Thank you.” He gathers me against him, and kisses me. The first brush of lips is a quick reassurance, almost sweet. Then, the second time, it becomes deeper and slower. The heat turns up as he gathers a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back. I gasp, grazing his lower lip with my teeth. His whole body vibrates with that. We kiss again, falling deeper and deeper into each other. I start pulling at his tie, and have it off in seconds. He slides out of his jacket, which falls to the floor. Don’t worry, all my sweatpants and discarded bras will keep it company.
I really should clean up more. But not right now. Right now, sex is all I can think about, and clothes just get in the way of sex. It’s math.
Fraser stills as I unbutton his shirt, giving myself a glimpse of that rock hard, sculpted physique that I find I happily can’t get enough of. I’m like Pavlov’s dog now: whenever someone takes a shirt off, I start drooling.
I had to try to curb that last time Fraser and I had sex. It almost got awkward.
With my help, Fraser strips off his dastardly shirt in a matter of seconds. I shiver as my fingers play up the contours of his abs, his chest. I trail my touch down the steel and silk muscles of his arms. Holy shit, this man must work out a ton.
And to that I say: huzzah.
“I’m feeling a bit more exposed than you,” Fraser whispers in my ear, kissing down my neck. In a flash, he helps pull my shirt over my head, and a second later I slide out of my work skirt. Now in only bra and panties, I gasp as Fraser picks me up. My legs straddle his waist as he carries me to the bed, and lays me down…on top of more crinkling cellophane.
“How many Doritos do you consume in a week?” His eyes stay molten as he says it, the desire in his voice never losing its edge. Apparently snacking is the most erotic thing on the planet. Lucky, lucky me.
“Some of these are Fritos,” I whisper back. Fraser claims my mouth again, kissing me as he leans on top of me. I surreptitiously kick the bags out of the way, and then it’s only his rock hard body flush against mine. His stubble rasps against my cheek as we kiss, and I reach back to unclasp my bra. An instant later, and it’s off, fallen over onto the floor. Fraser leans down to kiss and lick my nipples into tight, hard peaks, one after the other. The feeling of his stubble, his mouth, it makes every molecule of my body hypersensitive. I swear, just the press of his lips on my skin is enough to almost make me come.
“Take it easy,” he whispers against me, looking up to meet my eyes. There’s a wild, dark gleam in his gaze; it’s rare to see Fraser lose control, even rarer to see him enjoy it. The sight of it is erotic and intoxicating on its own. What he seems to be doing as he kisses down my stomach, heading even further south…well, that’s just as exciting.
I gasp as Fraser hooks a finger through my panties and slides them down with an effortless, silky gesture. He trails his hands down my thighs, parting my legs with ease. I sit up on my elbows, my pulse pounding.
“Relax.” From him, it’s a request and an order. Normally, I’m not much into orders; today, I am like the waitress of sex, ready and willing to take and modify your choices to best please you. And me. I hope I get a good tip.
Maybe I should stop thinking so much.
Then Fraser’s breath is hot on me, and I feel the first, light lap of his tongue against my clit. The world goes blindingly white, and I arch my back, gasping with want. It’s a miracle I didn’t come right there. And I want to savor this. I don’t want it to end too soon. I grip the blanket beneath me, already panting with need as his tongue circles my clit in slow, lazy motions. He’s teasing me with his mouth, drawing out every needful gasp and moan he can. Fraser’s hands squeeze me, open me wider. In one hot, quick instant, he spears his tongue inside of me. I bite my lip and groan.
“Oh God, Fraser. Please,” I whisper.
“Soon,” he promises. “But I’m going to enjoy this first.”
He flicks his tongue against the swollen, throbbing bud of my sex. While he continues this beautiful torture, he slides one finger inside me. It glides in with ease; I’m so goddamn ready for this man. He adds another and pumps. It’s a gentle rhythm at first, and then it grows faster. More urgent. All the while, he continues to lick and suck my clit. I can feel the orgasm gathering at the edges, moving in towards me with a sure, driving force. I squeeze my eyes shut, and begin gasping. I call out his name, over and over.
“Fraser. Fraser. Make me come.”
He groans in response, a low, animal sound. Then, he sucks my clit up into his mouth, and my body begins to rock with the force of my climax.
I come so hard, I can feel myself falling apart at the seams. Warmth and heat flood my body as I shudder and cry out, lifting myself off the bed. The world’s in the process of putting itself back together as he pulls himself up to cover me, his lips meeting mine. I can taste myself on him, and thrust my body against his. Inside. Now. Me.
Put those words in order; it’s what I need most.
It’s what he needs, as well. “I’ve got to be inside you,” he whispers in my ear, taking my lobe delicately between his teeth. God, I could come again right now.
“Hold on.” I lean over to my bedside dresser and fish out a condom. Always ready, that’s me. And at least it’s a grown up condom. I used to get those berry flavored ones, you know, raspberry, blueberry. I stopped buying them when having sex made me think of Strawberry Shortcake. The less said about those confusing times, the better.
Fraser takes the packet and rips the foil while I kiss him. I slide my hand down his body, and take his cock in hand. It’s as rock hard as ever, and just as happy to see me. I squeeze the base, which elicits the most blissful moan from him. I trail my hand along the silken feel of him, running my thumb along his tip. Fraser grits his teeth as I start to pump him faster, then catches me with a searing kiss.
“No. Not yet,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. I roll the condom onto his shaft, until he’s nice and sheathed. Then, with a growl, he turns me over onto my other side, so that my back is against him. Curling myself into him, I gasp as he thrusts up and inside me. I close my eyes, savoring how he fills me. It’s always been so much deeper and more intense in this position.
Fraser grunts, and begins to thrust. He starts slow, letting me feel how my body stretches to accommodate him. I press my face into the pillow and breathe, amazed at how it still feels so new. So exciting. While Fraser picks up speed, thrusting in and out of me faster and faster, he cups my breast in one hand and squeezes it. I clench my legs together, giving him tighter access. He moans in my ear, and I crane my neck to look into his eyes. We kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth in time with the motion of his body. The bedsprings creak beneath us. I arch my spine, pushing back against him as hard as I can. God, I can feel him tensing already. On the verge of climax.
I want to make him scream. It’s the one thing I’ve never been able to do: see him lose total control, give over absolutely to the pleasure of the moment. I want to see it.
“Touch me,” I beg. He responds at once, his hand sliding down to rub my clit. His touch is electric, and I’m riding the edge again. One more second, and I know I’ll lose all control of myself. I kiss him again, whimpering as my climax gets nearer. He rides me harder, and the way he grunts in response, the speed with which he moves, tells me that he’s close too. I break off the kiss, still looking into his eyes. I say the words I think he wants to hear more than anything else: “I trust you.”
“Emma.” Fraser’s eyes widen, and he lines me tight against his body. I cry out as he thrusts himself inside me to the hilt. Fraser doesn’t groan or bury his face against me this time. He lets himself go, crying out as he climaxes. I’m right behind him, the orgasm spiraling through me. I feel weightless for a second, then breathless. Eventually, we both come to rest, Fraser spooning against me. We’re both slick with sweat, and I’m pleasantly sore. Grinning, I turn around and bury myself against his chest. His heartbeat’s rapid beneath my cheek. For a minute, we lie there in a post-orgasm bliss. If it were possible to design a style of yoga to give you that kind of buzzy tiredness afterwards, I’d be a millionaire tomorrow.
“What are you thinking about?” He nuzzles my cheek, and I smile.
“How nice it is to tell each other everything.” I kiss him, then prop myself up on my elbow. “But I think we need total honesty now. So I have to know something, Fraser Drake.”
He opens one eye warily. “What’s that?”
I fish around for my purse, take out my phone, and pull up YouTube. It takes me only a second to find the video; I listed it as a favorite, after all. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” I hit play.
The second the music starts, Fraser bolts upright. If you’ve ever wondered what it would look like to electrocute a man right in the ass, this is probably a good approximation. He yanks the phone out of my hand, glaring at the screen like he can cause it to combust by telepathy alone.
“No. They…they put it online?” His brow furrows. “The monsters.”
“Hey now, I think the Cambridge Pops have great style. I had no idea you were a baritone.”
Right after we started seeing each other, I wanted to look up every last detail I could find on Mr. Fraser Drake. Where he worked, what articles were written about his philanthropy (answer: a whole lot), who his former lovers were (answer: a whole lot of nothing. Very secretive man in that way.) And then, oh, and then I happened to search him on the YouTube. And that was the day my life truly began.
As Fraser watches with the expression of a man walking death row who finds a clown with a chainsaw and a mallet at the end of the corridor, his twenty-year-old self serenades all of us with “Uptown Girl.” Yes, the perennial Billy Joel favorite. I couldn’t believe it either. And then I watched it while masturbating. Surprisingly effective, that.
Fraser swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the force. “I was…tricked into doing it. They had sign up sheets that I thought were for shirtless rugby. Or prize fighting. Yes, I remember the prize fighting. Right after the tiger punching.”
“Aw, you were smiling.” I nuzzle against him, watching the still gawky but undeniably cute Mini Fraser in his pinstripe blazer and straw hat. What do they call those things? Right, boaters. “Would you sing for me?”
He hits stop on the video and drops the phone like it has an infectious disease. “Just promise me you haven’t shown that to anyone else.”
He sounds and looks stoic, but I know that expression. He’s trying desperately not to wince. I kiss his cheek.
“Promise on a whole family fun size bag of Doritos. No one else ever has to know.”
He sighs in relief, runs a hand through his hair. “Well. In that case, I think a shower’s in order.”
He lays me down on the bed again, his hand trailing down my breasts, his mouth locked against mine in a searing, core-melting kiss. When we’re done, I gaze up at him.
“Shower sounds good. And Fraser?” I kiss him again. “If you’re ever in the doghouse with me, might I suggest “On the Street Where You Live?” It’s one of my favorite songs.”
16
Emma
I’m riding such an unbelievable cloud of bliss and hormones when I go to Justin’s for family dinner that I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do that’ll kill my endorphins.
Boy, am I ever wrong.
The second I enter with my customary bottle of Trader Joe’s wine, I know something’s off. There’s this weird smell in the air, and an even stranger noise. That’s when I realize: the smell is the lack of cooking, and the noise is the lack of…well, noise. With three kids in a house, quiet is one of the things you don’t get. But Sebastian’s not cooing and gurgling, Sage isn’t running around hopped up on sugar, and Sawyer’s not on the phone with her best friend. It’s dead silent, almost.
And Justin’s sitting on the couch staring at the coffee table with his head in his hands. Mom, Dad, and Lily, meanwhile, are all sort of awkwardly gathered around him. Lily’s patting his shoulder.
Oh shit. “Hi, can someone fill me in on what happened and how serious it is before I have a heart attack?” I slam the bottle on the coffee table and sit on the other side of Justin. He’s not crying; he just looks like someone gave him a shot of the good morphine, the type they keep for professional use after the patients have all passed out.
Mom clucks her tongue and fiddles with her pearls. “I always said that Charlotte was just bad news, sweetheart.”
My whole body freezes, like cryogenically frozen Walt Disney head levels of freeze. Did Charlotte leave him? Did she have an affair? Who is going to be my teammate in family Trivial Pursuit? What’s going to happen to the kids? And how awful is it that I thought of Trivial Pursuit before the children? Though can you blame me when Charlotte is the fount of all knowledge and focus, Emma.
“What happened?” I squeeze Justin’s shoulder, which finally seems
to get him out of his stupor.
“Charlotte just took the kids to her parents’ house for a few days. That’s all.” He says it in friendly robovoice, like there’s not something more, well, more going on here. Mom harrumphs and clacks those pearls with a frantic pace. Dad, meanwhile, is doing a crossword puzzle. Normally I let my dad go wander into the haze of his own imagination during tense family moments, but this time I’m getting annoyed.
“Dad. What do you think of this?” I ask. He blinks and looks up; he always pays a little more attention when I’m here.
“I think they’ll be back at the end of the weekend, like Justin said.” Turning his eyes back to the puzzle, he mutters, “Nice that someone finally asked me.” That leads to more throat clearing and pearl strangling from Mom. I swear, it’s like Chekhov’s Modern Family in this place. Next thing you know someone will start whining about going to Moscow, and someone else will talk about how sad it is to watch ducks at the park.
“Of course, I know what’s going on.” Mom sniffs, gearing up for some dramatic monologue. She likes those. “Ever since they shoved you out of the firm—”
“Mom. Please not today.” But Justin’s words have fallen on deaf Delia Brightman ears. Mom has very selective hearing. Pleas for mercy uttered from two feet away? Deaf as a stone. One of her daughters sneaking a Hostess cupcake in the middle of the night? She appears down the stairs in her bathrobe, cautioning them about getting past a size six and winding up alone with eight cats.
I never knew why the number was always eight. It was so exact. Also, those cupcakes were delicious.
“Justin, darling, you know what happens when a man can’t provide financially and sexually for the woman in his life.” She darts a glare at Dad, and I consider banging my head against the coffee table until I forget that sentence was uttered. “She leaves him for greener pastures. And despite the baby weight and her age, Charlotte’s not that bad looking.”
