by Lainey Davis
And then my wife leans back on her desk, hikes up her robe, gives me a full on Sharon-Stone-style leg cross, and I see that she wore absolutely nothing under that thing for her swearing in.
“Holy fuck, JJ.” I can barely form words. My dick immediately perks up. I feel like I’m drawn by magnets, stepping forward and sliding my hands up my wife’s long thighs. The silky material of her robe bunches up at her hips and I stand in between her legs, pressing into her heat.
The air in her chambers sizzles with both of our desire. “It’s been so long, Ty,” she moans, leaning back on her forearms. “I need you to fuck me before we go to that party.”
All those nights on the road that seemed so glorious before Juniper are just long and lonely now that I’d rather be back with her. Then when I am home, she’s been barfing or exhausted. We haven’t had sex in weeks.
Today, I want to lick and savor every inch of her. I sink to my knees and duck my head under the hem of her robe, planting kisses up and down each powerful thigh. She trembles beneath my touch, moaning my name and letting her head drop back.
Eventually, after I make her wait awhile, I make it to her pussy. I slide one finger inside her and lick her long and deep, planting the flat of my tongue where I know she needs it most. Juniper makes sputtering sounds on the desk, moving her keyboard out of the way with an elbow as she gets herself comfortable. “That’s it, babe,” I growl, keeping up a slow rhythm with my fingers. “Tell me what feels good.”
“Everything, Ty,” she breathes. “Please.” Her breath comes in puffs as I work her with my tongue, lashing away at her like she’s my last meal. And fuck. She might be my best meal, because she tastes amazing.
“I need you to come for me, JJ,” I say, worried that I might lose it in my pants if she keeps this up. The sight of her splayed open like this, just for me in her prim and proper work outfit, has me thinking dirty, filthy thoughts. I sneak a pinky finger further back as I thrust my hand in and out of Juniper, teasing at her tight little ass. This makes her groan and I feel her orgasm building around me until she erupts in my mouth. I lick up every drop of her pleasure and then kiss my way up her body. She’s firm and tight, the years of muscles and intense workouts carving out a body as ripped as my own. I love how we fit together. I slip the robe up and over her head and then she drops her arms around my neck, sucking and nipping at my shoulder while I worship her tits.
“Juniper,” I gasp. “These are fucking phenomenal.”
She hisses when I pull a nipple into my mouth. “It’s so sensitive, Ty,” she gasps. I catch a hint of displeasure in her voice and pull back. She seems to relax against me then, so I kiss her lips instead and let her unbuckle my suit pants. She gets the belt undone and the zipper barely down before she’s got her fist around my dick and yanks me toward her. “I need you,” she says. “Now. Hard.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I joke, but when I ram into her, there’s nothing funny about it. The front of my thighs bash against the wood corner of her massive desk and I know it’ll leave a bruise later, but I don’t give a shit. I can’t stop now. Not when my wife is demanding I go harder, deeper, as she grabs hold of my hips. She’s totally naked, spread out on her desk, while I pound into her so hard her tits shake with the effort. She doesn’t need to ask me, I know what she likes. But god, I love to hear it.
“I could do this forever, Juniper,” I say, meeting her eye. The dark pools of brown are almost gone, her pupils are so dilated with her lust. She puts her hands on my ass, settling into the hollow beneath my hips, and pulls me deeper.
“Now, Ty,” she insists. “Right now. Come with me!”
And I do. God, I come so hard I can barely see, melting into her, gasping and shaking as the milky jets finally slow down. “Fuck, Juniper,” I say, leaning my forehead against hers. “How the hell am I ever going to step in here again and not think about this.”
Juniper kisses me on the tip of my nose and leans back, reaching for a box of tissues. “I certainly hope you remember this every time you come to my chambers,” she says with a laugh. “The Honorable Juniper Jones insists upon it.”
I love hearing her giggle, seeing how excited she is for this new career move. She hands me a tissue and mops herself up a bit, still perched on the edge of the desk. I’m still standing motionless in between her legs, and she gently pushes me back. “You better close up your britches, Ty. We have to go meet a whole bunch of people for soup and salad.”
I shake my head and grin, wondering how I got so damn lucky. She gets dressed quickly and we walk to the restaurant hand in hand. The press has found out the Fury are here—some server probably tipped them off—and the restaurant is mobbed with photographers. The manager won’t let anyone upstairs, but the photogs snap shots of Juniper and me as we make our way inside. I’ve got the collar popped on my wool coat and a scarf wrapped around my neck, but there’s no hiding who I am, especially with my team leaning over the balcony upstairs and hollering my name, plus a bunch of insults about the lack of beer.
“Will the baby play hockey?” a reporter asks as Juniper unzips her coat to hand it to the hostess.
She grins and they take some pictures, but all I can think about is how I don’t want to leave her—them, really—tonight. I’m sick of the press and the fame. It’s not exciting anymore. It feels invasive. My celebration with my wife should feel private, not gossip fodder by the checkout line at the grocery store. We fly out to Seattle for a four-day series, and I won’t be here to get JJ ice cream if she wants it or spray that lavender stuff she likes when she can’t sleep. As much as I love these guys, the glory, the fame…chasing a puck around with a wooden stick seems to have lost its appeal.
16
TIM
With all the madness of the holiday season and everyone getting pregnant or elected, I haven’t had a chance to hang out with my brothers in awhile. My grandmother reminds me of this at breakfast when she tells me she’s not going to buy us running socks this year, since it seems like we don’t even go running together anymore.
“Gram, you’re being ridiculous,” I scold, but I frown trying to remember the last time we hit the reservoir together. It might have been before Halloween. I pull out my phone and text them both to see when Ty is next in town.
Gram rattles the newspaper at me and says, “Read the sports page before you ask those kinds of questions if you don’t already know the answer, Timber Stag.”
“You know that Donna is the one who keeps track of all those sorts of dates,” I tell her. “I’ve been stressed out trying to onboard Nicole.”
“Onboard. Pah.” She snorts. Alice left for work early today to set up the gingerbread structure contest for the team at Stag Law. She said it’s a structure contest since not everyone will want to build a house. She ordered matching aprons for everyone who signed up. I don’t think anyone will bill a single dollar’s worth of time today, but Alice insists it’s good for morale and Nicole backed her up. She told me it’s an investment today for productivity and loyalty later. This is why I need Nicole. I don’t know how to think about that shit.
My phone chirps in my hand and I see it’s Thatcher. Ty home today. Emma told me. I guess my wife watches hockey now??
Three dotted lines appear from Ty and I know he’s seen my message, too. A few seconds later he writes Can run as soon as I bang Judge Juney. Nobody told me how horny and demanding pregnant women get!!!!!!
I chuckle, remembering Alice in late pregnancy, how she was insatiable. I start wondering if Thatcher and Emma are there yet, and then I realize I don’t want to think about my brothers’ sex lives. I tap out a reply: Meet at reservoir in 20 min.
All of us show up within a few minutes of each other, stretching our quads against the stone railing at the top of the steps, looking down on the frozen park below. The air smells like snow, unusual for early December. But not unheard of. “You look like shit, Thatcher,” Ty says, leaning on him for balance as he tugs one ankle behind him.
�
��Well, things are pretty shitty at my house,” he spits back, giving Ty a shove. “Emma still won’t talk to me after the courthouse.” Thatcher nods a chin in my direction. “Buddy the Elf over here gave me mom’s engagement ring, but…”
“You have to create the mood,” Ty says, bending over and sticking his ass in Thatcher’s face as he stretches. I laugh at the two of them, puffing out my cheeks against the cold.
“Let’s go, guys,” I say, starting off at a slow pace. “Gram says she isn’t going to buy us the good running socks for Christmas if we don’t hang out together.” Everyone agrees that this is a bullshit threat. She’s been getting us matching socks every year since we can remember, starting when that was about all we could afford for Christmas. I float the idea of inviting our father to come run with us sometime, now that he seems to be doing better, healthwise. Thanksgiving was civil…cordial in fact. But ultimately we decide these runs are for the three of us. A ritual we began when we had nobody but ourselves, a way to communicate when the words would’t come. The catalyst to dealing with any shit we may have simmering.
And right now, that barely-contained disaster is Emma and Thatcher. More specifically, Thatcher. I can see that even if I have my work situation straightened out, my family still needs me…or someone…for guidance. Thatcher’s a damn mess.
“The way I see it,” I say, inching the pace faster. “You’re acting like I did when Alice first got pregnant.”
Ty starts jogging backward, showing off and facing us. “You know, Timbo, that sounds about right. Thatcher is freaking the fuck out and trying to be all controlling and shit.”
Thatcher shakes his head and stops in his tracks. “You are the ones trying to get me to woo her into some big ass plan,” he spits out. “She’s wanted this for ages, and I’ve been too stubborn to notice and now that I see what she wants, I just want to get us there as soon as possible. That’s all.”
Ty cocks an eyebrow at Thatcher. “You done spewing nonsense yet?” He starts jogging again. “Like Tim said at the courthouse, Emma needs a gesture.”
I nod my agreement.
“I sold my fucking truck. I bought an SUV!” Thatcher pulls off his beanie and shakes out his long hair. Tucking the hat in his back pocket of his sweats, he speeds up ahead. Despite the frigid air searing my lungs, I manage to keep up with him.
“You have to make yourself vulnerable,” I tell him. “And you should probably ask Nicole for advice at this point. God damn, that woman has good ideas,” I say. “And you should know by now that Emma needs time to adjust after you act like a cranky, bossy old man.” Thatcher grunts, but I know he knows I’m right. I think this will be fine. It’s almost Christmas. Everyone gets sappy and forgiving at Christmas—at least that’s what Alice tells me.
I notice Ty is lagging a bit and I shoot him a dirty look. “What the hell is your problem,” I say. “I don’t know if we have time for more than one Stag Brother to be in crisis at a time.”
Ty shakes his head. We run for awhile longer in silence until Thatcher complains that his toes are going to snap off in the cold. We all walk back down to my house, passing my father in law out in the yard on the way. “Lights are looking good, Bob,” I shout. “Love the lawn Santa.”
Bob snorts and flips the bird at the generator behind the giant inflatable. “Amy’s boys wanted this thing. Makes a damn racket.”
“You could always cut it and tell them a squirrel chewed the cord,” Ty offers, and we all laugh.
I drape an arm around his shoulder and tell him, “You’re going to be a great dad, Tyrion.”
Rather than crack a joke, he looks me straight in the eye. “That means a lot coming from you, Tim. Thank you.”
17
THATCHER
I’ll give her a gesture, I think. I rummage through my closet to try to find a necktie. I haven’t worn one since Ty’s wedding. Hell, I don’t even wear a tie when I have an art opening. Those shows are all about me anyway. Fuck anyone who tells me what to wear. But this morning isn’t about me. It’s about Emma and I need to make every effort to do this right.
I find the tie from Ty’s wedding. I frown, noticing that it doesn’t really match the pants I picked out and, soon enough, I find myself wearing the entire rig I put on for my brother’s ceremony. We all bought grey suits to match our eyes. I actually dig how I look in this vest and decide I’m going to start wearing these more often. The tie can go to hell, though.
I sigh and climb in my fancy family car, that I hope like hell will soon carry my family. Emma still hasn’t told her parents about the baby and through my entire drive to her father’s office, I remind myself of this fact. “Don’t mention the baby. Don’t mention the baby.” It becomes a mantra as I sit through tunnel traffic and again as I wait for security to run my ID.
I grin at the receptionist who calls up to the senator’s office to see if he will take an unannounced visit from his not-quite-son-in-law. The guy at reception is young and clean cut, looking much more comfortable in his suit than I do. He frowns, noticing the ink peeking out the edges of my cuffs, staring at my long hair. Fuck him. He finally hangs up the phone and sighs. “The senator says you should come on up, and grab yourself a complimentary coffee if you wish.”
“Did he tell you that or did he ask you to get the coffee for me,” I ask. The guy rolls his eyes at me. “I like it black,” I shout after him, making my way into Emma’s dad’s office.
“Stag,” he says, rising and walking around the desk to shake my hand. We have a civil relationship, if not friendly. He leans back on the desk and crosses his arms. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until Christmas Day.”
“Nice to see you, too, Ed,” I say, sitting down. And then I sigh. I didn’t come here to be snarky with him. “I’ll cut right to the chase.”
“I’m listening,” he says, arms folded, still leaning on the desk, now towering over me. This fucking sucks.
“I’d like to marry your daughter, sir.” I sigh.
He looks at me confused, and says, “I was under the impression you were already planning to do that.”
I chew on the inside of my lip and lean back in my chair. “It’s true. But I didn’t speak to you about it, and I don’t like that,” I tell him. He opens his mouth to talk and I hold up my hand. “I don’t think I need your permission. That’s not why I’m here. Emma’s a strong willed woman and she’ll do whatever the hell she feels like regardless.”
He smiles at that. “She sure will, won’t she.” He walks around to his side of the desk and sits. “Well. So. You’ve been taking your time about marrying her, I’d say.”
I nod. I exhale through my nose and lean forward. “I’m worried I missed my window.”
He rubs a hand over his chin and frowns deeper. “I’ll admit that I don’t talk to her much about these sorts of things,” he says. “But I’ve seen how she looks at you, Stag. And I’ve seen how you look at her. I don’t think that look is going anywhere.”
I tap my fingers on the edge of his desk before responding. “Things have been…complicated with us lately. My brothers are all—you know my sister-in-law is a judge now.” He nods. “They’re having a baby. My other brother hired a new strategy director or something.”
“Well,” Ed says, pointing toward the lobby, where one of my larger installations is displayed. “I think you’re doing alright for yourself, too, Stag. You know I don’t really know anything about art, per se, but your name shows up all over this damn city.” He laughs. “I’ve promised your work more than once as an incentive. Your work is a hot commodity, it would seem.”
This is probably the closest Emma’s father will come to telling me he approves of me, so I decide to run with it. “I need Emma to know I’m serious about us. About her. About family. All of it. I thought maybe if I came to you, she’d see that.”
The admin comes in with my coffee and plunks it on the desk so it sloshes a bit. “Jared,” Ed barks. “The next time my son-in-law shows up, you get him his
coffee faster. And you knock before you come in this office, young man.” The kid turns red and shuffles out. I want to feel bad for him, but I’m clinging now to the hope that Emma’s family can help me win back her heart.
“So tell me what’s really going on,” Ed says. “Emma’s been thriving since she’s been with you, much as it pains me to admit. She’s healthy. She’s working hard. I know she won that prize. And I also know something else is up, because she hasn’t come to see her mother in a month.”
I sip my coffee and think about how to proceed. I decide to tell him about the seizure, that it rattled her, and how I tried to drag her to the courthouse. This makes him straight up laugh out loud. “But, Ed, what do I do now? What comes next?”
He keeps on laughing and leans back in his chair. “Her mother proposed to me, you know. Not even a proposal, really. She told me it’d been long enough and we should get married already.” Ed looks out the window. “I’m afraid I can’t be much help to you figuring out how to untangle this mess, Stag.” He meets my eye then and says, “But I will say I’m rooting for you to figure it out.”
18
TY
“Damn, babe, did you see that? Did you see my game?” I greet Juniper with a kiss in the hall outside the players’ lounge after my shower and media interviews. I was on fire this afternoon in our game against Toronto. “I slammed that Canuk into the boards. He barely knew what hit him.”
“Yes, husband,” she soothes, playfully. “You’re strong as an ox. I’m going to need you to take your pregnant wife out for some food now, though.”
We head over to Tim’s place for Sunday dinner, only a few hours late. “I hope Alice saved us something,” I mutter as we walk to the car. Used to be, my whole family would come to watch my games in person. That was back when Tim and Alice were secretly screwing in the executive lounge and Thatcher was sleeping around with…well he wasn’t too particular now that I think about it.
