Kittens underfoot.
Watching TV you don’t give a shit about just to make someone you love happy.
Looking forward to what that someone you love was going to wear that day because you know it’ll turn you on.
Knowing if you showed at her office, no matter who she was talking to on the phone, she’d get off it so she could get her arms around you and you could put your mouth on hers.
Working for a smile.
Then earning it.
No, he didn’t fucking know.
Not at all.
“Would want more for you, Deb,” he said gently, and had to stop his chin jerking back when he watched her face get soft.
“Some people aren’t built like others, High. It’s sweet that you’d want that for me. You’re a good man. I think that’s why we worked for as long as we did. But I’m just not built like that.” She held his eyes and her lips curved up slightly again. “Though, I’m glad, since you are, you finally got what you needed.”
“You’re a good woman, too, Deb,” he told her because she was.
And she was right.
That was why they’d worked for as long as they did.
And that was why they’d had to end it before they stopped working.
“I’d like to meet Millie one day,” she replied.
“We’ll get on that as soon as Zadie gets her shit together.”
She nodded. “That’d be good.”
“It would,” he agreed, turning to his truck. “Now be safe gettin’ home.”
“Always am.”
Without another word to her, High got in his truck, started her up, but idled until Deb was in, buckled up, and on her way.
Then he pulled out of his spot and followed her to the exit of the parking lot.
She turned left.
High turned right.
* * *
“Low,” she whispered, riding him hard.
He had her on her knees, torso up. He was behind her, his dick was buried inside her, his hand curved around her tit, finger and thumb pinching and pulling, and he had her toy to her clit.
She was gone.
Part of this was because she’d tortured him through a fat shrimp appetizer, a big steak dinner, and a fucking dessert, all of this wearing a clingy sweater dress that had the added temptation of having a wide collar that fell off one, the other, or both her shoulders.
So when he got her home, he’d wasted no time getting her hot, then making her hotter as he turned her over his thighs at the side of her bed, yanked up her skirt, and dove in.
He toyed with her watching her ass move, feeling her squirm, listening to her whimper then beg, and doing this with her laid out for him, another pair of thigh-highs and her brown high-heeled boots a bonus to the goodness.
Only when she’d begged had he torn off her clothes, bumping up against her repeatedly as she tore off his. He grabbed her toy and positioned her to get the rest.
And there they were and if she didn’t get there, things would get messy.
Lips to her neck watching her tits bounce as she drove herself down on his dick, he murmured, “Get yourself there, baby.”
“Low,” she whimpered, her hands moving high and low to wrap around his wrists tight.
“Take it and get yourself there,” he growled, needing her to do that in about two seconds or he’d be spent and need to use just her toy to take her there.
She bucked harder, moaning, “Oh my God.”
Fuck.
She was killing him.
“Millie—”
“Oh my God,” she breathed, letting go of his wrist at her tit and reaching back to clamp her hand in his hair as she drove down hard and started grinding.
Finally, she was coming.
Thank Christ.
He cupped her tit, tossed the toy, wrapped his arm around her belly, and held her steady to power up into her until he found it, grunting his orgasm into her neck.
He felt her breath even as his own grew steady.
Then he growled, “New rule. No fuckin’ toy when I’m away from you.”
She released his hair. “What?”
He pulled his face out of her neck and looked at her profile. “You made yourself come. Meant you could take more and take it longer. Thought my dick was gonna explode waitin’ for you to come.”
She twisted to look at him.
“Is that a problem?” she asked.
“You finish before me, Millie,” he answered with information she fucking well knew.
She grinned. “It isn’t a cardinal rule.”
He raised his brows. “It’s not?”
She looked to his brows, then back to his eyes, hers were dancing. “It’s not my fault you’re so hot, generally, but also being that in bed so I have to take care of business at the very thought of you if you’re away.”
“Abstain.”
She giggled.
He did not.
She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek, whispering playfully, “You can handle it.”
She gasped as he pulled her off his cock, turned her, put her in bed on her back, and followed her down, giving her a good amount of his weight.
“How playful you feelin’, beautiful?” he asked quietly.
“I may,” she kept whispering, “need a nap before I get more playful.”
He slid a hand down her side, in, and used his fingertips to stroke the skin of where her panty line at her front would be if she was wearing panties.
“Sure about that?”
Her whisper was breathy when she replied, “I might be coaxed into continuing to be playful.”
He hid his grin by kissing her.
After he finished kissing her, he started doing other things to her.
He didn’t stop even when, after he’d just started, she turned her head and said in his ear, “So glad you’re home, Snooks.”
That earned her another kiss.
As well as other things.
Which meant he was glad he was home too.
But he’d already felt that earlier when he walked in her back door and Chief had come sailing across the floor and hit his boot.
And then she’d walked out in her phenomenal dress.
But mostly it was after she did that.
Which was when she’d smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Anything We Could
Millie
THE DOORBELL RANG and I opened my eyes.
“Fuck,” Logan said from behind me right before he rolled away and I felt him continue to roll as he rolled out of bed.
I twisted his way and peered at him through the predawn dark.
“Someone’s at the door,” I informed him of something he obviously knew, considering he was at the side of the bed pulling on his boxer briefs.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
I looked to the (new) alarm clock, then back to him. “At six in the morning.”
Due to Logan’s extreme dislike of alarm clocks, and his contribution to my morning (and household) routine, I’d adjusted the alarm so it didn’t wake us up before six but at six thirty.
With Logan making coffee, bringing me coffee, bringing me cereal or toasted, schmeared bagels, feeding and watering the cats and going out to jack up the thermostat in my studio and making coffee there, I had more time in the morning.
Not to mention doing other things that just gave me more time in my day. Like taking out the trash, getting in the groceries (he had no aversion to the grocery store and my groaning fridge and cupboards laid testimony to this fact), loading and emptying the dishwasher, nabbing my mail (both personal and office), and dropping it at a post box (even going to the post office if something needed special treatment).
It was now the Thursday after Logan’s weekend with his girls. He and I were getting into a rhythm. And this was part of our rhythm.
A happy part.
But there was more.
Like Logan noticing the light switch that turned on the lights
to the kitchen by the living room didn’t quite catch unless you had the patience to flip it half a dozen times. So he’d gone to his RV, collected his box of tools, brought it back, opened the plate, and fixed the switch (then left his tools in my laundry room).
Like Logan noticing the spray function on my kitchen faucet didn’t work right. So he’d fiddled with it for a while, couldn’t fix it, then went out and bought a new faucet (that was not the same as the old one but it was even more awesome).
When he got back with the faucet, he didn’t screw around. Right then, he installed it.
These were things I’d lived with. Things I’d repeatedly told myself I was going to mention to Alan and ask him to fix or find a handyman to fix them. Things I always forgot to bother with then kicked myself when they came to my attention and annoyed me because I hadn’t bothered with them.
Things Logan noted weren’t working and he immediately fixed them.
In ways that I hadn’t noticed, life was kind of a bummer, having to do these things myself, I didn’t miss how the additional ways having Logan back made life not a bummer.
And it was strange, since back when we were together he didn’t do any of this stuff. He might take out the trash (if I asked). He might help me unload the dishwasher or do the dishes (if I asked). But mostly, I took care of him.
He took care of me, but not in those ways.
Now he was taking care of me in those ways.
There was something about this that made weird mix in with the wonderful because I knew that he was probably like this because when we used to be together, we were young and neither of us knew any better. We’d found our way, a way that worked, but maybe, looking back, it wasn’t the right way.
He’d learned to be that way through Deb and having a family.
You grew up, you grew smart, you had a partner, you made babies, you pitched in.
I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d had him all that time, since we couldn’t have a family of our own, if he’d have learned all this or if he’d have just gone on letting me take care of him (which might end up being a pain in the ass).
In other words, I wondered if I had Deb (and the girls) to thank.
In the end, what I came up with was the fact that life as a whole mixed weird with wonderful because I’d never know the answers to my questions. I just knew I had that new part of Logan now, no matter how he learned it, no matter that I likely did have Deb (and the girls) to thank. It just was.
And it was mine.
“Demolition crew.”
When Logan spoke, I jerked out of my thoughts and looked to him to see he had his jeans up and was bent to nab his thermal off the floor.
“Demolition crew?” I asked.
He was pulling on his shirt while walking swiftly around the bed. “Take down your garage.”
Oh.
Right.
He’d mentioned that but I’d forgotten it was today.
I’d forgotten because the girls were coming that night for dinner. I was making beef Stroganoff. And I was again a little nervous.
Just in time, I turned my head so when Logan bent in to give me a peck, I got it on my lips before the doorbell rang again and he was off to go answer it.
I reached out, turned on a light, and swung my legs off the side of the bed.
I was brushing, wondering how my neighbors were going to feel about a demolition crew starting work at six in the morning, when Logan walked into the bathroom.
“Coffee started. Cats fed. They’re movin’ their shit out back. Goin’ back there to make sure they know what they’re doin’,” he informed me.
I nodded.
He looked me top to toe to eyes, taking in my jammies, my bedhead, and the sonic toothbrush in my mouth.
“Only bitch on the planet who can brush her teeth and make me wanna fuck her while she’s doin’ it,” he remarked.
I narrowed my eyes, pulled my toothbrush out of my mouth—the movement of the head splattering spit, paste, and foam everywhere—and snapped a frothy, “Don’t call me a bitch.”
He grinned like I was highly amusing and disappeared.
I shoved my brush back into my mouth, looked back into the mirror, stopped scowling, and kept brushing but did it grinning.
* * *
The door to my studio opened and the alarm didn’t sound.
It didn’t sound because Logan was on the premises, making sure the demolition crew did what he was paying them to do but also keeping his eye on me.
So the only sound I got when Logan opened the door and stuck his head in was, “Babe.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Got a second?”
I didn’t. I had to leave in fifteen minutes to meet a corporate client, a law firm that did three to four parties a year, all with me, and they were gearing up for their annual holiday party.
“Sure,” I said, rolling my chair back and getting up.
As I walked his way, Logan treated me to another appreciative top to toe glance, cementing what was already firm in my mind.
He didn’t need halter tops and cutoff shorts.
He just needed me.
I was already feeling warm and happy inside when I got close and he reached out, took my hand, and pulled me out into the chill, something that incongruously made me feel warmer.
“You gonna be okay without a jacket?” he asked as he shut the door.
No way I could get a chill hand in hand with Logan.
And anyway, I had on a sweater. I’d be okay.
I nodded.
Logan kept hold of my hand as he walked me through my courtyard to the gate to the backyard.
The minute we were through the gate and moving across the bricked patio toward the steps that led us down the terraced backyard to the lower bricked patio, I saw over the fence at the end of the yard that the garage was gone.
As I saw it, I also marveled at the change it made.
It had been an eyesore. I’d always planned to knock it down and put a decent garage there so I didn’t have to scrape my windshield in the winter.
Currently I parked in the courtyard even though, beside the garage, I had a parking space in the back and parking in the courtyard messed with the vision of the courtyard, one that included (eventually) getting a fountain. But parking way out back just never seemed safe, walking through my dark backyard to get to my house. Not to mention, lugging groceries would be a pain.
Nevertheless, scraping windshields in the Colorado cold was more of a pain, so I’d wanted a garage. It was the last big project and I hadn’t done it because any project I did I did paying cash and I hadn’t saved enough to put in the garage.
Seeing the dilapidated old garage gone, I realized I should have used what I’d already saved just to demolish it. The absence of the garage made the entire yard look better.
Logan led me out the back gate to the large, cleared, and tidied space at the edge of my property and I couldn’t help but to smile.
They’d showed at six. They’d set up. They’d demolished. They’d carted off the remains. And it wasn’t even eleven o’clock.
“They’re fast,” I noted, looking up at Logan, who was still holding my hand warm in his.
“Yeah,” he murmured, glancing around. His gaze came to me. “Now, Millie, you’re cool with it, gonna grade this, gravel it, then build a fence around the perimeter.”
He lifted the hand not holding mine to indicate the entire area. An area that to one side my neighbors had a relatively new fence leading to the very edge of their property line, and on the other side, my neighbors had a shabby fence also leading to their property line.
“Big doors to the alley,” Logan continued. He turned us to the back fence to my property. “Build a new fence there, coupla feet higher. Swing my RV in here. Fence higher at the back, won’t see the RV from the yard. Fence around the RV, keeps it safer. Motion sensor lights out here, makes it even safer. Put smaller gates in at the side.” He pointed. “Easy access to the a
lley and the Dumpsters.”
Although he clearly had it all thought out, and his vision was a good vision, one could say I didn’t like this.
Logan’s RV was huge. It’d take up the entire space.
Which meant I wouldn’t get my garage, and more importantly, I wouldn’t eventually be able to avoid scraping my windshields.
“You’re not down with that?” he asked.
I looked up to him. “No. It’s cool.”
His hand gave mine a squeeze. “You’re not down with that,” he stated.
I smiled at him. “No, really, I’m cool.”
“Babe,” he said.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
“You’re not down with that,” he repeated.
I shook my head and replied, “It’s not that. It’s just that I wanted to put a garage out here, a new one. A nice one. One with an opener and one that would mean ice scraping would be history. But you need a safe place for your RV. I’m used to parking in the courtyard. And a new garage would mean putting in motion sensor lights everywhere so I didn’t kill myself in the dark getting up to the house. That’s a big project and a lot of money. So,” I shrugged, “whatever. I like your vision. It’s all good.”
He studied me a second, then tugged on my hand, leading me back through the gate but stopping us on the lower patio.
He looked around. He did it holding my hand but he did it for a long time.
I didn’t know what was on his mind. I wanted to know what was on his mind but I also had a meeting.
So I needed to step this up.
“Low,” I called his attention to me.
When I got it, he declared, “We got a problem.”
I was confused.
“What? How?”
He turned us to the back fence. “’Cause if we move that fence in to give you room for your garage and me room to pull in the RV nose-first at the side, you lose at least half this patio, probably more.” He pointed to the brick beneath our feet. Then he turned us to the house. “And we gotta look at building on two rooms. We do that, not only gonna eat up some of your courtyard, also gonna eat up some of that top patio.”
This also didn’t fill me with glee.
To give his daughters their own rooms and the house a dining room meant I’d lose even more of the vision I had for my house that I’d nurtured and fed for eleven years.
Walk Through Fire Page 43
