by L. B. Dunbar
He nods. “It gets kind of quiet. It’s one reason I hang out at the pub so much. I like the noise. But I also like having a place where nobody knows my business. This is my space for when I need to wind down.”
Again, I wonder how many women have wound him up here. With the porch off the bedroom, it’s like a mini getaway attached to the rest of the home. It’s romantic.
“I know we said no talk of Sadie, but I’d like to start bringing her here. She can have one of the bedrooms upstairs, and the loft gives her extra space to have friends over. Honestly, I might need to get used to her in my space.” He pauses, twisting his lips. “I’m not good at sharing.”
“Might make it difficult to bring people home.” I chuckle, dismissing the edge to my voice. Sadie here. Other women here. He’s thinking of the future with her and without me.
Billy sets his mug on the wood planks of the deck and rocks forward in the chair he’s been sitting in. His elbows come to his thighs. He’s removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. More arm porn for me, but his tone turns serious.
“I don’t bring people here. My family. Clyde. Guy friends. Not women.” His glare is pointed as he looks at me. He stands abruptly and enters his room, leaving the porch door open for me to follow.
I set down my mug, follow him, and close the door behind me. The cool air leaves a chill in the room but so does his distance, standing to face a fireplace at the end of his bed. His back remains to me.
“You can’t let it go, can you?” he whispers. “My reputation.”
Stepping forward, tugging the quilt tighter around my shoulders, I pause near his back.
“I just want to understand. Not the rumors, but the why. Why so many women? Why an affair?”
“It was her, not me,” he says, his voice quiet and low. “Rachel. She had the affair, not me.”
My breath hitches, and I stare at his broad shoulders, the weight he’s carried allowing people to think it was him.
“Then why—”
The question cuts off as he spins to face me. “People believe what they want to believe, and it was just easier to let them. It was easier than admitting my wife had an affair on me…with another woman.”
My breath catches again, eyes widening in surprise.
“That’s right. Rachel Hollycock didn’t like cock, especially her own husband’s.”
“Billy,” I whisper. It can’t be true. They were high school sweethearts. They were the golden couple. People aspired to be them. Treated them like they were royalty.
“She experimented in college. I thought it was a phase. She thought it was a phase. Things were different twenty-five years ago.”
We’ve entered a new millennium. Being homosexual isn’t a stigma, but even as young as twenty-five years in the past, it had been.
“Rachel met her on an airplane on a trip to Florida. When she arrived, she called me to say she was never coming back. Found herself and her true love.” His head remains lower, his hands slipped into his pockets. “When we divorced, she paid me a settlement. The chick she fell in love with was loaded, and Rachel wanted it to remain a secret. I signed a fucking NDA to keep quiet.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “She’d been my best friend. I’d lost my virginity to her. I was willing to accept anything about her. I didn’t want to take the money, but the other woman insisted.” He exhales, looking to the side.
“So you lied to save face for her.”
His head shoots back to me. “I lied to save myself. God forgive me, but I was embarrassed. Not that she’s gay, I didn’t care about that, but I was upset I didn’t know. I thought she was just holding out on me when we were younger, and then thought she didn’t like sex or maybe just didn’t like sex with me when we were married. Honestly, all of it was true. She wasn’t being true to herself and couldn’t enjoy what we did.” He exhales, turning his head away from me one more time. “It’s silly, but at first, I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed I wasn’t enough. And whether it was a man or a woman, I was humiliated she cheated on me. I felt betrayed because I loved her despite everything, and she left me. She ran away to be with her.”
The pressure of their image landed on his shoulders, and it’s clear to me he didn’t know how to handle the reality of their situation. It’s also becoming clear that Billy Harrington loves hard, so when he lost her, he took it equally as hard and didn’t know how to recover. He covered for her, taking on this reputation to disguise his hurt. His devotion to Sadie makes sense to me. When he loves, he loves. But when he hurts, he aches. I don’t want him to ache.
“People thought what they wanted, and I didn’t deny it. It wasn’t anyone’s damn business. Hell, sleeping around perpetuated the gossip.” He swipes another hand through his hair and stares at me. “I know…I slept around,” he emphasizes like a confession. “I wanted to prove to myself I was a man. Okay? A worthy man. If not to my wife, who couldn’t help herself, then at least to someone else. The whole thing messed with my head.”
I sympathize. I can see he cared for Rachel, and he wanted to be open to her situation, her reality, but there were ramifications for him.
“Billy, there isn’t a woman in this town who doubts your masculinity.” He’s a vision of virility, broad in stature with the dark beard and graying hair. His flirty personality and overall aura of sexuality screams he’s all male. But he’s more than the sexual persona. He’s a man with deep feelings, ones he’s guarded to admit so he isn’t hurt again.
“I doubted myself. She was the only woman I’d been with. I didn’t have any other gauge until I…” He drifts off. Until he slept with others. A growing need to prove himself.
“I already told you the last time was May and before that was probably close to February.” He sighs, the weight of his admission still wrapped around him. Swiping one more hand through his hair, he pauses with his hand cupped around the back of his neck, defeated. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone about this. No one in my family knows the truth, except for Mati, and that was just recently.”
“About not sleeping with anyone since May?” I question, and he finally looks at me, seeing I’m teasing in hopes to break some of the tension.
“About Rachel,” he mutters.
“I won’t tell a soul, Billy.”
We stare at one another for a long minute, the room finally restored to some heat. I release the quilt I’ve been holding with clenched hands at my chest and set it on his bed.
“Is it weird that it feels good to finally tell someone?” he asks, and I look up at him as I shake my head.
“That’s a lot of pressure to carry.”
He scrubs his knuckles up under his chin and his eyes shift. “Yeah, well, that certainly put a damper on the evening, though. I don’t know where all that came from.”
I do. I’d pushed him to the edge, and when I consider it, I’m surprised he told me, but his honesty makes me feel special—important to him—like I can fully trust him. We’re going to work things out with Sadie. Maybe we’ll even work out as well.
“I guess I should take you home.” He interjects, his eyes still avoiding mine.
Is that what he really wants? Because he looks a little lost and a lot alone. All that proving to himself can wear a man down. Who builds him up?
I want to build him up. I want to be that support for him.
“You’re turning into a great father,” I say, stepping toward him. His eyes widen when he finally looks at me. “You’ve stepped up from the start.” His brows crease, the skin puckering between them.
“And I think you’re an incredible businessman.” His forehead furrows. “You’ve done so much for the community, and I know you donate a portion of your profits each month to the school.” His eyes widen. Yeah, I heard it through the grapevine of gossip how Billy Harrington gives money to the special education department.
“I don’t want some kid with dyslexia to feel like a failure,” he whispers to justify his cause. I smile but ignore the comment.
“And
I don’t think you should have any concerns about proving your manhood.” I’m in his space, and his nostrils flare. “You have beautiful eyes. Strong hands. An incredible body.” I lower my hand to grab one of his, pressing our palms together. “Irresistible lips.” His eyes slowly lower to mine, blushing at my compliment. “Rachel had to be who she was, but she didn’t need to break you.”
He nods once, rolling his lips inward. My hand lifts his hand, placing it just above my left breast. My heart races. This man has been a dysfunctional and frustrating crush of mine since the moment I met him, and the moment of truth lays before me.
“Any woman would be proud to be with you, Billy Harrington.” And then I admit all that I shouldn’t. “I would be.”
31
Sex with socks on
[Billy]
I would be.
Does she mean it? Would she be proud to be with me, really be…with me? Or is she just trying to ease my ego? I went a little serious on her this evening. I don’t know where the confession came from other than her accusing me of bringing women here. I haven’t done that. This is my haven because I knew I’d need one. I need a place to detox from the parties and women and the upkeep of the façade. I was a player, proving to myself I could play and proving to the community what they already thought—it must have been him.
It was always Billy’s fault.
Roxanne stands before me, too close, too potent, and once again, that need to prove myself rears. I cup her face and then slip both hands behind her neck, lacing my fingers together. I don’t draw her against me but just hold onto her, like a man clutching at a buoy before he’s about to drown.
Her hands coast up my chest and fingers curl into the collar of my shirt, giving it a tug. I lower as she tips up, and she kisses me. Soft. Sweet. Sexy. Her mouth is a guilty pleasure, and I open, allowing her to give me more.
Hold onto me, the kiss screams because I want her. All of her, like I haven’t wanted anyone, not even Rachel. Over time, I accepted Rachel never fully gave herself to me. Not in the way I thought lovers should. However, Roxanne is before me, warm and willing, and my hands unclasp, brushing down her body to pull her closer to me. She shivers against me.
“Cold?” I mutter against her lips, knowing it’s quite possibly not the air temperature making her tremble.
“A little.” She laughs. She’s right. With the door open for a few minutes plus the time spent outside, she’s chilled.
“I’d like to warm you,” I tease.
“I’d like you to warm me.”
I pull back to look down at her and see those gray eyes sparkling like polished silver.
“Would this be a first?”
I’ve already admitted I haven’t brought anyone to my home. I’m on the verge of telling her I saved her for last. She’s who I’ve wanted for a while and just didn’t see it behind the bickering. She’ll be the first and last woman to enter this bed because she’s it for me.
Instead, I ignore the question, and say, “If you’re chilly, let’s get you under the covers.” Her eyes question the shift to my voice, but she nods. I spin her so I can unzip her dress. The material hugs her breasts while flaring out at the hips, accentuating her curves. She looks gorgeous, but I don’t think I’ve complimented her yet in it.
“You look beautiful in this dress, but I’d love to see you out of it,” I whisper as I tug down the zipper and suck at her neck. Her head tips as I nip a particular spot, and she purrs. Then I bite the juncture, and her knees give. An arm at her waist catches her, and while I don’t want to rush, I do want her clothing off. I press at the edges of the dress, exposing her back and slipping it over her shoulders. She lets it slide to the floor and then turns to face me. Long legs in knee-high boots. Black lacy underwear and matching bra.
“You’re fucking stunning.” My finger traces the hardly contained swell above her bra. A breast reduction, she told me. She’s still voluptuous and a vision of naughty with her wild silver hair, so much skin on display, plus those boots. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d ask her to leave them on. Instead, I guide her to sit on the edge of the bed and unzip them, taking my time to remove the leather. Inside, are bright yellow socks with rubber ducks on them.
“What the hell?” I laugh, and she covers her face with both hands.
“I knew my feet would be cold.”
I continue to laugh, the spell of my seduction slightly broken as I remove the other boot but allow the socks to remain.
“You’re going to have sex with me with my socks on?” she chides.
“Who said anything about sex?” I tease, tugging my shirt from my pants and then pulling both undershirt and dress shirt over my head. Her breath catches at the sight of me. I work hard at my abs, but I don’t shave my chest. Wild curls dance over my skin there, and her hands lift instantly for them. Her fingertips scratch through the coarse hair like they do on my chin.
Damn, that feels good.
Her hands drag lower, and she helps herself to my belt and then unzips my pants. Before I know it, Roxanne has taken control, and I’m in her mouth, wet and eager, as she sucks at me with unleashed enthusiasm. Her cheeks hollow, and the suction increases, tugging and stroking the length of me with her tongue.
“Roxie,” I breathe. I’m losing control, but I need to regain it. I need to keep proving myself. I press at her shoulders, pushing her back to release me. “Roxie, darlin’.”
The endearment stills her, and she unlatches after a final long drag down my dick.
Damn.
“Get under the covers,” I tell her as I bend to step out of my boxers and pants, kicking off my shoes as I do.
“These sheets are toasty,” she mutters, pulling them up to her neck. She looks innocent and goofy in my bed, like a little kid trying to warm up before sleep. Somehow, she also looks right in the light gray flannel and thick charcoal duvet under her chin. I slip under the sheets myself and pull her to me.
“Roxie,” I whisper, still feeling a little unraveled at how things are progressing.
“William,” she teases. There hasn’t been the mad rush to disrobe or the hasty groping of my typical sexcapades. No dash for the mattress or a quick jump to the finish line. My hands take their time outlining her body as she heats under the sheets. My hands coast her arms. Fingers trickle along her collarbone. I curl around her neck. The rightness of her in my bed is overwhelming.
Her hands lower for me once again, and though I appreciate her eagerness, I want to take my time with her. Strangely, I feel like this might be the only night I get. I grip her wrists, halting her fingers from curling around my dick.
“Let me explore a little first. I want to read you.”
She stares at me.
“You don’t touch a book, William. You read it. You enjoy.” I imitate her voice and her words to me from weeks ago, and her brows lift. “You’re a book I want to touch and read and enjoy over and over again.”
She huffs at the reminder. She said I’d never read her. I’d never discover the fine lines of her face. I’d never uncover her breasts or her backside as I do removing her bra and then her lacy underwear. I’d never devour the unwritten words in her sighs or purrs, the ones she gives me as my hands roam over all her skin. And then my lips follow, kissing, sucking, and nipping. Her neck. Her shoulder. Her inner wrist. I nibble her fingers and her nipples and then the middle of her belly. I lower, the covers a tent over us, and I read between the folds of her.
“Billy,” she groans as my fingers draw around her before my tongue dips into her. Her hips respond with a slow thrust before dropping back to the mattress. I hold her in place, but she undulates minutely beneath my palm on her hip bone, making love to my tongue as it delves into her.
She bends her knees, opening, spreading, and allowing me in. Her body slowly dances against my face, and the soft stroke of a sock-covered foot swipes up my lower back. I’d laugh at the strangeness, only it feels too right. With the bed tent keeping us under darkn
ess and warmth, I’d have sex with this woman every night, socks on and all.
She doesn’t come quickly like when I simply touch her but allows me to draw it out of her, letting it roll in a slow wave. Her head turns to the side. Her fingers delve into my hair. Her mouth opens on a deep sigh. She is so beautiful when she opens for me like this and comes.
Once she settles from the high, she purrs, “My turn.”
“You already had a turn,” I tease, climbing back up her body, licking a path as I proceed north on her. I circle a nipple again and then suck at her neck.
“It wasn’t enough,” she whispers, and my chest aches. The clutching of roots, digging deeper and deeper, gripping me.
It’s never going to be enough.
Holding myself in my fist, I stroke my tip through her soaked folds. She’s so wet from the combination of her and my mouth, and I want to slip in, thrust forward, and rush to fill her, but I won’t. I spilled on her belly that first night when I should have taken more care with her. Roxie is different. She’s so much more to me.
“Condom?” I question, not withdrawing from the slow drag through her heat, but letting her coat me completely. Damn, she feels so good like this, but it isn’t smart, not responsible. I know we did it the first time without one, but I don’t want any doubts. No concerns over my history. “I’ve laid it all out for you.”
“I know you did,” she replies, taking a deep breath. “And I have an IUD.” Her fingers stroke over my temples. “You have nothing to prove to me. I already know you’re a good man.”
Shit. This makes me want to be a better man. She smiles weakly, and I want to assure her. She’s the only one I want. Her fingers reach around me, tugging up sheets and blankets, restoring the fortress of warmth around us.
“You’re sure about this?” I ask. I’m not even certain what I’m asking. About us? Here? Now? The future? I don’t want any doubts. I also don’t want to turn back, feeling as if we’ve already gone too far, but something in her eyes makes me hesitate.
“I’m not certain of anything,” she admits. “But I want you.”
