by Nina Lane
I go upstairs to my wife. Liv is asleep by the window, her head resting on one of the wings of the chair. I slide one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. She shifts, but doesn’t wake as I move her to the bed and pull a blanket over her.
I look at her for a minute—the pretty curve of her mouth, her eyelashes feathery against her cheeks, the strands of hair escaping her ponytail.
Before her, I had never known a woman who could make the noise of the world and everyone in it disappear. I’d never wanted to prove myself to anyone the way I did to her.
I liked her too much. Liked the way I didn’t feel cold inside when I was with her. The way I didn’t think about anything except her. I liked that she was a mystery, a maze with numerous winding pathways and secret corners.
And she was such a relief. Though we met in the fall, she was like spring to me, especially after the darkness of the previous year. Everything about her made me feel good.
“It’s beautiful.” One Friday afternoon a couple of months into our relationship, Liv leafed through the pages of the glossy hardcover book I’d written on medieval architecture. A box of the newly published books had arrived at my apartment that morning.
“How long did it take you to write it?” she asked.
“Two years. One year of research, then I did most of the writing when I was dealing with my grandfather before he died.”
I couldn’t bring myself to say taking care of my grandfather since I hadn’t wanted to be around him. The most I could do was deal with him.
Liv looked at me, cautious. “How did he die?”
“Lung cancer.”
What could I tell her? How Victor West was never a pleasant person and became miserable when he got sick? He hated being in the hospital, hated the treatments. He was demanding, mean. I lost track of the number of times the nurses called me to tell me he’d become belligerent and they needed my help.
“And you took care of him?” Liv asked.
I didn’t want her to think I’d been a martyr. I’d hated it almost as much as Victor had—the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the oxygen tanks, the sounds of the machines, the rasp of his voice.
“He was eighty-three,” I told Liv. “Had a contentious relationship with my parents. They’d stopped talking years ago. I was the only one he’d talk to.”
“Is that why you ended up taking care of him?” Liv asked.
“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. Tried to smother the shame and bitterness. “Because no one else would.”
“Where he did live?”
“Orange County. I went to stay at his house after he was diagnosed.”
“How long were you there?”
“Almost a year,” I said. “Worked on my book at night. Got him to his doctor’s appointments during the day and helped with stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Just cooking, cleaning. He had plenty of money to hire nurses to come to the house, but he didn’t like them much.”
“So he relied on you,” Liv guessed.
I nodded. For a year, my world had distilled to the two vocabularies of medieval architecture and cancer treatments that, at some point, became bizarrely indistinguishable.
Hemoptysis. Cruciform piers. Hypercalcemia. Plate tracery. TNM classification. Equilateral arch. Metastases. Geometrical manipulation.
I looked at Liv and realized this was the first time I’d ever talked about it. She was watching me with unnerving perception, as if she sensed all that I wasn’t saying. As if she knew that had been just one other situation I couldn’t fix.
“The book didn’t delay my career, at least,” I finally said. “I applied for the Wisconsin professorship last fall. My grandfather died in the spring, about a month before I heard I’d gotten the position.”
“So…” Liv tilted her head. She was still holding my book. She smoothed her hand over the cover before setting it on a table. “You told me you hadn’t been in a relationship all that time.”
“True.”
“When was the last time you were with a woman?”
“I’d just heard about my grandfather’s diagnosis,” I said. “I turned down an offer from the University of Toronto because I knew I’d have to help him. I had an affair with a woman who worked at a legal firm I’d contacted to deal with his estate.”
I was uncomfortably aware of Liv’s gaze. The affair had been brief and unsatisfying. I couldn’t remember the other woman’s name. Sandra? Sarah?
“It wasn’t good,” I admitted. “Not for either of us.”
Christ. Liv was going to turn and walk away from me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What?”
“Sorry you had to… go through that. The whole thing sounds rough.”
“Well, it’s over.”
That was a lie. It wasn’t over. My grandfather had managed to control things even in death, which was both frustrating and almost funny.
“Hey.” I grabbed Liv around the waist and hauled her close to me on the sofa. “Enough of that. What’d you do today?”
“Just classes. Thought about you when I was supposed to be thinking about database management.” She settled against me with one of her breathy little sighs that made me hard in half a second. She was all pillowy breasts, long hair, and soft skin. Her clean smell sweetened my thoughts.
“Yeah?” Whether or not that was true, I liked hearing it. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been waiting to show you.”
Her mouth came down on mine. I loved it when she initiated a kiss. Warmth spread into my blood. Whatever her reasons for remaining a virgin, there was nothing frigid in the way she moved her mouth against mine, spread her hands over my chest, pressed herself against me. She’d gotten more comfortable with me over the past couple of weeks, but now it was as if knowing about my recent abstinence had emboldened her.
I grasped her ass and squeezed. Pulled her up so she was sprawled on top of me. She shifted. A silver chain laced around her neck, a pendant dangling between her breasts. I’d noticed it before, but never paid much attention to it. Now the pendant brushed against my chest.
I took it in my hand. Warm from resting against her skin, it was a plain, brass disk etched with the Latin phrase Fortune favors the brave.
“Is that your motto?” I asked.
“Sort of.” Something flickered in her brown eyes. She took the disk and held it in her palm.
“Where’d you get it?”
“An old friend made it for me.”
“What old friend?” I tried to keep the jealousy from my voice and failed.
Liv flashed me a smile. “You remember I told you about North?”
“Northern Star, you mean?” My trepidation eased a little. With Liv’s strange and nomadic life with her mother, it shouldn’t have surprised me that she had a friend named Northern Star. One who lived on a commune, no less.
“He made it for me,” Liv said. “Thought I should be brave.”
She dropped the pendant back around her neck and clambered off me. “I’m getting hungry. The cake should be ready soon.”
She went into the kitchen, where she’d made a coffee-cake from a boxed mix. I took a magazine from the table, but kept my gaze on Liv as she reached up to take a mug out of the cupboard. Our kiss and the feel of her on top of me had turned my thoughts lusty.
Liv’s voice was a pleasant hum as she started chattering about some tickets to something. Her white shirt molded to her body. Beneath the stretchy material, her breasts looked full and round.
“Want some?” Liv asked.
Yeah, I want some.
A blue, polka-dot skirt flowed over her hips and legs. I wanted to grab fistfuls of the skirt and hike it all the way up to her waist, spread her smooth thighs....
“Dean?”
“Sorry, what?” I pulled my gaze back to her face.
“Uh, no thanks.”
Her hair was tugged back into a ponytail. I wished she’d leave it loose, all tangled around her shoulders. I shifted, painfully aware of my growing erection.
“So they said they’d still have tickets available at the box office Saturday night.” She bent to take the cake out of the oven. I looked at the curve of her ass and imagined it bare. “We just need to get there a little early to pick them up.”
I couldn’t remember what performance we were seeing tomorrow night, but I made a noise of agreement. Then I went back to gazing at her breasts. I wondered what color her nipples were.
“Dean?”
“Huh?”
Liv turned and put her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed. “I said, do you want to get dinner before or after the show?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“What is your problem? Why are you not listening to anything I’m saying?”
Because all the blood in my brain has gone to my dick.
I tore my gaze away from her and looked back at the magazine. “I’m listening.”
“You are not.”
“Tickets at the box office, dinner before.”
She tapped her fingers on the counter. “What’s the performance?”
You and me getting naked.
“Uh…”
“Uh huh.” She arched an eyebrow, then picked up her mug and went to sit in a chair across from the sofa. “It’s an acrobatic dance troupe called Diabolo.”
Oh, good Lord.
“Sounds great,” I said.
She smirked. “Guess you should have been listening when I asked if you wanted to go.”
“Sorry.” I tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “I was too busy staring at your breasts and imagining what they look like naked.”
A gasp caught in her throat. I winked at her. Her cheeks reddened with pleasure.
I loved getting her all flustered. And I loved that she loved it too.
She ducked her head to take a sip of cocoa. A strand of hair fell across her face. I watched her full lips close around the edge of the cup. My erection grew thicker. Over the past couple of months, Liv and I had fooled around with most of our clothes on, which was hot as hell, but I was impatient for more. I wanted her with a force that hurt.
And still I knew I couldn’t push her too fast. Not my pretty, virginal Liv with her shadowed eyes and untold secrets. She was letting me through her guarded defenses. I’d become a monk before I’d betray her trust.
“So what did you imagine?” she asked.
I swung my gaze back to her. Her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes on her mug.
“What did I imagine?” I repeated.
“About my breasts.” She glanced at me from beneath her lashes. “What do you think they look like naked?”
Oh, shit. My cock strained against my jeans. I had to take a breath before I could respond.
“I imagine they’re full and perfect with big, pink nipples that get hard the instant you take your bra off.”
A visible shudder ran through her. “God, Dean.”
“Am I right?”
She looked at me. Heat brewed in her brown eyes. Energy crackled in the air. Then she set her mug on the coffee table and grasped the hem of her shirt.
My heart pounded. I rubbed my cock through my jeans and shifted. She hesitated, then slowly pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.
I stared at her. She was wearing a plain, beige cotton bra, and the brass pendant dangled against her pale skin. Her nipples strained against the front of her bra, which pressed her breasts together in a valley of cleavage that made my prick ache.
A swallow rippled Liv’s slender throat. Her hands trembled as she reached to unfasten the clasp and push her bra off her shoulders.
My breath escaped in a hiss.
I was right. Moving with the force of her breath, her breasts were perfect—round and luscious, not too big, with pink nipples and areolae the size of quarters. I already knew her breasts would fit in my hands, but I’d only touched them through her clothes. Now my fingers flexed with the urge to squeeze and rub her bare skin...
I gripped my erection, which pulsed uncomfortably against my crotch.
“Touch them.” My voice was hoarse.
“You want me to…”
“Touch them the way you do when you’re alone in bed.”
She shivered. Her blush deepened. “Oh.”
I waited, my heart thumping. She looked down, then cupped her breasts in both hands and pressed them together. After another quick glance at me, her stroking grew bolder. She squeezed her breasts, rubbed her fingers into the crevice beneath them, plucked at her nipples.
I almost came in my jeans. I unfastened the button-fly and reached into my boxers to take out my cock. Liv inhaled sharply when she glanced up and saw me pulling on the stiff length.
She paused, her gaze fixed on my erection as I stroked the shaft. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips.
“Is that… is that the way you touch yourself when you’re alone in bed?” she whispered.
“When I’m thinking about you, yeah.” I tightened my fist, pressure collecting in my groin, my head flashing with raw images of all the things I wanted to do to her.
“Do you think about me a lot?” She twisted her nipples, still watching the movement of my hand.
“Every night. Can’t during the day or I’d be arrested for obscene behavior.”
She smiled. “You get turned on whenever you think of me?”
“Can’t help it.” I slid my hand up the shaft of my aching prick and rubbed my thumb over the head. “You make me hot.”
“You make me hot too.” She squeezed her breasts again, then squirmed a little and pressed her legs together.
“Are you wet?” I asked.
She exhaled a shaky breath. “Yes.”
“Come here.”
“What?”
“I need to touch you.” I needed her to touch me too.
She rose and approached me. She looked incredible, all flushed and aroused with her naked breasts swaying and her ponytail spilling over her shoulder. She gathered her skirt, pulling it up before she straddled my thighs and sat back on my knees. Her desire-filled eyes tracked down my torso to where my cock stood up rigidly between us.
I loosened my fingers from my shaft and reached out to touch her. She shuddered. My prick throbbed as I flicked my thumbs over her nipples, rubbing the soft underside of her breasts. I wanted to thrust my cock into her cleavage.
She clasped the material of her skirt. She wiggled her ass against my thighs. I could feel the heat burning through her panties. I eased my hands under her skirt, moving my palms slowly up the smooth length of her legs. She was looking at me, her breathing rapid.
“Okay?” I asked.
She nodded and put her hand on my chest, then leaned in to kiss me. Her soft mouth opened over mine. A moan spilled from her as I edged my finger under the elastic of her panties where it encircled her thigh. Lust fired my blood when I touched her cleft. Her kiss deepened. She slipped her tongue into my mouth before lifting herself up and brushing her fingers over my erection.
My teeth clenched. “Wait.”
“Sorry, did I—”
I grabbed her waist. “Come closer.”
She shifted closer and settled her hands on my shoulders. The sweet scent of her filled my head. I took one of her nipples between my teeth and tugged lightly. She gasped.
“Dean, I’m…”
I pushed her skirt up farther. No scrap of lace for her, but plain cotton panties that stretched down over her hips to cover her sex. I wanted to rip them away and sink deep inside her. Instead I took a hard breath and pulled her closer so my prick nudged between her legs. She trembled.
“Go ahead.” I stared at the apex of her thighs where my straining cock pushed against the damp cotton of her panties.
&nbs
p; She flexed her fingers on my shoulders and gripped my shirt. Bracing her knees on either side of my hips, she shifted and rubbed herself against my erection.
“Dean… you’re so big… that feels…” She shifted again. Her breasts bounced.
Need pulsed through me. The friction of the cotton against the head of my cock increased the pressure. I slid my hands under her skirt to hold her ass and guide her down again. Her cleft rubbed against my shaft.
She twisted her hips. Sweat trickled into the hollow of her throat. I yanked her closer so her breasts crushed against my chest. I could feel her nipples through my shirt. She worked herself harder, rubbing her cloth-covered pussy against my erection. Little moans emerged from her parted lips.
“I need to touch you,” she gasped, reaching down to spread her hand over my shaft. “I need you… right here…”
She wiggled closer and positioned herself so the head of my cock pressed her clit. The sensation of her wet heat through the cotton almost sent me over the edge. Blood pumped through my cock. The tension grew.
I gripped her thighs. “Liv, I’m going to come.”
“Wait. Let me…” She stroked the head of my cock against her, her muscles straining. Most of her hair had escaped her ponytail. The long strands fell over her face and forehead in a mess of tangles. “Oh God. I’m… oh.”
She let out a cry as her body shook with tremors. Explosive pleasure boiled inside me. I grabbed my shaft. Liv kept writhing her clit against my prick. The sight of her all quivering and sweating was too much to take. Within seconds, I came with a groan, shooting all over her cotton panties.
Liv shuddered, her chest heaving as she lifted her skirt to look at the semen dripping down her thighs. She rubbed a hand over my damp prick and glanced up at me with those big, brown eyes that revealed everything and nothing.
“There is so much I want to do with you,” she whispered.
A groan caught in my throat. I speared my hand into her hair and pulled her toward me for a hard kiss that made my blood pulse all over again. She softened against me, her body pliant and yielding.
