Safe at Home (1Night Stand) (1Night Stand series)

by Wendy Burke

  She let her breast to drop from her mouth then reached out to grasp his arms to steady herself slightly. Andy held her tighter, the flesh beneath his fingers growing white with the fierceness of his grip.

  The only sound besides their moans and near screams was the loud slap of flesh on flesh. Hard.

  “Dear God, Andy!”

  Terrified of the physical response running roughshod through her system, she held on the best she could. Her mind spun, dizzy, pinpoints of light flashed in front of her eyes. Rigid with spasms, she was ready to pass out. Never before had an orgasm of such magnitude overtaken her.

  And it wouldn’t fucking stop!

  “Help me,” she thought she heard herself say. Paralyzed, she rode him and the waves of erotic elation, until she could no more, collapsing on him, internally still vibrating like a giant tuning fork had been whacked against a rock and slammed far up into her pussy, reverberating through her entire being.

  Out of control, she was suddenly on her back. He collected her, steadying her, yet still pistoning severely in and out of her. As her body continued to convulse, tears covered her face.

  As he continued to move, lips caressed her cheeks, clearing her tears. “Hold tight, baby, hold on tight.” He brought her even closer in his hold, corralling a knee in the crook of his elbow.

  His growls of near orgasm sounded animalistic. She squealed in re-arousal and near fear as he continued pounding into her. Her name roaring through the opulent hotel room, her husband came in a way she’d never experienced before. He swore, ground himself into her even deeper, shivered, arched back, then went totally silent and immensely still. Until his numbing cinch of her body relaxed and he fell on to his back and out of her.

  An exceptional specimen of a human being, in better physical shape than most men his age, still he panted like an octogenarian running a marathon. Out of breath and out of energy, he sighed, “What the fuck was that, Charly?”

  Cuddling him, feeling his heavy breath rise and fall against her bare skin, she licked his ear. “I don’t know, but whenever you’re ready, we can do it again!”

  ***

  She left him alone in the shower, as much as they both wanted to continue this evening of more sex than they’d ever had together, after so many orgasms and physical play, any semblance of energy had been drained from them both. They’d contemplated staying the night, but they both wanted to be home with their girls, for so many reasons—the most important one, as much as they were in love with one another, they were equally as smitten with their two children.

  She smiled, content. It seemed they were back on track, on the same page, in the same book. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she felt a reconnection to the man she loved and recovery from the past eight, lousy months. She prayed their love was beginning anew.

  Toweling her hair, wandering the suite, she waited for Andy to finish cleaning up. She thought about the recent events of this evening—his lingering touches, his compliments, his surprise gifts. And, if they’d been caught by law enforcement in the elevator up to this suite, they’d have been charged with public indecency and lewd and lascivious conduct violations. She giggled to herself, entertaining thoughts of a bizarre Sentinel newspaper headline and a smirking Milwaukee County lockup mug shot.

  She collected her clothing, folding what wouldn’t be worn, tucking it away in a travel bag that just happened to be in the room. Lately, you think of everything, honey! Sitting on the bed, she began to dress, her attire much less formal than that in which she arrived. It’s going to look very odd leaving this fancy place in sweat pants. She did the same with his clothes, when something caught her eye, a heavy linen, cream-colored envelope peeking slightly from her husband’s tux jacket.

  Did it pertain to this evening? Was it the leftover invitation and seating marker from their table? Why he loved to collect these little mementos from these upscale to-dos, she didn’t know, but it was so inherently him.

  Was it about this “date,” or perhaps another Andy had taken? Her mind raced back to a terribly strange conversation with her friend and employer. Paul had a nearly identical envelope. It was so odd, that’s why I remember it. Some hook up service. Why would he be looking for a hook up? I might be all wrong about being back on the same page, maybe this whole evening is some giant kiss off, one last good fuck for the road, maybe this is over.

  She did her best forcing away the notion of it being anything but innocent correspondence. This evening of long, wanting looks, inconspicuous public touches, and inferred whispers had eventually brought them to this place and a night of erotic passion neither of them had experienced before. He loves me. I know that…well, I think I do.

  Then the one irritating, irrational thought, the pissed-off concern she’d been bothered by most of the year poked her right between the eyes. Add in the cream parchment against tucked in his dark gray coat, and the worst case scenario popped out from behind every rational thought.

  Shaking her head, she did the best to shake off the speculation. He’s not a cheater in any way…not at all. He loves me and the girls. He wants to be back in Milwaukee, I just need to bide my time and wait till more trade talk surfaces. He can write his own ticket anywhere at this point.

  “Babe?” A towel snugly tucked in about his waist, he sat beside his wife.

  Fuck me. How can I be concerned with shit that doesn’t exist when that fucking sexy, well-cut line of his hip is pointing toward his incredible cock?

  “What is it, honey?”

  He brushed her cheek—a warm, strong, caring touch—just like everything he had been the entire evening. That tiny gesture flung her in to a fit of insensible sobs.

  “Baby.”

  She only cried harder when he wrapped her up in his arms.

  “What is it?”

  Pointing a chair, where his jacket relaxed as if nothing was amiss, she hiccupped. “That envelope. Where did you get it?”

  Time to come clean, Knox!

  Andy shook his head, amused as well as concerned. “Baby,” he chuckled,” you gotta relax.” Kissing the top of her head, he left her only for a moment to retrieve the stationary from his coat. “C’mere.” Encouraging her farther up on the bed, they sat cross-legged, face to face, among the rumpled linens. He handed her a tissue from a nearby box. He hadn’t seen her cry with such sadness since that moment in New York, before they were married, the time he’d nearly fucked things up for good. He understood why Titan pinstripes frightened her so; she was afraid she would lose him to the wilds and seduction of the Big Apple.

  Settling next to her, he dropped his head, embarrassed, afraid to look her in the eye during this confession. “I didn’t know how to make sure you knew just how much I love you, how much I’m in love with you. We seemed so far apart this year, and I understand some of the reasons why—your trepidation and concern about New York. And I know I had to do something, anything to fix this.” A tear slid down his cheek, he lifted his face to look in her eyes. “I hired a professional, I guess you could call it. Someone who could look at our situation from the outside in and give me some ideas about how to reconnect, get back on the same page with you. Because I was afraid I was losing you.”

  He placed the parchment envelope in her hands.

  Slowly, she unfolded the envelope that had tossed her into an emotional tizzy. The stationery bore a telling heading: Madame Eve, 1Night Stand. It is—it’s the same place Paul called! Extracting the paperwork, leafing through the pages, more and more confusion darted through her mind. “Andy, this is for people who want sex—a one-night stand.”

  He nodded agreeing, “You’re right, but sometimes a one-night stand can turn into a lifesaver. I couldn’t do this on my own, Charly. I couldn’t realize what I had ‘let go’ in our relationship, being doting, and complimentary, and like I said, sharing my fears with you.” He put his forehead to hers. “You know this is how Rupp and his fiancée met. So, the next time we see him, we need to say thank you, big time! He pushed me in t
his direction.” He kissed her gently. “You can read all that later, if you want, but I messed up big time this year and had no idea, I mean no idea, of how to fix it. You’re so much more than I am, so out of my league, I still don’t know why you said yes to marrying me.”

  “Because I’m in love with you.”

  “Do you have any idea what a catch you are? I know it’s your job, but in the back of my mind, especially since I was gone most of the summer, I was waiting for some quadrillionaire art collector who speaks Spanish, French, and Italian, just like you do, to snatch you up and fly you to Florence or wherever on his private jet. I’m just a farm kid from Wisconsin who plays baseball and guitar.”

  He closed his eyes, kissing her palm as her fine hand stroked his face. “We got so many things right in our relationship, especially those two little beautiful monsters at home, but there were things I let fall by the wayside, like supporting you, being your fan as much as you are mine. Complimenting you on everything you do, especially how you pick up the slack when I’m away and even more so this season. Sometimes I didn’t make you a priority, hon, and just take you out to show you off—trust me, that will change.” He winked. “You’re my best friend and I didn’t share everything I should have. Did you have any idea how terrified I was of falling on my face in New York? I was so concerned about you being alone, and I missed you and the girls terribly. I didn’t make that clear, and for that, and so much more this year, I am so sorry.”

  She collected him into her embrace, comforting him like she always had and would.

  “Look at me, a big, strong, ball-busting jock crying like a baby, because I can’t even scratch the surface when it comes to telling you how much I care about you and love you, Charly. You’re everything to me.”

  “Oh, Andy.”

  She kissed him gently on the mouth, resting her forehead against his.

  “I have to ask, baby. Where did you get that, um, thing you did with your breast?”

  “That would be none of your business,” she teased.

  Rolling her in the sheets, he smothered her with kisses. “Please tell me you’ll do it again sometime.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna have to beg for it now…I’m going to make you wait until you’re no longer wearing those ugly Titan pinstripes.”

  Leaning over, he dug in the bedside table drawer. Again, sitting next to her he placed a white shirt box in her hands. It was secured with a dark blue ribbon, decorated with waves and capital Ms, the color and logo of their beloved Milwaukee Breakers. “You’re going to have to pay up sooner than you think.”

  She looked at him, unsure. After all the love-making, tears, honest discussion, and secure reconnecting, what more could there be? “What is it?”

  “Not only Madame Eve tops in relationship fixing and marriage enhancing, but she has some sort of pull with Major League Baseball. Consider it an early Christmas present.”

  Tugging on the ribbons, opening the box, she moved tissue paper aside. The back of a white baseball jersey greeted her, KNOX in dark blue trimmed in tan stared up at her, the familiar number 27 below in matching font and hue. She shrugged, confused.

  He touched her chin, needing her undivided attention. “I’m home, darlin’. Traded back. At least a five year deal. This whole year some sort of grand, not-so-successful experiment. You know the flak management took over the lousy swap with New York.”

  Happy tears flowed as she tossed her arms around him. “Really, you’re a Breaker again?”

  Taking her face in his hands, kissing her lovingly on the mouth, he smiled, content, ready for their life to be happy and complete again, here at home in Wisconsin. “It’s all done but the paperwork. I’m home, honey, safe at home.”

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  For Me by Wendy Burke

  Chapter One

  Dr. Abby Lewis’ life fit nicely in little boxes.

  Professional box: orthopedic surgeon and reconstructionist. Social box: few, but close, friends. Entertainment box: hiking, kayaking, anything in the beautiful Michigan outdoors, music of all kinds, restaurant tours and brewpubs. Family box: older sister, mom-figure, and housing coordinator for her little brother, Jason, although an adult, was still some twenty-plus-years younger.

  And lastly, her romance box: one that remained locked, tucked away in the furthest corner of the deepest closet. It’d been quite a while since she’d taken it out, dusted it off and given it a good shake, just enough to remind her she still had life below the waist. And, when she took that box and shook it, no one needed to know what came of it.

  She turned her glass filled with Pretty Woman amber, watching the effervescence rise to the top, the gas pockets joining others. A perfect head. Yeah, that’s what I could use right about now.

  Liz, the pub’s owner, worked behind the bar. It didn’t seem like her business, but rather her own living room or kitchen. Content and comfortable, the barkeep knew everyone who entered her establishment and welcomed them as family. The perfect, old-fashioned bartender—friend, confidant and a whole pile of non-degreed psychologist—Liz knew Abby inside and out.

  “No pun intended, Ab, but you’re brewing.”

  “I am?”

  “How long have you been coming in here?”

  She shrugged, the timeline of her visits to the Wolverine Brewing Company stretched so far back in her mind, she didn’t remember where it began. And the pub owner had been her friend since the first visit.

  “You look lost—and that’s not a good look on you.” Liz retrieved a fresh glass from under the bar and tapped a hoppy Gulo Gulo.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Drinking more than one of the seven-percent-alcohol-content brews would put her on her ass and have her calling Jason for a ride home.

  “No, just hoping you’ll loosen up a little and tell me what’s bugging you.”

  Abby took a sip, swallowed hard, and studied the bar top. Really, I’m holding back a sniffle? Fucking over-forty hormones.

  Liz leaned in, her voice quiet. “A little lonely again, huh?”

  Why she’d ever decided to share that intimate information with anyone in her life, she didn’t know, but she had, and as a result, Liz always wanted to get her hooked up.

  Giving her old friend a sad smile, she asked, “Do I look that desperate?”

  Wiping down the high-polished bar, Liz said, “No, it’s just about that time, you know—you get that itch every half decade or so.”

  Abby sighed. I’m either predictable or pathetic. Or both. “If only that often,” she mumbled.

  “Hmm?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Come with me.”

  Slipping off her barstool, she followed Liz to the far end of the bar, through a door and into an office, if one could call it that. The room more resembled a man-cave on steroids, every conceivable piece of breweriana and signage stored in boxes, on tables and atop other pieces. She hadn’t seen a Kingsbury beer sign in decades. With a hmmm, she took it all in.

  “Oh, you have the running-water version.” She cocked her head at a Hamm’s electric sign, with its rotating, running water-lit scene in the background.

  “Sky-blue water,” Liz corrected, placing a shot glass on the top of an old wooden beer barrel. “You know, I might have a cure for your situation, or what ails you.” She poured from a bottle of Glenmorangie Scotch. “But you might want to drink this first.”

  ***

  Due to her profession, Abby needed answers from others, but despised questionnaires of any sort. And the idea of expressing her innermost sexual wants and preferences when it came to partners not only scared the crap out of her, but embarrassed her as well. Why the hell do I feel this way—I’m a friggin’ MD, I know how peg A fits into slot B. But then again, this hookup had been planned—others encounters in her life were by chance, or with someone she’d known in her circle of professional friends.

  The dating se
rvice Liz suggested, 1Night Stand, was a completely different animal unlike any traditional or online dating service. The questionnaire encompassed inquiries she’d never entertained, requesting answers she never thought she’d have to give, and the screening more thorough probably than the entry process into a CIA training program.

  Oddly enough, Madame Eve had come up more than once in conversation as of late. Abby’s neighbor, Bryn, met a stunning Scot through the dating site, and she suspected her sneaky, closemouthed little brother had gotten laid for the first time with the business’ assistance as well.

  Closing her eyes to the odd collection of music wafting down from the overhead speakers in the breakfast café where she sat, she searched her mind and heart for the proper answers to so many intrusive questions on the application for the 1Night Stand agency.

  Would you experiment with a partner of your same sex?

  Do you feel you need domination? Would you be willing to be dominated?

  What is your expectation once your encounter is over?

  “How the hell do I know?” she mumbled into her hazelnut latte. She sighed, putting her face in her hands. Maybe this is a bad idea. Despite being a confident surgeon, she had a habit of second-guessing situations in her personal life, and because of that she needed a good swift kick in the backside to continue with the ridiculous proposition.

  What if whoever she connected with didn’t go for casual girls? Not one for glitz, she didn’t own a pair of high heels. Her most recent investment in a good pair of shoes had been Converse-sneaker-looking Uggs. Nothing said I’m spoiling myself like lambs’ wool.

  No, this is a bad idea! What if her date didn’t go for full-figured women? I’m not fat, but… since size-six is the new chubby, a fourteen meant she tipped the scales at morbidly obese, at least in the eyes of the fashion world, whether true or not.