British Bedmate (A Series of Standalone Novels)

by Penelope Ward

  “See, you hit the nail on the head. It’s not easy as a single mother to find someone willing to see past my ‘situation.’ It’s part of why I haven’t really considered dating until recently. Not only has it seemed too soon after Ben’s death, but realistically the chances of finding someone physically attractive, smart, honest, who would also want to take on this massive responsibility is basically nil. Honestly, I don’t know if I would really want to deal with my situation if I were a guy. So, it’s hard. And it gets lonely sometimes.”

  This woman wore her vulnerability on her sleeve. But I loved that she was so honest.

  She let out a deep breath. “God, I’m telling you too much. I didn’t mean to bear my soul like that.”

  “It’s apples and oranges.”

  “What is…something you’re juicing in the morning?”

  “No. You and most of the women—girls, really—who I date. It’s like apples and oranges. You’re a real woman, Bridget, in every sense of the word. Someone like you knows exactly what she needs. You have your head on straight and your priorities in the right order. You appreciate what really matters in life because you’ve experienced the worst of it. You’ve had a lifetime of experiences at a young age. You’re amazing, really.”

  And that’s why I can’t fuck with you.

  She looked like she didn’t know how to take the compliment. “Will you stay and have a drink with me? I really feel like one, and you know my rule about never drinking alone.”

  As much as I knew I probably should’ve gone back to my unit, my other unit was really enjoying being with her. I couldn’t say no.

  “Sure, I can.”

  Bridget disappeared into the kitchen to fetch some wine. She was taking an unusually long time to return, so I decided to check on things.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  I noticed that she was holding a piece of paper in her hands. She stood there frozen, looking gutted.

  “I found this in the trash. Brendan must have discarded it when he came home from school.”

  My heart sank when I took the bright orange flyer from her hands, which read: Father Son Field Day.

  Oh, shit.

  She continued, “I could only imagine how he must have felt. How could they have even let him go home with this in his backpack? They all know his situation.”

  “I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt him intentionally, but it was stupid.”

  She closed her eyes then let out a breath. “You know, you go about your life as best you can, trying to forget the pain and then something like this comes along and just throws it all in your face again.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I simply placed my hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  She sighed. “God, you must find this house so depressing sometimes, constant reminders of death.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot of life in this house, too. Living here has been a learning experience for me. Before I moved in, I was just some bloke living alone who did nothing but work, sleep, and screw around once in a while. It’s eye-opening to see what you go through.”

  She took the flyer back from me. “I don’t even know what to do about this.”

  “You can’t fix everything, unfortunately.”

  “I would want to just keep him home from school that day, but that’s sending the wrong message, too. I don’t want him treated any differently because he doesn’t have a dad.”

  “Will you talk to him about it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure whether I should. He clearly didn’t want me to see this.”

  “Do you think, in some way, he was trying to protect your feelings, too?”

  “You know, it’s funny you say that. As young as he is, he does have a protective way about him. There are times when I’ve broken down, and he’s been the one to comfort me.”

  “You have a great kid there, very wise for his age and respectful. That’s all you.”

  “Thank you. He was very difficult to conceive, but he’s been an easy child since he was born. I’m pretty lucky.” She put the flyer back into the trash and began to massage the tension in her own neck with one hand.

  “Turn around for a minute.”

  She was skeptical. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Check what day of the week’s knickers you’re wearing. What do you think?”

  “What are you really going to do?” She laughed.

  I cracked my knuckles. “Let’s get some of those knots out of your neck and back.”

  I felt her tension lift as soon as my hands went to work. Massaging her upper back, I pressed my thumbs especially hard into her. She hung her head low as she relaxed her body, giving me full control. The sounds she was making were driving me a bit mad. This woman was wound up and needed a hell of a lot more than my hands. It took everything in me not to bend down and devour her neck. My fingers were definitely working on behalf of my cock that unfortunately couldn’t be here to accept this award tonight.

  Her breathing became a bit more labored at one point and she turned around, stopping the massage. “Thank you for that. I should get that wine now.”

  “Let me help.”

  “No, I got it.”

  I returned to the living room and sat down on the couch, noticing something under me. It was Bridget’s e-reader. I opened it to the home page, which showed a romance novel featuring a salacious cover. Clicking on it, I could never have imagined the words that would meet my eyes.

  Holy shit.

  What’s this now?

  Oh no.

  When I returned to the living room with two glasses of Zinfandel, Simon was nose deep in my Kindle reading my book.

  “Simon, stop.”

  “You’ve been holding out on me, Bridget. This is the stuff in your books?”

  Feeling the heat rise in my face, I said, “What did you think was in my books?”

  “I figured it was some Fabio shit, you know, woman blushes, follows the guy to the bedroom, he makes love to her. This chap has his cock between her tits, and he just shot his load on her face.”

  “He did?”

  “Oh, that’s right. I read past your bookmark. I guess you hadn’t gotten there yet.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Let me back up and read it to you, then.”

  The expression on my face must have looked like a mixture of terror and amusement. At least, that was how I felt. “Simon…”

  “Come on. I promise. I’ll be serious. We can have Storytime with Simon. Sit back with your wine and I’ll read to you.”

  Oh my God. He was serious.

  I had to admit, though. The thought of listening to him reciting the sex scenes for me in that accent was too enticing to pass up. So, against my better judgment, I did as he said, took my glass of wine, sat down, leaned my head back and just listened.

  “Let’s see now. Looks like your bookmark begins right here.” Simon cleared his throat dramatically. “Ahem” And then began…

  “His fingers dug deep into my tense shoulder muscles.”

  Oh my God. I’d completely forgotten that I’d left off in my book at a point where the hero was about to give the heroine a massage. Just like Simon had done to me not two minutes ago. “This isn’t a good idea.” I began to jump up from the couch, but Simon caught me. He hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me back down. Only now we were sitting much closer on the couch. Our thighs were touching, and the warmth from his body transmitted to my leg and shot down to an interesting place.

  “Rubbish. You set me up with a boney-ass, wanna-be kitten. Now I’m going to get some action tonight, even if it has to come from your e-reader.”

  I smirked. “Her ass was kind of boney, wasn’t it?”

  “Did you even inquire if she was a starfish?”

  I giggled. “No.”

  “Alright, then. You owe me. And as payback, I’m going to read this little hot scene and then when we’re done, I’ll go back to my place and enjoy a good wank, and
you’ll do whatever it is that you do.”

  “A good wank?” I questioned.

  “Masturbate. You know…” Simon formed a C with one hand and pumped it back and forth, simulating a hand job. “Jerk the gerk. Choke the chicken. Pump the stump. Do the five knuckle shuffle. Flog the lizard. Burp the worm. Charm the snake…whatever you Americans call it these days.”

  If I had any common sense, I probably should have been offended that my tenant was suggesting that he read me the dirty parts of my book and then we go our separate ways and masturbate. But…it did sound sort of appealing. God knows I was tense. Simon smirked. “You’re in. I can read it all over your face. You won’t deprive me this simple pleasure after the catastrophe of my date.”

  “Fine,” I huffed trying to sound like it was a sacrifice.

  Simon started to read again. I didn’t bother to move from my new position snuggled against him.

  His fingers dug deep into my knotted shoulder muscles. “You’re so tense. Why don’t you remove your blouse so I can really work my fingers into you?”

  “Okay.” I unfastened the small pearl buttons and slipped my blouse from my shoulders.

  “Christ, you have no bra on underneath your shirt, Cheri.”

  “I’m perky enough that I don’t need to wear one.”

  “Perky, huh? Perhaps I should be the judge of that.” Andrew reached around to cup both my breasts. He pinched one nipple hard. “These are pretty damn perky. How about if I massage these for a while instead of your neck?”

  Simon stopped reading. “Wait. So that was an option? I only got to rub your neck?”

  I elbowed him in the ribs, and he chuckled while speaking. “Let me ask you, does this thing have a word search feature?”

  “The e-reader? Yes, why?”

  “Do you ever just search for cock or tits and skip right to the good parts?”

  “No! You think I read it for the sex…but I need the full story. I can’t just jump into that stuff without any build up. That would be like having sex without any touching first—no foreplay.”

  “I rather like the thought of having sex without actual touching first.”

  “You would. You’re a man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It takes less to…you know…get you off. You can pretty much put it in any hole and get the job done.”

  “If that were true, I’d be home with Miss Kitty right about now, wouldn’t I?”

  “I guess…”

  “Men need foreplay as much as women. It just doesn’t have to be an actual act of touching for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Foreplay can be the way a woman looks.” Simon’s eyes dropped to my body. “The way her mouth moves.” His gaze flickered to my lips. “With the right woman, I could be dreaming about what it might feel like to have her painted lips on me the entire time we’re sharing a meal. It could even be in a crowded restaurant. By the time I’m done with dinner—I’ve had all the foreplay I can take, and I’m ready to get down to business.”

  I swallowed. “But what about the woman? What’s her foreplay?”

  “With the right person, it’s the same.” His gaze returned to meet mine. “If the chemistry is there, if there’s a mutual attraction and she’s watching me watch her, just knowing what I’m thinking can be foreplay. I drive her home. Neither of us speaks. Tension builds. Then we shag right up against the door the minute we walk in because we can’t control ourselves anymore.”

  God, it was warm in the house. I felt like fanning myself. “I think maybe you could write one of my books, Simon.”

  “Ah. That sounds like a challenge. Don’t be surprised if I jot some sexy scenes down on my prescription pad and slip them under your bedroom door. You can tell me if what I prescribe works better than your books.”

  “You’re crazy enough that I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  Simon lifted the e-reader. “Where were we? I need to brush up on my sex scene writing.”

  “I think he was giving her a massage.”

  “Ah, yes. Nipple pinching.” His finger scanned the page of the tablet, stopping half way down the page. “Here we go.”

  I bent my head back offering Andrew my mouth as he kneaded my aching breasts. His tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking over dinner. Whiskey and Andrew—it was a combination that really worked for me. He broke the kiss, walked around from behind, and began unbuckling his belt directly in front of me. Sitting, I was eye level to his thick bulge. “You know what I’ve been thinking about all night?”

  “What?”

  “How good it would feel to slide my cock in between your perky tits. I bet you’re wet right now. I’m going to put my fingers inside of you, coat my hand with your juices and rub it between those tits before I pump my cock in and out. How does that sound, Bridget?”

  Bridget? Did he just say Bridget, or was I hearing things?

  Simon cleared his throat again. After a long pause he started to speak, only his voice was heavier and gravelly. “Yes, please, Andrew. Please.”

  Licking my lips, I unzipped his pants. I was so needy that I couldn’t even waste the time to lower them. Instead, I tugged on the waistband of his dark boxer briefs and slipped my hand inside. Simon was hard as a rock when I wrapped my fingers around his thick arousal.

  I’d thought he was teasing me the second time. “Simon and Bridget. Very cute, Dr. Hogue. You had me there for a second. I thought I’d imagined it the first time.”

  Simon turned to face me. His face wasn’t playful like it normally was. “Huh?”

  I squinted. “When you called the heroine Bridget instead of Cheri and the hero Simon instead of Andrew?”

  He blinked a few times. “Yes. Uh. You caught me.” Simon stood abruptly. “I think that’s enough reading for tonight.”

  I was confused at the sudden turn of events...until…I looked forward while Simon was standing and noticed a considerable bulge.

  Oh my God. Simon was hard from reading my book.

  I needed to get laid. Badly.

  Last night I wanked off twice and still couldn’t catch shut-eye for hours. Normally, after a good release, I could pass out for days. Finishing my morning run, I leaned over panting with my hands on my knees. Eight miles and it still did nothing to release the feeling of frustration inside of me. My neck was tense, jaw was clenched, and I had the urge to go box a few rounds with the heavy bag.

  After I caught my breath, I tugged off my shirt, used it to wipe the sweat off my face, and walked the last block back to the house. I’d intentionally left while Bridget was in the shower so I didn’t have to face her, figuring she’d be gone by the time I got back. I had a certain amount of guilt about visualizing her while I wanked—obviously not enough to stop me from doing it. Twice.

  I was surprised to find her car in the driveway this late. Even though I’d planned to avoid her, I knew it was later than she normally left, so I stopped in to make sure everything was okay. Bridget was hopping on one foot attempting to put a shoe on while brushing her teeth at the same time.

  “Everything okay?” I looked at my watch. “Don’t you have to be at the hospital in five minutes?”

  She mumbled through a foaming mouth of toothpaste. “Yes. I overslept.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I grinned. “Oxytocin surge.”

  “What?”

  “Orgasm causes an increased production of oxytocin which triggers endorphins that make you sleepy.”

  Bridget almost fell over getting on her shoe and immediately headed for the bathroom to spit out her mouth full of paste. I followed, watching from the doorway as she rinsed. Wiping her mouth on the hand towel, she said, “Is anything not about sex with you, Simon? I overslept because I’m a working, single mother.”

  “Sure you did.”

  She growled at me. It was cute.

  “Is Brendan still home, too?”

  “He’s in his room getting dressed.”


  “Why don’t you take off? I’ll drop Little B at school to save you some time?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. I owe you one.”

  Still in rush mode, she brushed past me and went to the kitchen to grab her work ID and keys. “That would be great. But why do you owe me one?”

  “Let’s just say you helped me out last night. Actually…maybe I owe you two.”

  I saw her blush as she ran out the door. “Kiss Brendan for me!”

  “Simon, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, buddy. What’s up?” Brendan was in the backseat of my car as I headed toward his school.

  “You’re kind of like an uncle since you live with us, right?”

  I wasn’t sure where this was going. “An uncle is the brother of one of your parents usually.”

  “But Mark Connolly’s parents are divorced, and his mom just had a guy move in and he calls him Uncle Sam.”

  “Ummm. I think that’s a little different than a real uncle. Sometimes kids call close friends of their parents Uncle or Aunt.”

  “So, couldn’t you be my uncle, then? You and my mom are friends, right?”

  “I guess so. In that sense of the word uncle, sure.”

  I heard the smile in his voice. “Great. Can you come to field day this afternoon, then? Miss Santoro says if your dad can’t make it, an uncle or a grandfather can come.”

  “Sorry, buddy. I have to work this afternoon.” I pulled up to the light and looked in the rearview mirror. The kid’s face almost broke my heart. “You know what, let me make some calls. Maybe I can get someone to cover my shift for a few hours.”

  His face lit up. “Really?”

  “You bet.” Two minutes later, I pulled to the curb at the front of the school and turned around. “What time does field day start?”

  “Eleven.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best to be there.”

  The kid was grinning from ear to ear. He strapped his backpack on and scooted over in the seat to open the door. “You’re going to beat all the dads in tug of war. None of them look like you!”