Raising Steel (Men of Steel Book 9)

by Mj Fields

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  *.*.*.*

  I wake to my alarm at six a.m. and rush around as usual. I am definitely sore from last night, but it was wonderful. God, it was so nice to be handled the way he did.

  Jonathon. I wonder if he is upset with me. I wonder if feelings get hurt in Heaven. I wonder if Carly’s mother is looking down at me, shaking her head disapprovingly. Then I decide Jonathon knows I would have eaten, slept, and breathed him for an eternity if it had been allowed. But it wasn’t.

  After dressing, I walk down the stairs, smelling coffee. I walk into the kitchen where a cup sits under the Keurig dispenser, steaming hot, and I see a note next to it.

  To the beautiful woman I will now and forever want to be inside. I fixed your timer. Enjoy your cup of … Joe.

  I am technologically challenged, possibly more than anyone on the planet. I gave up on setting the timer weeks after I bought the damn thing, so this is a very pleasant surprise.

  My phone rings, giving me another surprise.

  “Momma Joe, you feel like hell this morning?” It’s Xavier.

  “Don’t be an ass,” I hear Taelyn say in the background, and it makes me smile.

  “I feel fine. How is my boy?” I ask as I take a sip of my coffee.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t the one out last night getting all lit up.”

  “You do understand I was asking about Patrick, Xavier, correct?”

  I hear Taelyn laugh. “He’s good, Joe. We actually got six straight hours of sleep last night. That must be why Xavier is so full of it this morning.”

  “Yes, well, he never required much sleep, either.” I smile fondly at the memory.

  “You have ballet tonight, right?” Xavier asks.

  “You know I do,” I answer.

  “All right. You sure you can handle it? I mean, with your newly acquired drinking habit, I was thinking—”

  “I’m going to hang up on you,” I warn him.

  “Momma Joe”—he gasps—“I’m hurt. I mean, first you go out and get all fucked up, and then you tell me you’re gonna hang up on me. What’s next, Momma, crack, the corner, dropping us off at the orphan—”

  I hang up, shaking my head, then send a message to Taelyn, telling her to please kick him in the rear-end and let him know it was from me.

  *.*.*.*

  Walking into work, I feel like a student on the first day of class. I wonder how he will react when he sees me. I wonder, if my children are around, will they notice anything different about me? Is there anything different about me?

  I make it past reception and into the elevator alone, and I am grateful. I mean, how awkward would it be if Thomas and I were stuck riding it together … alone?

  I make it into my office, finding none of my kids are here yet, so I can breathe easy. I sit down, turn on the computer, and wait for it to load my messages from Dominic and the board at Segretti.

  My focus is a little off to say the least. I look at the picture of Jonathon, the boys, and me at the Cape May on a Monday afternoon in September. He is smiling at me, and I remember exactly why. Zandor and Xavier were bickering; Jase was checking his phone and in a daze; and Cyrus had just come back from being in the Middle East. The restaurant was closed on Sundays and Mondays after the tourist season slowed down. He was smiling because all of us were together, regardless of what was going on around us.

  As much as Jonathon would cringe at the fact that my family’s money brought on this drastic change in our lives, I know he would be so proud of his sons and who they have become. The money may have come easily, and it was always his fear that, if our boys didn’t learn what hard work and loyalty were, they would not be the men he and I dreamed they would be. The past few years have been a whirlwind, but my boys didn’t take the family money and blow it or decide to live off the interest. They decided to work hard every day, and for that, he would be proud. Loyalty is in abundance, and I know it is because of the values he distilled in them. And for that, I can safely assume he feels they honor him every day.

  “Momma,” I hear my name and look up as Jase walks toward me, holding Kiki.

  “Good morning,” I say as I set the picture down and stand. I hold my hands out, and Kiki dives into my arms. “Hello, beautiful.”

  “Carly is in a meeting for another hour, and I have a call on hold from Italy that your granddaughter has disconnected twice. Do you think she can hang with you for about half an hour until Tara gets back from the gym?”

  “Of course. Who has Truth and Justice?”

  Jase laughs. “Cyrus. You should see him.”

  “Let me guess, he’s wearing Truth in that wrap thing and pushing Justice in the stroller?”

  “Yeah.” He smirks as he heads out the door then stops and looks back. “You get a haircut yesterday?”

  “No, why?”

  He looks me up and down. “Something seems different.”

  “Highlights,” I say quickly.

  “Right. Okay, see ya later, Kiki. Thanks, Momma.”

  I look down at Kiki, who is looking at me in almost a stern manner. “I got them a week ago, so it wasn’t a lie. Don’t you give me that sourpuss.”

  We sit on the blanket on the floor, and she happily sticks every toy she can find in her mouth as we chat back and forth in a language all our own: half baby gibberish and half Italian.

  I look up when Taelyn walks in with Patrick.

  “I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”

  “I am feeling just fine.” I pat the floor next to me. “Come sit.”

  The rest of the morning is spent just like this: between e-mails, phone calls, the girls, and my sons dropping off one or two of my grandchildren at a time while they go from meeting to meeting.

  Carly and Taelyn are working full-time here. Tara is back to teaching a few fitness classes at Forever Fit, not because they need the money, but because she loves it. Bekah is Zandor’s assistant, whatever the hell that means. Frankly, I don’t even want to know.

  It is mid-day when they all pile into my office and sit at the conference table. I look at them curiously, and they look at me the same way.

  “Everything all right?” I ask then realization strikes. “Oh, shit.”

  “See? I told you. She starts drinking, and everything goes to hell,” Xavier only half teases.

  “I ordered take out; should be here in fifteen minutes,” Thomas says as he walks in.

  I feel my face start to heat up, and I immediately worry my children will notice.

  “There he is, the man who pushed Momma to the bottle,” Jase jokes as he pats Thomas on the back. “Have a seat, man.”

  Thomas sits and briefly looks up at me before Carly sits next to him with Kiki.

  “Come here, little one,” he says as he takes Kiki from her.

  “Pop, Pop,” she says as she reaches for his glasses.

  “Be nice, Kiki,” Carly says, laughing, and then she smiles. “Tell us about your afternoon.”

  “They got tanked.” Cyrus laughs and takes the bottle Tara hands him then picks up Justice. “At least your momma remembered to make your lunch.”

  “Kind of hard to forget when it’s attached to you,” she says as she takes Truth and heads behind the divider wall placed in my office for her to nurse.

  “You ever try it?” Zandor asks Cyrus as he pulls out the chair for Bekah. Cyrus glares at him. “What? I was just wondering what it tastes like.”

  “Jesus, Zandor,” Bekah sighs.

  “Jase, Xavier?” Zandor asks.

  “Are you really asking if we’ve tasted breast milk?” Jase looks at him like he’s crazy.

  “Yeah, he is.” Carly laughs.

  “That’s none of your damn business,” Jase spits at him.

  “Cyrus says it’s sweet,” Tara calls out from behind the corner.

  “Birdie …” Cyrus groans.

  “What? You did,” she giggles.

  “Do you squirt it in hi
s coffee in the morning, Tara?” Zandor chuckles.

  She responds by laughing as Cyrus shoots daggers at him. “Why don’t you man up and blow a load inside your wife so you can find out for your damn self?”

  Tara laughs again, and he looks down at Justice. “Your momma has lost her damn mind.”

  “Love you,” she says to him.

  “All right, boys.” I can’t help interjecting, and they all look at me. “What? I’m still your mother, and you’ll listen.”

  “We always listen, Momma. We just don’t always follow your rules.” Jase winks at me.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Cyrus smirks.

  “Well, now it seems the roles have reversed. We’re the ones worrying about where you are.” Zandor leans back in his chair and strums his fingers on its arm. Then he looks at Thomas. “Tell us about yesterday and don’t leave out one single detail.”

  Thomas looks at me and shakes his head. “Do you want me to answer?”

  “It’s not necessary.” I force a laugh.

  “No way. Inquiring minds want to know.” Zandor leans forward, looking at me then Thomas and then back to me again.

  “We went to a bar, then a diner, then a bar, then home.”

  “To whose home?” Zandor asks with a smirk.

  “Zandor, have you been drinking? You and your brothers were waiting when I got there in a cab.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he smirks.

  “I’d say we had a good time, wouldn’t you, Josephina?” Thomas asks as Kiki stands on his knees and yells, “Pop, Pop.”

  I nod. “It was nice getting out.”

  “Well, that’s great. Maybe the two of you could get together more often, huh, Kiki?” Carly smiles. “It’s nice to see two people I love unwind once in awhile. You both deserve it.”

  “You better have her back,” Cyrus says to Thomas. “If anyone gives her shit or tries to take advantage, you better be ready to throw down.”

  “I will make sure to have her back,” Thomas nods to Cyrus.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I walk into the house, toss my keys on the table, kick off my shoes, and look around the empty town house. Walking into the kitchen, I decide to cook after this afternoon’s fiasco.

  How could I have forgotten to make lunch? I make lunch for them every Wednesday. It’s expected, and I love to cook.

  I pull the beef out from the refrigerator and set it on the counter before going to change.

  When I come back down the stairs, the doorbell chimes and my stomach flips.

  I open the door for Thomas, who is standing there in running pants and a sweatshirt. No suit, no tie, and yes, I am immediately aware that I am not only Momma Joe when he says my name.

  “Josephina.”

  “Thomas.”

  “I was considering just going out for a run and thought maybe”—he pauses and looks me up and down—“you’d like to join me in some evening cardio.”

  “I was just going to start making meatballs. After flubbing up this afternoon, I figured I should cook for tomorrow.” He smiles as he watches my lips move. “Thank you so much for lunch. That was a very nice save.”

  He nods and leans against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest, and looks at me. “Are you going to ask me in?”

  “Oh, of course.” I step back and he walks in. “I just assumed, when you said you were going for a run, you were … well, going for a run.”

  He smiles and takes his tennis shoes off. “I actually said cardio.” He looks up at me. “I am not usually this forward, but after last night …” He sighs. “I can’t stop thinking of you, so when I said cardio, I was actually hoping for … you.”

  I am a little shocked and not quick to respond.

  He steps forward and takes my hand. “I’ll help you with the meatballs.” He leads me behind him into the kitchen, saying, “Tell me where I am needed and I’m there. I was a good student once upon a time.”

  “Wine,” is the only word that I can force out.

  How the hell is it that a grown woman can feel this way? The butterflies, the nervous desire, the giddiness a young person in a new relationship feels. I never expected to feel it again.

  “All right, then,” he says, pulling open the drawer the wine bottle opener is in as if he knows. He looks up and smiles at my shocked look. “I’ve been here a few times. You do remember, right?”

  I nod then shake my head. “This is so odd.”

  “There’s nothing odd about Wine Wednesday, Josephina.” He smirks as he uncorks the bottle. “We’re just two friends hanging out, sharing a glass of wine, making some meatballs.”

  After two glasses of wine, I relax a bit. He helped make a hundred meatballs, and now he is standing beside me, washing dishes.

  When we finish, he leans against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at me. “You are entirely too quiet.”

  “I am,” I sigh. “This is just …” I grow even more frustrated. “I have no idea what this is.”

  He smiles as he hands me my glass of wine. “Wine Wednesday.”

  I take a drink and nod. “I’m not a young girl, and this makes me feel like I am stumbling, looking for words. I’m nervous because I don’t know what to expect or how to act or—”

  “No acting. Just be you.” He sighs. “We should have started this with cardio.”

  I laugh. “Is that all you came for, Thomas?”

  “And your company,” he says, looking into my eyes.

  “I rather enjoy yours, too.”

  “Good. Now about that cardio… I have been watching you move around the kitchen, and all I have thought about is what you felt like on the inside, the way your eyes roll, the way your tongue tastes, and just how good it feels to be with you.”

  He takes my hand, and I follow.

  *.*.*.*

  I stand in my bathroom at Steel Inc., looking in the mirror. I look like hell, but I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face when I think about Tour the Town Tuesday when Thomas and I got drunk and had sex all night or Wine Wednesday when we made meatballs and he fell asleep in my bed. On Thirsty Thursday, the man had oral skills that rocked me for an hour before he tucked me in, because I am sure I wouldn’t have been able to walk if I tried. He kissed me and said, “Sleep well, beautiful,” before he left.

  I am not ashamed of what I am doing. I grieved the loss of Jonathon for a very long time. I had many offers—many that I refused—but for some reason, Thomas’s was the one I couldn’t.

  Like most women, I have over-thought the whys, and it all boils down to the fact that he has been a big part of our lives for over two years. I trust him with my family. Kiki calls him Pop, Pop, and his eyes soften. The love he has for Carly is beautiful. He has been to all our holiday dinners. In essence, he is part of the family.

  I also trust him with my body. Thomas is a good man, a very good man. He makes me blush, which doesn’t happen easily. He makes me come alive, and he makes me come undone. I could easily lose myself in his soft spoken strength, and that is suddenly a problem.

  I need for him to see me not just under him, but over him, too.

  *.*.*.*

  It is ten minutes before eight o’clock, and I am at his townhouse door. He has been at my home at precisely eight o’clock for the past three nights, so I intend on beating him to the punch tonight.

  I ring his bell, and he answers, wearing jeans and holding his shirt in his hand. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “What do I owe this surprise to?” He smiles, looking at me standing in my black trench coat.

  “It’s Frisky Friday.” I smile, taking his shirt from his hand and tossing it aside.

  “Fridays have just become my favorite.” He smiles as I reach out for the waist of his jeans and step inside.

  “I hope so.” I quickly work his belt then his buttons as he slowly walks us backward toward the living room.

  I look up as I push his jeans down, and then I untie my belt.

  �
�Fuck. Me,” he groans as he looks me up and down. “I must be dreaming.”

  “Then you keep dreaming,” I say as I run my fingers across the tattoo of a very realistic heart with wires coming out of it. “Katherine?”

  “When hers stopped beating, I wasn’t sure I would survive.”

  I lean in, kiss his skin, and his chest rumbles.

  “Tell me more.”

  “Carly needed me; I got this at your shop, actually,” he says as I trace it with my tongue, and he groans louder. “I got it because I needed something to focus on during the nights I wasn’t sure my heart would continue beating.”

  I reach down and grab his hard length through his boxers. “And now?”

  “Blood is circulating everywhere, Joe.”

  I grip him harder and stroke slowly back and forth. “You are a very sexy man, Professor Thomas.”

  “Christ,” he groans then snaps his jaw shut.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve been making you do all the work for the past few days, and I wanted to make sure you knew I was capable of giving as well as receiving.”

  “Joe.” He reaches out and grabs my hips.

  I shake my head. His eyes squint, and I push him back so he is sitting on his couch.

  “Now I want to show you how much I appreciate what you’ve done. I’m gonna start here”—I place my finger on his neck and drag it slowly down—“and tongue fuck the ink until I have given you as much as you gave me.”

  “Not necessary,” he says, trying to be a gentleman, but his eyes betray him.

  Tonight, it’s gray boxer briefs that I slide down his lean, muscular legs. I breathe in the fresh scent that is all Thomas Higgins, clean and masculine. Then I look up into his eyes.

  This is what I came for: to show him appreciation and that I am not just a giddy woman, smitten with what a man can do for me, but a woman who can give as good as she gets.

  I lick his head, making him hiss through his teeth. I circle the rim, and he groans my name. Then, when I suck him as I begin slowly stroking him, he grips the arms of his chair. I take him in as far as I can, hollowing my cheeks, and his eyes roll back in his head.