by B. Cranford
And she was—she had been. Everything he did to her made her feel more and more wild, sent her higher until her body reached its peak. Pleasure washed over her, and she closed her eyes in the hopes of being able to hold on to it, to the feeling of being loved so much.
All too soon the pleasure ebbed, but Austin wasn’t yet done with her. Sliding free, he rolled her gently, until her stomach was pressed to the mattress and his cock was nudging its way back inside.
She felt full. Everywhere. Her mind, her heart, her body.
Let it never stop. Please. Please.
“It won’t, Odette. I promise,” Austin whispered into her ear from behind, making her wonder if he’d read her mind or if she’d spoken out loud, mindless to the returning sparks of pleasure.
Fisting her hands in the sheets, she lay there, rolling her hips trying to rub herself against him and against the mattress below her at the same time, desperate for more friction. Her clit throbbed, reminding her that it was being neglected, and she moaned, wanting to beg for Austin to touch her there, but not wanting to give him any reason to stop.
If, for even half a second, he stopped, she wasn’t sure she’d survive.
Consciously unclenching one hand, she moved it slowly, slowly underneath her own body, down between her legs, as Austin continued the torturously perfect pace he’d set.
“Are you going to touch yourself?” He groaned, adding, “Just the thought of it does things to me, you know?”
She nodded furiously, because she absolutely did know.
Barely a brush of her fingers against her swollen clit was all she needed; the slightest press against that needy place coupled with Austin, always Austin, fucking her deep but unhurried. Soon, her body took on a life of its own, bucking against Austin, thrashing through her second climax of the night.
With a long, satisfied groan, she felt him jerk one last time, signaling that he too had come.
“God, Odie. I kind of hate that we waited so long.” For the second time, he slid himself free of her body, this time not to return.
At least, not immediately. Odie had no doubt he’d be back before too long.
“But then it wouldn’t be like this, I don’t think.” She rolled over, settling on her side so she could look at him.
He was so handsome.
“Maybe not.” He stood, heading toward the bathroom to do the necessary clean-up, talking again when he reentered the room not long after. “I feel like maybe early-twenties Austin wouldn’t have been able to make you buck like that.”
“No? I heard he was a stud.” She joked, but sadly, she had actually heard that from more than one of the girls that thought they had a claim on her Austin.
Joke was on them though. The minute he found out that anyone who was even remotely interested in him didn’t want anything to do with her, he’d leave them in the dust.
“He thought he was, but he had no idea.” He climbed back into the bed, crawling under the covers and settling in.
It was Odie’s turn to freshen up, which she did quickly, joining Austin back on the bed and under the covers.
“Spoon me?” She started to roll over to “assume the position”, as Aussie had jokingly called it one night, but stopped herself. “No forking jokes,” she cautioned, his answering pout making it impossible not to laugh.
“But those are the best kind of jokes,” he retorted, slipping an arm over her waist and pulling her close. “I still don’t know what to do with this arm,” he added, flexing the arm that was between them, sneaking a little squeeze on her butt.
“Apparently, it’s positioned for pinching.”
“It’s not my fault snuggling puts my hand in a generally-awkward-but-great-for-ass-grabs spot.”
“Could you . . . no, stop. If you just–AUSTIN.” She wiggled about trying to get them into premium spooning positions but he kept pinching her, then tickling her, then—“What was that?”
“Ah, yeah. So, here’s the thing—when you curl your sexy, naked body into mine, I get turned wayyyy the hell on. And then when you start moving around, rubbing on me, Dundee down there decides you want to play and so does he.”
“You call your dick Dundee?”
“That’s not a cock, this is a cock,” he said in a terrible faux-Australian accent, pushing his hips forward so she had no choice but to feel the full effect her body had on his.
He was rock hard and ready to go.
Which is how, instead of trying to find the right position for cuddling, Austin found the right position for round two.
Odie: I’m nervous.
Aussie: About?
Odie: Babysitting for Kennedy.
Aussie: You’ll be awesome. It’s me we need to worry about.
Odie: I’m serious.
Odie: I’ve never really been around little, little kids.
Aussie: Little, little?
Odie: Younger than, like, four. Basically, Finn is the youngest I’ve dealt with.
Aussie: I repeat. You’ll be awesome, babe.
Odie: Still nervous.
Odie: What if I drop her? Or she cries the entire time?
Odie: What if she has magical baby powers and realizes I’m not meant to be a mother?
Aussie: Odie.
Aussie: I love you.
Aussie: But this is silly.
Aussie: If Kennedy had magic baby powers, she’d use them for the good stuff. Like boobs.
Aussie: Babies love boobs.
Aussie: And so do I.
Odie: Okay, one, I’m seriously freaking out. And two, you know you’re talking about your sister’s boobs.
Odie: Right?
Aussie: Moving on.
Aussie: I know you’re going to be awesome. Like I said.
Aussie: But I know it’s a big deal. Never fear though—we’re in this together.
Chapter Twenty-One
Today is . . . Austin glared at the two-year-old calendar that hung in his office, counting back the days and trying to figure out if it was Wednesday or Thursday.
When he didn’t see Odie for a couple of days, he kind of lost all sense of time. Which was odd, since he was practically counting the hours until he saw her again.
For the record, it was seven, and he was undeniably, unashamedly counting down.
Fuck, maybe it’s Friday?
He really needed to get his shit together. He had to get better—not just in general terms, but because he had The Avenue to worry about more and more.
Ashton was stepping back . . . again. Even more.
She’d told him after their family dinner.
“Honestly, this thing about Mom just makes me feel even more like it’s the right decision.” She smiled sadly. “I want to be there with Kennedy. And Andrew and I . . . we’re talking about giving her siblings.”
Austin played off his disappointment, happy his sister was happy, was finally in the place she’d wanted to be for so long. “Because you have such awesome and ridiculously handsome siblings, you think it would be cruel to deny her, right?”
“Exactly right.”
“Hey, man.” Simon’s voice interrupted Austin as he sat behind his desk at The Avenue, and he looked up to offer his brother-in-law a smile. “Got a second?”
“Sure, come in,” he replied, gesturing Simon into the room, grateful for the reprieve and wondering what had brought him by.
Also wondering if Simon knew what day it was.
“I hope you don’t mind me not calling but I wanted to ask you something.”
“I’m not going to cheat on Odie or let you cheat on Aaron, no matter how strong the attraction is, man. You’re awful pretty, but my girl is prettier.” He smiled just thinking about her. “Plus, I have a thing for little redheads who can beat me senseless if I stray.”
“Kinky,” came the reply, “but not what I was here for, I’m afraid.” Simon sat down in the chair opposite Austin’s desk—a chair that was seeing so much action lately, Aussie was starting to think it would need t
o be replaced with something more comfortable—and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees.
“Surprising, but okay. Whatcha need?” It really wasn’t like Simon to just come into The Avenue without Aaron, not that he wasn’t welcome. He’d been so much a part of Austin’s life that he had all the same privileges as Aaron. Possibly more, since he didn’t spend his life trying to make Austin and Ashton as uncomfortable as possible.
“Aaron and I are celebrating our anniversary tomorrow night. Seventeen years since the day we met.” Simon’s eyes darted away, a private smile forming on his lips. “I want to take him out for the night. I, ah, I have a plan that I put into place before Finn, and I . . .”
Austin stayed silent a moment, waiting to see if Simon would keep talking, but when that didn’t happen, he filled in the gap. “You want it to be just you and Aaron?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want Finn to worry. Or feel like he’s in the way, or”—he shrugged, and met Austin’s gaze with his own—“I know his father made him feel like a third-wheel or a nuisance and I don’t want to make him feel like that. So I was wondering if—”
“You got it, bro. Odie and I will watch Finn, have him sleepover, play superheroes with him and generally distract him from the fact that you two are going to be off doing other things.”
“Like each other.” Simon smirked, his sly response so reminiscent of Aaron that Austin made a point of pretending to gag over the innuendo.
Laughing, Simon added, “What? Like you weren’t thinking it.”
“Man, Aaron really has corrupted you. I would have thought you were safe after all these years, but nope. It’s like you got married and BOOM, you’re taking on all his worst habits.”
“Not all of them. At least I still put my underwear in the clothes basket. I’m convinced Aaron doesn’t know we even have one.”
Austin clutched his chest in mock horror. “Are you telling me that the impeccable Aaron Andrews doesn’t treat his clothes with the utmost respect?”
Matching Austin’s pretend shock, Simon feigned seriousness. “I am. Ties, draped all over the place. Shirts, crumpled on the floor. Socks, not in pairs. It’s madness.”
“What’s his defense?” Aussie asked, genuine in his curiousness.
“That he’s making sure our dry cleaner can send both his son and his daughter to good colleges.”
“He gets his underwear dry-cleaned? His socks? That’s not . . . I don’t think that’s normal.”
“Nah, I do the non-dry-cleanables.”
“That’s your problem right there,” Austin said, affecting a much deeper voice than normal, mixing in a thick Southern drawl.
“What is? And since when did you give me advice?” Simon’s head cocked, like he couldn’t believe the turn of events.
Fair, since Simon was usually the advice giver and Aussie the givee. Like, for example, the brief-but-blistering advice he’d received from his brother-in-law about Odie.
Simon took the glass of whiskey from Austin’s hands and set it on the coffee table in the center of Austin’s living area.
He’d been surprised when Aaron and Simon had knocked on his door a couple of weeks after Simon had offered to help him with his Odie problem.
What he wasn’t surprised at was the smart advice that followed.
“Listen, and listen well, Tiny. You were wrong. She had—has—a right to be angry with you, and you need to wait her out while letting her know that you’re waiting her out.”
“I don’t get it,” Austin replied, shoving a hand into his blond curls and trying to figure out what Simon meant. He’d come to the, for lack of a better term, patriarch of the Andrews’ family for advice, not a puzzle.
“Call her, but not constantly. Tell her you’re sorry and ask her for time when she’s ready. And, for the love of God, do not do anything other than apologize because you were wrong.”
Of course, Austin hadn’t exactly done things the way that Simon had suggested—and maybe that’s why it took even longer for Odette to give in and finally see him and forgive him—but still. He’d appreciated the effort and the advice.
And the fact that Simon had stood by Aaron for years—through ups and downs.
“First things first, just bring Finn by my place whenever, and go enjoy your anniversary. Just promise not to tell me the details.” At Simon’s nod, which was accompanied by a wry grin, Austin couldn’t help but note, he continued, “And as for the underwear on the floor thing: make him do his own fucking laundry. At the very least, refuse to pick it up after him and wash it. If it’s not in the basket, it doesn’t get washed.”
“That’s”—a long pause from Simon, while he thought it over—“surprisingly solid advice from the guy who tried to kill his girlfriend’s father.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is nothing sacred in this family?”
“You know nothing’s off limits, Tiny.”
Austin rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air, but the truth was, he didn’t care.
Most likely, Ashton had told Aaron when they’d had dinner, and Aaron had told Simon, because couples share. And if it had happened to either Ashton or Aaron, Aussie would have been the first to tell his other sibling about it. So, he couldn’t be mad.
But still, he humphed and pointed at the door, effectively dismissing Simon, who left with a wave and a “thank you.” Which Austin replied to with the middle finger, because that’s what was expected of the bratty youngest child.
And because he could.
Odie stood in front of Austin’s front door, knocking for the third time.
Where the hell is he?
Ready to whip out her phone and call him—to make sure he hadn’t forgotten—she jumped back a step when the door whipped open and Austin filled her line of sight.
Dripping wet, a precariously hitched towel wrapped around his waist.
“Dear God.” She moaned, long and wanton, ready to just drop to the floor and let him do whatever he wanted to her. “You’re perfect.”
“Glad you’re finally noticing. Only took you—”
She didn’t let him finish. With a palm flat on his chest, she pushed him back far enough into his place that she could shut the door behind her, then placed her mouth on his chest.
Tenderly kissing his heart.
“Odie,” he whispered, lifting one hand to her cheek, the other stroking her short hair.
It felt so good, Odie thought she might combust.
Instead of answering, she stood straight and walked past him, leading him into the bedroom. Her head tilted at the pile of clean laundry on his bed—neatly folded clothes, a stack of his preferred style of underwear, and bunches of rolled socks.
“Why do you have so many socks?” she asked, taking in the pyramid that was made up of all kinds of socks.
Fuzzy. Business. Wacky—she was pretty sure one pair had sperm printed on them.
“Oh, so Simon came into work today and told me about Aaron never picking up his underwear and socks, so I decided to have a photo shoot. You know, so I could lord my superior laundry abilities over him.”
“Makes sense,” she said, uncertainly coloring her voice, “I think. And the rest of the stuff?”
He offered her a funny look. “I didn’t want it to look staged.” Obviously, his expression clearly said.
“Right. Of course. I should have realized that you didn’t want your staged laundry pic to look staged. What was I thinking?”
“To be fair, you were probably still distracted by all this,” he replied easily, sweeping his hands down to show off his admittedly impressive torso and the hidden playground under his towel.
“Mmm,” she moaned, agreeing. “Come here.” She beckoned a finger, not ashamed to pout when he shook his head. “Why not?”
“Before I forget,” he started, and she barely resisted rolling her eyes. His ability to forget was the most impressive thing about him—aside from that hidden playground, that was. “We are having a super-cool, total
ly fun, in-no-way-last-minute sleepover with Finn tomorrow night. You. Me. The little man. And all our favorite superheroes.”
Her mouth dropped; she felt it as it happened. “What?”
“Sleepover. Fun times. Sugar highs.”
Without thinking, she reached out a hand to the pair of socks that sat atop the pyramid she’d just been admiring. Weapon in hand, she let it fly, satisfied with the way it smacked against his stupidly perfect chest, before falling at his feet.
“Hey, what was that for?” He asked, touching the spot where it landed.
“That was for forgetting.” She picked up a second pair, taking aim.
Hands held up in surrender, he dug his hole a little deeper. “I didn’t forget. He literally just asked me today.”
“You’re an idiot,” she retorted, hurling the socks in her hand, not bothering to see where they hit before loading up with more ammo.
“I know, we’ve established this already. Your idiot.”
“Whatever,” she fumed, launching a third, then fourth set of socks at him. One pair glanced off his shoulder, but the other hit the bullseye—right between his eyes.
“Why are you throwing socks at me? Jesus, Odie. That kinda hurt.” He rubbed his nose.
“Why? Why? Because I love you but I am so, so fucking angry with you.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, idiot. So I’m not going to punch you. But seriously, I’m so annoyed, I just–I just—” The fifth pair, the sperm socks, appropriately hit him in his Dundee, making the precarious towel give up and fall to the floor.
“Oh, fuck. Good thing that wasn’t the hiking socks,” he panted, bringing his hands in front of his increasingly hard dick, trying to make a joke.
Except Odie didn’t really find it funny.
Actually, she kind of wanted to dig into the pile and find some extra thick, heavy duty socks and let loose.
“You’re a–a–ugh. I’m out of here.” She threw one final pair of socks—not thick ones, just a boring pair of plain black sports socks—and turned to storm from the room.
