On the Fly

by Catherine Gayle

  I’d just gotten her shirt untucked and my hands on her bare skin beneath it when Dad cleared his throat at the top of the stairs again. Rachel jumped, pulling herself all the way off my lap and tugging her shirt down.

  “Fuck, Dad.”

  “Your mom forgot her glasses in her purse.”

  “She doesn’t need glasses to sleep,” I grumbled.

  “No, but she wants to do some reading before she goes to sleep.” He fumbled around in the purse, pulling out at least half of its contents and nearly upending it on the kitchen counter before he finally found them. “Here we are. You two can go back to what you were doing.”

  “Not here, we won’t,” I said as he disappeared up the stairs again, the faint sounds of his laughter trailing back to us. At least he was enjoying himself.

  “This probably isn’t the best idea,” Rachel said. “Doing this here, I mean.”

  There wasn’t a better idea on the planet than finding a way to get my hands on her without constant interruptions.

  “Come to bed with me,” I said, and instantly wished I’d thought it through a little better before opening my mouth. “Just…just to sleep. I don’t want to rush you, and I don’t want you to regret anything or think you made another stupid mistake. But I really want to hold you. Please.”

  She sat there without speaking, and I was pretty sure she was going to say no. If she had any intention of agreeing, she would have said something by now. Then Dad cleared his throat at the top of the stairs again, and she burst out laughing.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” she said.

  Dad clomped down the stairs. “Just need to get my—”

  “Get whatever you need,” I said, getting up and putting the crutches under my arms. “We’re going to bed. Can you get the lights when you’re done, Dad?”

  “Will do.” He headed into the kitchen for God only knew what this time. “Now that I can report this development back to your mother, maybe she’ll stop finding reasons to send me downstairs and I can get some sleep.”

  Rachel’s blush only intensified as she grabbed the bags we’d brought with us for the night. We had to go through the kitchen to get to the downstairs apartment, which meant passing Dad. She moved as fast as she had that first day I met her, when she kept trying to get away from me in the parking garage after her interview with Jim. She opened the door to the apartment ahead of us and flipped on the lights. I closed it when I came in behind her.

  She’d set the bags down on the foot of the bed and was staring at something up near the headboard. I moved around her so I could see what it was.

  A box of condoms and tube of lubricant were situated right in the center of the pillows, with a red ribbon tied around them and a note in Zee’s handwriting: Just in case.

  “I’m sorry. My family is trying to drive me crazy, and they’re hitting you with it, too.”

  Rachel turned to me and put her arms around my waist. “It’s okay. At least this way we’ll be safe if we do any more of that gross tongue kissing.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Maybe we should test it out.”

  Her laugh was swallowed up by my kiss.

  Every night since Christmas Eve, he had stayed in my bed. It had been years since I’d shared a bed with a man, but it had never been like this. Back when Jason and I were married, he had always slept on his side of the bed and I’d slept on mine. We might have had sex, but afterwards there’d been no affection. No closeness or cuddling or anything that remotely felt like love. He’d told me he loved me, and I’d thought I’d loved him, but then I got older and wiser and recognized lust for what it was. There had never been any real love between me and Jason.

  Sleeping with Brenden couldn’t have been more different. When he’d said he wanted to hold me, he hadn’t been kidding. Each of those nights, as soon as I’d crawled under the covers, he had pulled me closer to the middle of the bed and wrapped me up in the cocoon of his arms. We’d kissed and touched and explored each other until we were both panting and breathless and aching with need. There was lust between us, sure. But there was more. When Brenden had told me he loved me, it felt real—because he made me feel loved. And more and more each day, I feared I was falling in love with him.

  But night after night, he had been true to his word. He hadn’t rushed me. He hadn’t pushed me into anything I wasn’t ready for. He’d let me fall in love with the way he would slide his hands beneath my shirt to cup my breasts, gently molding them and kneading them while his thumbs drove me wild. He had allowed me to discover some of his most sensitive places, like the nape of his neck and the area surrounding his belly button. Time and time again, we had taken each other to the edge of sanity before backing off and trying to remember how to breathe again.

  Then he’d held me all night long, keeping me right beside him so I felt warm and safe and cherished. Sometimes he would lie on his back with his arm beneath me, and I’d rest my head on him like he was my own personal pillow. Other times, he would pull my back against his front and we would lie like two spoons in a drawer, his warm breaths fanning out near my ear.

  Our mornings were filled with long, lazy kisses that made me wish we could stay in bed forever. We couldn’t do that, but I wondered if maybe we could have mornings like that forever.

  I was starting to think that maybe my instincts were right about Brenden. Maybe he truly was the man he seemed to be—kind and protective and thoughtful, and a little bit overly confident in some areas while a little bit lacking in others. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to keep letting my kids get attached to him…to allow myself to continue falling in love with him.

  Maybe I’d made one mistake—a horrible mistake—but that didn’t mean I was incapable of being the best mom I could be to my kids. Maybe it didn’t mean I had to keep my kids isolated from all men—from this man.

  Those three days we had, where the whole league was shut down for the Christmas holidays, had flown by so fast I felt like I had whiplash. We’d spent a lot of time with Brenden’s family. They’d made me and the kids feel like we belonged, too—treating us as though we’d always been a part of them.

  When we’d gone back home, Jamie’s parents and brothers had all been around, so we’d spent time with them, as well. They all treated Tuck like he was one of the Babcock brothers, and they were always ready to include Maddie if she felt up to playing.

  She stayed back a lot, but more because she was having some headaches and dizziness from her concussion than from a reluctance to play. She felt better doing something quiet, so on the day after Christmas Brenden and I had taken her back to Powell’s for a while, leaving Tuck to play video games with the Babcock boys to celebrate Jamie’s birthday. She hadn’t really read any of the books she looked at. Mainly she just flipped through the pages and looked at the pictures, but at least it allowed her some quiet time.

  Wednesday night, Brenden stayed on my couch while I put the kids to bed. I read a Dr. Seuss story to Tuck and kissed him goodnight before crossing the hall to Maddie’s room.

  “Want a story?” I asked when I sat down beside her.

  She shook her head and grinned at me. I wasn’t too surprised. Ever since she got concussed, she hadn’t wanted stories much.

  “Okay.” I got up and kissed her forehead before heading toward the door. “Get to sleep.”

  “Mommy?” she said.

  I turned around with my hand on the knob. “Yeah, baby girl?”

  “Are you gonna marry Mr. Soupy?”

  I’d hoped we were done with all that kind of talk after the other night, at least for a while. Mainly because I didn’t have any real answers.

  “I don’t know, Maddie. We haven’t talked about getting married yet. We’re just trying out the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing for now.”

  “Oh. Because I think he would be a good daddy.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. He takes good care of us, and he makes you happy.” She rolled over so her back was facing the door.
“Good night, Mommy.”

  “Good night, Maddie.”

  Pumpkin darted into her bedroom and leaped up his steps onto her bed as I pulled the door closed.

  Brenden looked just the same as he had when I’d left him, only now he had a heated expression that made me tingle with awareness.

  “They’re all set?” Brenden asked when I got back into the living room. He’d turned the TV on to hockey news, but he’d muted it so it was just moving images.

  I sat next to him, and he put his arm around my shoulders almost immediately, drawing me in to his warmth. “They’re down for the count—or at least they will be soon.”

  “What has you grinning?”

  I hadn’t realized I was grinning. It made sense, though, after what she’d said about Brenden. I agreed with her. “She thinks you would make a good father.” It seemed only natural to tell him that, even though I probably wouldn’t have not too long ago.

  He chuckled. “Then she’s got a lot more confidence in me on that front than I do.”

  “Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “Maybe.” Brenden’s hand slid down to my waist, settling there almost possessively. He picked me up and settled me on his lap like he’d done after I’d cut my feet. His erection made itself known against the side of my thigh, much like it tended to press into my belly or my bottom when he held me at night. It sent my pulse into a tailspin.

  He kissed my cheek then rested his chin on the top of my head, wrapping both his strong arms around me. “I love you,” he said. “I know you’re not sure yet if you love me, and that’s okay. But I need you to know how much I love you and want to take care of you. How much I want to be with you. I think you love me, too, even if you don’t recognize it.”

  I did love him, though.

  I’d been fighting it for weeks, but I finally realized I was fighting a losing battle. Some things are worth fighting for, but to stop yourself from loving someone? To try to avoid loving a man who loved me and my kids, who wanted to be the sort of man they’d never had in their lives? For that matter, he wanted to be the sort of man I’d never had in my life. I’d finally stopped trying to push him away, but I hadn’t really given myself over to it—to him—and it was exhausting.

  “You’re not wrong,” I said. I pulled myself away from him, tilting my head back so I could look in depths of his eyes. “I love you. It scares me because I’ve never loved anyone like this, but I don’t want to be scared anymore. Loving you feels right when so many things in my life have felt wrong.”

  “You realize I’m only going to get cockier now, right?” He laughed and kissed the tip of my nose. “Because the most amazing girl I’ve ever known loves me.”

  “I knew you had to have a flaw.”

  “One or two. I try to keep them under wraps.”

  “That’s good. Wouldn’t want to knock yourself off the pedestal I’ve got you on.”

  “Definitely not. That’s a long fall. It’d hurt.”

  I put my arm around his neck and rested my cheek on his shoulder. His scent filled my nostrils, tickling my lungs. He let one hand slide down my rib cage, over my hip and lower, until it rested on top of my thigh.

  “Brenden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are those condoms Eric gave you in the bag you left here?” The other night, he’d brought a duffel bag with a few things from his place—clean underwear, a toothbrush—and left it in my bedroom. I kissed the side of his neck. The frantic pumping of his pulse beneath my lips matched my own.

  His voice was gruff when he said, “Yes.”

  “That’s good.” I got off his lap and took the baggie of ice to the kitchen. His eyes followed my every move. I let my gaze meet his. “Are you ready to come to bed?”

  Considering he was still on crutches, he got up and made it to my bedroom faster than he should have been able to. By the time I joined him, he’d placed the crutches against the wall and was sitting on the edge of the bed, fumbling to remove his walking boot.

  I closed the door, my heart racing so fast I didn’t know how it was still in my chest.

  He kicked his shoe off and released the last latches on his boot, letting it drop to the floor. “You’re sure?” he asked. “You’re not going to think you’ve made a stupid decision and regret it later?”

  “I’m sure.” As though to prove my point, I pulled the hem of my shirt free from my jeans and undid the buttons. His eyes burned a hole through me, watching the path of my fingers. When I had all the buttons free, I let the silky material slide down my arms to pool at my feet.

  “More freckles,” he said on a groan that filled me with heat. He held out a hand to me. As soon as I took it, he tugged me closer, drawing me between his thighs. “God, they’re everywhere. Are they everywhere?” I laughed, and he said, “Don’t answer that. Let me find them.”

  He kissed my collarbone, his tongue searing me and stealing my breath. I held onto his shoulders for support as he methodically kissed every freckle he could find. He used those big hands to tease me, trailing them over my bared skin but never venturing too close to those places still covered in my clothing.

  I let my head fall back and tried to remember how to breathe. No one had ever touched me like this before—as if it was just as important to make me feel good as it was for him to come. Jason had been all about his own needs, and there’d been no one but my trusty vibrator since then. That couldn’t hold a candle to the ways Brenden was touching me now. My whole body felt alive, tingling and trembling and wonderful.

  The heat of his mouth came down over my bra cup, and I was powerless to stop my back from arching into him. I reached behind me and unhooked the clasps, letting the straps drop from my arms.

  Brenden backed his head away for a moment, watching as my breasts bounced free. “More freckles. You’re so fucking beautiful.” He rested his palms on my rib cage just below my breasts as he’d done several times beneath my pj’s over the last few nights, using his thumbs to lightly brush against their undersides. This time, he kissed every freckle he’d just revealed, twirling his tongue and moving closer and closer to my nipple, so close that I was nearly frantic with needing his attention right there.

  When he finally did reach it, gently suckling and flicking it with his tongue, I let out such a loud moan I had to put my hand over my mouth. I didn’t want to wake the kids.

  He moved his attention to the other breast, and it was too much. I fisted my hands in his T-shirt and tugged it up. He raised his arms over his head and helped me remove it. I tossed it to the floor. With both his hands on my waist, he lifted me onto the bed and put me on my back, then rolled himself over so he was on top of me.

  His weight pressed me into the mattress, and now his hips were between my thighs, and his lips and tongue and hands were everywhere all at once.

  We kissed and explored each other’s bodies. I let my fingers travel over his shoulders and chest and back, reveling in the corded strength of his muscle. His hands flitted down my abdomen. He fumbled with the fastening of my pants, finally breaking off the kiss so he could rise up on his knees and look at what he was doing. He was as hurried as I was, desperate for more—too rushed.

  “Let me,” I said. He nodded and went to work on his jeans, ripping them and his boxers off in the time it took me to get my pants down to my ankles. I still had my shoes on, so my pants got twisted up with them and it took three times as long as it should have with both of us pulling at them.

  I laughed. “God, we’re a mess.” For the first time, I really got to look at him—all of him. He was as big and strong as I knew, but his body was like the canvas of his career, filled with scars from surgeries and God only knew what else, and a few tattoos scattered here and there. It was the scars my eye was drawn to, though. You could see his pain everywhere you looked, but also his determination and willingness to fight for what he wanted.

  His eyes were studying me just as intensely as I was studying him. I felt like he was co
unting freckles with the focused way his gaze roved over every inch of my body.

  With one hand, I reached up to trace the long, pinkish line on his left hip. He put his hand over mine to stop me. “I’m a mess,” he said. “You’re not. You’re perfect.”

  He couldn’t be more wrong about that.

  “No,” I said. I pulled my hand free from his and used it to touch another scar, the one on his shoulder. “You’re perfect, too, because most people bear their scars on the inside where no one can see them—people like Maddie and Dana and me—but yours are out there where someone only has to look to know.”

  “Which makes me a mess.”

  “Which makes you perfect for me,” I corrected him. I kissed him where my hand had just been, using my tongue to taste him.

  He closed his eyes, his breaths coming fast and ragged. I pushed on his shoulders so he’d lie down on his back, and I rose up over him on my knees, giving him the same careful, tormenting treatment he’d given me everywhere I could find evidence of his injuries. His muscles jerked to life beneath my ministrations, fluttering with every touch.

  I slipped my tongue into his belly button, letting it swirl around as he clenched his fists at his sides. I pointed it and moved it lower, following the thin trail of dark hair down below his waist. With one hand, I slid my fingertips along the underside of his erection, moving up toward the tip.

  He sucked in a sharp breath when I followed the same path in the opposite direction. “Rachel, you’re going to kill me.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  He sat up and kissed me, moving his hand down between my legs. He let out a groan when he touched my sex through my panties and both of us could feel how wet I was. With two fingers, he moved the fabric aside and slid them between my lips. I moved my hips in time with him, my impatience getting the best of me.

  His thumb found my clitoris and rubbed gentle circles until I was hovering just on the edge of a climax. He kept kissing me, his tongue wreaking perfect torment on my mind as his fingers did the same with my sex. It finally washed over me, gentle waves pulsing through my entire body.