by Penny Wylder
Caught Together
Penny Wylder
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Excerpt of HER DAD’S FRIEND
CAUGHT TOGETHER
PENNY WYLDER
Copyright © 2016 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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1
I pull the sheet tight across the bed and reach for the crumpled comforter. I really should have come in here earlier. It’s dusty and could use a good scrub down. But Brad will be here any minute and I have to settle for remaking the bed. I sigh. The dust will bother me, but it won’t bother Brad. My son has never been concerned with how clean his room is. All the same, I make a mental note to give this room a good cleaning before he comes home for the summer.
I shake out the blanket harder than I normally would to clear any dust from it, and as it settles, the air sends papers flying off of Brad’s bulletin board. I shake my head. Of course. Finishing the bed, I reorganize the disturbed papers on his desk and reach down behind for the things that fell behind it. I can just feel the edge of a couple of papers, but my arm won’t quite make it far enough. A couple of Brad’s old hockey sticks are in the way, but I think I can reach without knocking the sticks over. I stretch, reach… and the hockey sticks go crashing to the side and I lose my balance and slip down onto the floor. Ow. I’ve got the papers though.
I pull my prizes out from behind the desk and take a look. It’s a newspaper article featuring my son’s high school hockey team. There was an article when the team won the state championships his senior year. The other thing I rescued is a picture, and as I pull it out from behind the article, I immediately feel myself blush. The picture is of Brad and his best friend, Trevor King. Must have been taken some time last year. Brad and Trevor were friends all through high school, and Trevor spent more time here than he did at home. Then senior year, his family moved to a different part of Boston, and I didn’t see him again until he visited Brad for the day last year around this time.
That visit makes my whole body fill with remembered embarrassment, as the way my body reacted when I saw Trevor again was…not appropriate. He had filled out, grown into himself. He was sexy. And eighteen. He and Brad are still best friends, and they play on the hockey team at Boston College together, but I rarely see him.
I stare at the picture. A woman my age probably shouldn’t describe people as hot…but my god Trevor King is hot. I think about all the times he stole into my fantasies, even when I tried to keep him out. But that’s all they were. Fantasies. Harmless fantasies about what he would look like under all his clothes, what he would look like over me, what he would look like—
Stop.
My body is already warming with just those thoughts, and I can’t. Brad will be here soon and I can’t be hot and bothered by his best friend. It’s wrong on so many levels. I pin the article and the picture back to the bulletin board and pick up the hockey sticks I knocked over. Looking around the room, I see so many things I could do to make it just a little cleaner. I won’t be able to finish any of those things by the time Brad gets here though, so I decide to leave it alone.
I head into my office next door—stepping over the mattresses I’ve set out for my nephews—and check my e-mails. This time of the holidays it’s slow. I have a conference call with a client tomorrow, but nothing else is urgent. But speaking of urgent, I send a text to my sister reminding her to bring butter for tonight’s dinner. I haven’t had a chance to get to the store, and we’re going to need it. My email pings and I see an email from a new client asking when we can schedule a call to talk about their new marketing plan. I’m checking my calendar as I hear a key in the lock downstairs. A smile comes to my face. Brad is finally here.
“Mom?” Brad calls.
“I’m up here,” I call back.
I hear the shuffling of luggage and footsteps on the stairs as I check my calendar, and send a quick email so this isn’t nagging me. I hear Brad get into his room, and as I step into the hallway, I hear him laugh. Then I hear another voice, a distinctly deep and male voice. So my son isn’t here alone. Okay…
Probably just a friend from school for the day. I step into the doorway of Brad’s room and tap my knuckles on the door. “Knock knock,” I say, and I have to keep my jaw from dropping, because I’m now face to face with Trevor King.
2
“Hey mom!” Brad crosses the room and sweeps me into a hug. I hug him back, that particular warmth of having my son home and safe filling me up. There’s a small anxiety whenever he’s away, like an itch I barely notice. But as glad as I am to have him home, I’m still beyond shocked to see Trevor here. Trevor, the guy I was just thinking about. The universe must be laughing at me right now.
I’m looking at him over Brad’s shoulder, and he gives me a tiny little smile that’s damn sexy. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. My stomach plummets and I pull away from Brad, managing a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says. “Mom, you remember Trevor, right?”
“Or course I do,” I say, my smile still in place. I remember him in lots of fantasies that should have never have happened.
“Well, his plans for the holidays fell through and he needs a place to stay, so I said he could stay here. Is that all right? I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
Here. Trevor King here. In my house. For two weeks. I can practically hear the universe rolling on the floor in its laughter. I push through my shock. “Of course. The more the merrier.” My brother and his family are also staying with us until Christmas, but it’s okay. We’ll just be a house that’s a little fuller.
Trevor still has that little smile on his face. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I’ll just go get some extra blankets and make sure we have enough food for dinner tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. I should have enough food—it’s just one extra person. But that extra person feels like he takes up the space of three. A flush creeps up my neck. I can’t believe I’m letting myself get rattled like this, over a boy. Over my son’s friend. Another part of my mind whispers that he’s not a boy, what I saw upstairs was all man. Hockey has been good to him, obvious muscle packing his frame. He’s definitely not the boy that used to come over after school, and the smile on his face tells me that he knows that.
I check the fridge. I’m not sure what I was thinking. With the family coming over tonight we’ll have enough food for an army. I shake my head to clear it. Get a hold of yourself, Stella. Him being here doesn’t mean anything. Just your old body responding to youth and…what’s that word? Virility. Youth and virility. No problem.
It doesn’t matter that you haven’t had a date in over a year and nothing but your fingers and a vibrator before that. That’s fine. It doesn’t change anything. The vibrator is reliable, and after Christmas you’ll try to make an effort to go on more dates with someone
of an appropriate age. I head to the back of my house—my bedroom and bathroom are tucked in the back corner off the living room. What‘s now bedroom used to be my office, but when Brad left for college last year I decided I wanted more space.
Before I get the blankets, I go into my room, suddenly feeling the need to change. I mean, I look fine. But everyone is coming over tonight, and I should look nicer. It’s only right that I look good for Brad’s welcome home dinner. I put on a pair of black slacks and a soft black sweater. I ignore the voice in my head that chastises me for wearing this sweater because of the deep neckline. I tell it to shut up when it tells me that I’m wearing it because I know it makes my breasts look amazing, and that I want Trevor to see. That is definitely not why I’m changing. I have every right to look good in my own home when everyone is coming over for dinner. The perfume I spray on my neck is totally innocent too. It’s not a crime to smell good.
I smooth my hair down in the mirror and remember that I was supposed to be getting blankets. I search through the linen closet and find sheets, a couple of blankets, and a pillowcase. Brad can give Trevor one of his pillows. I take a deep breath and rein in all possible inappropriate thoughts about Trevor. Everything is fine. His being here is fine.
I walk into Brad’s room, and immediately drop all the blankets on the floor. Brad isn’t here, but Trevor is. A very, very shirtless Trevor. My mouth goes dry, and I feel a sense of déjà vu. That same feeling of roaring attraction that spread through my body last year. It’s back, and stronger. I can’t deny that Trevor is hot. I can see the muscles in his back flex as he turns towards me, drawn by the sound of my clumsiness. And the front is even better than the back, everything about his body showing the time he puts in at the gym and on the rink. Before I can even think, my eyes follow a path from his collarbone across his chest and down. His abs are perfect, but my eyes stop at that smooth patch of skin that disappears into his jeans, and I’m furious at myself for how badly I want to see what’s underneath.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say. “I didn’t realize…”
His eyes run up and down my body slowly, and I feel the temperature in the room rise. I wonder if he noticed that I changed. I wonder if he knows—if he thinks—that it’s for him. “That’s all right,” he says. “I was just changing for dinner.”
A sure smile spreads across his face, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him. At his body. My entire face flushes and his smile gets even bigger. It’s a cocky smile, and I realize that he knows. Oh god, he knows that I can’t stop looking at his body, he might know every other thought I’ve had about him, including what it would be like if he crossed the room and kissed me and didn’t stop—
STOP. Geeze, Stella.
I force my eyes off him and onto the floor and see the blankets I dropped, which he made me completely forget about. I bend down to pick them up from the messy tangle they’ve fallen into. “I brought these for you to sleep with—I mean under…To use when you go to bed—” I close my eyes. Is there anything I can possibly say about these blankets that doesn’t sound sexual? I open my eyes, and Trevor is now in front of me. I realize that I’m kneeling in front of him, and my mouth is inches away from what is unmistakably a bulge in his pants. I can tell even through his jeans that he’s huge, and I look up to see that cocky smile still plastered across his face.
Suddenly I’m imagining this situation very differently, and I feel myself get wet.
“I may be able to…help you with those,” he says, looking down towards the blankets.
I snap back into myself and pick them up. “No, that’s all right.” It’s only once I manage to stand back up that I realize what a view down my shirt I gave him. How long has he been here? Half an hour and I’m already a mess. This should be interesting.
Brad walks in behind me and I’m so so glad that he didn’t get the visual of me kneeling in front of his best friend. His hair is wet from the shower, and he pulls open a drawer. “Hey, mom,” he says, “I forgot to tell you that I totally killed the air mattress over fall break. Can Trevor can sleep on the couch?”
“Sure,” I say, looking anywhere but at Trevor’s body, even if I can feel him still looking at me. “I’ll set it up.”
I slip out of the room before I can make any more of a fool out of myself. You would think I’ve never seen a shirtless man before the way I was tripping myself. I need a good slap. I walk into the living room and place the blankets beside the couch. I’ll make up the couch for him after the rest of the family leaves from dinner. We might need it in the meantime.
I look up and see the french doors leading to my bedroom. The doors that are ten feet from this couch. The couch where Trevor will be sleeping. I laugh out loud, to no one, at the irony.
“Something funny?” Trevor enters the living room, now fully clothed.
“Not really,” I say, because the situations that are running through my head where both he and I are naked are the farthest thing from funny.
Another little smile is playing around his mouth, and it’s maddening. It tells me that he’s sees through me and knows too much. “Okay,” he says. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay. I know it was unexpected.”
I manage a smile. “Don’t mention it. Like I said, the more the merrier.”
“I also wanted to know,” he says, walking across the room, “what you’d be okay with me calling you. I’ve never been sure. Do you want me to call you Ms. Woodward?” He stops in front of me.
I’d like to tell him that he can call me whatever he damn well pleases, but I resist. “Stella is fine, Trevor.”
He doesn’t say anything, instead just looking at me. I feel like I’m rooted to the spot, and I don’t ever want to move. His eyes are beautiful up close, a pale blue-gray. My face drops to his lips, and I swear I feel him sway towards me. I clear my throat. “How long are you staying?”
“As long as you’ll let me,” he says, and I feel my breath catch. There’s a moment when I think he’s not talking about Christmas break, and my traitor heart picks up its pace at the thought. “I’ll go back to school with Brad.” I nod.
He takes a step forward and I take a step back, feeling the edge of the doorframe hit my shoulder. “About upstairs,” he says softly. “I wasn’t lying. I’m willing to help you with anything while I’m here.”
He reaches out, and his hand is on my hip. Every one of my nerves is vibrating. I look down, and I see his pants are still straining, maybe even more than before. There’s a smile in his voice but I can’t drag my eyes away from his pants, imagining what his cock would look like were it not currently trying to ruin his jeans. “I think you’d like my kind of help, Stella.”
Chills run down my arms, and he takes a step closer. I should tell him to stop, that this can’t happen, but I don’t want to do either of those things. “Trevor…” I say, and nothing comes out. I have no idea what to say, and my body wants to pull him closer, let him touch me more.
Like he’s reading my mind, the hand on my hip drifts to my belt, teasing my zipper and dipping lower. “How wet are you for me?” he asks softly, his hand inching closer to being between my legs. “What am I going to find when I touch you there?”
There may as well be no fabric between us the way the drag of his fingers is sending shivers running through me. It’s been far too long since someone touched me—even just this barest contact has me drowning in feeling. I’m not sure what he’ll find when his hand reaches me, and I hope that I haven’t soaked through my pants. And then his fingers are between my legs and the movement sends a zing of pleasure through me. His thumb presses inward, running directly over my clit and my entire body jumps. Trevor smiles, continuing to make small circles, and my head falls back. God, this is exactly what I wanted. I’m not entirely sure that I’m not hallucinating this, but for the moment, I’m enjoying it.
He pulls his hand away, instead choosing to undo my pants. My hips press forward into his hand, more than eager for his fingers
to find me without any barrier. His other hand slips up behind my neck, and suddenly I can’t look anywhere but at him—just the way he wants it. His fingers slide down my stomach and are slipping inside my underwear when the doorbell rings.
And suddenly the world comes crashing down. “Shit.” I push Trevor away from me, buttoning up my pants as fast as I can. That didn’t just happen. I didn’t just let that happen. My son could have come down the stairs and seen his best friend coming onto me. What would he think about me then? I straighten my clothing and answer the door at the same time that Brad comes clattering down the stairs.
“Uncle B!” Brad says. “How are you?” He envelops my brother in a hug, and ushers him and his wife inside. I see one of my sisters pulling up into the driveway and wave, closing the door to keep out the cold.
Shit. I haven’t even started heating up the food yet. It’s all cooked, but right now it’s completely cold. When I turn, everyone has gone to the kitchen except for Trevor, still staring at me with that smile on his face. The smile that says he knows exactly what he does to me, and he likes it. “Umm…thank you for the help,” I say.
“Anytime.” I know he means it, too.
Damn it. I have a problem.
3
I let my embarrassment fade as my family arrives and I throw myself into making sure everyone’s food is in the right place and everything is being heated and that there’s enough place settings. With the addition of Trevor, it’s definitely a full table, but we’ll make do. Plus, we’ve done this so often that it falls into an easy routine, even with the addition of a tenth person. My brother, Bradley, and his wife, June, make sure that everyone has a drink at the table, and make sure their twin sons, Daniel and Mason, are setting the table perfectly. My sisters help me in the kitchen, though Annalise is excused due to the fact that she’s seven months pregnant. Instead we give her a stool and just listen as Maria regales us with her most recent post-divorce escapades.
