Coming Apart at the Seams

by Jenna Sutton

  Groaning softly, he cupped her breasts in his warm hands. The hardened tips of her nipples poked the center of his palms.

  “Fucking fantastic,” he murmured, his words barely audible.

  He shaped her breasts, squeezing gently and occasionally brushing a thumb over her nipples. His fingers were callused from handling footballs, and she squirmed with pleasure, loving the way they rasped over her sensitive skin.

  Rolling a hard peak between his thumb and forefinger, he lightly scraped his nail over the tip before squeezing gently. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan, and he abruptly pulled her to a sitting position.

  She covered her breasts, embarrassed and ashamed she’d let things go so far. She hated the effect he had on her body almost as much as she hated the effect he had on her common sense.

  She scooted forward to slide off the table, but he gently pushed her back again. Jerking one of the mesh chairs closer, he sat down in front of her and pulled her hands away from her chest.

  The new position put his face almost even with her breasts, and he leaned forward until he was nose deep between them. He nuzzled against her, his stubble prickly and tickly, before licking circles down her cleavage.

  He trailed his tongue across one of her breasts to pull a nipple into his mouth. He sucked deeply, and she felt it between her legs. More wetness flowed from her body, and she wondered if she was going to come just from his mouth on her nipples.

  He bit down gently on the sensitive peak before swirling his tongue around it, back and forth, until her pulse pounded between her legs and in her ears. He pressed against her nipple with his tongue, and she quivered from the soft pressure.

  Turning to her other nipple, he lavished it with the same attention. She clenched her fingers in his hair, holding his hot mouth against her when he sucked strongly. He gripped her knees as he nibbled the tip of her breast, sliding his callused hands up her thighs before tracing the edge of her panties.

  She spread her legs, eager to feel his long fingers inside her, and he released her nipple with a soft pop. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her forward until her butt almost hung off the table.

  He wrestled her skirt up to her waist before hooking his fingers in the top of her panties. She raised her hips, and he yanked the fragile lace down her thighs. It got stuck on the zipper of one of her boots, and he growled, his chest heaving.

  He clenched his hand around the panties, and she expected him to tear them apart like he had in the linen closet, but he took a deep breath and carefully disentangled them from the zipper. Once they were loose, he pulled them over her boots and free from her sharp heels.

  He looked down, his eyes focused on the space between her legs. When she’d lived in Boston, she had been bare except for a landing strip, but it had grown out since then. He petted the springy curls, smoothing them downward with tiny strokes. Clearing his throat, he met her eyes.

  “Perfect,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  He traced her labia with the tips of his fingers before delving between them. He slowly eased two fingers inside her, and she squirmed from the delicious pressure.

  He pushed deeper, and she gasped as arousal spilled from her body. He groaned, moving his hand to stroke her clit at the same time he thrust his fingers inside her. He flicked it lightly, and a jolt went through her.

  She looked down, moaning when she saw the erotic vision of his strong hand working between her legs, glistening with her juice. She rocked her hips against his hand, faster and faster, and watched as he followed her rhythm. Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers, and she almost sobbed in disappointment. She had been so close.

  He stood, kicking the chair away from him. It skidded across the floor on its rollers before crashing into her desk. Pulling her to her feet, he turned her until she leaned over the conference room table with her butt in the air. He pressed his knee between her thighs to widen them, and she heard the metallic rasp of his zipper behind her.

  A moment later he reached under her and flattened his hand against her stomach. He pressed gently, pushing her toward him, and the broad head of his penis probed her body. She pulled in a breath as he nudged inside her. They’d never had sex in this position, and he felt different.

  Hotter, harder, thicker.

  She moaned as he pressed deep, filling her so completely she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. He shuddered behind her, and she could tell how excited he was from his labored breathing.

  Moving his hands to her hips, he caressed them with long strokes of his fingers. After a long moment, he began a slow, steady rhythm, and she braced her hands against the table and pushed back against him so he could go as deep as possible. The feel of him inside her made her vision blur, and she cried out when he hit a deliciously sensitive spot. He froze, his fingers clenching on her hips.

  “Please don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop. I need more.”

  He groaned and began to thrust deeply inside her in a fast, hard rhythm. Sliding his hand from her hip, he found her clit and squeezed it between his fingers, rubbing gently as he surged into her.

  Her orgasm crashed over her, unexpected, and she cried out, her internal muscles pulsing against his hardness, milking him strongly. The intensity of it made her vision go dark.

  Nick groaned harshly, pressing his hand against her and rooting deeply with his penis. He shouted, jerking inside her as he came. She tightened her vaginal muscles to prolong his orgasm, and he let out a strangled moan.

  She let her head drop forward, resting her forehead on the cool glass of the table. Her body still vibrated with the remnants of her orgasm, and every few seconds, she felt a small pulse from him.

  Somehow, every time they had sex, it was even better than the last time. It had been like that the first time they’d been together. Each time, the sex had been hotter, the orgasms more powerful.

  She sighed as he slowly withdrew from her body. Fluid dribbled down her inner thighs, and she froze, instinctively knowing what it was. She twisted around to face him, staring into his eyes. He looked shell-shocked, exactly the way she felt.

  “Nick . . .” she gasped, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. “Please, please tell me you used a condom.”

  His eyes widened, and he shook his head. She pushed his chest, panicked and angry, and he stumbled backward.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Pregnancy didn’t concern her. She had learned her lesson, and she’d gone on birth control pills after she had recovered from her miscarriage. But she knew Nick was beyond promiscuous, and she was worried he might have given her a horrible disease. She sucked in a deep breath, almost hyperventilating.

  “Do you forget condoms a lot? When was the last time you were tested for STDs? How many women have you been with since you were tested? Am I going to need antibiotics? Or antivirals?”

  Her voice had risen with each question until she had nearly shouted. Nick gripped her shoulders, hugging her to him.

  “T, calm down.”

  “Calm down!” she shrieked, jerking away from him. “Calm down! We just had unprotected sex!”

  Wrenching down her skirt, she cringed as semen trickled out of her. She fumbled with her shirt, frantic to cover her exposed breasts. Her trembling fingers couldn’t manage the buttons so she tugged the fabric together in her fist.

  Nick stepped in front of her and curved his hand around the back of her neck. He leaned down until his face was inches away from hers.

  “I’m clean.”

  “How do you know?” she asked suspiciously.

  “No sex.” He cleared his throat. “No sex since I moved to Nashville.”

  She laughed in disbelief, jerking her neck sideways so he’d release her. He held tight, and she stopped struggling for fear she’d sever her spinal cord.

  “That was more than two years ago. There’s n
o way you could, or would, go that long without sex.”

  He lightly squeezed the back of her neck as he stared into her eyes. “Celibate.” He squeezed her neck again. “For you.”

  Chapter 27

  Of all the places Nick had lived, he had liked Boston the most. The city’s rich history had appealed to him, and he’d liked living close to water.

  The weather had been okay for the most part, although the winters had definitely sucked. But he’d grown up in Upstate New York, so even Boston’s frigid winters hadn’t been enough to ruin things for him.

  If not for Teagan, he probably would have been happy to stay in Boston. But she was in San Francisco, and he wanted to be with her. It sounded corny, but she was his home.

  Because of the O’Brien family, he had visited Northern California too many times to count. He liked the Bay Area well enough, and San Francisco reminded him a little bit of Boston, and not just because of the water, either.

  Like Boston, San Francisco had hundreds of neighborhoods, all of which had distinct personalities. He had spent hours online researching different neighborhoods, trying to decide where he should live. He wanted a house in a neighborhood that was good for families with young children.

  He’d talked with Kate, and with her help, he had focused his search on four specific areas: Laurel Heights, where Quinn lived; Pacific Heights, which was adjacent to Laurel Heights; Sea Cliff, which was a very expensive enclave with views of the ocean; and St. Francis Wood, where Teagan’s parents lived.

  San Francisco was one of the most expensive housing markets in the nation, but that wasn’t a problem because he didn’t have a budget. There were few homes that were out of his price range.

  He’d been living in Riley O’Brien & Co.’s corporate penthouse since late December. Quinn had told him he could stay there until early March, which meant he only had four weeks until he had to either move into his own place or hole up in a hotel.

  He had blocked off the entire weekend to house hunt, and he’d manipulated Teagan into coming along. He had dropped hints to both Quinn and Kate that Teagan had been too busy to help him find a new place, and that had done the trick.

  Kate had recommended a realtor named Rayna Sullivan, a family friend. Rayna’s husband, Sam, headed up Riley O’Brien & Co.’s real estate group, and the couple had known the O’Briens for decades.

  Rayna had pulled together more than sixty listings for him to review. He had eliminated more than half of them right away, knowing instinctively Teagan wouldn’t like them. He had a pretty good sense of her housing preferences, knowledge gleaned from her condo in Cambridge and her loft in downtown San Francisco.

  They’d already visited six houses in Pacific Heights, and with each walk-through, the frown on Teagan’s face had grown darker. He knew she wasn’t happy to spend time with him, but he didn’t think she had liked the houses much, either.

  In some of his darkest moments, he wondered if it was ridiculous to choose a house based on the hope that he and Teagan would be together. But he couldn’t give up on his dream of marrying her and having a family with her.

  He wanted a beautiful, brainy wife and dark-haired, blue-eyed babies. He was surprised by how much he wanted them, especially since he had never expected to get married or have children.

  His love for Teagan had changed him. She had changed him. He wanted more than an isolated, meaningless life, and he wanted to be more than a solitary, lonely man.

  Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to face Rayna. With her silvery-blond bob and blue eyes, she reminded him a lot of Kate.

  “What do you think of the house, Nick?” Rayna asked. “Do you like it?”

  Located in Pacific Heights, the house was a huge, two-story Italianate-Victorian situated high on a steep hill. It had been built in the early 1900s, and Nick really liked the exterior and the views. It also had a guesthouse, a rarity for San Francisco.

  But the interior was a lot less impressive. Although the house was spacious, it needed updating. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because it meant Teagan and Letty could redo it to their specifications. He would be happy with whatever they picked out.

  “You’d probably have to gut the kitchen and the bathrooms,” Rayna said. “But the sellers are motivated. They’d be willing to do a quick close.”

  Given his short time frame, he’d hoped he could find a move-in-ready home. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take on a renovation, but if he decided to do it, Letty could definitely handle it.

  “Are you ready to see the next one on our list?”

  He nodded, and Rayna called out for Teagan. Seconds later, the love of his life appeared in the doorway, a scowl on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his attention to her breasts.

  She wore a soft pink sweater that made him think of cotton candy. It fell past her hips, and black leggings and black, low-heeled boots covered her legs.

  The sweater had a large cowl neck, and he wondered if she’d chosen it specifically because it didn’t show any skin. She had caught him eyeing her chest while they were in a meeting a few days ago, and since then, she’d worn tops that covered her from neck to navel.

  Teagan didn’t seem to realize he didn’t need to see skin to get an erection. All it took was a whiff of her perfume or the sound of her laugh, and he was hard enough to pound nails. And when he actually got a glimpse of her skin, he lost his mind.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d stripped her out of her clothes and done her on the conference table. He might have fantasized about getting it on in her office, but he had never planned to actually do it. And he had never been so out of control that he forgot to use a condom. Not even once.

  He understood why Teagan had freaked out about it, and he’d done his best to reassure her. He had offered to go with her to the gynecologist to be tested even though he had told the truth about his celibacy.

  He knew it was almost impossible to believe he had gone without sex for more than two years, but he only wanted Teagan. Plus, he knew she would never give him another chance if he fucked other women the whole time he worked to win her back.

  He had finally convinced Teagan that he was disease-free because she had calmed down enough to tell him she was clean, too, and also on the pill. When she told him about the birth control, he was overwhelmed with disappointment instead of relief.

  Since then, he had become obsessed with the thought of making her pregnant. Maybe it was some kind of primal instinct left over from prehistoric days, but he got a thrill when he imagined her all round and awkward with his baby. He didn’t know if other men felt the same way, but he couldn’t be the only one who got turned on by it.

  Rayna shifted next to him, pulling his attention from thoughts of procreation. They headed toward Teagan, and when he reached her, he leaned down and stole a quick kiss from her glossy mouth. She punched him in the upper arm, and Rayna laughed, obviously assuming Teagan was being playful. She assumed wrong.

  “I didn’t know you two were a couple,” Rayna said, a big grin on her face.

  “We’re not,” Teagan replied sharply.

  He glanced toward Rayna, whose eyebrows had shot up at Teagan’s bitchy tone. He gave the older woman his most charming smile.

  “Give us a minute?” he asked, aware that Teagan had stiffened next to him.

  Rayna nodded and left the room. He waited until he heard the front door open and close before facing Teagan. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him.

  He bent down until his nose almost touched hers. “Got a problem?”

  She pushed against his chest, but the action didn’t have much of an impact, since he outweighed her by more than one hundred pounds. She huffed out a breath in annoyance, her eyes flashing with tiny blue sparks.

  “Yes, I have a problem,” she snapped. “I don’t want to be here. And you’re wasting Ray
na’s time.”

  He frowned. Why would she think he was wasting Rayna’s time? He was a serious buyer.

  “Explain.”

  “You should be looking at the new condos downtown or smaller houses in Cow Hollow. They’re more your style.”

  “My style?”

  “The houses we’ve looked at aren’t right for you. They’re for families.”

  “And?”

  “You don’t have a family.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What?” she asked, clearly perplexed by his answer.

  “I don’t have a family yet.”

  Her mouth fell open, and he chuckled at the astonished look on her face. He wondered what she would say if he told her he wanted to have a family with her.

  * * *

  A few years ago, Teagan’s mom had told her that men proved the evolutionary theory of domestication. Just as gray wolves had been domesticated by humans to create the modern dog, men had been domesticated by women to create the modern husband and father.

  At the time, Teagan had found her mom’s attitude both hilarious and sexist. But now she wondered if her mom had been right.

  Nick had said he “didn’t have a family yet,” which implied that he would, in fact, have a family one day. Had he been domesticated like the gray wolf? And if so, how had it happened? She was sure there were plenty of female anthropologists who would love to study Nick’s evolution, and by evolution, she really meant butt.

  “When we lived in Boston, I asked if you wanted to get married and have kids, and the look on your face resembled Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream.”

  Nick laughed, tightening his hard arm around her waist. They were so close his belt buckle dug into her stomach, and she had to force herself not to lean against him.

  “Good description.”

  “Now you’re telling me you want a family?”

  She waited for him to answer her question, and when he didn’t, she poked his chest with her forefinger. The rest of her fingers must have wanted in on the action, too, because they flattened against his black sweater before roaming over his well-formed pecs.