“I’m taking a break at the moment, but I do have a few divorce cases going right now. Run of the mill stuff, mostly,” I reply. Mr. Warner is a retired cop. I know I could have his undivided attention if I told him some of the sordid details of my cases, but think it better to keep conversation to a minimum.
“Have you considered a different branch of law? Isn’t divorce so horribly depressing?” she asks, her gaze landing on her own dear husband. I get this question a lot. My answer tends to push a few a red buttons depending on the delivery of my answer.
“Not particularly depressing. My clients are getting a fresh start in life. Most of them are miserable. Life is too short not to be happy, Mrs. Warner. Don’t you agree?” That is my most eloquent response.
His mom presses her lips into a firm line as her smile wilts. I see the second she starts feeling sorry for me and I don’t want her pity. Divorces are worse than death sometimes. You know the person you once loved so completely is out in the big, wide world loving someone new. Giving your old promises to someone else, handing over the slice of their heart that you thought belonged to only you. It’s masochism at its finest if you dwell on it. At least I know Stone only loved me. Even during his dying breath, I’m sure of it. I’ll always have that. Sympathy triggers other emotions that are just too finite to waste.
I sense Steven’s gaze burning a hole into the side of my face. I turn to look at him. “I’m okay. I’m moving on,” I say. Then I give Mrs. Warner something to really ponder. Steven’s hair is mussed from being under a cap all morning, so I brush it out of his eye and lean over and kiss him. It doesn’t matter that we’re in the company of his parents, as I knew it wouldn’t. He kisses me back, tilting my head with one of his strong hands, fingers wrapped around my head. I open my eyes when I feel Steven’s smile against my mouth. I let him embrace the cocky moment because I know how much it means to be able to give his mother something to talk about, dream about, wrap her brain around. I’m not naïve. Mrs. Warner wants what every mother wants for her son. His lifestyle isn’t conducive to such normalcy, but if he could have a relationship…with me, maybe there is hope for a promising future. One that doesn’t bury him six feet under.
“Oh, my,” his mother says, eyes wide and gaze flickering between us. “This is news. This is fabulous news!” She stands from her chair and bounces her shoulders up and down in time with her thick, rocking hips. Now it’s my turn to widen my eyes.
Mr. Warner starts a low bout of laughter first and then we all join in. It doesn’t deter her. She continues her victory dance, eyes closed, mapping out a perfect future with every new breath.
“When did this happen?” she asks. It’s more of a squeal than a question.
Shaking his head through hysterics, Steven says, “It’s new, Mom. And it might die today after bearing witness to your slick moves. You and Dad going to the honky-tonk again? Shake it, you wild woman.” Steven does a little shoulder dance that reminds me of frat boys in a club. His dad clears his throat, all business again, and disappears into the kitchen with his plate and newspaper.
Taking the rest of our plates, she follows her husband into the kitchen talking about making phone calls and chattering away about how we’re anything except new. I’m sure those phone calls will end with every person in this county knowing that Steven Warner and Morganna Sterns are bumping uglies. Except, you know, we’re not. Not that I haven’t imagined it a million different ways.
Steven smiles to get my attention. “I didn’t come back and visit your chambers last night, milady, because I was downstairs drinking expensive bourbon and asking your daddy for permission to date his only child.” And by dating he means having sex with. Good thing my daddy is unaware of new age dating rituals. Or, I hope he is. Not that I was stalling before, but now there isn’t anything in the way. I’m nervous. Not that making love to Steven will be so different from making love to Stone, but that it might be too similar. That was the draw with Alex. There never would be any comparison. Pretending he is a normal guy and that I’m just any other woman wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. Steven’s brawny chest rises and falls a few times in the span of my thoughts, only causing me a sense of familiarity—a sense of non-normalcy.
“Well then, I’m sure he said yes and that opens the door to previously off-limit illicit acts?” The night when he walked in on me comes to mind. His control. The timbre of his voice as he ordered me to continue has me envisioning the reverse scenario—if I ordered him to pleasure himself in front of me. I have some idea what being with Steven will be like and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying in anticipation. It’s been a while, yes, but I also haven’t craved someone to this degree until him. I would have had a one nightstand here or there if the opportunity presented itself, and the man, obviously too divine to ignore. It didn’t happen. My tastes are brutally singular.
Steven scoots back in his chair, making a loud scraping noise. “Only what can happen in a twin bed? It’s only fair it begins there, because that’s where it should have started when we were fifteen,” he explains, referring to the tiny bed in his room upstairs. I think Mrs. Warner never bought him a larger bed because that would encourage his sexual activities. She had to have known.
“Fifteen?” I gasp. I had no idea he was having sex at that age.
Replacing his baseball cap, because he’s no longer sitting at the table, he heads for the kitchen. ”Oh, you should have seen what I was capable of back then. I’m practically an old man now. You’ll have to go easy on me.” He winks.
I’m racking my brain to try to think of the girlfriends he had when he was fifteen and end up appalled. “Fifteen?” I whisper again under my breath, unable to wrap my head around that number. “Wait!” I call after him, grabbing the back of his shirt when he’s close. He slowly closes the swinging door leading to the kitchen and faces me. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything before now? There were countless opportunities. You gave no indication that you had romantic feelings toward me…ever.” Sure, there were loaded stares and unspoken words, but I thought those were common things in male/female friendships.
“Or you just didn’t see them. Sure, I wasn’t as straightforward as I should have been…I was young. I just wanted you around me always. No sense fucking things up by mixing in sex,” he explains, resting one hand on my hip lightly. I guess that makes sense, but not in a practical teenage sort of way. I would have jumped at a chance to take things further with Steven back then. I was an innocent, young southern girl. Steven used that, knowing I’d never make the first move like all of the other beauty queens in his teenaged life.
“But is that what we’re doing now?” My heart rate accelerates. I feel my palms grow sweaty—things I can usually hide in court or with clients. I’m never close enough to anyone. “Are we messing things up by considering this now?”
“The time for considering is long past. You and me were meant to be. A wise man once told me that everything happens for a reason. Of course I called bullshit, because how does that make logical, practical sense? But look at us,” he says, motioning between our bodies. “The chemistry is basically melting the atmosphere! Timing: check. Attraction: double check.” Steven runs his hand over the curve of my waist, across the side of my chest. Tingles rise. “We have been a long time coming, Morg. A long ass time. If I don’t take this chance right now I’ll never be able to live with myself. You can appreciate that sentiment. I’m sure of it. So, if you’re amenable we’ll get started as soon as I eat another buttered croissant.”
“Because that’s not the hottest pick-up line I’ve ever heard,” I mutter. “Sounds like everything is checked off your list. It’s all on the up and up. Plus, it’s Christmas. Maybe we should make this a holiday to remember.” Stevens swings on the doorframe with a huge grin on his face.
He looks fifteen.
Bending down, he whispers in my ear. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”
I can’t help but laugh, an exasperated noise, because his humor makes my mu
ddy, cloudy world clearer. I decide to throw in a joke of my own for good measure.
Grinning, I fire back, “Well, I do have an empty space of my own you need to fill… with something.”
Steven
“I told you this is how it would happen, man,” I speak into my cell phone. Cody called to wish us a good holiday. Or, in other words, he called to see if I’ve bagged Morganna. Confessing I hadn’t yet was awkward, but the guys know exactly the type of hardball Morganna plays. It has to be perfect. The setup: perfect. I’ve told very few people the extent of my friendship with M. They know we are from the same hometown and that we have a history before she married Stone, but not that I’ve wanted her for most of my life.
“You said that you’ve talked to her father. All that should be left is some candles to light,” Cody growls through the static. Cell service is sketchy where we grew up in the country. I didn’t even have a cell phone until I moved away. When you wanted to talk to a friend, you stood in the kitchen on the corded home phone, or you took a ride over to their house by bicycle. Much simpler times.
“You’re such a fucking fairy, dude. What’s the work schedule look like when I get back?” I ask, trying to salvage the rest of the conversation.
“Hectic as shit. A couple weeks away in North Carolina for CQB. Out to Cali a week after we return and I’m not sure after that, the schedule isn’t in front of me at the moment,” he explains. Close Quarters Battle is an important block of training. It’s where we practice the procedures that got Stone killed. Clearing kill houses, going through the steps to make sure mistakes never happen. Again. I close my eyes and lean back on the couch when I remember the awful night when Maverick was off the rails. Would I have swapped places with Stone, now? Knowing what I know? To save Morganna the heartache? In a heartbeat. I suppose that’s how you know what I feel for her is real—her happiness is above all else, even when it wasn’t mine to give.
I cough to cover emotion. “Why am I still talking to you, then? Better get busy seducing if I’m barely going to be around to sample the goods,” I say, loudly. Morganna sat next to me on the couch a few moments before. I knew my crass language would get a rise out of her. The horrified look on her face proves I was right.
“Who was that?” Morganna asks as I slide my phone onto the nearest flat surface.
“It was my boss. Don’t worry, he approves.” I pick up my legs and set them on her lap. I feel like I could crush her femurs with the weight of only my calves.
She sets her hands on top of my shins. “Do you remember when you asked to borrow my electric lady shaver? You wanted smooth legs.” The memory causes a chuckle. She rubs her hands over my currently not smooth legs. I want her hands on other parts of my body.
“It really does cut time off of a swim,” I tell her. She looks at me dubiously. “Seriously,” I say a little louder. She shakes her head knowing there isn’t any sense arguing with me.
“My daddy won’t be home for at least an hour,” Morganna replies, eyes narrowed—challenging. It’s refreshing to see her makeup-free face. She never wore a ton of makeup until she became an attorney. I imagine she uses it as another layer to hide her true self from the rest of the world.
Sitting up, I scoot next to her on the couch placing my leg against hers. “I think we need more than an hour. Rock, paper, scissors?” I offer, running my hand over her exposed thigh. Goosebumps rise in my finger’s wake—it makes me feel victorious.
“Don’t think like such a guy, Steven Warner. It’s a start. You can’t jump a cold car,” Morganna quips. “What are we playing for?”
“Best two out of three. Ladies choice or my choice,” I whisper, taking her chin in my hand. She pulls away.
Shaking her head and taking my own face into her hands she says, “One out of one.”
Not one to waste time, I place one of my large fists on top of my flat palm. “Say when,” I say, keeping my poker face tight. She wins this fucking game more than I do; psychic powers or some other unexplainable voodoo. It’s spooky as shit.
She responds by clapping her tiny fist on her palm and starting. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” we both say at the same time. She throws rock and by the grace of God I throw paper. I fold my paper on top of her rock, and conceal her tiny hand in mine. “I win,” I say. When I look at her face, I find that she’s staring at our hands. She’s scared to lose. More, she’s fearful of losing control.
I can remedy this.
“My choice is lady’s choice,” I say, standing from the couch while pulling her up to stand. “I choose your bedroom and you choose the activity.” Hesitantly, her gray eyes meet mine.
She doesn’t say another word. She merely leads my paper hand up to her childhood bedroom—the very same bedroom where I dreamed about taking her a million different ways. I close the heavy wooden door and lean against it as I watch a very grown up version of the same girl walk toward the large white bed in the center of the room. Her hips perfectly sculpted, the sway in her walk telling me everything. This is no girl. This is a woman. One who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. For some crazy ass reason she thinks I can give it to her.
“If you’re truly shirking your winning responsibilities and want me to choose, then I want you right here in the middle of this bed. Clothing off.” She holds a finger up when she sees me trying to get a word in. I close my mouth. “No talking. I’m in control.”
Pressing my lips into a firm line, I try to control my hammering heart. I expected something along these lines, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. I might as well braid my hair and kneel at the foot of her bed, because that’s as much control as she’s going to give to me.
For her, I can do what makes her comfortable even if it makes me uncomfortable. I’m a fucking man. A beast. A predator in the bedroom. She’s asking me to put on a kitten suit and play by a set of unfamiliar rules.
I nod, take the back collar of my shirt into one hand, and pull it over my head and step out of my shorts and underwear in ten seconds flat. Not taking my eyes off her face, her hair, her chest, her lips, I see her nerves dancing all over the place. This is what she thinks she wants…or needs. I take a deep breath and steel all my self-control into one big pile and walk past her to flop down on the middle of her bed. Folding my arms behind my head, I shoot her my best reassuring smile and wait. My cock is hard, because it has no clue it’s not in control yet. It only heard the words “take off your clothing.”
Morganna’s gaze roams my body freely, her pillow puff lips separate in a perfect pout. I bite my lip when her knowing eyes find mine. I still don’t move. Honestly, if my hands weren’t restrained behind my head they would find a way into her pussy quicker than a trigger pull. I pray whatever she has planned lasts less than an hour or real triggers will be pulled when her daddy gets home and bears witness to us locked away in this room.
I open my mouth to urge her forward, but shut it again when I remember the rules. Obey. I can obey a few simple requests.
Morg takes off her dress, pulling it over her head and revealing the hottest— and I do mean hottest—lace lingerie I’ve ever seen. I know this because it’s the reason I purchased it. It’s Agent Provocteur, a brand I know she likes to wear. The black lace stands out in stark contrast to her creamy skin, but it matches her hair perfectly. The panties hug her curves and the sheer bra doesn’t conceal her pink, hard nipples. I draw in a deep breath and hold it in awe. It looks as amazing as I imagined it would. Almost hotter than seeing her naked. Almost.
She swallows loudly, and a mirage of my cum dripping back off her tongue and sliding down her throat appears. It’s squashed when she speaks. “The art of forgetting is the only lesson I’m unable to master,” Morganna explains, her chest heaving with the weight of what she’s saying—probably what she’s remembering, despite what she’s proclaiming. “My only hope is to cover up what I’m trying to forget. Okay?” she asks.
My chest tightens the same time I close my eyes. I nod
, even though every other part of my body wants to disagree. My feet want to run away, my hands itch to grab her, throw her down, and make her forget she even has something to forget. My mind knows I’m treading on thin ice, and my heart? That fucker knows this probably won’t end in anything except heartbreak. Yet, my head is still nodding like some obedient fucking puppy.
That’s the thing with Morganna. You can’t say no, even when it’s the only logical answer. Prowling to the side of the bed, she looks down at me and a funny thing happens. Suddenly, I’m the one forgetting. She’s just a woman who wants a man. She’s not Stone’s wife or the unattainable dime piece that’s been a resident in my life since before I knew she was exactly what I’ve always wanted…needed.
My dick pulses with her every movement she makes, with every blink of her eyes. I’m rapt, unable to pretend I’m looking anywhere except the place I want to be deep inside of. Tucking her thumbs into the strings at her waist, she steps out of the lace scraps and straddles my knees. The small tattoo on her hip catches my attention, but only for a split second. Her pussy is shaved and it looks like it will probably be as smooth as silk, the wet lips glistening like a homing beacon. Enter me. Enter me. Enter me.
She unfastens the bra and lets it slip to the floor. “Kiss me,” she orders, her breathy voice captivating my every particle.
I’m not supposed to talk, but I rasp, “Where?” With her naked there is only one place my lips want to be. “Kiss you where? Specify please,” I add. My fingers are clutched behind my head so tightly they’re falling asleep, the tingling forcing my attention on something other than my throbbing cock.
Morganna touches herself between her legs with a few fingers and my gaze immediately freezes there. Flashback scenes from the night at her house, watching her play with herself, crash the party. She had all the fun. Dragging her wet fingers from her pussy up the front of her stomach, between her tits and finally landing on her perfect pout, she slides them along her bottom lip.
Set In Stone Page 12
