Cougar (Chauvinist Stories Book 2)

by Elise Faber

  Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked back. “But you can’t judge another person on your standards. Did I want her to hit him back? To turn him into the police? To take us both back home and make a new life for us that was something we could be proud of? Of course, I did.” Her lips flattened out for a long moment. “But she couldn’t be what I needed. She was a lot of very wonderful things as a mother, but she couldn’t be strong or assertive or protect me from the monsters in my life.”

  Fuck it.

  I couldn’t stand there and see Artie in pain and not touch her, not comfort her. Gently, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against me. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I murmured, stroking my hand down her spine.

  She didn’t reply.

  But she also didn’t push out of my hold, just stayed there and let me keep her near. Eventually, though, she leaned back enough to ask, “Now, do you understand why this between us isn’t a good idea?”

  I’d been patient.

  I’d been understanding.

  I’d been thoughtful and caring.

  But now, I was infuriated.

  “No,” I snapped. “Fucking no, I don’t understand why this isn’t a good idea. Because yes, your childhood was shit, but fuck, Artie, that wasn’t on you. Your parents aren’t you. You’re not the same as your mother. You're sure as shit not your father. This isn’t about them, it’s about us.” I blew out a breath, trying to calm my tone, but how she could so calmly shoulder the burden of her past, one she had no bearing on creating, was way beyond my pay grade. “This is bullshit.”

  Okay, so not much calmer.

  Her eyes filled with fire and she pulled out of my hold. “It’s not—”

  “I let you talk,” I said firmly, taking a step closer. “Now, it’s my turn. This—us—isn’t about whatever fucked up shit your parents had going on. This isn’t about how my parents have had a rock-steady relationship. Because what is between us is about us and how we feel and how we make each other feel. Anything else is just background noise.”

  “That’s naïve,” she said, pacing away.

  I didn’t miss the fact that she’d deliberately put the kitchen island between us.

  Barriers.

  Not just because she was locked down, but also because there was some part of her that was still scared of what a man could do to her.

  That sobered me more than anything else could.

  “The outside world factors in,” she said. “We don’t live in a bubble. The past, the present, your family, our colleagues all play a part.”

  I forced myself to lean against the counter instead of going to her. “I’m not saying that we live in a vacuum, but the first and the most important thing in a relationship is what two people have between each other.” I gentled my voice. “And what we have is special. It’s worth not just throwing that away.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fairy tales don’t exist, Pierce.”

  “Maybe not, but happily ever afters do.”

  And with those famous last words, I succeeded in driving Artie from the room.

  Who said romance was dead?

  Thirteen

  Artie

  I made it as far as the hall before my fury got the better of me.

  Whipping around, I strode back into the kitchen.

  Then promptly ran into Pierce, whose gray eyes had darkened, warning of a storm on the horizon.

  I stopped. Glared.

  “You really piss me off, did you know that?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but I didn’t let him get any words out. I launched myself at him, wrapping my legs around his hips, my arms around his shoulders, and slammed my lips down onto his.

  There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation or delay. One second, I was snapping a question at him, the next, his tongue was in my mouth, his hands cupping my ass.

  This was six years of pent-up need, six years of one night not being enough and yet me kidding myself that it was. This was six years of me hiding and pretending and trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

  I couldn’t be just friends with Pierce.

  That option had gone out the window the moment I’d dragged him back to my car all those years ago.

  He nipped my bottom lip, making me gasp and jerk. “Pay attention,” he growled and then nipped and kissed and licked his way across my jaw, down my throat. Heat, always banked but at the ready when he was near, exploded through my body. Liquid pooled between my thighs, desire made my fingers, clenched so tightly on his shoulders, tremble.

  One movement spun us, flipping us so my back was to the wall and all the lovely hard lines of Pierce were pressing into me.

  Hard cock between my thighs.

  Hard stomach against mine.

  Hard chest brushing my breasts.

  Fuck, but I wanted him.

  He kissed the spot where my throat met my shoulder, then sucked hard enough to leave a mark. Thirty years since I’d had my first hickey and I never would have thought they were still sexy.

  Pierce leaving a mark, however?

  Yeah, that was fucking hot.

  Then he was back kissing me, mouth plundering mine as his tongue slipped between my lips to dance with mine, teeth finding my bottom lip and biting just hard enough to sting before his tongue soothed the spot.

  Distantly, I felt us moving, knew we’d left the wall, but the rest of my brain was focused on what I was feeling, what he was doing to my body.

  A change of motion, gravity re-exerting its pull, and I found my back on something soft. My bedroom, I recognized through the haze, but then Pierce’s hands were at the button on my jeans, flicking it open and sliding the zipper down. Hands at my ankles, tugging at the stiff material, tossing it to the floor, along with my socks. Warm palms sliding up over my shins, my thighs, one moving in to cup me through the cotton of my underwear.

  Not lace.

  Not sexy.

  His eyes told me he didn’t give two shits.

  I reached for the hem of his shirt, yanking it up to his armpits as I struggled to get it over his head. He only let me fight with it for a couple of seconds before batting my hands away and ripping it off to send it in the general direction of my jeans.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed these,” I murmured, running a finger across his abs, pussy aching with the need to get my mouth there.

  “Later,” he gritted, snagging my hands and placing them above my head.

  A second later, my T-shirt was gone, my bra quickly following suit.

  Which was the moment I realized I’d snapped something in Pierce, some form of control, some typically gentle part of his personality.

  Gentle was gone.

  A tempest was in its place.

  My bra had disappeared before I finished the thought, his mouth descending, dragging along my throat, down between my breasts. Then, without warning, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, making me cry out and arch off the mattress. His tongue flicked. The suction was intense and unforgiving, but it was also exactly what I needed, the final movement that snapped the last of my control.

  My hips bucked, my fingers clenched in his hair, my moan was loud enough to hurt my ears.

  Then he switched sides.

  And my pleasure ramped, my pussy went liquid, the flames of desire made every muscle in my body clench.

  I bucked again, knocking him back enough to reach for the nightstand and extract a condom from the box I kept there. I continued moving, pushing him to his back, yanking at the button and unzipping his jeans, working the material down enough to free his cock.

  Tempting as a lollipop. I forced myself to focus on the next ten minutes rather than ten seconds.

  One move had the condom wrapper torn open. The next, the latex ring pulled from the plastic square. One more to roll it down the pulsing thickness of his cock. My pussy clenched with need, my hands were still shaking, my brain was in a fog of desire, but when Pierce murmured, “Artie,” I still froze and glanced up at him.

&nb
sp; “You sure?” he asked softly.

  In answer, I straddled his hips and guided him inside me.

  Hard. Full. Deep.

  We groaned as I bottomed out, and I paused, heart pounding, breaths coming in rapid inhalations and exhalations.

  “Pierce?”

  He grunted, eyes half-mast and hands coming up to cup my breasts.

  “I’m”—his thumb dragged across my nipple and I groaned—“sure.”

  A grin that soaked into my skin, slid into the tiny crack he’d made in my hardened heart. “Then move, baby.” One palm dropped to my hip, guiding me into motion.

  I moved.

  I forgot about the past. I forgot about my fear. I forgot about everything except the way it felt to be with Pierce, to have him inside me, to have his hands running up and down my body, to have his whispered words of encouragement in my ear, to feel how perfectly matched our bodies were.

  I moved and he stroked, stoking the fires of my desire. I moved and he gentled, slowing me, and by doing so driving that pleasure higher, making it more intense. I moved and he guided me effortlessly up and over the edge into orgasm.

  I moved—

  And suddenly was on my back, him pounding into me, my legs wrapping around him, my hands doing the stroking and coaxing and gentling, until finally he exploded inside me.

  A groan. One, two, three more strokes.

  His head dropped to my shoulder, hips stilling, hot breaths puffing on my skin.

  Then another groan as he shifted to the side and cradled me against his chest.

  Terrified.

  I should be absolutely terrified.

  Instead, my eyes slid closed and I fell headlong into oblivion.

  And if I fell headlong into something else, something deeper, some heavy emotion that was winding its way tightly into my heart along with that sleep, then I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

  Lids flying open, I sat up on a gasp.

  Pierce was still in bed with me, though at some point he’d ditched his jeans and the condom, and had come back to pull the covers over us.

  At my gasp, he instantly straightened by my side. “What’s the matter?”

  “Thomas!” I said, eyes darting around the room and fingers reaching for the blankets. “Kate!” We’d left them on the back deck while we—

  Oh my God.

  I was so going to hell.

  Pierce chuckled, reaching for my hand and tugging me back to his chest.

  I smacked him. “We can’t do this,” I said, frantic now. “They’re out there and—”

  “They went to Disneyland,” he said.

  My lips parted, but no words came out.

  “Left about ten seconds after we started arguing.” He held up his cell. “The plan was to convince you to come with us, but Kate called an audible and decided that leaving me here with no ride was the better move.”

  “Plan?” I asked, trying to process all of what he’d just said, but getting lost in the references to audibles and the happiest place on earth.

  “My family decided they needed to play matchmaker.”

  Brows drawing together, I asked, “Um. What?”

  Not the most articulate sentiment, but give a girl some credit here. I’d just woken up after some of the best sex of my life, and now I was inundated with sexy, naked Pierce smiling up at me, talking about Disneyland and football plays and matchmaking.

  “Maybe matchmaking isn’t so much the right word, as they decided it was time I got my head out of my ass and went after what I was longing for all these years.”

  I froze. “Pierce—”

  He tapped me on the nose. “And cue panic.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, trying again to slip out of bed, but halted once again when his arm wound around my waist and tugged me back against his chest. “Your family? I mean— I—”

  “They like you, sweetheart,” he said and gently turned me in his arms. “They like me with you.”

  “All of the reasons we shouldn’t pursue this still exist. My background—” I struggled for the words. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have a real relationship with a man, Pierce. Even if that man is you.”

  “I’m not looking for guarantees.”

  I smacked my palm against the mattress. “Well, then what are you looking for? A fuck buddy? A person to curate your next project? A convenient lay when we’re both in town?” I shook my head. “I’m not a traditional, put-a-ring-on-it, can’t-wait-to-wear-that-white dress kind of girl. I have a life. I’m happy with that life.”

  Or at least I was until he’d strolled into that restaurant six years before.

  Because the niggling in the back of my mind had begun then—the thought that perhaps, I could have something more than temporary.

  He bracketed my wrists and tugged me back to face him. “You’re not a fuck buddy, you’re not a source for jobs.” His breath was short and pissed off. “I like you, Artie. More than I’ve ever liked another woman. You’re funny and thoughtful, smart as hell. Talented beyond belief. Is it so insane to think that someone might want to be in your life permanently for those reasons alone?”

  “Yes!” I screamed.

  Screamed.

  Later, when I looked back at the moment, I wasn’t proud of myself or the way I acted, but I was definitely proud of Pierce.

  Because he just cupped my cheek, brushed my tangled mass of hair out of my eyes, and said, “Then I’ll just have to show you.”

  Fourteen

  Pierce

  Two days.

  Forty-eight hours and my life had taken a hard right.

  Life was really weird sometimes.

  Two days ago I’d been at the airport, excited to see my family and too scared to put myself out there for Artie. Today I was at my house, my nose filled with the glorious scents of my mom’s special Christmas dinner—turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, deviled eggs, pea salad, and a collection of pies—and Artie was wrestling in the backyard with my nieces and nephews.

  The night before, her eyes had filled with tears when I’d promised to show her that I could like her for who she was inside and not because of her past. I’d held her close, treated her gently, but I’d also deliberately changed the mood to lighter topics.

  We’d had our fill of heavy for that day.

  Light was what was needed.

  So, I’d ordered some food on DoorDash, had cued up Netflix on her TV, and we’d watched flat-earther documentaries and action movies until we’d both crashed.

  This morning, I’d needed to get back to my family and surprisingly, Artie had agreed to come with me, rather than sending me home in a Lyft as I had expected. Though, that probably had to do with the picture of the chocolate pie my mom had texted. When I’d shown Artie, her eyes had lit up.

  “It’s better than her meatloaf,” I’d cajoled.

  She’d caved.

  “Progress,” my mom murmured, glancing out the window over the sink where I’d paused to watch Artie play with the kids.

  I nodded. “Still a long way to go.”

  “Mmm.” She whisked the gravy.

  I knew that mmm and it didn’t bode for good things. “What, Mom?”

  More whisking, slightly faster. “Nothing.”

  “Mom.”

  She sighed, tapped the whisk on the side of the saucepan before setting it aside. Then she turned to me. “Be sure, Pierce,” she said. “Before you crack open that heart, make sure you’re ready to catch it with both hands. This can’t be a game or a case of wanting something you couldn’t have. This has to be about her. And she deserves care.”

  Anger made the back of my throat tight. “You’re the one who pushed me to make the first move.”

  My mom picked up the whisk again, began stirring. “I did.”

  “Well, you should know then that I care about her,” I ground out. “I see who she is when she’s forgotten to keep her guard up, and it’s fucking wonderful. I want that in my life.”

  “And wha
t about what she wants?”

  What the fuck?

  I blew out a sharp breath. “I don’t know what she wants. I don’t know if she knows what she wants. But I do know what she deserves. And that’s a person to have her back and to care for her.”

  “Are you sure you can be that person?”

  “Fuck, yes, I am.”

  I was spinning, life handing me another one of those curveballs. My mom had been all for me sweeping over to Artie’s house the previous day, all for getting her to take a chance on me. Why now did it seem like my mom wanted me to step back?

  “Are you sure?”

  I clenched my hands into fists. “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  My mom set the whisk down again and turned to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me tight. “I’m happy for you, honey,” she murmured. “I hope it works out.” She pulled back, returned to the gravy, but at what was no doubt a bewildered expression on my face, her eyes softened. “She doesn’t have anyone,” my mom said by way of explanation. “She needed someone to look out for her. To make sure she’s in good hands.”

  The frustration and anger faded from my body as understanding took root.

  I wrapped my arms around her from behind, hugging her lightly as she stirred the gravy. It was a time-consuming recipe, but in cooking and in life, she never took shortcuts.

  Never gave us less than what we needed.

  I’d never wondered if she loved us.

  And now she was extending that same care to Artie. Fuck, but I was lucky to have her in my life.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  She patted my arm.

  “Love you, too.” Then she nudged me back. “Now, get that table set.”

  Grinning, I dropped my arms and headed to the cabinets.

  Artie had stayed through dinner but had cried off during the present opening.

  I didn’t protest her leaving or try and convince her to stay—

  The nieces and nephews had done more than enough of that on their own. I did, however, take notice of the fatigue etching into the corners of her eyes and took pity on Artie, helping her gather her things and walking her out.