Marrying My Neighbor

by Roxy Reid

  I reach over him and grab a condom from the bedside stand. I hold the package up like I’m about to rip open the foil and give him what he needs. I stop. I set the condom aside. I release his cock. And I crawl up his body.

  “Then again, sometimes you’re not sweet, Sean,” I say. “Sometimes, you’re an arrogant bastard who doesn’t like my cat.”

  Sean groans. I don’t know if it’s because I brought him to the brink of orgasm then hung him out to dry or because I’m giving him crap about not liking my cat. I keep crawling until my thighs are spread wide, my sex inches from his face. Sean inhales appreciatively, and I don’t know why that’s so sexy, but it is.

  “Make it up to me,” I say, and my voice is rough. “Now.”

  Sean laps at me eagerly. His hands spread on my ass, tipping me so he can go deeper. I clutch the headboard for balance, twisting my hips and trying to breathe. Sean keeps me exactly where he wants me, and soon, the pleasure is overriding everything else. I don’t mean to come, but I do, shuddering.

  The mind-blowing orgasm takes some of the edge off my anger. I crawl back down Sean’s body until I can drag my sensitive pussy across his cock. Sean’s hands fist in the sheets. He doesn’t know if I’m going to reward him or punish him.

  When I’ve got us both good and frazzled, I bend down and slowly kiss his cock.

  “You really are a good man. Like this whole fake marriage thing. Very good of you. You deserve a treat for that.” I take him into my mouth and suck while I feather his balls with my hand.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Sean says.

  I smile to myself and work him until he’s panting and desperate, then I pull back. I sit up to take in the view. He’s so beautiful, spread out before me with his forearm thrown over his eyes. I almost forget to be cruel to him.

  “The thing is,” I say, tapping my finger on his hip to emphasize my point, “you wouldn’t have to rescue me if you hadn’t bribed the officiant.”

  He lowers his forearm and looks at me with foreboding.

  I grin evilly. “And I already came.” I climb off of him and off the bed. “It really is an early morning tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

  He growls, and before I know it, his arm is around my waist and I’m flat on my back under him. The laughter dies in my throat as I catch sight of his face. His eyes are stern, dark, hungry. I shiver.

  Sean grabs the condom he dropped earlier and sheaths himself. “That wasn’t nice, Grace.”

  His voice is hot, and I part my legs hungrily. He shoves them wider. I’m about to make a clever quip when he plunges into me. It’s so good, so right, I forget to play games. I just wrap myself around him and hold on. He’s hot and strong and powerful. And it’s Sean, going crazy for me.

  He grabs my hand and places it between us so that I can work my clit.

  “You want to come again, come fast,” he says.

  He follows up his words with a particularly savage thrust, and I shudder and clench. Sean kisses me fiercely, and I touch myself where it feels good. The pleasure rises, and Sean rocks into me, hard. I’m coming again. Sean kisses me, capturing the last of my moan, and then he’s coming too, his muscles rigid with pleasure.

  He collapses on top of me, utterly boneless.

  I run my fingers up and down his back, completely satisfied. I feel like if I didn’t have Sean’s weight to keep me grounded, I’d float away on a cloud of pleasure. Eventually, Sean heaves a heavy sigh and pulls himself off of me. He sits up to get rid of the condom, and suddenly, I feel cold.

  What happens next? I wonder. Should one of us shower so that the other can fall asleep in peace? Do we go back to our sides of the bed and pretend nothing happened? Do we—

  Sean cuts off my worries by getting back in bed and pulling me close to his naked chest.

  Oh. Good. This is good.

  I wiggle, trying to get situated. He adjusts, too, lazily throwing a leg over mine. It’s oddly calming. He’s like a human weighted-blanket.

  I’m halfway to sleep when Sean whispers something into my neck. “Just so you know, that didn’t get you out of my system.”

  I smile into the darkness, too tired to question why that makes me so happy. I finally fall asleep.

  13

  Sean

  Why are your parents mad at you for your flight being canceled? IT’S SNOWING. And of course you can make Thanksgiving dinner at my place. What’s Thanksgiving again?

  —Sean Bronson, text to Grace Blackwood, their first Thanksgiving together

  Grace’s parents live in a giant house in an old neighborhood. “Is this where you grew up?” I ask as we wait on the doorstep.

  The night has grown colder than expected. Grace’s shoulders are tense against the cold. Or maybe she’s tense about the prospect of dinner with her parents.

  “No,” she says. “I grew up in Philadelphia. They moved my freshman year of college for my dad’s job. I left for school in September, and by Christmas, they’d moved to Chicago. They neglected to mention they were moving until after the new owners had taken possession of our house.”

  I shoot her a sideways glance. Her voice is matter-of-fact, but her face is rigid. It must have felt like she’d lost her home without warning. I think of her great-grandmother’s place now, stuffed with antiques, and Grace’s hesitancy to get rid of anything makes more sense.

  I take her hand.

  “They just didn’t think to mention it,” Grace says like she’s used to making excuses for them. “They tried to keep my favorite stuffed animal.”

  “Tried?” I ask.

  “Mr. Bear wasn’t my favorite stuffed animal. Mr. Elephant was.”

  I scowl. Do these people pay no attention to their daughter at all?

  That’s when the door swings open. I’m greeted by a middle-aged woman who looks vaguely like Grace. She’s pressed and polished. Her chignon is so flawless it makes Grace’s hair look rumpled and windblown. Behind the woman stands Grace’s dad. He looks more human—hair going gray, softer around the middle, his button-up shirt rumpled from the day.

  Their eyes widen as they look at me, and I realize I’m still scowling.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Sean. My best friend.”

  Her mom arches an eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? What is so wrong with just saying he’s your husband?”

  Yet, I smile, touched by Grace’s introduction. Part of my relationship with Grace is a lie, and part of it is the truth. Grace just decided that for tonight, the most important part about us is the truth part.

  Then Grace’s mom says, “Oh, where are my manners? Come in, come in! Sean, you can call me Nancy, and this is Jeb.”

  We step inside. Grace’s mom hugs Grace, and that, at least, is filled with warmth. She hugs me, too, but it’s light and floaty—the hug version of an air-kiss. Jeb nods at Grace and shakes my hand. Grace nods back, like that is a totally normal greeting between a father and a daughter who only see each other once or twice a year.

  I look back and forth between them. What the fuck? When I visited my mum, I got hugged, insulted, and fussed over as soon as I stepped into the house.

  Nancy leads us into the living room, where she serves drinks. I’ll give the Blackwood’s this, they make a stiff cocktail. Jeb and Nancy ask bland get-to-know-you questions until a maid appears and lets us know dinner is served. I blink. I’m a millionaire, and I don’t have a maid. I glance at Grace, but she’s acting like this is completely normal.

  My mom drove a tour bus. Grace grew up with a maid.

  The dining room is warm and elegant, and the roast chicken smells delicious. I sit down next to Grace. She’s barely said a word in the last few minutes. She’s not looking at me, either. She’s a proper, polite shell, nothing like the woman in my bed last night. Under the table, I reach over and rub her thigh reassuringly.

  Her eyes fly to me, and she frowns slightly.

  I drop my hand. Okay, maybe there’s another way to bring her out of her shell. I turn to Nanc
y and Jeb.

  “Grace has been amazing at the readings. There are already people coming up to her after readings and saying she changed their lives,” I brag.

  “Yes, well, that is what people say about self-help books,” Nancy says dismissively.

  My irritation rises to the surface. “Tell me again, Nancy, what do you do?”

  She’s spent the whole dinner ignoring or correcting Grace. Now she’s belittling her, and I’m fucking sick of it.

  Nancy straightens, her eyes going cold. “I practiced law.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “For how many years?”

  Grace kicks me under the table.

  “Four. I retired to have Grace.”

  “So, she’s already spent more years in her career than you ever did. Funny how life works,” I say.

  Grace stands abruptly. “Sean. Outside. Now.”

  I stand, and Grace tows me out of the house and onto the front porch. The door closes behind us with a thump.

  She whirls around to face me and jabs a finger into my chest. “You do not get to talk to my mom that way.”

  I can’t believe it. She’s mad at me?

  “It’s disrespectful. It’s none of your business. And just so you know, a rich man lecturing a woman who dropped out of the workforce to take care of her kid is not a great look.”

  I shake my head. “I’m just trying to defend you.”

  “I don’t need you to defend me!” Grace says.

  “Then why do you let them treat you like that? Your mum picks at you, and your dad sits there and lets her! I’d bet money they’re on their best behavior now and much worse when a guest isn’t here.”

  The shadow that flickers across her face tells me I’m right. She crosses her arms and looks away from me.

  “Grace, people who love you aren’t supposed to treat you like this.”

  Still, she doesn’t say anything. She’s going cold again, building up that shell. I hate watching her do it.

  “Grace, why do you let them treat you like that?” I ask. “You’d never let anyone else treat you like that. Hell, you won’t even let me give your mum half of what she’s been serving you all evening.”

  She raises a hand to her forehead and rubs the lines of tension there. “You were supposed to make this easier.”

  Just like that, the fight goes out of me. She’s right. I was supposed to make tonight easier for her. Instead, I’m throwing gasoline on the fire. I might think it’s better to burn this particular parent-child relationship down, but Grace doesn’t, and it’s her decision, not mine.

  Grace shivers in the cold. On top of everything, I made her storm out here without a coat.

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” I say quietly. “You’re right. I was cruel because I was mad that she hurt you. Obviously, my being cruel to people you love hurt you. I shouldn’t have done it. I won’t do it again.”

  She puts her hands on her hips, exasperated. “You don’t think you should stop being cruel altogether?”

  I don’t think I should promise things I have no intention of doing, I think. Because if someone hurt Grace and she didn’t love them? I’d fucking destroy them.

  Instead, I hold out my arms. For a second, I don’t know if she’ll come, but she does. She steps into my arms. I don’t know if she forgives me or if she just needs shelter from the cold Chicago wind, but she lets me hold her. I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. She burrows into my arms, slowly relaxing against my warmth.

  She can’t put her cold shell up when she’s here in my arms.

  I know I should leave it well enough alone. I don’t want her to get mad at me again, but it turns out there are more important things than avoiding Grace’s wrath. One of them is making sure she knows her own worth.

  I tilt her chin up. “You know you deserve better than how they treat you, right?”

  “They treat me as best they can. I’m not built like you. I can’t just walk away.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” I say. “I’m just asking you to admit that you deserve a family who pays attention to you and is proud of you. If your parents aren’t giving that to you, it’s not your fault. Can you admit that?”

  She shifts in my arms, restless. I’m getting uncomfortably close to something she doesn’t want to face.

  “There’s a kiss in it for you,” I tease. I pet her bottom lip with my thumb. “Say you deserve attention and respect, and I’ll kiss you under the stars.”

  “Under the porch light is more like it,” Grace grumbles. “And you’ll smudge my lipstick.”

  “Oh, dear. They’ll think you’ve been kissing your husband,” I say dryly.

  The door opens. It’s the maid, holding our coats. For a second, I think we’re being kicked out, but then she says, “Nancy doesn’t want you to catch a cold.”

  I look down at Grace. It’s an odd, distant way of caring to send the maid out with her daughter’s coat, but it is a form of caring. Grace is right. Her parents do love her. Probably. They’re just not great at it, which is weird because Grace is great at it. She’s great at loving her cat and loving her friends. Hell, if I were looking for a wife for real, I’d want someone just like—

  I cut that thought off. Don’t go there.

  I reach out to take the coats, but Grace says, “Thank you, Bryn, but I think we’re ready to go in.”

  I rub Grace’s back, asking with my eyes if she’s sure.

  Grace smiles. “We wouldn’t want to miss dessert. Bryn makes amazing desserts.”

  “This is true,” the maid, Bryn, says and goes back inside with our coats.

  Grace turns to go back inside, but I pull her to me and kiss her. She gives a little gasp of surprise, but she kisses me back, her palm flat against my heart.

  I raise my head. “Say you deserve better.”

  She looks up at me, and she rises on her tiptoes to kiss me softly on the cheek. Her lips are warm in the cold night air.

  “I deserve better,” she says. “Which is why the world sent me you.”

  Then she takes my hand, and we go back inside.

  After that, the dinner is pretty unremarkable. I start to apologize to Nancy, but she avoids eye contact and quickly turns the conversation to something else.

  Oh, right. I forgot we don’t communicate in this house.

  I didn’t really want to apologize, so this suits me just fine. The rest of the meal is delicious. We stick to safe topics, like the cities we’ll be visiting on Grace’s book tour. Grace’s parents are well-traveled, and it’s interesting to hear them describe what famous cities were like twenty or thirty years ago. Nancy makes a crack about tour busses and the people who use them, and I feel myself tense. This time, Grace is the one to lay a hand on my thigh. I look at her, and she gives me a small, grateful smile.

  “Of course, you’ll be back in Chicago for Christmas. Sean, I assume you’ll be joining us?”

  Oh, hell. Christmas with the in-laws.

  Grace takes my hand and smiles up at me like she’s utterly besotted. I blink. Besotted looks good on her. Really good. Why am I having trouble breathing?

  “Actually,” Grace says as she beams up at me, “we’re going to see Sean’s family for Christmas. Christmas in Ireland. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”

  Rainy is what it sounds. I see what she’s doing, though. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Oh.” Nancy sounds disappointed. “Thanksgiving?”

  Grace turns to look at her mom. “We were thinking of spending Thanksgiving just the two of us. We think it’s important to create our own traditions as a couple. Plus, it’s already a little bit of a tradition. Remember that Thanksgiving two years ago when I got snowed in and couldn’t come to Chicago?”

  “Yes,” Nancy says, trying to hide her irritation.

  “I spent it with Sean. If I’m honest, I think that was the moment I started to fall in love with him. I didn’t know it was possible to be so relaxed on Thanksgiving. It was just the two
of us, but it was fun, and warm, and open. It was so easy to be thankful.” She looks at me. “I think we deserve to give that to each other again this year.”

  I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so fucking bad because she’s standing up for herself, in her own way. She’s telling them she has other options now, other people who want her, and if they don’t shape up, they’re not going to be on the holiday list.

  She’s also looking up at me like maybe, maybe she means it. Not the falling in love, obviously, but the part about loving spending time with me and thinking we both deserve to give that to each other next year.

  I deserve better. Which is why the world sent me you.

  Her words from outside ring in my ears, and I want to do more than kiss her. I want to fuck her. I want to lay her down on a bed and slide into her. I want to show her that I can give her all the good things she deserves. She must see the heat in my eyes because she colors and looks away.

  “We should probably go,” Grace says. “It’s been lovely seeing you both, but we have an early flight tomorrow. Tell Bryn she outdid herself, as always.”

  We stand and say our goodbyes. Grace hugs both of her parents. Her dad looks somewhat surprised, but he smiles as he pats her back.

  Nancy doesn’t try to hug me.

  “Take care of her,” she says quietly.

  “I will,” I say, and I’m surprised to realize I mean it.

  The Chicago hotel we’re staying at is nicer than the last one—tall ceilings, crown molding, larger rooms—but it still only has one bed.

  Good.

  I shoot a look at Grace. We haven’t exactly talked about yesterday. I don’t even know if she heard me last night when I told her I wasn’t done with her. This insane hunger for her isn’t out of my system, but Grace is back in prim and proper mode. She undresses in front of me, her dress sliding over her hips, but she keeps her back to me and moves with a precision that’s almost clinical.

  She has no idea how erotic it is.