Suffice it to say, the living together and the dining room table were not the only indications of our budding domesticity.
There were toss pillows on the couch (Toby picked them out at Pottery Barn). There was a lamp on an end table by the couch (that was me). There was a his and hers reading nook tucked in the corner with two comfy chairs that shared an ottoman, table and a standing lamp, plus a smaller chest filled with Brooks’s toys (totally Toby). And upstairs, the master bedroom had been kitted out with some throws, toss pillows, two kickass armchairs, and a spindly-legged table with a small lamp on top (that was me, with help from Margot).
It was Toby who’d had the photo of my mom in the moonlight professionally enlarged even larger than I’d unprofessionally had it enlarged, as well as treated so you could see her. He’d had it framed and he’d mounted it over the corner fireplace in our room.
It was a better present than Barbarella, by far, and Barbarella was awesome.
It was also Toby who’d put a rocking chair in the corner and fixed some shelves for Brooks’s books and toys on a wall and bought big tin letters that spelled Brooklyn’s Place that he’d installed over Brooklyn’s crib in his room.
All that was almost better than the picture of my mom.
But not quite.
Coming in a close third, for my birthday, he’d done this whole Martha Stewart Would Have an Orgasm craft space in the loft, where I could make my cards and do other stuff during my me time.
I still sold cards (and notecards, notecard sets and postcards) at Macy’s as well as Carol’s shop in Bellevue. Not to mention, I’d done Johnny and Izzy’s save-the-date cards and wedding invitations, which bought me an order of wedding invites from Carolyn, Lora’s friend (now my friend) and birthday invites from Bea, (also my friend now through Lora). I’d shown them a photo of Izzy’s save the date at Magic Mike night during my initiation and the seal was broken.
I wasn’t complaining.
I no longer needed the money. So I used it to spoil my boys.
I felt bad I had a space and Toby didn’t for about thirty seconds, which was the time it took for him to explain his space was parked in front of the TV or when he was fucking me in our bed.
So I let that go.
We also had a smattering of SMEG appliances on the countertops courtesy of my Christmas Crate and Barrel gift card.
And a breadmaker because we liked to make our own pizza, from base up.
He popped his beer, poured wine and was getting out the breadmaker as I shuffled through mail.
“Dan outside?” Toby asked when I saw it.
“Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the envelope, my heart starting to race.
I vaguely noted Toby heading to the back door as I headed to the utility drawer to get out the letter opener (see? totally domesticated—I’d never had a letter opener in my life).
Dapper Dan was in and I heard Toby murmuring his greetings to our dog, knowing he was giving a fur rubdown as I slid the letter out and read it.
It wasn’t what I expected.
My skin still went chill.
I read it again.
“Addie.”
I read it again.
“Adeline.”
Slowly, my head turned to Toby who was standing right by my side.
“My grandmother died. I’ve been asked to the reading of her will next Friday.”
He glanced at the letter than back at me. “Which grandmother?”
“Dad’s.”
“Fuck,” he murmured quietly so Brooks wouldn’t hear.
My body jumpstarted. “I need to call Izzy.”
“Yeah,” he said, gently taking the letter from me as I moved to the island to get my phone.
I glanced at him to see he was reading it before I moved outside to the back deck to make the call.
It was summer. We needed deck furniture.
This was my thought as the phone rang.
I knew Iz was talking into her car, still on her way home from the city, when she answered it.
“Hey, doll. What’s up?”
“I got a letter from a law firm in Lexington. Dad’s mother died and the will is going to be read on Friday. They’ve asked for my attendance. And if they’ve asked for me, you might have a letter too.”
“Oh boy,” she replied.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I . . . Dad might be there,” she noted.
“Yeah,” I said.
The door opened, and I turned to see Toby there with my glass of wine.
He handed it to me.
I took it.
He didn’t leave me.
“Okay, I’ll call you if I got a letter,” Izzy said.
“Yeah.”
“You okay?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is Toby there?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I think so. Are you gonna go?” she queried.
“I have one personal day. So . . . I think so. Do you wanna go?”
“I . . . don’t know. I don’t want to see him.”
“I don’t either but I also kind of do.”
She sounded surprised. “You do?”
I did.
Kind of.
I was awesome. Iz was awesome. We were healthy, happy. Daphne raised two strong, beautiful girls.
I wanted him to see that.
I didn’t want to be up in his face about it. I didn’t care that much.
But I was thinking I wanted to do that for my mom.
“I don’t know, Iz. I don’t . . . shit,” I muttered.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she decided.
“Good idea.”
“They wouldn’t ask us there if she hadn’t left something for us, right?” Izzy remarked.
“She could just have left a message, and if it’s just a message, I don’t want to waste a personal day having to listen to what that bitch has to say,” I replied.
“I hear you.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I said.
“Yeah, Addie.” She changed the subject to one more important. “You call Dave?”
“No to the festival. But we’re going over for a visit tomorrow after.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Johnny. Obviously, we’ll go with you. Now letting you go. Love you, doll.”
“Love you too, babe.”
We hung up.
I took a sip of wine.
“So?” Toby prompted.
“We’re gonna hash it out tomorrow at the Food Festival.”
“Right.”
I looked into his eyes. “He might be there, honey.”
“You go, I’m going with you.”
I nodded.
“You don’t have to go,” he pointed out.
I nodded again.
“You told me they have money,” he remarked.
“Yes, lots of it,” I confirmed.
“If she’s givin’ some of that to you, you should take it. For you. Not for Brooks. For you. She owes that to you,” Toby said. “But if you can’t do that, then you should take it for Brooks.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “Last time I saw her, though, she was shrieking at my mother about taking us from our father.”
“If she did this just to fuck with you, then you’ll have it confirmed, like we had it confirmed with that gig with Sierra, you weren’t missing anything. And I know it sounds crazy, but when it settles in, it’s actually a relief.”
That wasn’t the first time I was happy he felt like that about Sierra.
I nodded yet again, took another sip, then moved toward Toby.
He drew me into his arms.
“Why do these women keep coming out of the woodwork when we should be all about Margot?” I asked into his chest.
“Closure, Addie.” His voice changed when he said his next, and the arms I had around him tightened. “In a lot of ways.”
I closed my eyes and
did it hard.
We held on to each other for a while.
“I need to get the dough going,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Stay out here, I got dough and kid. You take time to get shit right in your head.”
I tipped that head back to look up at him.
“Thanks, honey.”
“Love you, baby,” he said before he dropped his lips to mine.
That was a peck too, a harder one, before he gave me a squeeze and let me go.
I watched him go inside and heard my son complain, “Daddy, Dappah Dan cirsee.”
That meant Dapper Dan and something about his circle.
It was difficult to separate kid toys from dog toys, and more difficult for Dapper Dan who in very real ways was also our kid, a kid our boy often threw his toys for so they could play.
In other words, Toby would be on his laptop that night, ordering some replacement.
I turned to the railing, put a hand to it and lifted my wineglass to my lips, resting my eyes on the brief snatch of grass we had that fed into forest.
One thing I knew, I was not taking my son to that reading.
The other thing I knew, if our father was there, he’d see Iz and me walking in on high heels, wearing nice dresses with the best men alive at our sides.
So whatever that woman had to say or do, it really didn’t matter.
She could try to shred us.
She could give us a million dollars.
It just didn’t matter.
We already had it all.
Toby was on his knees on the floor at the side of the bed.
I was on my back in it.
And his mouth was between my legs.
He ate me and he ate me and, God, God, fucking consumed me.
And when my hand was clenching his hair, almost there, his mouth went away.
God, I hated when he did this.
And totally fucking loved it.
“Baby,” I begged.
But then I was on my knees at the edge of the bed and I was taking his cock.
Okay.
Yeah.
Loved it.
“Fuck yourself,” he ordered thickly.
I got up on my hands too and did what I was told.
He let me, then took over, fucking me into the bed as he entered it. Once he got us where he wanted us, he curled over me, biting my shoulder, my neck, his arm wrapped around my chest, and he pulled me up.
He fucked me upright, both hands going to my breasts, squeezing, rolling and tugging my nipples.
My head fell back. “Tobe.”
“Mouth.”
I turned to him.
He rolled my nipples, fucked me and kissed me.
God.
I was getting there, fast.
I broke the kiss and said urgently, “Honey.”
I gave a muted cry when he pulled me off, turned me around to face him on my knees, his hand was in my hair, yanking it back, his other arm was around my waist, both forcing me to arch for him, then his mouth was at my nipple, sucking hard.
“Oh my God, baby,” I breathed, burying my fingers in his hair, and with my other hand, reaching for his cock.
It took hold and stroked.
“Yeah,” he growled against my flesh, pumping into my hand, switching nipples.
“Need you to fuck me,” I told him.
He sucked harder.
“Toby, need you inside me,” I pleaded.
He rolled my nipple with his tongue then said there, “In a minute.”
“Toby—”
He shoved me to my back. I lost purchase on his cock, he took control of it and with one hand jacking himself, his other hand diving between my legs to finger fuck me, he towered over me, claiming my pussy and giving me a show.
“Come on me,” I ordered.
“No fuckin’ way, ride that hand,” he ordered in return.
“Tobe—”
“Earn it,” he rumbled.
God, I was earning it already.
Did he have any idea how hot it was to watch him tug on his cock?
“Okay, let me suck you,” I offered.
He slid his fingers out and rolled my clit.
My eyes rolled in my head.
“Baby, who controls this bed?”
My eyes rolled back, and I huffed out, “You’re annoying.”
He grinned, stopped rolling, stopped stroking, grasped me behind my knees, yanked them up, released one so he could grab his cock, and then he was inside.
Finally.
My back lifted from the bed.
His hand went again to my knee and he fucked me.
“Yes, Toby,” I encouraged.
He spread my legs wider.
Now I was his show.
“Yes,” I whimpered, wanting to watch all that was my man up on his knees, banging me, but I was too lost in him actually banging me.
“Totally figurin’ out how to film you takin’ my fucking so you can see how goddamned fuckin’ gorgeous you are,” he growled.
Oh God.
We were so totally doing that.
“Tobe—”
He took a hand from my knee and pinched my clit.
There it was.
My mouth opened, the world washed away, and it was only Toby and me.
Just Toby and me.
In other words, I came for him.
Hard.
He covered me, kept fucking me, and I felt his finger slide in my mouth.
I sucked on it.
Hard.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he grunted, his finger was gone, his tongue was there, and I was just beginning to come down when he groaned in my mouth.
That was Toby.
Unless he was doing me on my knees or belly (and sometimes even then), he came while kissing me.
I loved that about him.
Then again, I loved everything about him.
He finished fully planted, worked my neck with his lips and beard and slid slowly out trailing that beard down my chest, between my breasts, to my belly before he moved away and left the bed.
I rarely cleaned up.
That was also Toby.
He looked after me.
I rolled to my side, curled up and watched the door to the bathroom so I saw him reappear with a wet washcloth.
By the by, my white bathroom accessories against his black granite countertops and among all that wood in his bathroom?
The bomb.
Toby striding to me naked after fucking me like he fucked me?
Da bomb diggity bomb bomb.
“C’m ’ere,” he murmured heading to the side of the bed.
I pushed up, went there and got up to my knees.
“Spread,” he muttered.
I spread.
The warm cloth went between my legs just as his lips hit mine and his tongue went between them.
We made out while he cleaned me.
He nipped my lower lip lightly when he was done and ordered, “Don’t move,” before he headed back to the bathroom.
Goodie.
It was Friday night. We had a full day tomorrow, what with Matlock Memorial Day Food Festival and a visit to Margot and Dave and all. And Brooklyn would wake us early.
But it was Friday night so all that was goodness, not responsibility.
So he wasn’t done with me.
He came back, but not to me.
I watched him walk to the nightstand. I appreciated his back and ass as he did something at it, thinking, goodie again.
Toys.
Needless to say, on a day Brooklyn was spending some time with Aunt Iz, Uncle Johnny and his GoGo and Davey, Tobe and I had taken a road trip to Grayburg.
And he’d been right. The sex shop there was inspired.
He shut the drawer to his nightstand with his thigh, turned to me, came and positioned in front of me, grabbing my left wrist.
He lifted my hand and ran a thumb along the palm to the base of my ring f
inger.
Then he engaged his other hand, and only then did what he was doing strike me.
My eyes went from his handsome face, which was tipped down to watch what he was doing, to my hand just in time to see him slide a diamond ring on my finger.
It was not ridiculous like Izzy’s.
But it was still ridiculous.
A large, brilliant round stone set in a narrow band that was completely filled with smaller diamonds.
Simple. Even traditional.
And perfect.
“Margot picked it.”
My gaze came to his.
Yes.
Totally perfect.
His fingers holding my hand shifted so they covered mine totally, his hold so strong, the stone had to be digging into his palm.
“You go to that reading with my rock on your finger and my promise to love and keep you for the rest of our fucking lives in your heart, and whatever happens, fuck them. You’re loved. You’re looked after. And you got family,” he declared.
The ring was traditional.
The proposal wasn’t.
But it was Toby.
Before I even knew it was happening, the tears were sliding down my cheeks.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
“Did you ask a question?” I asked back huskily.
“Baby, every man wants to hear the word,” he whispered. “Are you gonna marry me?”
My man wanted it?
He’d get it.
“Yes, Toby.”
He pressed my hand to his chest, his other one going in my hair and he bent to kiss me.
He left my hand pressed to his chest when he used that arm to lift me up and he entered the bed, taking me with him.
I wrapped my legs around him and he put us both in bed, necking, and then more necking with some added groping, and some more necking with some serious groping, which led to traditional missionary making love.
I came before Toby.
Toby came kissing me.
He cleaned me up after and brought my pajamas from where I’d put them on the hooks in the closet.
I pulled mine on.
He pulled his on.
And we fell asleep in his treehouse room with my mom over the mantel, smiling in the moonlight.
“We’re here,” I said into the phone as Toby parked his brand new, dark blue, twin-cab Ram in a visitor’s parking spot at my grandmother’s attorney’s office.
I didn’t question the truck.
The state of the Gamble Brothers the last week had been at best, uneasy, at worst, downright crabby.
The Slow Burn (Moonlight and Motor Oil Series Book 2) Page 33
