"Don't say things like that," Audrey cried, pressing a hand over her heart. I didn't know how she managed to stay chill with her fifth graders but I was told she was stellar in the classroom.
"It's a valid question," Emme responded, shrugging at Audrey's outrage. "Think about it. Drew and Tara driving to and from Albany together for that training a couple of weeks ago? The first mortal wound would hit before they crossed state lines."
"For fuck's sake, peanut," Will muttered as he dropped into the chair. He looped his arms around her waist and settled her on his lap. "The things you make me do."
"If you think you're complaining, you should do it more effectively," Shannon replied.
"They won't kill each other," Jaime said as she exchanged a meaningful look with Audrey. "But it could get real spicy."
"Mommy and Daddy do enjoy fighting," Max added.
"Jaime's right. They wouldn't kill each other," Shay argued with a laugh. "They have friendly disagreements."
But that wasn't a theory I'd support. As co-deans, Drew and Tara didn't share anything friendly—much in the way Shannon and Will weren't friendly. I'd suggested as much to Lauren on many occasions and each time, she insisted I was reading the situation wrong. We had a small bet on the table despite my wife's insistence they were merely rivals. Regardless, I had a reasonably good idea what they were doing today and I'd be collecting some bragging rights soon.
"I think we should check on them," Audrey said. "Just in case."
Grace glanced into Audrey's cup, asking, "What are you drinking? Whatever it is, it's not strong enough."
Riley bustled in with his winter coat still on and beanie askew, asking, "Are we going on another secret mission? Is that what I heard? A search and rescue?"
Lauren tossed up her hands, shaking her head at him. "Did you get lost? What-even time is it? You're lucky we didn't send out a search and rescue party for you."
My father-in-law poked his head into the conversation. "What's this about a mission?"
Alex pulled the hat off Riley's head, saying, "Sorry. My fault. We were walking out the door and the hospital paged me."
"I like how my husband's sleeping through this," Tiel said, shaking her head at Sam. "How the mighty party boys fall."
"You're not on call," Nick said to Alex.
"Yeah," Alex drawled. "I know. It was one of those special moments when it's a holiday and no one is answering pages, so they page the surgeon who lives across the street from the hospital."
"Is the mission at the hospital?" Riley asked. "We just came from there. Alex handled everything in need of handling."
"There's no mission," Lauren said, waving her father and Riley off. "No secret operation. No searching, no rescuing. I've heard from both Tara and Drew. They're all right. I can assure you both are alive." And definitely in bed together. "We'll see them Monday." When I win this bet once and for all.
"I'm going to text her one more time," Audrey said.
"You do that," Lauren said. "But please don't be concerned if she doesn't respond. Tara knows how to tell us if she needs anything."
With that, the group gathered around the table dissipated. Riley rolled up his sleeves and went to work mixing drinks. Lauren's parents carted Annabelle, Abby, and Dave into the playroom while Erin and Nick took turns snuggling my daughter on the sofa. Shay and Jaime convinced Audrey and Noa to join them for a game of Cards Against Humanity. Magnolia and Stella compared wedding plans, which made me realize we had several more weddings on our horizon than I'd thought. Emme and Grace returned to their shared plate of cookies. Alex, Stremmel, and Cal debated surgical techniques while they inhaled a charcuterie board. Shannon fell asleep on Will's lap. Sam and Patrick didn't stir once.
And Max knocked out the wrong brick, sending the remains of our tower crashing down between us. "Good round, man," I said, holding out my hand to him.
"I'm never playing structural engineering games with you again," he said.
"That's fair," I agreed. "It was still a good round."
He scowled at the wreckage. "This looks a lot like my life right now."
"It'll get better. You just have to put the pieces back together." I took hold of Lauren's hand under the table and gave it a firm squeeze. "Can I talk to you about something?"
As we shuffled off the bench and out of the room, Max called, "Don't mind me. I'm coming to terms with my loneliness anyway."
"This is going to be your year," Lauren replied. "I know it. You won't be lonely for long."
Max's humorless laugh faded as I pulled my wife down the hall. "About Drew and Tara—"
"Don't start," she replied with a groan.
"I've known that guy a long time, sweetness. He's got it bad for her," I said. "I'll bet you anything they're together right now."
"Anything?" Lauren repeated.
I ushered her into the den and closed the door behind us. "Anything. Name your price."
She glanced at the rug, asking, "Is it wrong that all I want is a hot bath all by myself and then a few hours of you bossing me around in bed?"
I held up my hands, let them fall. "I can't see how it would be considering my dick would end up in your mouth."
"All right, Matthew. You can have your bet. I can't wait to prove you wrong."
"I'm not wrong." I wrapped my arms around her, sliding my hand under her sweater to feel the skin at the small of her back while I pressed my lips to her neck. "What did I tell you about this skirt?"
"You told me it gave you complicated feelings," she said, her lips smiling as they met mine. "Something about school girls and not being comfortable with such tawdry things."
"I did not use the word 'tawdry,'" I argued. "I've never in my life used the word tawdry. I said it made me feel a little perverted because this skirt looks like it belongs with a Catholic school uniform. That's complicated. I don't want to be aroused by the idea of high school girls."
"It seems you've uncomplicated your feelings," she said, running her palm over the erection trapped behind my zipper.
I reached under her skirt for the band of her tights, inched them down. "How long do you think we have?"
"Five minutes," she replied, her fingers working my button-fly open. "Maybe more. Depends how long Nick and Erin can occupy Maddie."
"Are you kidding me? They'd adopt her if we let them," I replied. "No, the real variable is how long it takes for your father to notice we've stepped away. He'll be knocking on this door any minute now. It's like he has a sixth sense for knowing when I want to do depraved things to you."
Lauren glanced up from my jeans. "Depraved? A couple of minutes and a house full of people is not time enough for depraved, my love. This is get your pants down, get your cock out, fuck me real fast and real hard time."
"Doesn't mean it's not still depraved in my head," I replied.
She paused, blinked up at me, and said, "Okay, how about over the desk?"
"I love you," I panted, marching her in that direction. "Don't forget that when I'm pulling your hair, okay?"
Bent over the surface, she laughed, saying, "I haven't forgotten in six years, Matthew. I'm not about to forget now. Oh, and I love you too."
Staring at her like this, her skirt flipped up, her tights pulled down, her ass round and ripe and right there, activated the portion of my brain responsible for unfastening my belt and pulling my zipper down as quickly as possible. "You should've told me you were naked under those tights."
"I didn't need you operating with that information while we had all our friends and family in the house."
I reached between her legs, swept my fingers over her folds and found her slick and ready. "You don't trust me?"
"I trust you just fine," she replied, arching into my touch. "It's the caveman who can't be controlled."
As I rolled a condom down my shaft—no accidents in this house—I barked out a laugh. "It's you who can't be controlled, sweetness."
She lifted her shoulders and shot me a devastating smile
. "Why don't you give it a try?"
I wanted her like this—always. I wanted stolen moments with a houseful of people and rolled down tights. I wanted her dirty mouth, her dares. I wanted her meeting me every step of the way and then demanding more. I wanted this place we created where the only thing that mattered was how we fit together, where we could get lost in each other. This was what I wanted. She was what I wanted.
I placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her down, flat on the desk with her hips perked up like a present. Pushing inside her turned me delirious. It always did. I whispered the dirtiest words as I moved in her, all of it flying out like filthy gibberish. And she responded, I knew she did, but I couldn't hear it, couldn't interpret anything she said through the sex-drunk fog around my head. I knew only the rhythm of her body, her skin against my mine. I squeezed her hips, her waist. I dug my fingers into her soft tissue and I was there, pressing into her, and I couldn't think past the hunger for her, the need.
I filled her with one thrust, groaning her name as I bottomed out. I closed my eyes, focusing on her sighs and groans, and reminding myself to be gentle because this desk was unforgiving. Not that I was much better.
"Tell me what you want," I panted.
"What you're doing. This."
Nothing separated us and still I wanted more, a type of more I couldn't explain, couldn't quantify. "You're all right?"
"Don't stop, don't stop. I'm almost—" She slapped the desk, a muffled groan that transitioned into a high-pitched cry before swan diving into a breathy moan. I lived for those sounds, the ones that heralded her orgasms. "—almost there."
"Fuck, I love you," I said, and though it was exactly when I felt, it sounded wrong—like I was mad at her for it. The dick delirium was strong today.
"I know you do," she said. "And I love you too, caveman."
Pumping into her, my orgasm barreled down my spine, twisting my strained muscles and wiping every thought from my mind but one: my sweetness, my Lauren. I dropped my forehead to her back and offered up every obscene desire and gushing emotion I had, each presented with a kiss to her skin.
Lauren reached for my hand, turning my wrist to get a look at my watch. "Save it for later," she said. "We have less than a minute to get back before—"
"Lolo? Where did you run off to?" my mother-in-law called down the hall. "Bill, you check upstairs. Honestly, of all the times for her to disappear. She's hosting a party!"
"Oh my god," she groaned.
I reached for the box of tissues. "At least we had ten minutes. If all that's we're able to get these days, that's enough for me."
Where Were Drew and Tara?
Tara Treloff and Drew Larsen hate each other.
They really hate each other.
This would be fine except for the issue of them sharing a job title
…and an office
…and now a five-hour-long drive to a conference their boss has made mandatory to resolve their issues.
And they would’ve been able to muddle through all of those matters but a major snowstorm is heading their way
…and there’s only one bed.
"Tara," he snapped, edging closer. At this range, I could see the flecks of gold and amber in his eyes and the individual whiskers in the ever-present shadow of stubble on his jaw. "Say it."
"Thank you for the coffee." There were ten sarcastic, cutting jabs waiting on my tongue but I held back. "Thank you for remembering what I like."
"You're welcome." He stared at me with those dark blue eyes of his, as if he could see inside me and page through my thoughts. Except he didn't, he couldn't. I didn't allow it. He saw only what he chose and only the worst of me.
Get your hands on Professional Development
Will Max Love Again?
A knock sounded behind me, and then, "Is this a bad time?"
Oh my god. I dropped my hands and jerked out of my chair with a force that sent it crashing into a tower of stacked soccer nets. They skittered to the side, knocking over a pillar of orange safety cones and bag of softballs, sending both straight for Jory's head.
"What is wrong with me?" I panted, diving in front of him to snatch the bag and steady the cones before they flattened him on the floor. I gained control of the equipment before it could do any damage, but I'd also shaved a few years off my life.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." Jory folded his lips together and blinked away from me. "Thanks for intervening, though. You've got some reflexes."
I settled my hands on my waist and blew out a ragged breath. "I didn't hear anything you just said because I'm still reliving the moment when a sack of softballs went flying toward your head."
Get your hands on Orientation
II
From the Walsh Family Vault
7
A Visit to New Hampshire: An Andy and Patrick Deleted Scene
Patrick
"Where is your sense of adventure?"
Andy eyed the fried seafood plate between us, grimacing as she lifted the beer bottle to her lips. I studied the rhythmic bobbing of her throat while she swallowed, and I immediately regretted the decision to cash in on my months-old seafood campaign to drive to New Hampshire when keeping her in my bed was an option.
She lifted an indifferent shoulder and said, "We agreed I would drink beer and criticize things."
"How is this weirder than the green pepper and fennel smoothie you had for breakfast on Thursday?"
Andy waved a hand dismissively, and reached across the white-washed picnic table for my beer. "Peppers aren't the cockroaches of the ocean."
"You're killin' me, Smalls." I shook my head and tossed another fried clam in my mouth. "So you're telling me you'll eat Korean barbeque from that nameless truck near Fort Point, where you've most definitely had kimchi that spent a few years rotting in a basement, but you won't touch a scallop?"
"Yes."
"That's weak," I murmured. "There's gotta be a better reason."
Andy considered me over the beer bottle while I ate, an eyebrow raised in challenge. "Don't you ever want to rebel against everything you knew as a kid? Just give it all away, and say, 'no, this is not me'?"
My eyes drifted over her shoulder, landing on the choppy ocean just beyond the restaurant. April was not filled with gentle showers this year. "Yes and no," I murmured. "Working with my brothers and sister means that there's no escaping, but I like that, and I like them. Usually. The past few years have been hard, but I wouldn't want to do this with anyone but my siblings."
"That's the no. What about the yes?"
Andy propped her feet on my bench and tapped my thigh with her booted toe. "The yes wants to bulldoze Wellesley and never deal with it again."
Andy gasped. "Don't you dare say that about an 1880s Arts and Crafts."
"Don't tell Riley I said this, but that place is fucking haunted, especially considering we can't figure out why the walls moved in some of the rooms."
"So that adds some character. Half of the properties we deal with are haunted," she laughed, sending a curtain of dark curls falling across her face.
"You won't eat seafood because you're from Maine. How is that any more reasonable?"
"It's not, Patrick, it's not even close to reasonable. But the last thing I am is Maine." She shrugged and polished off my beer. "And I went on a field trip to the nuclear reactor up the street when I was in high school, and I'm not convinced I want fish from these waters."
"You can be Persian, and still eat clams," I offered. "Maine has nothing to do with it. Neither does Seabrook Station. But you already knew that."
We stared at each other for several beats while a worker dumped several five-gallon barrels of ice into the soda fountains, each pour roaring through the otherwise empty room.
Andy nodded, her eyes softening. I fell far into the depth of her dark brown eyes with nothing but gray skies and the deserted seacoast around us. They had a language all their own, and I could lose days staring
at Andy. Every glance, stare, and flash spoke, and revealed more than any words she could say.
I held her gaze as the last bucket was emptied, and the sudden, deafening silence wrapped around us.
"Didn't you say something about this being a pub crawl?"
Andy reclined against the booth and folded her legs beneath her before sampling the square slice of pizza. "Not bad," she said, and took a few more bites.
"Finally," I muttered.
She drank her weight in beer at the three seafood dives we visited, refusing to even look at the chalk-scrawled menus, and rolled her eyes when I suggested fried dough.
Andy's first murmur sounded when I was reaching across the table for the red pepper flakes. I froze, my fingers wrapping around the plump jar as the hum slipped down my spine and around my cock, and she murmured again. Dragging in a deep breath, my eyes panned up her navy blue sweater and over her neck, landing on her eyes.
Andy was studying her pizza and didn't notice me staring. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You must really enjoy fucking with me."
Her eyes flashed with confusion. "How's that?"
I rolled the jar between my hands to distract from the swelling behind my fly. "Um, you occasionally make certain sounds while you're eating, like you just did, and, you do it pretty frequently when we're out for lunch during the week, and um—"
"Get to the point, Patrick," Andy laughed. She grabbed the jar, stilling my hands.
My words whooshed out in a compacted mess. "You make sex noises when you eat and I want to throw you on the table and fuck you until you scream."
Andy turned, glancing at the teenage boy working the counter. He was engrossed in the UNH hockey game against UMass-Lowell. "I don't think he'd mind," she shrugged, her eyes lighting while I laughed.
Foundations: A Happy Ever After Romance (The Walsh Series Book 9) Page 6
