I’d forgotten what it felt like to have a man inside me. Or maybe—and this is probably more likely—I’d forgotten that it could feel this good. That it could fill me up and stretch me so beautifully.
And with Mac’s eyes searching my face with every inch he pushes in, watching, recording every expression I make, I let go. I roll my hips, using my hands to push him, guide him, show him that I want more.
His elbows move above my shoulders to prop against the bed, big body arched over mine, and he gives it to me. Long, hard thrusts that make me see stars. Skin plastered against mine, lips dipping down to taste my kiss. My second orgasm rolls through me without mercy, and I only realize I’m crying out when Mac joins me, calling out my name as his hardness throbs inside me.
My orgasm is so intense, it rips the breath from my lungs. I feel him fill the condom and I wish it was filling me, and another shiver of pleasure ripples through me. This could never be wrong. It could never be anything but utterly perfect.
When we stop moving, still connected and intertwined, I let my hand slide down his sweat-dappled back. He lifts himself up to his elbows and looks down at me, eyes unreadable, then lifts himself off me and moves to the bathroom to wash up and dispose of the condom.
For the few minutes he’s gone, I lie in bed and try to make sense of the past few weeks—how quickly I’ve become addicted to his touch—and I wonder if I should pull back. Protect myself from the hurt he could cause me without even realizing it.
I should be taking things slow.
Then Mac reappears, still buck naked with everything on glorious display, and he climbs into bed, turns me ninety degrees so I’m lying the right way on the bed, and tugs the blankets over both of us. One leg is thrown over both of mine and his arm snakes under my head while the other wraps around my waist, totally ensconcing me in Mac.
It’s the middle of the day and the sun is bright as it streams through the half-closed blinds, and being in bed with Mac feels so completely luxurious that I can’t help but sink into the warmth and strength of him.
“I was just wondering if you’d want me to leave, but I’m guessing that’s a no.”
His arm and leg tighten. “It’s a no.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
“How long can you stay?”
“Don’t we have a few boxes of pottery to deliver?”
Mac groans, give me another squeeze, then grunts out a “Fine,” before letting me go.
The truth, though?
I’d rather stay in his arms.
20
Mac
Why have I been denying myself this? Not just sex, but the feeling of Trina in my arms, in my bed. As I pull on my discarded clothes, I’m finding it hard to remember why, exactly, I haven’t given Trina everything I have to give. All the years I spent convinced that I was meant to be alone—what was I thinking? What could be better than this?
Trina shakes out her cardigan and pulls it on, moving in front of my mirror to adjust her clothes and hair. I walk up behind her and slide my hands over her hips, placing a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. “You look perfect.”
“I look like I just had sex,” she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
I grin. “Isn’t that what I just said?” I’d like to see her like this—undone, freshly fucked—every day of my life.
After a few last adjustments and some makeup touch-ups from whatever supplies she keeps in her purse, Trina turns to me and nods. “Ready.”
“You sure you don’t want round two?” I arch my brows and glance at the rumpled bed.
“You’re bad,” she chides, a smile tugging the corners of her lips.
I kiss the tip of Trina’s nose and lead her back out to the studio. After sweeping up the shards of broken pottery from the ground, Trina and I make short work of packing up the rest of the order for Four Cups and loading it into the back of my truck. We ride back to town in silence.
When we pull up to the café, Fiona, Simone, Jen, and Candice are all there. I guess their busy schedules cleared up once Trina and I left. I grin at the thought as Fiona walks out to help us with the boxes, throwing a few curious glances at Trina. Once inside, I help the ladies unpack.
“These pieces are gorgeous, Mac,” Candice says, turning one of the new mugs around in her hands. “Good idea, Fiona.” She smiles at the other woman. “They fit Four Cups perfectly.”
“I appreciate your business,” I tell them with a smile. “I should have the second lot to you by the end of October, and the third by the end of the year.”
The truth is, the extra money is welcome. The amount of custom pottery they’ve ordered has been worth well past the five-figure mark, which means I’ll be able to do some work on my bike and maybe buy the new pottery wheel I’ve had my eye on. Not to mention a few things for my classroom over the course of the school year.
So much of my pottery sits on shelves in my studio. It’s nice to know that these pieces will be put to good use. As I help the ladies bring the boxes of pottery to the kitchen to wash, I catch Trina’s gaze lingering on me. A flush sweeps over her cheeks as she gives me a sweet smile.
In that moment, with midday sun gilding Trina’s hair, I think I might forget about my convictions about being alone. This is where I’m meant to be. With her.
I understand how my father could move on, how he could be happy. I understand that even after the hell he went through when my mother left, he could look for love again. He could open himself to that kind of hurt. Because isn’t it worth the risk, if someone like Trina is the reward?
When I walk back out to my truck and Trina follows, we stand next to the vehicle, unaware of what’s going on around. That always seems to happen when I’m around her; nothing else seems to matter as much as memorizing the way she moves, the way the light catches every angle of her face, the way her clothes hug her figure and her eyes search mine.
“So,” she says, flicking her eyes up to mine.
“So,” I repeat.
“If I keep standing out here with you, I’ll never hear the end of it.” She throws a glance at the café, and I follow her gaze.
All four of the owners shamelessly grin at us. Simone waves.
Laughing, I turn back to Trina. “I think that ship has sailed.”
She bites her lip. “What’s the plan?”
I comb my fingers through my hair. “Well…”
The words are on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her that for the first time in my life, the thought of inviting her into my life doesn’t terrify me. Well, that’s not exactly true. It does terrify me, but not enough to make me turn my back on her.
Trina is the first woman I’ve ever met that makes me see a future that isn’t lonely. Professing my feelings to this woman feels like an inevitability. The words push against my lips, and all I want to do is tell her that meeting her was an epiphany. How fucking crazy will I sound if I tell her that right now? We barely know each other.
I’m Ted from How I Met Your Mother. I need to slow the hell down.
But before I can even attempt to untangle my thoughts, someone walks up to us. “Mac,” Belinda says, crossing her arms as she comes to a stop. Ice water sluices through my veins as I look at the woman with thunder on her brow.
“Belinda.” I nod, keeping my face carefully blank while my mind whirls with panic.
I don’t want to talk to Belinda. The person I was when I slept with her was different from the person I am now. I’m not the guy who will flirt with a mother all through the school year, knowing she’ll end up in my bed when it’s all over. I’ll never do that again. I knew the moment it happened that it was the first and only time, and I should have been clearer with her over the years that followed. I should have told her I wasn’t interested, found a way to say it so she wouldn’t spread nasty rumors about me.
Trina glances between the two of us, and I know it’s rude, but I don’t introduce her. I’m hoping Belinda will just move on.
But I’m
not so lucky. My ex-fling looks at Trina and arches an eyebrow. “Are you the new one, then?”
“The new one?” Trina says, frowning. She glances at me, then back at Belinda. “Excuse me? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“The new mom he’ll flirt with and fuck, then toss aside when he’s done.”
Trina’s eyes go wide.
“Belinda,” I growl. “Do not fucking speak to Trina that way. Do me a favor and walk away, yeah? You know what happened between us was casual, and you have no right to stand here and fling insults at me.”
Belinda snorts. “Flirting with me for nearly a year, sleeping with me, then never speaking to me again? Ignoring me at school events for years? That’s what you call casual?”
“Belinda—” I try to cut in, but she doesn’t let me speak.
“I only have one thing to say to you, lady,” Belinda says to Trina. She leans in, her words sharp as blades. “Don’t waste your time.”
With one last look at me, the woman snorts and walks away.
I meet Candice’s wide eyes through the café window and watch Fiona frown as she leans to ask Simone something. Shit.
Trina’s frozen beside me. She watches Belinda turn a corner, then slowly lifts her eyes to mine. “Who was that?”
I gulp, then let out a long breath. “That was… I wouldn’t even call her an ex. We slept together once. Once, Trina, and it was four years ago.”
Her brows lower. “Do you have a thing for single moms, or something? What did she mean, ‘the new one?’”
“What? No, I—”
“Everything okay out here?” Lottie stands in the doorway, arms crossed. The expression on her face can only be described as Mama Bear.
“Everything’s fine, Mom,” Trina says, redness rising on her cheeks. “Go back inside.”
“It doesn’t look fine.” Lottie’s brows arch as she looks me up and down, this time not as appreciatively as she did in the Grove’s parking lot. She looks ready to attack.
“Mom, please. I’ll be inside in a minute.”
“Fine.” Lottie lets the door close, but stands in the doorway staring.
Trina looks at her, then glances at the four other faces in the window, who quickly move away, pretending to look anywhere but at us. She turns back to me, takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly. “I think we need to talk, but I don’t want to do it in front of an audience.”
I take her hand and squeeze it. “That woman means nothing to me, Trina. We slept together once, and I’ll admit I avoided her instead of being straight with her. I was too afraid of pushback and conflict at work.” Trina frowns, but before she can speak, I bring her knuckles to my lips. “You mean a hell of a lot more to me than she did. She’s a blip from my past, I promise.”
She looks in my eyes for a few long moments, and whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she lets out a long breath and nods. “We all have pasts.” A weak smile. “My ex-husband is an asshole and I have two kids, so I’m not without baggage.”
Tugging her close, I bring her to the other side of my truck for a hint of privacy from our audience and lean my forehead against hers. “What we did today was worth any amount of baggage, I can promise you that.”
She rolls her eyes, but a blush sweeps over her cheeks. “You’re not really making me feel like much more than a one-night stand with that kind of line, Mac.”
“How about this,” I say in a low voice, cupping her cheek with my hand as I bring my lips to hers. I kiss her slow and deep, trying to show her all the things I can’t say with words yet. All the feelings she’s waking up inside me. All the old wounds that are starting to knit back together.
When we pull apart again, Katrina looks a bit dazed. She steps back, shakes her head, and gives me a sexy little grin. “You’re too good at kissing. It’s dangerous.” Lifting a finger, she pokes me in the chest. “But we’re not done talking. Don’t think you can distract me with sex any time I try to talk about something serious.”
“I won’t distract you with sex if you promise not to be so sexy and distracting.”
Trina huffs, rolling her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I’ll tell you everything that happened with Belinda. Dinner tomorrow?” I ask. “You can ask me anything you want. I’m an open book.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize they’re the honest truth. I want Trina to know how I grew up with a single father. I want her to know that I suffered when my mother left, that I never trusted anyone besides my father and my brother to stay by my side. I want to tell her that for the first time in my life, it feels like that might change.
Trina bites her lip, hesitates, but finally nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
I can’t resist the temptation of one last kiss. It’s quick, but deep, and I’m hoping it’ll hold me over until tomorrow evening. “Pick you up at seven.”
“Can you make it seven-thirty so I can get the baths and bedtime routine done?”
“Seven-thirty.” Smiling, relieved, I watch her walk back inside to be swarmed by her friends and family, then I get back in my truck and let out a long breath.
If I’m going to tell Trina about Belinda, I’m going to have to tell her about my mother. I’m going to have to face a lot of truths from my past that I’ve never shared with another woman—but as I drive back home to get ready for the first day of school tomorrow, I know it’ll be worth it. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Katrina Viceroy is worth being vulnerable for.
21
Trina
The girls and my mom accept a brief, vague explanation of what happened outside only because Katie and Toby are still in the café. I manage to dodge the hardest questions, grab my kids, and head home. Then there’s lunch to make, backpacks to prep for tomorrow, school supplies to label with the kids’ names, and all the thousand and one last-minute tasks that need to be done on the Sunday before the start of the school year.
Finally, when the kids are in bed and my mother’s reading in her bedroom, I make my way to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and grab a bottle of white wine that has at least a glass and a half left in it. I pour myself a glass that feels completely indulgent after a day like the one I just had, and I lean against the kitchen counter as I take a sip.
I had sex with Mac Blair.
Holy smokes. My wine tastes dry and a little sour—I probably should have opened a fresh bottle—but it relaxes my shoulders as I replay all the events from last night and this morning in my mind. Mac is dynamite in bed. Explosive. Amazing.
The most incredible thing is I don’t feel guilty. In all the years I was married to Kevin, I always felt vaguely bad about doing things for myself, things I enjoyed. It’s like my whole existence was structured around making his life easier. I took care of the kids all the time and made sure he had time to paint. I dressed up and stood by his side at events, ever the polite wife. I took care of the house and I worked part-time, and it always felt like I was doing those things for him.
Last night and this morning, I did things for me, and it feels like a revelation.
Then I think about the woman outside the café. Her words—she’s the next one. How Mac stiffened beside me when she made that comment about flirting with moms, then the sincerity written across his face when he promised to tell me everything I needed to know tomorrow night, when we had time and space to talk about it.
Maybe I’ll tell him about my past. I can tell him about growing up with my mother, about my father dying when I was in my twenties, about my marriage to Kevin and all the layers of suffering that came along with being married to a selfish man like him.
I’ll tell him that there’s this kernel inside me, this tiny seed that is starting to bud into something bigger. It’s like I’m finally scratching the surface of who I am, finding out that yes, I can do this on my own. And hell, maybe I can start a stylist business! Who says I need to be an accessory on an unappreciative man’s arm? Why I can’t I do something for
myself, for my kids?
Tomorrow, things between Mac and me will change, and I’m ready for it.
Quiet footsteps bring my attention to the stairway, where I see Katie’s pajama-clad body descending. She pokes her head around the bannister and when she sees me, she freezes. Then, sliding into full view, my daughter bites her lip.
“You okay, Katie?” I put my glass of wine down on the counter and head for the hallway. Katie meets me halfway, wrapping her arms around my body. She buries her head against my stomach, hiding her face from me. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“I’m scared,” is her quiet reply.
Gently guiding her to the sofa, I sit down and nestle her into my side. “What are you scared of? Did your nightlight go out?”
She shakes her head, her body so small against mine. Katie has a fierce, independent personality, and I sometimes forget just how young she is. She’s been running around since she was a toddler, always with mischief written all over her face.
And then there are times like now, when she snuggles up against me and it makes my heart squeeze into a tight ball.
“Tell me,” I say, my hand making slow strokes through her hair.
“School,” she finally says.
“You’re nervous about going to school?”
Katie nods without saying anything.
“But you loved school last year, Katie. This year won’t be any different.”
“I don’t know anyone at this school!” She sits up, hazel eyes wide as she stares at me. “What if they’re all mean to me? What if my teacher doesn’t like me?”
Frowning, I try to keep the hurricane of emotion inside me from showing on my face. Where in the world did this come from? Katie is confident, self-assured, happy. Katie makes friends so easily I get headaches trying to keep all their names straight.
Dirty Little Midlife Disaster: A Motorcycle Hottie Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 4) Page 15
