Somebody to Love

by Ann Christopher

  “It does.” She angled her head, giving him better access. “Too bad you don’t have a playpen handy. Or a baby monitor.”

  Another nip, then he slid to his feet, reached for her hand and carefully pulled her up, making sure she kept her balance as she adjusted Ella.

  “You still don’t respect my skills, do you?” he said, leading her down the hall.

  They turned into the smaller bedroom, which he’d made into an annex for the local toy store in the last couple of weeks. Giant puzzles and oversized Lego sets lined the bookshelf. Books. A couple more stuffed animals. A plastic tea set. Dinosaurs. And there, in pride of place at the end of the queen-sized bed, stood a brand-new playpen.

  “Oh, my God, Sean,” Amber said, looking stunned.

  “Allow me,” he said with immense satisfaction, divesting her of Ella’s pliant body, laying the girl and the panda down and covering them both with a fuzzy little blanket. Ella snoozed on, never stirring. Then he checked the baby monitor on the nightstand (fully charged, thank goodness), grabbed the receiver and turned back to Amber.

  His heart stopped when she saw the look on her face—all hard, hot desire that made her eyes glitter and her chest heave.

  Sean wished he could take it slow and easy right now, on this night of all nights. But he wanted to be inside her more and he figured she was on the same page.

  So he grabbed her wrist without a word, tugged her out of the room and led her next door.

  They were all over each other by the time he nudged the door shut and locked it, turning toward each other with the urgency of two people struggling not to drown as giant waves overtook them.

  His heart was full of things he’d wanted to tell her for months—things she needed to know about the way he felt about her and the way she made him feel—but his mouth was too busy for more than a single word.

  “Amber.”

  Their kisses were deep. Too frantic to allow room for any pride or restraint. And when he’d begun to satisfy himself with her sweet mouth, at least for now, he palmed her beautiful face to hold her in place while he kissed her cheeks and her eyes, her forehead and mouth again. He massaged her nape and scalp with his fingertips. Stroked the smooth column of her throat with his thumbs. Rejoiced as she arched into him, straining to get closer even though he knew it would take a lifetime to get this woman close enough.

  Funny how he couldn’t wait even though he now knew that they had all the time in the world together.

  He broke the kiss, his buzzing hormones and fumbling hands unsure whether to work on her clothes or his first. She decided to help him, grabbing the lower edge of his T-shirt and sweeping it off over his head before tossing it to the floor. Worked for him. He kicked off his shoes and hastily bent to pull off his socks, hopping to keep his balance. Straightened and unbuckled his belt. Broke all kinds of speed records ditching his pants and gray boxer briefs.

  She stared him in the face the whole time, breathless as she also stripped down. Her sweater went first, revealing all that coppery skin and releasing the berry fragrance of her hair is it swung back into place. The jeans and shoes went next. She didn’t bother with her socks and he didn’t care.

  Sean caught her around the waist and pulled her with him so that they tumbled onto the bed together, thinking that he also needed a lick or two of that delicious pussy of hers just to ensure that she was as creamy and hot as he could possibly make her. But she had other ideas, rolling him to the bottom and straddling him before he thought to register a protest.

  And then there she was with her rumpled hair falling on either side of her face, glittering eyes, softly smiling lips, perky breasts and luminous bare skin.

  His love. His life. And his future wife, not that they needed to get into that right now.

  And then—fuck it—he decided that there was absolutely no legitimate reason not to get into it now. Now that they’d lifted the embargo on discussing their feelings, he had a lot of feelings to discuss.

  “I’m going to marry you,” he said, gripping the slight curves of her hips on either side and thinking about how eager he was to see how this glorious body ripened and changed when she was pregnant with their child. “In the not-too-distant future. Unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting to be married…?”

  Triumphant laugh from Amber, who let her head fall back and her back arch, presenting him with a breathtaking display of jutting nipples that made his dick even harder.

  “I don’t just want to be married,” she said, straightening and then leaning forward to rest her hands on either side of his head. “I want to be married to the right man. Who has finally shown up.”

  His grin was short-lived because Amber had other uses for his lips.

  “I want you,” she murmured silkily, licking her way deep into his mouth.

  He opened for her, groaning at the velvety voluptuousness of her tongue. Filling his hands with that narrow waist. Those hips again. Those juicy thighs.

  That ass as she thrust against him, warming them both up for the main event. Much as he wanted to wallow and die in the exquisite pleasure of being sandwiched between the two halves of that slick cleft between her legs, he didn’t need much warming. Neither did she, by the feel of it. Any further warming would lead to premature happy endings for both of them, and tonight was not the night for that.

  So he satisfied himself by reaching between them and running his thumb through her juices and over her clit to make sure it was nice and hard. Broke the kiss just long enough to stroke that thumb across her luscious lips and feel the erotic thrill of her sucking it into her mouth. Groaned again as he freed his thumb from all that slippery heat and instead used his hands to hold her face and bring her back in for more kissing. Harder kissing. Endless kissing.

  He palmed the back of her head with one hand to keep her exactly where she was, in the sleek silk of her hair as he reached between them with his free hand. Gripped his dick and said a million silent thank-yous that she was on the pill and they’d therefore long since dispensed with condoms. Basked in the way her flesh eagerly yielded for him, sucking his plump head and then his entire length home where it belonged.

  He experienced one of those out-of-body moments when he filled her to the base, a not quite conscious beat or two when his eyes rolled closed, goose bumps erupted over his skin and he had to gasp to catch his breath.

  But he didn’t want to miss a moment of this perfection on earth.

  Oh, no, he did not.

  So he opened his eyes again and loosened his grip on her, getting his heavy lids up just in time to see the way she straightened and tossed all that hair out of her face, and the way her eyes rolled closed and her head fell back, the sultriest of smiles making her lips curl at the corners.

  “You like that?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  “I love that.” Smile widening, she took her time about running her hands over her breasts, cupping them until the nipples poked through her fingers. Then those pretty manicured fingers trailed lower, delving between her legs to the place where they were joined. “I love it.”

  Well, what could he do? Since she was clearly so determined to drive him out of his mind, he decided to oblige. He thrust deeper, smacking her on the ass with a thick cry to demonstrate what he had in mind.

  She didn’t need the encouragement. She never did. She did magical things with those thighs, flexing them to rise up and down on his dick. Finding an exquisite rhythm and then increasing it. She circled those hips. Twerked those hips. Ground against him in a manner guaranteed to leave them both deliciously sore in the morning. She kept at it until they were both sweaty and the moisture trickled down the valley between her breasts and pooled in her belly button. She kept at it until her name broke down on his lips and only whispered syllables remained. She kept at it until her cries outpaced his, rising up between them with notes of astonished laughter and unabashed joy.

  He kept at it for just a little longer, ignoring his trembling limbs to make sure she
fully enjoyed herself for as long as possible while he fucked her, and fucked her and fucked her.

  And loved her, and loved her and loved her.

  Only when she was done and exhausted, slumping over him with a whispered “I can’t take it,” did he let himself go with an abandon that matched hers. He whispered incoherently. Released another hoarse groan. And stiffened as the incendiary pleasure roared through his body and used him up until there was nothing left.

  When it was over, after they’d bonelessly melted into the sheets and caught their breath in a tangle of arms and legs, he got his eyes open again and discovered that his face was still wet and not all the moisture came from sweat. He took one of his hands off her silken back and wiped away the tears trailing down his temples, undone.

  She rolled over and scooted up a little. They rested their heads on the same pillow. Stared at each other. Wallowed in each other.

  He didn’t want to move or do anything to disturb the utter peace and contentment of that moment, but he couldn’t resist the urge to stroke her dewy lips with his thumb. To make absolutely and completely sure that they were on the same page and would remain on the same page once they left this bed.

  “So…just to be clear…we love each other, right?”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting at a smile to come.

  “We love each other,” she said.

  “Damn right we do. And we’re in this together, right?”

  This time that hint of a smile spread all the way to her mouth.

  “We’re definitely in this together,” she said. “And we’re in it together with Ella.”

  He nodded, his heart full to bursting as his emotional satisfaction finally caught up with his physical satisfaction.

  “That means this is real, Sweetness. You know that, right?”

  “This is one hundred percent real,” she said, her lids slipping to half-mast as she tightened her legs around his and pulled him closer once again.

  Epilogue

  “Chef. The big boss wants you.”

  Sean, who was having a quiet word with his sous chef, glanced around to discover one of the expediters pointing to the swinging door leading to the dining room. Sure enough, Nigel had poked his head in and wore a smile that suggested he’d just been awarded the lower forty-eight states as a birthday present.

  “Come on out here, son,” Nigel said, beckoning him. “Time for you to meet your adoring public.”

  Sean hesitated, reluctant to leave the kitchen at the moment and not at all sure what Nigel had in mind. But things were humming along like a well-oiled machine that had reached that Zen-like zone he loved so much, with his crew talking amongst themselves as they put the finishing touches on the next batch of appetizers (macaroni and cheese tartlets topped with either mini crab cakes or lamb sausage slices), so he figured they could spare him for a minute or two. And anyway, this first night of his soft opening had gone smoothly enough for him to deserve a quick break.

  So he clapped his sous chef Barney on the back. “You’re in charge. Make sure the place doesn’t burn down before I get back.”

  “You got it, Chef,” Barney said, but Nigel groaned.

  “Too soon?” Sean asked Nigel.

  “Way too soon,” Nigel said, chuckling as Sean headed his way.

  Sean swept off his black chef’s skullcap and made sure his starched jacket and apron were still sparkly white as Nigel put a hand on his shoulder and steered him out into the dining room.

  As always these days, Sean experienced a moment of glorious disbelief seeing what Nigel had allowed him to build with the proceeds from the insurance company and Isaiah’s Angel investment. He’d worked with Sofia, Journey’s End’s favorite up-and-coming local designer, to update the decor. Gone were the outdated and worn booths circa 1992, along with the peeling wallpaper, white tablecloths, picture window and silk floral arrangements.

  Replacing them? An urban loft aesthetic featuring high ceilings, stone accent walls, one of which included a waterfall, reclaimed oak flooring, modern tables and chairs, a slate bar, candles, orchids, giant yellow forsythia arrangements, eclectic paintings, a giant plate glass window, funky oversized light fixtures that looked as though they’d been commandeered from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab and mirrors to reflect all that light. Brazilian beats completed the overall mood, which was energetic. Exciting. Especially when the place brimmed with people, as it did now.

  And most especially when the people broke into ecstatic applause the second Sean appeared.

  Sean took a minute to get his bearings and soak it all in while also grinning his fool head off. Everyone he knew or loved was there, starting with Amber, whose joyous and proud smile was the only thing that could have made this night more special. Nigel stood on one side of him, shaking his hand and offering congratulations that Sean couldn’t quite hear over the applause. Ada stood on the other side, straining on her tiptoes to give him a kiss and hug. And in the crowd? James, Miranda and the twins, whose hands weren’t free to clap because they each held a lamb chop and regarded it with open suspicion. Ethan and Sofia. Daniel and Zoya. Baptiste and Samira. Isaiah and Alyssa. Raymond, who sported—Sean squinted to make sure he wasn’t seeing things—an oversized pin on his jacket lapel with Bobsy’s fuzzy tongue-dangling smile and black bow tie on it. Griffin. Jerry. Edward, holding Ella, who was snacking on one of the house-made rolls, and Reeve. Additional people whose faces Sean recognized from around town.

  “Wow,” Sean said, feeling breathless and overwhelmed as all the commotion died down. “Was the food that good?”

  “It’s awesome!” Noah cried, now munching happily. “These lamb chops are amazing once you put some ketchup on them!”

  The adults grimaced and laughed.

  “All right, all right, let’s simmer down,” Nigel said. “I’d like to make a few remarks.”

  “Not again,” Jonah said with open despair, whereupon James hooked him around the neck and pulled him in for a noogie atop the head.

  “I am allowed to say a few words for the occasion,” Nigel said, frowning.

  “So am I, but you don’t see me trying to bore everyone to tears,” Isaiah said to a round of titters.

  “Let’s just keep it brief, dear,” Ada told Nigel, shooting Isaiah a warning look.

  “As I was saying.” Nigel straightened and buttoned his jacket, puffing out his chest with dignity. “When Ada and I opened Harper Rose Bistro in the early nineties, I thought we needed to serve the standards. A nice pot roast. Prime rib. Steak. Lobster. The basics. We lived in glory for many years. Didn’t see any need to change.”

  “Yes, dear, we are all well acquainted with your resistance to progress and change,” Ada said acidly.

  “And now,” Nigel said, raising his voice and ignoring this interruption, “we have global flavors. Farm fresh foods. We have jicama, leeks and plantains. We have monkfish and branzino. Whatever the hell that is.”

  “It’s fish,” Ethan called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  More laughter, including from Nigel.

  “Now look at us,” he continued. “We’re booked through Memorial Day and we haven’t even opened yet. We’re chic and relevant again. And we have good online reviews already!”

  This information sent a ripple of anticipation through the crowd as Nigel pulled out his phone and slid on his glasses.

  “Let’s see…Let’s see…Ah, here it is. From the local food critic. Who—what’s the word I’m looking for here?” Nigel snapped his fingers, thinking hard.

  “Eviscerated?” James suggested dryly.

  “Yes!” Nigel’s expression cleared. “Now we have a good online review from the local food critic who eviscerated us last summer. Now she says, ‘Who knew that fresh ingredients, simply but expertly prepared, could sing with such complex melodies?’ That’s what she said! Can you believe that?”

  This information provoked another round of enthusiastic whoops and applause.

  “Yay!” shrieked
Ella, clapping and kicking her legs.

  Sean felt a dizzying wave of relief.

  “I want everyone to raise their glass with me,” Nigel said as servers hurried through the crowd, dispensing flutes of champagne. “Join me in toasting—”

  “I want one, Daddy!” Ella said, trying to grab her own champagne off of a passing server’s tray and, when that failed, reaching for Edward’s glass. “I want one!”

  “Shhh,” Edward said, cheeks reddening. “Little girls don’t drink champagne.”

  Ella stiffened, scrunching up her face as it turned purple. “I want one!”

  Stifling a curse, Edward shot everyone a sheepish and apologetic look as he ducked his head and hurried out the front door just as Ella’s demands crescendoed into a full-blown tantrum that included tossing her roll on the floor.

  “Whose bratty child is that?” Amber asked gleefully, enjoying a premature sip from her glass. “Why don’t people put their kids to bed on time?”

  This broke up the crowd including, Sean noticed, Reeve, who seemed to catch Amber’s eye before both women hastily looked away.

  “Let’s wrap this up.” Nigel turned back toward Sean and raised his glass again. “To Sean. Long may our new executive chef reign. May his hard work soon bless Harper Rose Bistro with its first Michelin star.”

  Sean had a tough time keeping his shit together after that toast (if he couldn’t resurrect Julia Child for a quiet dinner of coq au vin while he picked her brain for several hours, a few Michelin stars would serve nicely as his wildest dream come true), but he felt he did a reasonable job through the additional hugs and handshakes.

  But then Mike, who was looking very stern as usual but also very proud, cleared his throat and called for renewed silence by plinking his glass with a spoon.

  Sean froze, trying not to hang his entire mood for the rest of the night on what his brother said or didn’t say next. His mother and Dara also looked a bit wary as they watched Mike, he noticed, but they needn’t have worried.

  “Sean and I recently talked about success and failure,” Mike intoned in that powerful courtroom voice of his. “But Julia Child said that if you’re not ready to fail, you’re not going to learn how to cook. So I’d like to toast my brother who has, in my opinion, never failed on his way to becoming a fantastic cook.”