“Can we talk about it?” I asked softly.
He blew out a breath and then reached out to me, cradling my cheek in his hand. “Tomorrow, okay? I’m not up to it tonight.”
I held his hand to my face, not wanting him to go.
He kissed my forehead and whispered, “Maybe I’m going nuts. I don’t know. Let’s go to bed. We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the flight tomorrow.”
Without any other choice, I followed him into the bedroom, holding his hand tightly in mine.
How fucking ironic. I’d decided a good fight was what we needed. Be careful what you wish for.
I wasn’t ready for this. The idea had been to start small—little baby arguments we could handle before we tried tackling anything harder. This was emotional and deep, too emotional and too deep. We weren’t prepared for it.
And I would never have picked this battle.
5
Laney
I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know how much rest Carson got either. Our bed had never felt so big before. Normally, we shared the middle, leaving both sides empty. But not tonight. Tonight, we each had a side. We still held hands as we pretended to sleep, but there was so much damn space between us.
I wanted to say something, to talk about what the hell had happened, but what good would it do if he didn’t want to?
And the truth was, I still didn’t know what to tell him. Why hadn’t we ever talked about the future? Because the present was so great? We’d spent hours talking about our pasts—good and bad—and he knew me better than anyone ever had. He understood me better than I did sometimes. That kind of freaked me out, actually. Especially now. Maybe he saw something I couldn’t. He was right—it was weird I never talked about babies or a house in the suburbs. He’d never even met my parents. He’d spoken to them on the phone a few times—a quick “Hello” or “Hope we can visit soon”—but for one reason or another, I hadn’t introduced him to them.
He was just so different than they were, so different than the kind of man they thought I’d end up with. Hoped I’d end up with. On paper, at least. I knew once they got to know him a little, they’d fall in love with him just the way I had. See beyond the tattoos, the inherited wealth, the sarcasm, the lack of a filter and any normalcy in his life. I wished I could introduce them like they did on The Voice—judge him before seeing him or finding out about his past. Judge him by who he was now: an amazingly thoughtful man who ran a children’s charity, for goodness sake. What parents wouldn’t approve of that? If only I could somehow keep his past troubles and his current mischievousness from them.
And I knew he’d love them, once he saw past their lifestyle, their expectations, their…normalcy. The way they judged people who chose to live in the moment and take risks. People who had pasts worthy of forgetting.
I finally fell asleep around two-thirty, still wondering which part of my life I was really trying to hide.
6
Carson
Last night had been tragic. After being a nutcase all day long, I’d thought there was no way things could get worse after the botched proposal. Boy, had I underestimated my stupidity.
Number one: Putting the ring under her cup and proposing in a café filled with strangers. Si romantique.
I’d chicken-shitted myself into thinking five minutes of planning would be enough. As long as she got a great ring and I got a “Yes,” nothing else mattered. But according to Hillary’s numerous accounts of how thoughtful and romantic Eric had been when he’d asked, how she couldn’t wait to tell everyone she knew, and everyone she didn’t—including her future grandkids—evidently a proper proposal had to be over-the-top romantic and involve at least three candles and two kinds of flowers.
Number two: Watching Lane get so excited about Hillary and Eric’s engagement had made it abundantly clear she wanted that. That was good, right? I mean, an hour before, I’d been ready to pop the question. Well, ready wasn’t what I’d been, but I’d been about to do it anyway.
But as the night drew on and the Champagne bottles emptied, I felt Lane distance herself from me. And then, when Hillary made a joke about what was taking us so long to get hitched, Lane’s light-speed response felt like a stab to my gut.
“Oh, pleeeeaaase. You’re talking about Carson Bennett, Hillary.”
What the fuck did that mean? Hadn’t I brought Lane into my life, my mind, my fucking heart enough to prove myself? Told her without words that this was serious shit and that I was all-in and determined to make it last? What the fuck else could I do to prove it to her?
And to think, when she’d said that, I’d actually had her fucking ring in my pocket.
That’s when it hit me—Eric and Hillary had their whole lives planned out. So did Hayden and Andi. They all knew what their futures looked like. They saw them, believed in them, fucking talked about them.
There I was, ready to steal some candles, get down on one knee, and beg her to make it official, when I realized we had never once spoken about what happened next. We’d never daydreamed or over-examined or gotten completely delusional about all the shit couples did. China patterns and kid names and whose family we’d drag ourselves to for holidays.
And shit, that was another thing. My family was one big ball of fuck up. If I could, I would’ve pretended I was an orphan. I guess I’d still claim I had a brother, but Lane had spent time with my mother and my wicked stepsister. She had broken bread with them, knew all their hang-ups, their vices, their evil, evil ways. I’d always figured I was lucky not to have to go to San Diego and spend time with Lane’s parents, small talking while keeping my hands and thoughts to myself. Now that good fortune seemed like a red flag. She hasn’t introduced you to her parents because she’s still not sure you’ll be around long enough to bother, idiot.
Everything twisted up in my head. All her attempts to save me from the whole meeting-the-parents torture had been a big fucking sign. The kind of sign you passed five times a day and never noticed until you accidentally tripped over it and were forced to look at it more closely. I was finally compelled to pick it up, dust it off, and read it. Realize it had been there the whole fucking time.
I should’ve stopped and read it sooner. But no, I’d been skipping along like a happy idiot, wrapped up in warm and cozy feelings without realizing Lane and I were stuck. So stuck there was a good chance we’d never make it any farther than we already were.
* * *
When I woke up, Lane was sitting next to me, her legs tucked under her, naked and staring at me as if she’d been doing it a while. Her hair was messy, probably from tossing and turning and worrying all night. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, wondering who would make the first move.
Women were better at talking, so I waited for her to start. Then I waited a little longer. And a little longer. Seemed like forever but was probably only about a minute or so.
Fuck this. I didn’t want to feel disconnected from her for another second.
I pulled her down to me, wrapped my arms around her and held on tightly, feeling the warmth of her breath on my chest. I didn’t feel her tears drip onto me, but I knew they were there—her breath sped up and her body jerked with each one. So I held on tighter.
“I’m not going to let either of us ruin this,” I said firmly. “I’m not. Understand?”
Her nose poked me as she nodded. There was a possibility I was smothering her, but I couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not until I knew she understood.
“I don’t care if you have doubts or are looking for a way out. I don’t care. Well, obviously I care, but I’m not going to let it matter. I’m going to fix this.” As soon as I figured out what it was.
I let her up for air because the whole till-death-do-us-part bit wasn’t going to happen until we were old, wrinkly, and I couldn’t get it up without a little blue pill.
As if she’d read my mind—or my body—she threw her leg over me and slid down until my cock—which wouldn’t need a blue pill anytime soon—prodded her
core.
Both of us groaned at the same time, for the same reason, and it wasn’t a good one. But we survived.
After an impressively quick reach-and-grab from the nightstand drawer, Lane tore the condom wrapper in half, tossed it over her shoulder, and rolled that rubber bastard right down my cock in record time.
Then she guided my morning wood inside her and pressed down on me, both of us sighing long and low. I would never get tired of feeling her wrapped around me. I swear, if we wouldn’t get arrested for it, I’d wear her around all day, every day, constantly rocking her up and down my cock. Never coming, never stopping, just enjoying the sweetness of our connection.
She lifted up just a tiny, torturous bit and then slid back down, grinding her hips against mine. No idea how she managed it, but somehow she found the focus to speak. Unfortunately, that meant I somehow had to find the focus to listen.
“I want a small wedding. Nothing fancy—just our friends, your family and mine. I want my dad to walk me down the aisle.”
“Yeah,” I groaned. I really didn’t want to think about her father while my cock was inside her, but I let her keep talking. I needed to hear this.
“We’re going to need a big house.” Her breath caught. “With a big shop so I can work from home…” She closed her eyes as if she wanted every cell in her body to focus only on where our skin touched.
“What else?”
“I want a…a…” Her fingernails dug into my chest each time I pushed my hips up and pulled hers down.
“What else?” I repeated.
“A pool. So we can go skinny-dipping.” She rocked her hips faster, more intensely, her forehead tightening as she worked toward her end.
“And a big fence so the neighbors can’t watch us fuck in the water.”
“Yes!” she said, maybe about the fence, maybe about the way I slid my hand between us to make sure she would come before I did.
“What else do you want, Lane?” I sat up. It meant I couldn’t be as deep as I wanted to be, but I needed more of our skin to touch. She threw her arms around my shoulders, her breasts pressed to my chest, her uneven breaths hot against my neck.
“Just you. Forever. Nothing else matters.”
I spun both of us over so she was under me, so I could be in control. Speed, depth, angle.
I was a smart enough man to have paid close attention to exactly what my woman needed when she was this close. And I was a skilled enough man to give it to her. My only job was to get her over the line before her pleasure plateaued, she got frustrated with her own body, and gave up on it. No greater orgasm killer than frustration. For her, at least. I could’ve come even if a mountain fell on us.
But…oh shit! Her muscles clenched around my cock like a vise.
“Not fair,” I growled. “You can’t…do that.”
“I can do whatever…ah…I want…to you.” She knew how close I was to losing it. And, damn her, she used my weakness against me.
“Seriously, Lane. Stop, or I’m gonna…ahhh…”
Luckily I knew all her signs too—the long, shaky inhalation, the raised eyebrows, the eyes that begged me to finish her off. And then a moment of absolute silence before…
Oh, here she comes.
Just in time too. When we kissed, it felt true, real, perfect. We lost it together—my orgasm hitting seconds after hers started.
I let go inside her, my fingers digging into the mattress as I arched my back, and added a loud, “Fuuuuuck.”
I struggled not to fall asleep right on top of her and forced myself to keep rocking into her until her final moan had ended.
I lived for that final moan. The one that lasted for a minute, maybe even a minute and a half. Or maybe it was fifteen seconds but just felt like more. Because right after, Lane always went limp and collapsed wherever she was. Always. No matter what position we were in.
I doubt she even knew she did it. All I knew was she needed me to catch her.
7
Carson
After a deep, lingering kiss broken up by some heavy breathing, I flopped onto the bed beside her. I weakly pulled a few strands of her hair out of my mouth then dealt with the condom, tossing it into the trash can next to the bed.
It took another minute to catch our breaths. At least that’s what I told myself was the reason neither of us said anything. We turned to each other at the same time, then spoke simultaneously. “I’m sorry.”
Before she could say anything else untrue, I said, “You don’t need to be sorry, Lane. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
She pressed up on her hands and looked down at me. “Maybe the way you did could’ve been better, but you were right to bring it up. I don’t want us to keep things from each other.”
I sighed. “Okay, then if we’re really coming clean, I should probably tell you that you look weird with beard-burn on your cheeks.” I rubbed the stubble on my chin that had caused it. “Cute but weird. Does it hurt?”
I saw a flicker of a smile. Then an eye roll. Then a bigger smile.
“Not as much as when it’s on the inside of my thighs. Maybe you need to shave more often.”
“I’m getting you a thigh spreader for your birthday—problem solved.” I smiled. “Actually, this bed would look great with wrist and ankle straps, don’t you think?”
“So we’re good?”
I shook my head. “Frozen yogurt is good. Sleeping in is good. You are…incredible. So, even taking off a few points for when we add me to the combo, I’d say that still leaves us around fantastic.” Not quite the right word, but it would do. “But as much as I hate to admit it, we should probably…talk more.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the airplane.” Her eyelids fell, dropping like a kid trying not to fall asleep in class. She must have been exhausted.
I glanced at the alarm clock, then back at her. Oh shit, I had to get moving. Since Hayden had taken Andi on a trip around Asia to distract her before their wedding, he’d made me promise to do something for him before Lane and I left the states. I’d forgotten to do it yesterday, and it needed to be done.
I sighed, gave Lane one last quickish kiss, and hauled my sorry ass out of bed. Lane mumbled when she felt the mattress move.
Normally, to do our part for the environment, we showered together. I wasn't sure how much water it actually saved since we usually got distracted and took way longer to finish than if we’d been solo.
In my defense, I was never allowed to have bath toys as a child. Renee complained that they splashed water everywhere and it would ruin the floor. So Lane was helping me work through those horrible memories of bath time by letting me play with her.
When I came out, my disappointment over Lane not joining me was overcome by the sight of her still lying in bed like a sexually sated and unconscious snow angel. Before she could ruin the image by drooling, I quickly threw some clothes on and gave her a light kiss on her forehead.
"Be back as soon as I can."
"Wait," she said groggily, propping up on her elbows. "Where are you going? It's still early."
"I promised Hayden I'd run by their house to check something out before we left."
"Don’t be late."
"Yes, ma'am." The car would pick us up to take us to the airport in two hours. No way would my errand take that long.
* * *
An hour and fifteen minutes later, I was still wandering around Hayden and Andi's house with my mouth hanging open. The contractor Hayden hired had turned the house where Andi grew up into a home where they could grow old.
Sean, the contractor, gave me a tour of the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the living room. Only thing left to check was the completely new addition to the house—the master suite.
Sean pointed to the remote he'd given me at the beginning of the tour. "Now, if you press the button that says Master—"
"A submissive woman will magically appear to cater to my every whim?" I joked.
"No," he said,
scratching his metrosexual facial hair. He didn't share my sense of humor. Or anyone's sense of humor, for that matter. Being trendy prevented it, I think. "Pressing the button notifies the system which room you want to control."
"Yeah. Control in the bedroom is definitely key. Don’t want to be a two-minute man, am I right?"
He ignored me. "Just press the button."
I did.
"Now, hit the big light button. That one." Wow. He should have been a kindergarten teacher—without his help, who knew which button I would've thought was big and said Light on it. "Now, like in every other room, the system will be biometrically set to only recognize Hayden’s and Andi's vocal registers. Everyone else will have to use the controller. They can program it when they get back."
“Right.”
He acted like I was supposed to be impressed by all of this. As if I’ve never watched the SYFY channel or seen Minority Report.
I pushed the music button—it was a medium-sized button with the word Music on it—then pretended to press a bunch of others just to mess with him.
"Quick! Where's the knob to change the station?" I needed something to save me from the smooth new age jazz or whatever filled my ears. “Do people actually have sex to this music?”
"There are over 1,500 different satellite stations available." He tried to take the remote from me. Then grudgingly pointed to an arrow pointing to the right that I would’ve eventually figured out on my own.
"Of course there are." I sighed. "That it?"
Of course it wasn't. There were buttons and voice controls to dim the lights, control the alarm clock, change the room temperature, and adjust the heat of the mattress. Maybe it could even read you a story or jack you off before bed. Unfortunately my time to dwell was long over.