He laughs, and I feel the vibration of it through his chest as he leans down to steal another kiss, the soft hair on his chest brushing against my sensitive nipples, teasing them into tight peaks. I loop my arms around his neck just as he nips my lower lip, but that’s when I hear the rapid patter of footsteps running down the hall.
“Mom!” Ginny yells. “I’m hungry.”
Feeling as taut as a rubber band, I blink wide eyes at theman hovering over me, his cock throbbing sensually against my core.
“Oh, you have to be kidding.”
“There’s no air mattress,”Mase announces after breakfast. I straighten from the dishwasher, looking at him with a frown. He’s standing in the doorway that leads to the living room, the television remote clutched in his hand. “What?”
He blinks, gesturing with the remote over his shoulder. “Grafton’s here. Didn’t he stay the night? When he stays, he uses the air mattress.”
I’m not surprised by the question, but I’m a little shocked it took this long for him to ask. Grafton has been here more than not, but he’s not usually around before breakfast because he sneaks out of my bed before the kids are up. He goes to get coffee for us and then comes back, acting like he’s just turning up. It’s a risky system, but I’m not too worried about getting caught, already knowing this isn’t a temporary relationship. Grafton has got me firmly in his clutches, and I’m pretty happy about it.
“He did,” I say slowly, mind working rapidly to figure out what the best course of action is here. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but now Mase is standing in front of me, my brain is eerily blank. I won’t lie to him, though. There have been so many lies in the last year of his life… Longer, even. “He actually slept in my room, baby.”
“Huh.” Mase’s brow furrows before it clears away. “Okay.” He turns and walks away, the noise from the television blaring seconds later. I blink at his nonreaction.
The space is taken up by Grafton, but he’s looking over his shoulder. “Turn it down a little, Mase,” he calls.
“Okay!”
Grafton turns to face me, pausing at the look on my face. “Lynne? What’s the matter?”
I clear my throat. “Mase just asked where you slept.”
His brows rise. “Oh?”
I lick my lips. “He was…fine. He didn’t even seem surprised.” I worry my lip with my teeth. “I should talk to the therapist about all of this. I’m probably screwing them up forever, and they’ll never be able to have a normal relationship, and Ginny is definitely gonna end up in prison.”
His chin jerks back before he barks out a laugh. “I have a few thoughts. First, why is Ginny the one in prison?”
I scoff. “Have you met her? Anyway, Mase wouldn’t get caught.”
Grafton thinks about that for a beat before he nods. “Fair.” He comes around, placing his hands on my shoulders and steering me to the table, pushing me down into a seat. “Second thought. What’s Christopher’s responsibility in their ability to have healthy relationships?”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s not the point.” Grafton strokes my neck, and then he moves across the kitchen, grabbing us another coffee. I watch as he adds the perfect amount of creamer to mine, leaving his black, and then he takes the seat next to me. “Thank you.”
“Third thought,” he says after sipping his drink. “You don’t give them enough credit. As much as it’s horrible to think about, they’ve been part of this situation for just as long as you have.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better at all,” I complain.
“I know.” He bumps my knee with his. “But you’re doing everything right, and I’d bet everything I own that the therapist will tell you that too.”
“You’re probably right,” I murmur. But the doubtdoesn’t ease, leaving my chest tight. Grafton watches me silently. I can’t read his expression, and after a minute or two, he taps his fingers on the table.
“Remember that first night? You were asking me all thesewhat ifquestions,” he says suddenly, and I send him a bemused smile. “Now, I want to ask you one.”
“Okaaay,” I say slowly.
“Less of a whatif, actually”—he shrugs—“and more of a whatnow.”
“Stop talking in riddles!” I demand, and he chuckles.
“You talked about going back to school or work. What would you do, Lynley?”
I suck in a breath, startled by the question. “I don’t know?—”
He shakes his head. “I think you do. I think you’ve got something brewing in your head, and you need to breathe it to life.” I hesitate, but his expression firms, and I know he’s not going to let me wriggle out of this. “Tell me, Lynley.”
