Page 58 of Midlife Crisis

“Feels so good,” I purr, stroking over his hair and holding his neck. I’m getting so close, the creepy-finger feeling crawling up my inner thighs. I’m almost there when Hank pulls back.

“Damn,” he says, looking down at me. Hasty hands go to his buckle as he unzips his pants and shoves the material to his knees.

“I was almost there,” I whimper.

“I know, little lady, but I want to feel you around me.” He’s still looking at me, and I feel so exposed, so turned on but self-conscious. My knees press together, but his body prevents them from closing. Thick fingers stroke through wet folds, spreading me and reviving the fluttering sensation. I’m building again at his touch, growing desperate for friction.

“Dammit,” he mutters, fumbling on his knees for something in his pocket. Foil rips. Sheathing himself, I whimper with need. With that, he slams into me, filling me in one swift thrust, causing me to grunt at the force. My back arches until he starts to pull out. I open my eyes to find him watching our connection. I’m more curious about him than what’s happening, but he’s totally enthralled with his body entering mine.

“Sure like the feel of being inside you, baby. This could be home to me.” I don’t miss the emphasis on a place he doesn’t have, and the hint of something meaningful in what he said. I press his cheek with my hand, and he finally looks up at me.

“Thank you.” I don’t know why I say it. I’m grateful for him for so many reasons. His attention. His touch. His everything. He retreats to the tip before slowly refilling me, fueling up the feeling of glitter floating inside me. I’m ready to explode, and after a few more slow-paced thrusts, I do. That’s when the hammering begins. Slipping one foot out of the jeans trapping my ankles, he hikes it over his shoulder.

“I’m not quite that flexible.” I gasp, struggling to breathe with the sudden release and my body jackknifed in half. The rapid fire raises an increasing awareness I could go again. The fast rhythm, deep taps, and hard crash of us together, feeling so full, feeling one with him, builds another orgasm, balancing on a precipice.

“You there again?” he huffs, the exertion of holding off until I’m ready straining his voice.

“Hank.” I breathe out his name like I need air, and he pummels me, pounding me into the cushions so quickly, I grunt as we rut like wild animals.

“More,” Hank groans, and I’m ready to tell him I can’t take anymore when I clench, and he flinches, and we’re coming together.

“Hank, I…” My voice fades as he stills, and I milk him with spasms, sucking at him while he pulses inside me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the position would ensure pregnancy. Thank goodness for his endless supply of condoms. The thought lasts only one second before he leans forward, going for my mouth next, and kisses me with a fierce tongue and greedy lips. It’s nothing like we’ve done so far, and aftershocks of him twitch inside me. We remain connected for several minutes until he pulls back with prolonged, lingering tugs of my lower lip.

“You’re a queen,” he says before kissing me again. “You’re a superstar.” Another kiss. “You’ve got this.”

The words empower me, and my mouth curls against his.

“Better, cupcake?”

“Better than icing,” I tease, and he kisses me one more time. Slower, more Hank-like. I do feel better. As a matter of fact, I feel a little invincible.

24

Champagne Cupcakes

[Hank]

I’ve looked at my phone five million times waiting for her call. I told her to let me know what happens as soon as she’s done. Pendelton’s car was delivered around ten this morning, and her meeting was at nine. Brut wanted assurance Midge would make it through the door. He didn’t trust the man who’s been a thorn in our ass for years with his fancy cars and demanding schedule. This rich dick’s toys are our livelihood. Brut’s interest in Midge’s future warms my chest but also makes me want to punch him. He has a crush on my girl—correction, woman—and he pisses me off.

“Well, aren’t you all romantic?” Brut teases me as I sit at Midge’s desk, staring at the wildflower arrangement and the champagne cupcake in a cellophane package. Lily outdid herself with this one. The frosting shimmers with silvery candy that looks little bubbles from the foam at the top of a flute of champagne. Even the cupcake wrapper looks goldish like the celebratory bubbly, and I thought it would be a nice surprise for my cupcake instead of a glass of the real deal.

“Shut up,” I whisper harshly, but a smile tugs at my lips. I want to celebrate with her. She worked hard for this, and I’m happy for her success. She deserves it.

“You really like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” My face heats, then I admonish myself. What am I, fifteen?

It reminds me of last night …

When she finished her designs, she was relieved at the final product and convinced it was the best she could offer Pendelton. I decided to take his Bentley for a final ride and invited Midge. We climbed through the hills north of Los Angeles as the sun set off in the west. Pulling over at a lookout, we sit for a minute, quiet in the silence of a day ending. She needs to get home tonight. The boys will be waiting, plus she needs to rest before tomorrow, but I’m happy to have this stolen moment. The words I love you sit in my cheeks. I want to tell her these things but worry it’s too much too soon.

Her hand covers mine, stroking my wrist and thumbing over the bracelets I’ve begun wearing again.

“Thank you for this. It’s beautiful.” She stares at the sunset, but I watch her.

“So are you.” She turns to me, and the need to kiss her takes all my thoughts. I’m ready to give her the quick kiss, just a brush, just a touch, anything to connect with her, but I can’t. I need more. My mouth lingers, my lips tasting, savoring. She leans forward, and within seconds, we are a heated mess, making out like two teenagers parked on a hill in the growing dark.

“I need to get you home,” I say, and she laughs. We both recognize the irony of a curfew—only in her case, it’s because of her children.