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Guess Laurel isn’t interested in getting stuck entertaining thelovelyMrs. Stanton either.
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19
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Cary slams into me from behind and my pussy quakes. I call out his name, glad no one is inside to hear my gasp between the broken syllables. He grunts, falling forward, his front against my back. Then his nimble fingers trace forward, skimming my lower belly and massaging the last remnants of pleasure from the tight ball of nerves that wield control over the pulsing around his cock.
Cary is a man who loves to fuck and, crap on a cracker, if I ever needed a quick roll in the hay this was it. I was already high-strung packing and tying up loose ends for a fun, but impromptu trip. I hadn’t realized how tense I was about meeting Cary’s mother until he touched me, and then all I wanted was for him to ease my nerves. “Lucky girl” doesn’t even begin to cover his attentiveness in and out of the bedroom.
When he’s certain I’m satisfied, Cary pulls out, grabs the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans so he doesn’t trip on the way, and uses the attached bath to dispose of the condom and wash up. I slip my halter back over my breasts and find my shorts kicked under the bed frame. I smooth the wrinkles in my clothes in an attempt to look presentable and mess with my haphazard ponytail in the mirror.
“Stop,” Cary commands.
He tucks his cell in his back pocket and takes my hand to lead me out of the room.
“You look beautiful. I won’t let her not love you,” he pauses as if there are more words on his tongue and rushes to hurry up with, “and if we don’t get down there soon the delivery guy will have to make a second stop here because they will have eaten it all the pizza I ordered while you were getting dressed.”
“You really think so?”
“That Bhod will fucking devour all the pepperoni? Damn straight. Have you seen the way the kid is putting away food lately?” He notices every foible my son has.
Ignoring how serious things are between Cary and me is a losing battle. He’s gone from some guy my son goes on an adventure with once a week to the man we’re coming to depend on. Since my past has taught me reliance on anyone but myself is stupid, a part of my personality prefers perpetuating living in a little bubble, taking it day by day, and not hoping for a future which isn’t mine to share with Cary.
I have a feeling the woman out by the pool would intimidate anyone Cary brought home. But for me? I’m not simply a silly someone who dug her nails into Davina Stanton’s baby boy. I’m almost her age, and I’m dropping a kid into Cary’s lap, asking him to care for a child that’s not even his. I’m more unprepared for this intro than Cary would be if I was asking him to change a diaper.
My feet stall on the staircase, causing Cary to tug my arm. He steps back up a few stairs. Still standing below me, but able to bring me close to his chest. I smell me on him and him on me. It’s my favorite comforting scent. But I’ve also abandoned my nine-year-old when I should have been out there putting my best foot forward. What if my son has been awful?
“Doll?” His voice is low.
“Hmm?” I play with the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t lose sight of the fact that I started everything up there. I wasn’t letting you down these stairs until we had a little of the ‘active participation’ we talked about. And my mother is a guest in my home, not the other way around.”
There’s a slight edge to his words I haven’t heard before. Not during a spat, which we’ve had, and not once since I’ve begun deferring to Cary and allowing him lay down the law if he sees Bhodi acting out.
Maybe Cary’s as anxious about going outside as I am?
God, what if heisworried about our age gap? It’s not as if he can pretend he’s oblivious to it forever. I mean, some things become obvious the longer you look at them, like gray hair, crow’s feet, and the effect of gravity on your boobs. I may need to start wearing a bra STAT.
Outside, Laurel and Mrs. Stanton sit at a patio table. Davina’s pushed out her chair and Emory wiggles on her lap. Bhodi has on goggles and a snorkel. He ducks under the water lapping at the pool’s edges as soon as he spies us.
“Nice of you to make it out here before the sun goes down.” My sister taunts, rolling her eyes. “How was your nappy-poo?”
“Aunt Holly takes naps with me so she can go to work at night,” Emory informs Cary’s mother.
Davina is about to ask where when Cary supplies the answer.
“Holly is the manager at Sweet Caroline’s.”
“That must be interesting.” Davina smiles.
“It’s a challenge, that’s for certain.” I try to let it drop, though my niece makes it difficult.
“There’s dancers there, but not ballerinas.”
Davina laughs at her innocence, but a hint of concern crosses her brow. “Did the two of you meet there?”
