Deeper. Megan Hart
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didn’t open the pool!”
“So,” Bess said calmly, to fend off any further histrionics from her easily annoyed oldest son, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m going over to Jake’s house.”
“What about Robbie?”
“What about him?”
“Is he going with you?” The question came by rote. Bess found a jar of jelly and one of olives and pulled them out. She really needed to get to the grocery store. It had been on her list of things to do, but her priorities had…changed.
“How should I know?”
“Well,” she said patiently. “You could ask him.”
“Robbie’s got his own friends,” Connor said coolly, as though putting on a sophisticated tone could change the fact that at eighteen he was still complaining like an eight-year-old about having to take his younger brother with him.
“I know he does. But Jake is his friend, too. I just wondered if he was going with you, that’s all.”
“I don’t know.”
Bess sighed as she pulled out bread and a knife and found a plate in the cupboard. “Where’s your dad?”
Silence. Connor breathed into the phone. Bess stopped making her sandwich. “Connor? Something wrong?”
“No.”
Bess put the knife down and sat to give this conversation her full concentration. “Is something going on with your dad?”
“I said nothing’s wrong! I gotta go.”
“How’s studying for finals coming?”
“Fine. Mom, I gotta go. Jake’s waiting.”
“Are you driving or is Dad dropping you off?” Connor had had a few fender benders since getting his driver’s license, and though he insisted he was a more careful driver now, Bess wasn’t as comfortable with him behind the wheel as Andy was.
“I’m driving.”
She bit her tongue against an admonition. “The Chevy?”
“As if Dad would let me take the BMW.”
“I thought the Chevy needed new brakes.”
“Dad says he’s taking it in next week.”
A vision of crumpled metal and blood spattered on the highway turned her stomach to ice. “Wear your seat belt. Make sure Robbie does, too.”
“I gotta go.”
Without waiting for her to say goodbye, Connor hung up. Bess stared at the phone for a second before replacing it in the cradle. She remembered a sweet, affectionate child who’d never hesitated to hug and kiss her. Who’d been unrelenting with his affection as a matter of fact, to the point of being overwhelming. When was the last time he’d hugged her? When had he been replaced by the sullen, combative young man who locked her out of his life?
“Mmm, jelly sandwich.” Nick, wearing only a towel tucked low around his hips, sauntered into the kitchen. He glanced at the phone. “Everything okay?”
Bess nodded as she spread the bread with jelly and used a fork to scoop out some olives. “That was my son. Connor.”
She deliberately didn’t look up as she said it. They hadn’t talked about why she was at the beach house, or her life now. For the past two days, she and Nick had done little else but screw and sleep. Well, she’d slept. She didn’t know what he did, only that she’d woken more than once to find him gone. Each time, she’d been convinced she’d dreamed it all, and he wasn’t coming back. So far, he always had.
“Want a sandwich?” She gestured at the plate and then looked at him.
Nick put a hand flat on his belly. “I don’t think so.”
He didn’t breathe or sleep, so he probably didn’t eat, either. Bess shoved away that detail. Thinking too much about stuff like that made all of this seem too much like a dream when she wanted…no, needed…it all to be real.
She pulled out the chair and sat to bite into the sandwich with a small sigh. Her stomach rumbled and the hunger she’d been ignoring roared to life. Jelly had never tasted so sweet.
Nick leaned an arm against the door to the deck and stared out at the beach. Bess liked watching him like that, with the late-afternoon sun dappling him with gold. He stood with unselfconscious ease, unaware of or unconcerned with her scrutiny. She could count his ribs, though he wasn’t thin, just lean. The jelly coated her tongue and she swallowed against the sudden rush of saliva. She wanted to press her face to the tuft of hair under his raised arm and nuzzle him. Smell him. She wanted to tug the carelessly knotted towel and reveal all of him to her hungry gaze. She wanted to get on her knees and take him in her mouth and have him fill her up all over again.
He turned and caught her looking. She saw no surprise in his gaze, just the same heat that was burning in hers. Nick didn’t move toward her, though. He stayed silhouetted in the doorway and watched her eat. His eyes took in each movement of her hand to her mouth, each bite, each time she swiped her tongue along her lips to lick away the jelly. He watched her eat as if he was eating, too, only his meal was made of desire and not bread and jelly.
Bess finished her sandwich and licked her fingers, the touch of her tongue on her skin as sensual as if Nick had taken her hand and licked it himself. She picked up an olive and popped it into her mouth, where the tangy, sharp taste contrasted with the jelly’s lingering sweetness, making her eyes water.
The front of Nick’s towel bulged, and still he didn’t move. Bess turned sideways on the straight-backed kitchen chair to face him. She parted her legs, giving him a shadowed glimpse of her thighs below the hem of her nightgown. Nick swallowed. She watched his throat work. She watched his mouth open, his tongue creep out, and she inched up the hem of her gown with a slow, purposeful curling of her fingers in the fabric.
Higher and higher the material crept as Bess clutched it. Her thighs trembled. Her clit throbbed as she parted her legs still further. What did he see now? The first hint of dark blond curls? The shadow of her cleft? The smoothness of her inner thighs?
She shifted soundlessly on the chair and tilted her pelvis just slightly. Offering herself to him. He still didn’t move, though now the front of the towel bulged even more and his fists had clenched at his sides. His chest hitched. His jaw tightened, and Bess watched the small muscles of his cheek leap.
She pulled the gown higher and let the cool breeze from the ceiling fan wash over her bare skin. Without looking away from his eyes, Bess ran her other hand over her breasts until her nipples poked the front of the lace. She didn’t have to see herself to know how she looked; his gaze reflected her. She licked her fingers and slid them under her gown. She used her own wet heat to stroke her rigid clit.
Nick groaned.
Bess, smiling, opened her legs wider to show him exactly what she was doing. No more hiding. She rubbed herself in small, tight circles until her inner muscles clenched and she had to bite her lower lip on a groan of her own.
At the noise, Nick’s hands moved as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with them. He took one step and stopped. He put a hand to the place where the towel tucked against his body, but didn’t open it. The pale blue cotton was too thick to outline the shape of his stiffening cock, but there was no doubt he was getting hard.
Bess’s gown now bunched up around her waist. The cool, slick, white-painted wood slipped beneath her bare ass as she moved on the chair. She let go of her gown to grip the seat, her other hand moving faster between her legs. Her toes pointed and she pushed upward a little. The back of the chair dug into her shoulder blades. She wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t.
“Take off the towel and come here,” she ordered.
Nick did with a simple jerk