5. Date Night In

Date Night In

M ara

Willa was out the door, Olivia in tow, chatting away. This happened often, Willa taking Olivia overnight. She was the most devoted aunt I could have ever imagined for Olivia. We had always been close, and thankfully that did not change when first Zale, and then Olivia, entered the picture.

When we first got the inheritance left to each of us by our dad, Willa had the opportunity to purchase the condominium she’d been renting. Great building, safe neighborhood, and she had set up her space perfectly.

There was only one problem. It was on the fifth floor and Olivia could not tolerate elevators. As in, she refused to go in them at all. The few times we did manage to get her in, she dropped to the floor in the fetal position the moment it moved, and when it stopped we couldn’t get her out.

Willa sat on that money until a unit went up for sale on the second floor. It was a mess. It had also been a rental and it showed. She bought it for a song and spent the following year fixing it up until it was as it was now, a thing of beauty, corner to corner reflective of her and her taste, and better by far than the first one. Olivia had her own room there and she loved it. It was truly a second home for her, one where she was just as much at ease, most of the time.

Zale and I used to go out on Friday nights whenever Willa took Olivia, but we’d fallen out of the habit. Not necessarily by accident. People, of the female persuasion, got all dolled up for Friday nights, and although I tried, I always felt dull and drab and conspicuously out of place. When Zale was home just with me, I could pretend we were well matched, but out in public, where all the beautiful people gathered, and seeing the interest he garnered, I could not lie to myself. I kept up the pretense, as best I could, for him.

Eventually, using Olivia as an excuse, I begged off the majority of those outings. When Jack, Bex’ first husband, died, the outings did, too. Now, Bex was with Rhys, and they wanted to go out with us, and I was running out of excuses. But not tonight.

Tonight, we were having a date night-in .

We hadn’t had a night alone in a few weeks, a long stretch for us when we were used to Willa taking Olivia weekly or bi-weekly. A charcuterie board, wine, and a movie were the plan, and hopefully, hopefully, we’d make love, or, if I were really lucky, play.

I had wrestled with my thoughts all day, teetering between hope and despair, planning for a good night, then mentally flogging myself for throwing myself at him. By the time he walked in the door from work, neither side had won.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

I smiled, always happy when Friday rolled around, and I had him with me for two days. I watched him, appreciating his long legs and his rolling gait as he loped toward me, tugging at his tie to loosen it. He stopped in front of me in the kitchen, leaning forward to drop a quick, hard kiss on my lips. He was staring over my head, his eyes scanning and restless while I longed for connection.

Please see me.

“Where’s Olivia?” he asked, meeting my eyes momentarily.

“She’s at Willa’s tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” He pulled his tie through his collar and turned. “I’m going to get changed. Be right back.”

He forgot.

He forgot, and I’d thought of little else .

That’s okay, I dismissed my disappointment. He’d been incredibly busy. I set out the charcuterie board, the wine, and our plates on the coffee table. We’d eat on the couch, cozied up. I lit the candles on the side tables and opened Spotify. I had the soft throws off the blanket ladder and draped across the couch in case we needed them.

Changed into tracks and a tee, he looked adorably rumpled, and perfect for cuddling, as well as other, better, things.

He hit the living room, saw the setup, and his face lit up. “This looks great!”

Snatching up the converter, Spotify was off and the tv on before his ass hit the cushion.

“Um, I thought maybe we’d leave the tv off?”

His eyes on the tv, he replied without looking at me, “I just want to get caught up on a few things.” He eyed the plates. “Can I start?”

“Sure, go ahead.” I sighed, deflated.

I poured two glasses of wine and filled my own plate. Half an hour later, we had demolished our romantic dinner, the tv was still on, we hadn’t said more than three words to each other, and I was back in the kitchen, cleaning up. I wasn’t done trying though, because, obviously, I didn’t know when to call it a day.

“Want to watch a movie? Netflix released some good ones that we haven’t seen.”

“Hmm?” Eyes still on the tv .

“Zale!” I snapped, and he swung around to look at me, irritated.

“What?” he clipped.

I softened my tone. “Do you want to watch a movie? There are new movies out on Netflix, good ones, ones we haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh.” His frown eased, and an apology took its place. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay awake.”

I felt my shoulders slump. “Okay, no problem, then what do you want to do?”

He shrugged. “Just going to watch a bit of tv and then call it a night.”

I gritted my back teeth together and wiped my face clear of expression. It was a wasted effort. He never glanced my way.

Finishing in the kitchen, I grabbed my book and joined him on the couch. He opened his arm to invite me to cuddle against him. I moved over, he encircled me with his long arm, pulling me tight to his side, his hand clamping down on my hip.

He dropped his lips to the top of my head. “I love you, Mara.”

“I love you, too.”

Need surged inside me. Not want, need. It was difficult to keep from squirming under the pressure. I was not going to be able to stay close to him without combusting. I forced myself to relax against him for a few minutes and then casually spun around to put my back against the side of the couch and placed my feet in his lap. He wrapped his hand around my ankle.

“Comfortable, gorgeous?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I didn’t meet his gaze and he jiggled my foot. “You okay?”

I looked up, wondering how he could possibly think I was okay, but I answered him in the affirmative, well knowing once I released the cork on my feelings, things would escalate quickly, and I’d end up feeling more alone than ever.

Fifteen minutes later he was asleep in the most uncomfortable position known to man, his body slumped to one side and his neck twisted to the other. I studied his handsome face, the frown line between his brows deeply engraved. Compassion beat out frustration. I stood up and he came awake, rubbing his hand over his face, inhaling deeply.

“C’mon, Zee, let’s go to bed.”

He nodded. “Sorry, gorgeous. You made such a nice dinner for us, and we don’t have Olivia, I’ll make it up to you.”

His regret tasted bitter. I wished he wanted to make it up for himself, and not just for me.

We slipped into bed, he flicked on the bedroom tv, and opened his arm again, inviting me to cuddle in.

I shook my head. “I’m going to sit up and read for a while. ”

He looked at me this time, getting concerned. “Come cuddle for a while. Watch tv with me.”

TV was not really my preferred thing, and the frustration of lying down close to him right then would be far worse than merely sitting beside him as I was on the couch, which had already reached an intolerable level. I needed to manage my frustration and being so close yet so far from what I wanted was not the way to do that.

“I’m not interested in tv, Zee, I’m going to read.” I yanked my pillows into a pile behind my back, dragged them next to him. “Here, I’ll sit right beside you.”

“Good.”

He watched tv for fifteen minutes, then rolled to face me, tucked his hand under my thigh, and slept. When fatigue finally eclipsed the craving, I went to sleep. It was two a.m.

Early morning, I woke to the feel of Zale’s hand caressing my hip, my body pressed up tight to his side. I’d rolled into him in my sleep, my arm slung across his wide chest, my thigh resting ever so slightly over top of his.

“You awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mm. His deep, usually mellow, voice was gritty from sleep and heat radiated off his big body, keeping me warm.

“What time is Olivia due home? ”

“Lunchtime.”

“You want to take a shower with me?”

Loaded question.

The answer was yes, I did want to get all wet and soapy with him in the shower, kissing under the spray, and feeling his hands slicking over my skin, then tumbling into bed still half damp to finish what we started, and no, I did not want to stand naked in the bright morning light, where every dip and bump and dimple of cellulite would be exposed to his gaze.

He ran his hand firmly up my back, dragged my knee across his lap with his other hand, and rolled his hips, pressing his erection against the inside of my thigh. I arched my back, pressing closer to his side.

“Come,” he murmured, “shower with me.”

I couldn’t say no, and really, I didn’t want to.

We brushed our teeth. To my mind there was nothing romantic about morning breath, nothing. While I’m okay with quick and dirty sex in the morning with no kissing, this was not that. He got into the shower first and slid the door three quarters of the way shut, ready to open it for me. I pulled my hair up on top of my head to keep it mostly dry. I turned off the bright lights, there was more than enough light coming from the window.

I heard his less than subtle snort from behind the shower door and I laughed out loud .

“Pain in my ass,” he was still muttering when I stuck my head around the door.

I laughed again at the sight of his disgruntled face. There was something about him calling me a pain in his ass, while still reaching for me, that made my heart happy. The fact that he still wanted me, even as I irritated him, was reassuring.

He smiled back and handed me in, drawing me close, one hand against my lower back, the other cupping the back of my head. He smiled down into my upturned face.

“Beautiful.”

I snorted but the quick yank of his hand tangling in my hair brought me up short. We locked eyes, and his were snapping.

“Beautiful,” he whispered again, tightening his fist in my hair a tiny bit more, and not breaking my gaze.

Heat hit my core. I whispered my submission. “Okay.”

He relaxed his grip, massaged his fingers into the back of my hair, loosening my updo. He pulled me closer, flattening my breasts against his chest, the hot water trickling around and between us. He dipped his knees and took my mouth, gently, like it was the first time, and he was learning me all over again.

The gentleness was unexpected. My soul sighed, expelling the tension that lived always under my skin, I relaxed in his arms, and gave myself over to his hands, his eyes, and his mouth, with little fight from the critical voice within .

Keeping me pressed against his chest, he retrieved the soap from the shower alcove and rubbed it between his palms behind me before spreading the suds across my back, over my hips, and rounding my bum to rest on the crease where my thigh began, a hot spot of mine.

His coarse stubble abraded my sensitive skin and his mouth moved from my mouth to my jaw, to my neck, the contrast between soft, seeking lips and the sharp prickle of his stubble eliciting a shiver, the deliciousness of it sending tiny shockwaves of pleasure across my breasts and down into my core. I wanted that deliciousness on my breasts, my stomach, and between my thighs.

He turned me in his arms and set me in front of him, caressing my breasts and my belly from behind me. He rounded my stomach and I tensed, I hated his attention on my stomach or my thighs, even with his erection prodding my backside assuring me it was not a problem for him. He stepped back, focusing his attention on my hips and my plump behind.

“I love your curves.”

I tried to turn toward him, but he grasped my hips, keeping my back to him, and directed the spray to rinse off the bubbles. I tried to turn again, and he let me. My turn with the soap.

He stood strong and tall, his heated gaze cast down at me, watching me from beneath half lowered lids. There was no hint of a smile on his handsome face as he watched my hands dragging the soap over his wide chest, massaging it into his strong shoulders, kneading the cords in his arms, reaching around him to do his back, and finally sliding over his ass.

He enclosed me in his arms, bending me backwards slightly over his arm, nuzzling my throat. I hummed. I loved his stubble on my skin.

“C’mon, gorgeous, time to hit the sheets. Stay here until I turn the water off.”

He rinsed off, stepped out of the shower, grabbed his towel, and quickly dried off, then reached in to turn off the water and hand me out. He wrapped me up in my towel and hustled me into our room.

He opened the covers and snatched away my towel.

I squealed, both cold and shy, and jumped into the bed, turning immediately to see his grin, his gaze trained on the spot my bare ass just disappeared from, and his obvious interest, as he followed me under the covers.

I shivered from the cold, cold dispelled by the heat of his body as he covered mine, then rolled to pull me on top of him.

Zale

There were times when it seemed the stars aligned. Mara was happy, laughing, and naked in his arms. It did not get much better than that .

He loved her softness, adored her curves, loved the give of her flesh under his hands. She was not petite, she did not feel frail, he did not have to be overly careful with her, knowing she could take him.

He pushed her up by her shoulders, and set her astride his hips, her hair now hanging in loose curls, the ends damp, over her chest. She looked like some kind of mythical earthy goddess. He grasped her hips, pulled her up, and entered her, slamming her back down. She crossed her arms over her stomach, but he grasped her wrists and spread her hands wide, away from her body. He wanted to see.

“Don’t hide, gorgeous.”

She nodded. She rarely spoke when they made love. She lost herself in pleasure like nothing he’d ever seen. She was good for his ego, the way she undulated under his hands, under his mouth, the breathy sighs and little moans that escaped her lips.

He wished he had the energy to be this for her all the time, but it was impossible. Never mind. He had her now, and he’d make it count.