Chapter 14

The days passed by in a blur after my night with Robin. And I found myself hoarding what little moments we had together as I waited desperately for Sunday to come. He’d tell me stories about Bubba when he’d pop in with coffee for Lynda and me. Apparently Miles and Bubba had both volunteered to help take down the haunted house, and in Robin’s words, not mine, Bubba had been “a riot and a half the whole time.”

Mama teased me over cannolis on Saturday. She’d already spent nearly twenty minutes last week interrogating me about Robin’s shoes at my door. And this week was no different. In between bites of pastry she’d regale me with tales of what the twins had been up to while I’d been at work, in between teasing jabs about me finally finding someone and nosy questions about whether or not I’d read the werewolf books she’d bought me.

I was pretending to read them.

If only because she’d helped with my sledding mission, and I didn’t think I could hold her off for much longer.

“You look happy,” she said at the end of the night, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“Do I?” I blinked at her, then waved as a mother and her daughter I’d seen in my office earlier that week passed by. They smiled back, the little girl sporting a gap-toothed grin. Her name was Macy and she’d scraped her knee on her way to school and been so distracted by the blood she hadn’t noticed she’d twisted her wrist when she’d fallen.

It was in a brace now, and her mother had told me earlier that week when I’d seen her again at Baxter’s bakery, that the kids at school thought Macy was the coolest kid in the second grade now that she’d survived such an injury. She’d rolled her eyes and then informed me with a sympathetic grin that I might be seeing a lot more “wrist sprains” soon, on account of the trend her kid had started.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t be surprised if that really did happen. In a town as small as Belleville the kids roamed in packs. I really, genuinely hoped that would not be the case, however. The last thing I needed was a flock of kids pretending to injure themselves so they could have braces of their own.

“You do,” Mama said, interrupting my thoughts. I lowered my waving hand, sucked in a breath of cool, fresh fall air, and offered her what I hoped was a sincere smile.

“Have you ever tried a long-distance relationship?” I asked her, even though I already knew the answer. She and my dad, Charles, had been high school sweethearts. They’d been together their whole lives, pretty much, till the day he died. She was remarried now, and still happy, but there hadn’t been much room for experimentation.

“I can’t say that I have,” Mama sighed, though her smile was gentle. “You really like him.” It wasn’t an accusation so much as it was a statement.

“I really do,” I agreed. We continued walking toward my van, voices hushed. Another family walked by, probably to enjoy the lights that lit up Main Street, or grab a book from the book store. There was a fifty-percent-off sale going on, and it was only a few blocks down.

“I’m happy for you.” Mama bumped her shoulder against my bicep and I sighed, tipping my head back to look at the glowing stars.

“I’d be happy for me too if it didn’t feel like there was a timer ticking over my head.”

“That isn’t the way to live,” she chided.

“I know.”

“You know…” Mama paused, her hand on my arm. We were in the middle of the sidewalk but it was late enough the only families out and about were easily able to side-step around. “If I’d known one day I’d lose your father I wouldn’t have changed anything.”

My heart lurched, and I tipped my head down to see her, our eyes meeting. The sincerity in her gaze made me ache. “Even though it caused so much pain?”

“He was worth it,” she said simply, giving my elbow another squeeze. “Good things are worth hurting for. He may be gone now, but his memory lives on. In each of you kids and the families and lives you build.”

“Cheesy,” I chided, lips twisting upward, because if I didn’t joke, I might cry.

“Focus on the good,” she said, tone soft. “ That’s the way to live.”

It reminded me of being a little kid. Of my first panic attack. Of the way she’d held me and held me, and promised me everything would be alright. She’d been the one who’d taken me to a therapist. She’d been the one who’d always done her best to help me cope.

I was older now, but the anxiety hadn’t gone away.

I’d simply learned how to cope with it.

It was a companion I’d never shake, and I was at peace with that now. At forty-five, I figured I deserved enough grace to allow myself that.

Mama’s words followed me home that night after I dropped her off.

I kept them safe and protected inside my heart beside Robin’s stories, Trixie’s first tremulous hello, and the way I’d felt when I’d seen my little girls’ wrinkled, red faces for the very first time. Precious memories. Good things. Memories that made the dark lighter, and the world a softer place.

On Sunday, after spending the morning playing with the girls, we returned to the park to train. Once again, Robin was there waiting for us. He was in my hoodie for the second Sunday in a row, and this time I didn’t try to hide my grin.

Today I’d get his phone number.

He’d come home with me.

And I planned on snuggling him till those chilly pink cheeks were rosy warm, and his sweet little smile was protected by my bulk. Maybe if I was lucky I’d get to touch him again too. To see more of the faces he made. To make good on the promise I’d given him. To find out if he liked having my big hands tucked up inside him the way he’d hinted at the airport.

As usual, I made sure the girls were situated before emptying my bag. We only had one more training session until the festival, and I knew without a shred of doubt that we were going to lose. But that didn’t mean we weren’t going to give it our all.

Rosie tripped more often than she didn’t, Jane was no better.

And I was somehow faster with the toddlers strapped to my legs than when I was roped up with Robin.

Still though…

I hadn’t had this much fun in…maybe ever?

And I was going to enjoy every single second of it.

By the time we finished for the day, I was sweaty and flushed and had smashed Robin to the ground at least four different times, a fact that made my back more than a little angry. He hadn’t complained though, and his flush was somehow worse than mine. He kept glancing at me through his lashes.

And I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking about.

The way I’d pushed against him when we were in bed together.

How tiny his cock looked in my fist.

How badly he wanted to touch me—because I’d denied him the first time.

My little bird needed a lesson in patience, and while I too was eager to get to the “good stuff” myself, I refused to ruin what we had by taking things too fast. Maybe it was sadistic of me, but I enjoyed the way he squirmed.

After cocoa, we went out for dinner this time—pizza—from the only pizza joint in Belleville.

Slice of Heaven was packed despite it being a Sunday, and Robin kept twitching every time our thighs bumped beneath the table. The girls sat across from us, prim and proper, little napkins tucked into their dresses as they stared seriously down at their pizza like they expected the cheese to jump up and bite them.

I slid my hand beneath the table and up Robin’s thigh, biting back a grin when he flinched, then groaned, sliding lower in his seat as he pressed into the touch. He peered up at me through his lashes again, his piercing clacking when he bit his lip.

“Eat your food,” I commanded, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze. Even his legs were small. My hand took up quite a bit of space. Enough so that my fingers bumped his inseam, and I was able to cup the top half of it entirely. My eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to me, “Did you eat lunch?”

Robin glanced away, sheepish.

“Breakfast?”

“Matilda cooked,” Robin blurted, obviously embarrassed.

“But did you eat it?”

“Yeees? Kinda.”

“How do you kinda eat breakfast?”

The girls gave Robin confused looks. “Why didn’t you eat?” Rosie asked. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Jane murmured quietly from beside her.

“If you don’t eat you’ll never grow,” Rosie told Robin. “You’ll stay like that , forever.” She said the word that like Robin’s current form was the most detestable thing she’d ever seen.

“Thanks for the advice.” Robin smiled at the two of them, then turned to me with an expression that begged for help .

I nudged him with my shoulder, squeezing his thigh again, this time in commiseration. Because there was no help I could give that would protect him from toddler-barbs. They were simply too good at sniffing out one’s weaknesses and stabbing right where they were squishiest.

“Maybe if you ate better you wouldn’t be so short,” Rosie continued, as if she hadn’t just said that exact thing in a different way.

“Or look like you died,” Jane added helpfully.

I snorted out a laugh and stepped in. “Robin looks tired because he’s got a very hectic job.”

“He doesn’t have a job,” Rosie pointed out. “All he does is walk around looking for you.”

Robin chuckled and shrugged a shoulder as if to say “touche”.

“He’s on vacation,” I corrected them.

Both girls eyed Robin curiously, as if learning that he did, in fact, have a job made him twenty times more interesting.

“Are you a emball-meer?” Rosie asked, because she’d recently learned about embalmers and now thought everyone should be one, as macabre as that sounded.

“A what?” Robin blinked. It took him a second, but then he laughed. “Ah, no. Nope.”

“What about a funeral parlor director?” Jane added, sounding the words out slow and careful.

“Or a grave digger,” Rosie chimed in.

“I don’t do anything with corpses,” Robin explained with a sympathetic frown.

“Oh,” both twins said in unison, obviously disappointed.

“Their mother used to work in a funeral home,” I explained to Robin under my breath. “They were on the phone with her earlier this week, and it’s very much on their minds.”

“ Oh ,” Robin repeated, perkier this time.

“Robin is a musician,” I told the girls, nudging him so that he would eat while I spoke. Rosie frowned, only half interested as she nursed her own pizza slice.

“I like music,” Jane said in her tiny voice.

“I know you do,” I grinned at her. “You have a beautiful voice.” She had a child’s voice. Pure and clear. Something that in my opinion, would always be beautiful. But she didn’t need to know that. Puffing up with pride, Jane smiled at me, her sweet little teeth flashing.

“What do you like to sing?” she asked Robin, addressing him directly.

He choked on his mouthful of pizza in an attempt to finish quicker so he could answer. He looked honored to have been spoken to, which I couldn’t help but find adorable.

“Robin’s eating, darling,” I said gently. “Give him a moment and he’ll answer.”

She nodded seriously, waiting patiently while Robin chewed. When he finished, he set the rest of his slice down and offered her a shy smile that almost perfectly mirrored her own.

“I…” he glanced at me, his cheeks growing pink, “Lately I’ve been interested in love songs.” He seemed to realize what he’d just implied only after the words were out. The pink grew splotchy, traveling down his throat and across his ears as he ducked his head. “I mean…”

“ Love songs?” Rosie made a gagging sound.

“Rosie,” I admonished softly. “That’s not very nice.”

She wilted, offering Robin an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Um. That’s okay,” Robin replied, smiling right back. “I didn’t used to like love songs either,” he added. “Or Christmas songs. Or happy songs in general.”

I gave his thigh an even tighter squeeze than before and the twins stared at him, enraptured as they waited for him to elaborate. I wanted him to elaborate too, so I didn’t interrupt.

“I used to be angry,” Robin said honestly, a regretful little smile twisting his lips. “Sometimes I still am. But…I try to…um. I mean…I’m trying to do things that make me feel happier now. Rather than things that remind me of the stuff I don’t want to remember.”

“I try not to think about the bug I stepped on,” Rosie told him, looking remorseful. “It died.”

“Oh,” Robin nodded. “I’m…sorry for your loss.”

“Me too,” Rosie agreed. Then she did something I’d never seen her do before with anyone other than me. She leaned up on her tiny little feet, reached across the table, and gave Robin’s hand a squeeze. Her chubby little fingers looked adorable wrapped around his. “I’m sorry for your loss too.”

He looked flabbergasted, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Thanks,” he hummed, squeezing her back.

As quickly as she’d doled out the affection, she took it back, sitting right back down with a dramatic plop. “You have really big feet,” she told Robin, ruining the moment.

She probably meant the height of his shoes, but the comment was so out of pocket that I couldn’t help but snort. Robin laughed too, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nodded in agreement. “So true,” he hummed, reaching for his pizza slice. “But not as big as your dad’s.”

I choked.

The girls eyed me like twin piranhas as they decided whether or not this was true. And then, unanimously, they both nodded. “Papa has the biggest feet,” they agreed.

“He sure does,” Robin agreed, eyes dancing.

And that was that.

Robin came home with me that night. We shared a glass of wine on the couch. He told me stories about Miles as a little kid, the beach they’d grown up visiting, and I regaled him with tales about my dad and the smiles he had never seemed to run out of.

It was odd.

I’d never felt this close with anyone other than Trixie, and even that was different.

There was no underlying current of sexual tension there.

I’d certainly never looked at her and wondered what her tongue tasted like.

Robin was my catnip. He made me laugh the way no one ever had before. He brought out emotions I hadn’t even known I could feel. He made my heart feel light, my hands sweaty. He filled my belly with butterflies every time he smiled. And when he was sitting next to me, the rest of the world ceased to exist. All its what-ifs and worst-case-scenarios completely gone.

When I was with him, all the years before him melted away. Like there had only been him all along, I just hadn’t known it yet. And for the first time in my life I was beginning to wonder if love at first sight existed outside of fairytales.

“Am I spending the night again?” Robin asked, voice mellow. He’d finished his glass of wine. It sat sentinel on the coffee table beside my laptop. This morning I’d woken up earlier than usual—before even the girls were up—to get some work done on my book.

“You are,” I told him, and the smile he sent my way silenced any concerns I might’ve had that he didn’t want to.

“Are you gonna do that thing to my dick again?” Robin’s tone was sultry-soft.

Quirking a brow, I shifted closer. “I don’t know,” I hummed just to tease him. I loved how open and honest he was. I loved the way he held nothing back most of the time. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve. The way that beneath his bluster he was timid as a mouse.

I don’t think he’d ever gotten a chance to be anything other than brave.

He was a fighter, I knew that.

But I didn’t think he liked fighting.

And after hearing about his parents—the story he’d told me about his father in particular—I got the feeling that no one had ever taken care of Robin Johnson.

At least…not the way he deserved.

He looked tired.

Like he hadn’t been sleeping again. Which was odd, considering how soundly he seemed to rest whenever I was around.

There were so many things I wanted to ask him. Questions about his past. Questions about his medical history. Questions about what he wanted to do after Christmas, and if there was room in his life for someone like me. If he still wanted to be a dad. If he didn’t mind early mornings, and chocolate chip pancakes, and LilPoe reruns.

But I didn’t ask him any of those questions. Because this was new, and he was warm and exhausted.

And I wanted to be a safe space for him.

Wanted to be where he rested his head after a long weary day.

I didn’t want to cause the sleepy fog in his gaze to sharpen. I didn’t want to wake up the demons that lurked in his pale green gaze. Didn’t want to push too hard and frighten him off. So instead, I counted his freckles. I laced kisses along the shell of his ear, down his neck, and pushed him down, down, down, into the couch cushions. They squeaked a little at the same time he did.

“Ben?” Robin’s voice was hoarse as he stared up at me. Sandwiched between my arms, he looked especially small. Breakable.

I wanted to wrap him in bubble wrap and keep him somewhere safe.

“Do you want me to touch your pretty little cock, Robin?” I asked him, feeding the hunger that curled liquid hot in my belly. “You’ve been giving me looks all day.”

Robin gasped, eyes widening. Despite his incessant flirting, he seemed genuinely surprised that I could meet him step for step. “I promised I’d finger you,” I reminded him.

“As if I’d forget.” Robin rolled his eyes, and I snorted.

“I don’t break my promises,” I told him. That, in itself, was a promise. But it was also the truth. I had never, and would never, be the kind of person who went against his word. When I said I’d do something, I did it. No matter what.

Robin seemed to understand what I was saying because he relaxed beneath me, and his eyes went sweet all over again. “I told Miles that you’re a flirt,” he confessed, and I arched a brow in response.

“Did you tell him everything I did to you?”

Robin’s cheeks went bright red. He shook his head. “No.”

“Would you like this to be a secret?” I was okay with that. Not because I didn’t want to show him off, but because I could be patient. I could play the long game. And it wasn’t as though everyone and their dog didn’t already know how head over heels I was for the little blond stuck snugly between my legs.

Robin stared at me for a beat, his eyes swirling with complex emotion. When he shook his head a few moments later, it was deliberate and slow.

“Good,” I replied, leaning down till our lips brushed. Up close like this, I could smell his cologne. Soft and musky. A sweet undertone that smelled just like the wine we’d shared.

When I kissed him sparks exploded between us. Liquid heat pooled low in my belly as our lips brushed, and I kept the pace controlled and slow. Robin kept trying to speed it up, these impatient little hiccups buzzing against my lips as he nipped and bit and tried to provoke me, but I never gave in.

Slow and steady, lick after lick, I coaxed his mouth to soften for me so that I could savor it. When he finally fully surrendered, it was with the most beautiful sigh. His breath ghosted against my skin and made me light up from the inside out.

Drugging, lulling kisses.

Robin’s mouth was slack and needy, his sweet little tongue curling out every time I retreated. Like he wanted me back inside his mouth but was such a good boy he knew it wasn’t his place to make demands.

When we parted I gave him one last peck on his cheek, then his nose, then his forehead. Lingering there, I soaked up the flutter of his breath before I pulled away, rising back to my knees to hover over him.

“Bed,” I told him, ignoring my very hard dick and where it leaked, trapped inside my jeans.

Robin licked his lips, like he was savoring the taste of our kiss. I couldn’t blame him because I wanted to do the same. His eyes were dark with lust as he stared up at me.

I’d never had someone look at me like I was the Second Coming of Christ before.

It was certainly flattering.

“Dick touching?” he asked, voice crackly warm. “And fingering,” he added, head jerking eagerly. “Right?”

“Maybe,” I replied because though I kept my promises, I could see how exhausted he was. I rose to my feet, grimacing when my back twinged. It’d been acting up today, though I’d done my best to ignore the dull, throbbing pain. If I’d been in New York I would’ve visited a chiropractor, but the nearest one to Belleville was over an hour away, and I simply had not had the time.

“Your back?” Robin frowned up at me from the couch. He wiggled onto his elbows, still spry and young—damn. Ten years, give or take a few. That was the gap between our ages. You’d think it was larger, considering how easily he still moved and the amount of energy he seemed to always possess, even when he was whittled thin with exhaustion.

“It’s not happy,” I agreed, holding a hand out to help him up.

Robin grimaced in sympathy. He accepted the help, though he looked wary, like he worried me pulling him up was going to make it worse.

“I’m fine,” I reassured because I didn’t need him to worry about me. “I just won’t be performing acrobatics any time soon.”

Robin nodded along, staring up at me from somewhere near my pecs, his green, black-lined eyes full of affection. “Ben…” he trailed off, voice intimately low.

“What?” I asked, waiting for him to gather his words.

“Can I rub your back?”

That had not been what I expected him to want to rub, but I wasn’t about to say no.

“You want to rub my back?” I repeated, genuinely surprised.

“Yes,” Robin nodded emphatically. And then he frowned, face pinching. “Unless you think that would make it worse? I’m not like…a doctor or anything.”

“Good thing I am,” I joked, pleased by how easy it was to play with him like this.

“Right,” he agreed, grinning.

Robin’s shy request did not prepare me for the absolute mindfucking pleasure that awaited me the second I lay on my belly in bed and he got to work. He did not give himself enough credit. His hands were strong and capable, his fingers stubborn as they worked out the knots along my spine and up beneath my shoulder blades.

I sank into it with a groan, the sound caught somewhere inside the pillow my face was buried against.

“One of the drummers that used to tour with me had a girlfriend that was a masseuse,” Robin chatted away. He was sitting on my ass, his little legs spread wide, sweet little cock soft and brushing against me every time he slid up toward my neck. “I used to watch her sometimes because it seemed like a useful skill.”

“Very useful,” I agreed, blissed out and shuddering as he found a particularly sore spot up by my trapezius and gave it a pointed rub.

“Relax,” Robin urged as I tensed up, pain buzzing as he pushed at the knot. “I gotta push to release it.”

“Mmm,” I replied stupidly as I finally felt the knot loosen, and the pain melted into pleasure. My dick was hard. It was impossible not to be hard in this situation. Robin was sexy as hell, especially when he was comfortable. “Harder, please,” I hummed. “Harder than you think you need to push.”

The tissue was damaged enough, even now, I needed a little extra push.

Robin didn’t second-guess my words. His hands were capable and rough—guitar calluses probably. He dug in harder, just like I’d requested.

I was putty beneath him.

“How’d you hurt your back, anyway?” he asked, skimming his fingers up and down my sides and making me shiver.

I knew he wasn’t asking about the night I’d spent on the couch or the falls we’d shared outside today.

“Car accident in my twenties,” I explained, voice low. “Tore some ligaments. Fractured a disk. Most of it’s healed but it still acts up. Especially when I—oh fuck.” Robin found another knot. He pushed, his sweet thumbs working it loose as I groaned again. “It was worse when it first happened. Most days it’s this annoying dull ache that never goes away. But on days when it gets bad, it gets…frustrating? Because I can’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the pain, and being annoyed that it won’t go away.”

I hadn’t meant to say all of that.

I’d honestly never talked about my chronic pain to anyone but my physical therapist. But there was just something about Robin that made it easy to be vulnerable.

“It can make me irritable,” I admitted, my most private, most intimate shame. “On the days it hurts the most.” I sucked in a breath. “I like to think I’m a very calm person. But even I sometimes…break.”

“That’s okay,” Robin said softly, hands still digging in. “It’s okay to be frustrated, especially when you’re in pain.”

“It makes me feel like I’m not myself. Which is almost worse than the pain itself.” Again, admitting something I’d never said to anyone but my therapist. I sighed, melting a little more as my secrets slipped free and Robin accepted them easily, as though they weren’t dark and ugly at all.

“That has to be upsetting.”

“It is,” I agreed, because it was. And it was nice…to talk to someone about it. Someone who very obviously cared. “Staying active helps.” God, that felt good. “And I’m usually good about doing my physical therapy but lately I—Jesus.” Pleasure buzzed beneath my skin as Robin dug his fingers into my shoulders and rubbed. “I’ve been too busy.”

“Too busy to take care of yourself?” Robin tutted like he wasn’t a walking hypocrite. “For shame, Benzonatate.” I coughed out a laugh, which was apt—seeing as Benzonatate was a drug used to help with coughing.

“Where did you learn that one?” I asked, amusement rumbling deep inside my chest. Robin seemed to like the rumble because he wiggled his narrow hips and his soft dick nestled against the small of my back.

“Google,” he replied, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Did you Google ‘medicine with the name Ben in it’?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Duh.”

I laughed but my laughter quickly died when Robin’s magic hands worked their way up my neck and into my hair. Scratch, scratch, rub. He wiggled his fingers, squeezing tight as shock waves danced through my body.

“Mmmm,” I sighed, nothing but a happy puddle beneath him.

When he finished, he capped the lotion he’d borrowed and set it on the nightstand beside my pile of books. I was surprised he could reach, considering his size. I was always considering his size, if I’m being honest. There was something about how small he was that really did it for me.

I’d never thought of myself as a particularly kinky person.

But Robin certainly made me feel that way.

I’d never wanted to torture someone the way I wanted to torture him. To pull at his nipples till they were pink and puffy. To rub his sweet little cock till he spilled and spilled and spilled again. So oversensitive all he could do was dig his nails into my shoulders and beg. To pull his cheeks apart and spit on his hole. To play with it till he left drool on the mattress, and all he could do was twitch.

Most of all, however, I wanted to fuck him.

It was a primal thing, probably. Similar to the books I wrote, but different too. Because there was no beast inside me aching for release. It was simply me, sadistic—apparently—and needy, with a dick so hard all I wanted was to shove it inside whichever one of his holes was closest, and show him exactly who he belonged to. To breed him till his ass dripped.

Unfortunately for me, Robin’s magic touch had relaxed me to the point of near incoherency. It’d been a long time since I felt this good. My body was relaxed, my bare back exposed as he ghosted his fingers up and down it, and my eyes began to droop.

I wanted to get him off.

Wanted to finger him like I’d said I would.

But first I…

First I…

First…