16. Old times and New Times

OLD TIMES AND NEW TIMES

MADDY

The kiss in the living room was not only just as good as I remembered, it is better. Andrew gave it all his attention, and is responding to it, yet does not protest when I say I need to check on Paul.

We stand together, there in the hall, watching Paul sleep. He is curled up around that darned orange kitten that bit Cece. A week of good food and loving attention had tamed the little beast. Despite Cece's daring rescue, Carousel had taken to my son, and he to him.

"Your room or mine," Andrew whispers in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

"Yours," I whisper back. "I need to get up at six tomorrow."

It was an excuse for how I felt. I wanted to test the waters, but I wasn't quite ready to let him into my personal space, even if it had been mine for less than six hours.

A part of me wanted to just bed down on the floor in my son's room to make certain he was safe. But that would prove embarrassing if Andrew and I went beyond kissing. Nor would my son be happy to find me on the floor beside his bed in the morning. He is at an age where an overprotective mom is an embarrassing mom. He gave drive-by hugs when he was in the notion, and ducked out of the way of kisses— even on top of his head.

Andrew ushered me gently across the hall and closed the door behind us. "Austin put alarms on all the doors and windows," he said. "And he has a patrol outside. A bedside watch won't make your son safer, it will just rob you of sleep."

It was almost as if he had read my mind or something.

I wasn't sure what to say or do next. Then Andrew opened his arms to me, inviting, not demanding. I went into them, melting up against his solid frame.

There was not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He's not built like a bodybuilder. He has lean, hard muscles developed by hiking and working outside. His hands are a surgeon's hands — long, supple, and skilled as he finds the strained knots of tense muscles in my back.

"That's amazing," I say. "I'm surprised you don't have girls lined up around the block."

"Not many girls where I was," he says. "And the few that were there, were professional women who didn't have time for a greenhorn doctor. I'm just amazed that you're still single."

"What was it you said, ‘You gave me high standards'?" I return.

"I can't imagine that a callow twenty-something gave you much of a standard," he says.

"Oh, but you did," I say. "You were intriguing. I didn't even blame you for being gone, because you were reported dead." I felt another of those traitor tears trickle down the side of my nose.

"Oh, Maddy," he says, his arms encircling me. "Weep no more, my Maddy," he sings, paraphrasing. "I'm home from that distant shore, I was so very glad to see you, standing at my door . . ."

I start humming a tune and we move to its beat.

We waltzed the beginning, then jitter-bugged the upbeat part of the song. At last we collapse on the bed, laughing.

"Will you stay with me, Maddy?" he asks. "Will you at least give me the year and a day?"

"I don't know," I say. "Will you stay with me?"

"If you will let me," he says. "I have it on good authority that I snore."

"I don't care about snoring," I say. "Mrs. Quinn has a snoring remedy that she swears by."

"She's an authority on snoring?" he asks, tracing his thumb down the corner of my mouth.

"She's been married to Pops Quinn for thirty-five years," I say. "That's got to count for something."

"Pops Quinn is an old-school gentleman," he says. "I'm a rapscallion fresh out of the bush."

"That's all right," I say. "Mimi will be glad to give lessons in how to civilize rapscallions if I think you need them."

I turn toward him, placing my hand on his face. He has a light stubble on his cheeks, so blond I can hardly see it in the low light of the bedroom.

Andrew grabs his phone and turns on some classical music. As the piano notes dropped slowly into the room, he snuggled me up and asked, "Charles mentioned some kind of alarm system here. What's the alarm phrase?"

"There are a couple," I say, "but the big one, usable by anyone is you say the system's name, just like you did now, then you say, "Hey, rube, the enemy's at the gate. The system will pick it up, and relay it as a priority, and even put it on an external speaker."

"Why that phrase?" Andrew asks, slowly undoing the buttons on my blouse.

I suck in my breath as he slides a hand inside my blouse, his palm gliding over my nipple. I order my thoughts and say, "According to lore about circuses and carnivals, it was something the circus people would shout if there was a problem with the ‘townies' as they called the local people at each stop."

"No cell service in those places, I guess," Andrew says, easing my blouse off my shoulder.

It shouldn't have been erotic, him talking softly as if we were having a polite conversation over cocktails or tea, but it was. I had to struggle to keep my mind on his words as he undressed me as delicately as if I were a trauma patient he did not want to frighten.

After the blouse is out of the way, he goes to work unclasping my bra. He slides those long, graceful hands over my back, lifting me gently so my back arches to display my breasts to an advantage.

"No," I gasp as he runs his tongue over my nipple, "not back then."

"Interesting to use such a simple code phrase," he says, giving his attention to my other nipple. "But possibly more effective than inventing something new."

He began to drop tiny kisses along my breastbone and then across my stomach.

"Did you have a panic word? Out there in . . ." I gasp, as his kisses trail south of my belly button. I am in a flutter of anticipation laced with a tiny bit of terror, as he progresses lower.

"You are going to think it stupid," he says, then blows a hot breath through the fabric of my panties. I fight down a moan, along with the desire to lift my hips and beg for his attention.

He slides my undies slowly over my hips, watching my face as he does so.

"Tell me," I say, digging my fingers into the mattress, trying to remain cool and calm.

"We'd announce over the speaker, ‘Mr. Right, report for your appointment. Report stat, Mr. Right.' If there was a fire, we'd say, ‘Mr. Right, please check your coat tails.'"

Then I lose interest in code words. I suck in another breath, dig my fingers deeper into the mattress, and tilt my pelvis, opening myself wide to him as his tongue flicks across the spot that most guys can't find with a road map and GPS.

I'm melting. His tongue is like magic, finding all the secret places that have longed for attention all these years. I writhe, a soft moan escaping my lips.

He eases back away from me. I feel bereft, neglected, empty. I need … I need to be filled, to be loved, to be fucked.

He grins at me, as he slowly removes his shirt, then slides out of his slacks, watching me, watching me react as his penis springs free from his briefs.

He helps me finish getting undressed.. Then he climbs back on the bed, like a big stalking cat, and stretches over me. He doesn't put his weight down on me. Instead, he holds himself just close enough that I can feel his heat on my skin but I am not rewarded with the pleasure of his touch.

"Do you want this?" he whispers in my ear.

"Yes,," I respond breathlessly, desperate for him to touch me.

"Beg," he demands, the tip of him teasing my opening.

I spread my legs wide, tilting my pelvis to welcome him, pleading without words for him to fill up the aching need inside of me that nothing else has been able to fill.

"Pay the toll," he says with a little growl in my ear.

I huff with laughter, despite my frustration, then I grow more serious as I meet his gaze. "Please," I whisper to him, nipping my teeth into my lower lip. "Please fuck me, Andrew."

His mouth curves into that smile that I love so much and he starts to press forward into me, then stops again. He looks down at me almost regretfully.

"What?" I ask, starting to feel desperate. It feels like I'll die if he doesn't fuck me.

"I don't have any protection," he replies, looking around the room as if condoms were going to magically appear out of thin air.

I laugh a little hysterically. I let go of the mattress and grab his ass. "That didn't matter the first time we were together. Why should it matter now?"

"Madeline," he groans softly. "I'm trying to do the right thing. We've already made one child. I wasn't planning for this."

"I don't care," I say fiercely. "I've not been with anyone since you. Have you been with anyone?"

"No," he says, then again more softly, "no. Mostly I was too busy, too tired. And none of the available girls were you."

"I'm here, this is now, and I want you!" I insist.

"Maddy," he says, rolling over on his back and pulling me onto his flat, muscular stomach, "One surprise baby is about all I can take right now."

"There's some condoms in my medical bag," I say. The entire focus of my being has narrowed down to my aching, hungry core. I can't imagine waiting for one of us to go and fetch protection, but he seems adamant.

"Maddy," he says running a finger along my lower lip, making my insides quiver, "I am always in the mood where you are concerned. Why don't we find those condoms, and pick back up where we left off?"

"All right," I growl irritably. Then I realize I'm naked, I don't want to put my clothes back on, but I don't want to run around in the hall in case my son should wake up. "My bag is in my room, and so is my robe," I grumble.

"Not to worry," Andrew says. He drapes his shirt around me. The shoulders fit well enough, and the hem falls to my knees. "You're covered," he says.

I give a put-upon sigh and pad down the hall to my room. It only takes a minute to locate the required item, and pad back to Andrew's room.

I realize I don't have to worry about losing the mood — not where Andrew is concerned. He is gorgeous, elegant and lean, like one of the Ildogis hunting leopards.

I slap the foil packets into his hand and say, "There! Satisfied?"

"Not yet," he says, "But I will be. He pulls me into the room, lets the shirt drop, and says, "Now, let's get this soldier into uniform, so he can fulfill my lady's wishes."

I open one of the packages, and start to unroll it over his tall, wide erection. I had forgotten how magnificently he was proportioned. I didn't have much to compare him to the first time. For a moment, I'm not sure the condom is big enough.

He lies down on the bed again and I shed the shirt, letting it slip from my body. I climb onto the bed, stretch one leg over him, and kneel above his impressive cock. I feel him twitch toward me, and I grin at the power that I have over his body.

Paul's voice called out, "Mom? Are you all right? I thought I heard something."

Andrew starts laughing, his erection wilting. "Take the robe," he says, "I have more. Our son has impeccable comedic timing."