Simone made good time getting back to Houma by three p.m., after her lunch with Caroline. She knew when she saw Helene’s face that something important must have happened.
“What’s up?” she asked as her friend dropped a briefcase down to the floor and sank into the chair in front of Simone’s desk.
“It’s over. Pham was awarded four million dollars.”
Simone let out a little shriek of happiness and the two partners hugged. “Now our work begins. I’ll be so sorry to spoil Pham’s windfall! Not!?”
“Same here. His wife and her sister should be here any minute. Are you free?”
Simone nodded, still smiling. “Now the you-know-what is going to fly, right?”
“Like a typhoon. Wish I could see the creep’s face when he gets served the papers.”
Simone’s office phone rang, and BaRa announced, “Thanh Pham and Kimly Bien are here to see you.”
“Send them in.” She and Helene stood and greeted the two women, one of whom was looking jubilant, the other confused. “Let’s sit over here,” she said, indicating the sofa and two chairs, “so we can be comfortable.”
The sisters sat next to each other on the couch.
Simone perched on the edge of the red-and-black upholstered chair, and Helene pulled the matching footstool over to the coffee table and spread out her folders.
“As I told you on the phone, Ms. Bien, Mike Pham and his father were awarded four million by the court today. I assume you have relayed this info to your sister.”
“Yes, and you can call me Kimly or Kim.”
Helene nodded. “Now we have to decide exactly what we want to do. I can tell you what I think, and how to proceed, but first, let’s hear what Simone has to tell you from her investigation. It may influence your decisions.”
Simone leaned forward and laid her folder on the coffee table next to Helene’s. “Number one, no question in our minds that Mike Pham will be seeking a divorce. It looks like he’s already started the process of establishing residence in Las Vegas for that purpose. In fact, he has reservations for a flight there this evening, returning on Thursday. He rented an apartment there weeks ago.”
“But he never asked me for a divorce,” Thanh said.
“He doesn’t have to,” Helene interjected. “Until he actually files for divorce and you are sent the papers, he has no legal obligation to tell you. Besides, he wants time, now that there’s a money verdict, to hide the funds.”
Kim said several words in Vietnamese that were probably the equivalent of “The bastard!” To Helene and Simone, she commented, “The fool thinks we won’t know the amount. And, actually, if I hadn’t intervened, my sister probably wouldn’t have. She doesn’t much pay attention to what’s around her.”
“What if I do not want a divorce?” Thanh asked, raising her chin defiantly at her sister’s assessment of her cluelessness.
Why would a woman want to stay with a man who no longer wanted her? Well, that was nothing new, Simone supposed. Lots of women were more comfortable in marriage, even a bad marriage.
“It doesn’t matter,” Helene told her. “He will get a divorce if that’s what he wants.”
Kim put an arm around her sister’s shoulders and squeezed. “How do we protect Thanh? Like you said, now that the lawsuit is over, Mike will probably attempt to hide the cash. Even if we confront him about the amount, he will say there were all these expenses, lawyers and such.”
“Not if we act quickly. Preemptive strikes are the key,” Helene said and looked directly at Thanh. “First of all, I have already prepared legal documents requesting a change in ownership of several properties. Specifically, that the house title should be changed to your name, along with one of the vehicles, a Toyota RAV4, which is being used by your sons in college, and half ownership of the shrimp business.”
Thanh’s eyes widened. She apparently hadn’t been expecting so much. Little did she know what a pittance it was compared to Mike’s share.
“You think he will agree to those changes?” Kim asked.
“No, he won’t,” Helene told her. “But it’s a starting point. The house and car are deal breakers, but here’s what we want. Thanh agrees to give up her request for half ownership of the shrimp business in favor of her two sons, and in return, she gets one million in cash from the Cypress lawsuit, college tuition and support for her sons until they reach age twenty-five, and all her legal expenses paid.”
Kim frowned. “Why would Mike agree to all this?”
“Because Thanh will give up rights to his condo on Grand Isle, his other vehicles, and other assets.”
Thanh frowned, “What condo?”
“That’s what Simone will tell you about. And this is where we have our most leverage with Mike Pham. He will not want any of this information to go public.”
Thanh’s brow creased with puzzlement, but Kim was beginning to understand, and she grinned.
“Are you sure that you want to know all this?” Simone asked Thanh.
“Know what?” she asked.
“Things about your husband’s personal life.”
“I know there have been women.”
“It’s more than that,” Simone said as she slid a series of photographs over to Kim with a raised eyebrow, silently questioning whether she thought her sister could handle such graphic details.
Even Kim was shocked by what she saw as she flipped through the photographs of Mike’s condo and some of the half-naked pictures of himself and females in very distasteful postures. The one of a young female chained to the fake stone wall even drew a gasp from the sophisticated woman.
Kim closed her eyes, thought several moments, then said something to her sister in Vietnamese before gently handing her the photographs.
“What did you tell her?” Simone wanted to know.
“I told my sister to be strong, that it was better to know than be ignorant like a sheep before the slaughter.”
Thanh viewed the pictures slowly, one after the other, as if imprinting the graphic details on her brain. To everyone’s surprise, Thanh did not weep or question the validity of what she saw, though she looked as if she could throw up. Instead, she skimmed through them a second time, then said, “It is done. I do not know this man. Where do I sign?”
By the time he came back from Vegas two days from now, Mike would know that his wife was going to fight him, and that she had a posse of women behind her. In fact, Helene took great relish in paying a server overtime to deliver the subpoenas to Mike at the airport.
Simone and Helene talked softly after that. No high fives or whooping congratulations. Maybe those would come later because, for sure, there were going to be some hard times ahead in this case. But it was a start. A good start.
After Helene left for the courthouse, Simone met with BaRa to discuss appointments she’d scheduled for the next few days with potential clients, four spouse Cheater cases, a business embezzlement, two nanny surveillances, an Internet stalking, and a youth drug possibility. After that, she got updates from Sabine and CiCi, who’d not only been working on the Pham case, but several others. And there was a lot of paperwork to get caught up on. As a result, when her cell phone rang, she was surprised to see it was five p.m.
“Hey, darlin’,” Adam said.
“Hey.”
“Busy day?”
“Very. Congratulations on the court verdict today.”
“You already heard about that?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to tell him about Mike’s wife and her sister being in her office earlier. “You know how news travels on the bayou.”
“Are you still free this evening?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He laughed, a low, husky sound that needed no words. “How about a movie?”
“You mean a video. Here at my place?”
“No. I don’t trust myself alone with you.”
Her self-confidence rose about ten notches. “So we’re still doing the dating-without-sex thing?”
“For now. What? You don’t think I can last?”
“We’ll see.” She was going to do her best to test his strength. “So, a movie, huh?”
“Yep. Popcorn, soda, holding hands, the works.”
“I like the holding hands part, but I prefer Milk Duds over popcorn.”
“See you at seven?”
“I’ll be waiting with bells on,” she said.
“As long as there are no handcuffs.”
Who knew surrender could be so sweet? . . .
So, Tuesday night he took Simone to a movie. Something with Matt Damon. He couldn’t remember the details. What he did remember was her hand in his, the occasional nudge of her thigh, and the tantalizing feel of her breath in his ear when she leaned over to whisper something about the show.
Adam had been sexually active for almost twenty years, but he discovered that night that his ears were highly erogenous zones, almost hypersensitive, connected like electrical circuits to every fine hair on his body, the tips of his fingers and toes, and especially the biggest sexual conductor of them all, which was getting bigger and more frustrated by the moment. That night, later, in the shower when he used his fingertip to ream out the soapy whorls, he about blew his wad just picturing Simone’s tongue doing the same.
Pathetic, huh?
He could see the headline now, “Grown Man Electrocutes Himself in Shower with Hot Finger.”
Taking care of business, himself, just wasn’t doing it anymore.
The next day, Wednesday, he decided to take the afternoon off, and Simone did likewise, so that the two of them could go sailboating, along with their chaperone, little Miss Maisie.
On the way to the lake, he stopped at a convenience store for some ice where he ran into John LeDeux, who was on his way to work as a cop up Lafayette way. John, who’d stopped for gas, smirked at him and said, “Really, cher? Chastity in a Cajun? It just ain’t natural.” He waved at Simone and Maisie in his dad’s pickup truck. Then he added to Adam, “Good luck with that.”
Apparently Luc’s big mouth had already been at work.
He got the last word in with John, though, when he remarked, “I hear congratulations are in order. A new baby, huh? And your youngest is . . . what? Eight? Good luck with that.”
“Be careful. If Tante Lulu gets you in her crosshairs, ya might be in the same tight spot.”
Adam didn’t tell John that he was already in the old lady’s sights, but not for babies. He hoped. Note to self: Stock up on condoms. Extrastrength. Just in case I get lucky. Someday.
It was a good thing Maisie was with them on the sailing expedition because the sight of Simone in cut-off shorts and a bikini top were enough to make Adam’s skin boil if the Louisiana sun didn’t. Adam wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off.
Being out on the water was fun, though, and Simone had more patience than he did with Maisie, he had to admit, especially when the kid had a couple of near falls. Yeah, she wore a life vest and knew how to swim, but still, it was good having a second set of eyes and hands to restrain the energetic five-year-old. Besides that, it gave Maisie another set of ears to listen to her babble on about her upcoming party.
And, no, I am not thinking about ears.
That evening they went to a small jazz club where they spent several hours just listening and talking softly. He’d thought about taking Simone for a ride on his Harley, but he feared all that vibration would shake up too many teetering parts.
While at the club, they ran into René LeDeux, who apparently appreciated all kinds of music, not just the wild Cajun stuff his band played. René told him he would be over early next Tuesday, the Fourth of July, to set up for the entertainment.
“You’re going to have live entertainment?” Simone asked with surprise.
“Tante Lulu’s doing,” Adam explained.
Enough said.
“I heard you’re on the wagon,” René remarked. “Not for long, I wager,” he added as they both watched Simone wend her way through the tables toward the ladies’ room. The backside view in a belted tunic over tights was, well, a sight to behold.
“Luc again?”
“Nah, Remy told me, and he heard it from Charmaine, who heard it in her beauty salon.”
Adam groaned. “That is just great. I’m the laughing stock of the bayou.”
“Not at all, my friend. Well, not to everyone. The women all think you’re Mr. Perfect. The men, not so much. We don’t want you giving our wives ideas.”
It ended up an early evening since they were both tired from being out in the sun all day. Besides, Adam couldn’t take much more of just kissing and petting on Simone’s doorstep. And by the sound of her moans, she was weakening, too.
Just how long did this dating crap go on in the old days? he wondered.
On Thursday afternoon, he found out via a phone call that Simone had to work that night. “One of those cheating spouses traps?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, which he took for an affirmative.
“At a bar?”
“No. Somewhere else.”
“Can I come, too?”
“That defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I never tried to trap a cheating spouse before,” he grumbled.
“Are you going to be difficult, Adam?”
“No. Just disappointed.”
“I meant to tell you, I have to go out of town again tomorrow.”
“Overnight again?”
“Yes.”
“How many days this time?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe just one, depends on what happens.”
“I can’t pretend to like this, Simone.”
“It’s just a job. Would you feel the same if I were still a cop and out on arrest warrant?”
“Probably.”
“Do you still want to date?”
“Hell, yes!”
“I guess I’ll see you when I get back then.”
“Will you call again tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”
That sounded ominous, but he held his tongue, knowing any concern he voiced would only be taken as a negative. They said their good-byes, and he went back to work on some trial prep he needed for a new case. Or tried to.
He kept thinking about Simone.
Abstinence sucked. But it was more than that. He was ready to move to the next level with Simone. Not some nameless body. Simone. She was smart, and she was sexy, with a sharp tongue. And she made him laugh. And swear. She was turning him inside out with confusion and wanting, even resentment. Lust with a twist.
Once he got home, he was so grumpy that his dad took Maisie out for ice cream, deliberately not inviting him to come along. Adam decided to go for a one-mile run, which became a five-mile run. And the only difference? He was now not only grumpy but sweaty and exhausted.
He took a shower, first hot, then cold. No better.
By ten o’clock he’d had enough. Calling out to his dad in the den, he said, “I’m going out for a while.”
“Hallelujah!” his father said.
By the time he got to Simone’s place, it was ten-thirty. Thankfully, her lights were on, indicating she was home. He hoped.
He took the steps two at a time and pounded on her door.
When Simone answered, she was wearing some kind of pajama outfit. Short-sleeved, scoop-necked top over long pants. Cream color. Clingy material. No bra. Bare feet. Her hair was damp, as if from a recent shower. Her skin exuded the scent of flowers . . . and sex. Okay, wishful thinking on that one. But then, anything would smell like sex to me at the moment.
“Adam?” She tilted her head to the side. The door was only open halfway. Probably to keep the cat from darting outside. But, no, he could see the feline beyond the hallway, preening its fur with nonchalance, as if Adam weren’t worth the effort of getting off the couch.
“Darlin’, I give up,” he said with a sigh of surrender. “Are we gonna do this thing?”
At first, she just stared at him. But then a slow grin emerged on her lips. Delilah couldn’t have done it better just before she snipped off Samson’s hair. “You had me with darlin’.”
It’s true what they say about Cajun men . . .
Adam picked her up in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him with the heel of his athletic shoe. Shades of Rhett! Except there was no sweeping staircase, just a long hallway. And he was wearing sweats and a T-shirt. Still, swoon-worthy.
Simone was not a small woman, and she couldn’t remember the last time a man had carried her—if ever. But Adam was managing very well, even when he tripped over Scarlett who’d come to investigate why a male was being granted entry into their abode. She screeched when Adam’s toe hit her fur and ran off to hide under the coffee table and send cat scowls his way.
Heading directly for her bedroom, he edged the open door wider with his hip and tossed her on the brass bed. It was only a double size to fit the small room . . . no queen- or king-size, which most people seemed to prefer today, and which would probably have better suited her large frame, especially when shared, or about to be shared, with a gift-from-the-gods large man.
The bed had been left behind by the previous owner. Simone had purchased a new, extrafirm mattress but just polished up the old frame to its former glory. And, glory be, but the little old lady who’d lived here before had surely never entertained a man like the one who was prowling about the room now, like a hungry tiger. With deliberate care he removed his wallet, cell phone, and a strip of condoms from his pocket, placing them on the bedside table. Too bad he wasn’t wearing glasses and taking them off—that would have been her last straw. Still, she was having a good time watching him tear off his shirt, toe off his shoes, shrug down his sweatpants and kick them aside, the whole time staring at her with smoldering eyes.
You’ve got to love a guy who can smolder his eyes. He had a nice body, too. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow waisted and hipped. Muscular like an athlete but not steroid ripped. Light brown hair fuzzed his long legs and arms and chest.
Wearing just boxer briefs, which left nothing to the imagination, including his erection, he leaned down to turn on the bedside lamp. The room flooded with a warm glow, since the high watt bulb she used for reading in bed was softened by an amber shade.
“Ooh, I don’t know, Adam. I do better in the dark. Too many imperfections.”
“I like to see what I’m doing,” he told her in a gravelly voice as he tugged both her pants and low-rise underpants down and off, flinging them back over his shoulder. Next came her top. “And I intend to explore every one of your imperfections . . . and perfections.”
She raised her arms to hold on to the headboard bars. Otherwise, she might have bolted, for fear she would be incapable of meeting the intense need she saw in his eyes, which appeared golden brown, burning. She just wasn’t that hot, in her opinion, despite all her marriages and relationships.
But Adam misinterpreted her posture as a tease and murmured, “Witch!” That was all right. Let him think she was more confident than she was.
He spread her legs, and then moved over her, kneeling between her thighs. Thank God, she’d shaved her legs tonight.
“Look at you,” he murmured appreciatively. His eyes twinkled at her, and he smiled.
And she melted, knowing perfectly well that her hair, when it wasn’t blow-dried, became a wavy mess, knowing her body was less than perfect, knowing that Adam was probably seeing her through lust-hazy eyes. But that didn’t matter. He made her feel, not perfect, but highly desirable, and that was a huge boost to her self-confidence. “I think maybe I’m ready . . . already,” she confided with a heated face.
“Duly noted,” he said, glancing pointedly at the joining of her thighs where she was no doubt wet . . . and not from her shower.
“Spoken like a lawyer.”
“Whereas you are a cop, or former cop, and will soon be reading me my rights. Wherefore I, as the second party—”
“Have only the right to get on with this party,” she sniped and released her grip on the brass bars, reaching for him.
“Uh-uh.” He forced her arms upward again. “I’ve waited too long to gulp down this meal. Slow savoring.”
“At least take off your undies so we have an equal playing field.”
“Uh-uh,” he repeated. “This is my chastity belt.”
“Hey, stud, I’ve got news for you and Calvin Klein. Your chastity belt is about to burst its seams.”
He laughed and pinched her nipples into even tighter, rosier sentinels of arousal. Like a male erection, their condition was hard to hide. In case anyone didn’t notice, nipples yelled, silently, “Hey, look at me. I’m blinkin’ hot and aching for you.”
She gasped and arched upward at the painful pleasure. “More,” she demanded.
“Definitely,” he promised. “Later.”
“At least kiss me.”
“Definitely.” His fingertip was outlining her lips and brushing over the full surfaces. “Later.”
She nipped at his fingertip, and he withdrew it, chuckling.
So, this was how he was going to play it. Well, two could play that game. She would just lie here like a loaf of bread and pretend indifference until he gave in and did it her way. Not that she had a “way.”
With maddening slowness, he explored her then. Her shoulders and arms, her sides from pits to thighs, down the center of her body, between her breasts, over her navel, down to but not touching her pubic hair. Then he flipped her over, and did the same to her back, paying special attention to the back of her knees and her buttocks.
The whole time he made murmured sounds of appreciation.
“Your breasts are like sweet mounds of hardened ice cream topped with candied cherries. Have I mentioned I have a sweet tooth?”
Down, cherries! Down!
“Have you ever worn nipple rings?”
No, but I liked when you pinched them.
“How about a navel piercing? I know a fellow . . .”
Not gonna happen. And I’m not gonna get waxed, either.
“I like that you don’t go bare down here.”
Oh. Well, I’m okay with your chest hair, then.
“Some women’s pubes look like plucked chickens.”
Seen a lot of female landscaping, have you?
“Did you know the small of a woman’s back is considered an erogenous zone?”
No, but I can think of a few others. One of which wants you to get on with it.
“Oh, man, oh, man! Your ass! Do you exercise a lot to get those cheeks so round and tight?”
No, they came that way. Darn it! How am I going to resist a guy who admires my big butt?
He flipped her again and now he arranged himself atop her, carefully, and began to kiss her. Holding her face in both hands, he savored her mouth with deep, wet kisses that got her squirming under him.
She put her arms around him and caressed the cords of his neck and muscles of his back and even his cloth-covered buttocks, which were also nicely curved and hard. But she wasn’t about to ask how he got his that way. She was still trying to maintain an impression of low arousal when in fact her hormones were not just humming, they were screaming for completion.
Simone liked kissing, and Adam was good at it, but right now she wanted more. She arched her hips upward, lifting him only slightly, then grinding back and forth against his erection, which she could swear grew even more.
He groaned and pressed his forehead against hers, bracing himself on straightened arms. Then he raised his head, showing her glazed whiskey-colored eyes. “Slow down, sugar.”
“How do I slow a runaway train?”
“We have miles to go before . . .” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
You might have miles, I have inches.
Singing the blues of a different sort . . .
Adam looked down at Simone and smiled. He’d imagined that they would be good together. He hadn’t imagined big enough.
“What are you smiling about?” she grumbled, still discontented that he wasn’t conducting this night’s activities in the fast-forward fashion she wanted. Or thought she wanted. He intended to convince her otherwise.
I am the chief engineer on this train, baby. For the moment. Not that he would tell her that.
“You are one handful of a woman,” he murmured as his hands swept over her breasts and belly. “That’s why I’m smiling. No skin-and-bones model type, but flesh and curves, and places for a man to sink into.”
“Fat! You’re saying I’m fat.”
“Definitely not!” he protested as she tried to swat at him.
He linked his fingers with hers and raised their arms above her head. “Feisty female!” he grumbled against her neck. Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
She shoved his face from her neck by tossing her head and grumbled right back at him. “You mean, I have a mind of my own, that I’m not easily controlled.”
“Sure,” he conceded, with a smile. “And you’re smart, probably smarter than me with my supposedly high I.Q. Did I tell you I have a high I.Q.?” That sounded stupid, even to his own ears. And totally irrelevant to their situation. And speaking of ears . . . I wonder what she would say if I asked her to stick her tongue in my ear and jiggle? Or just blow in my ear?
“Street smarts,” she commented. “And who cares how high your I.Q. is? It’s not your brain I’m concerned with now, it’s that other organ.” She bucked her hips up against said organ, just in case he didn’t understand.
He did. “Maybe I chose the wrong words to express myself,” he conceded with a laugh. “You’re funny, sweetheart. I didn’t realize what a great sense of humor you have.”
She gave him a cross-eyed glower. “All these left-handed compliments just to slow the action down!” she accused him.
“Left-handed?”
“Like a woman wants to be a comedian in bed!”
“It is funny when you pretend not to be highly aroused while you’re weeping hot oil from sex city.”
Her face flushed, and she tried to knee him off her.
No way! He was firmly planted, chest to breast, hip to hip.
Having lost that battle, she tried another. Ridicule. “Wow, Prince Charming, you do have a way with words. Hot oil?”
Little did she know that the only way ridicule worked with a man when both of them were naked was if a woman ridiculed his most precious part! At this moment, said part wouldn’t come down if the cast of Comedy Central was surrounding the bed. “I could have said warm honey from your private ewer of paradise, but that sounds too romancey.”
“Ewer, huh? You’re so full of it! And God forbid you should be romancey!”
He leaned down and kissed her, real quick, before she bit his lip. “Really, darlin’, is there anything better than a woman who can make a man smile in bed?”
“How about a man who can make a woman smile in bed? Or better yet . . . a man who can get . . . on . . . with . . . it.”
She humped him, upward, a couple times for emphasis. Like he needed emphasis at a time like this!
He got the message, and in fact he was more than ready to “get on with it.” Sliding off the bed, he stood and shrugged out of his briefs, carefully. Glancing downward, he saw the blue veins standing out on his cock. One of those rare, but much to be desired Blue Steelers. He couldn’t help but smile.
“When you’re done admiring yourself, my ewer is starting to yawn.”
He was outright laughing as he pulled on a condom and arranged himself on her once again. And she was laughing, too.
But not for long.
For either of them.
He pressed himself inside of her and gritted his teeth against the intense pleasure of her inner folds spasming around him in welcome. She raised her knees, which gave him even more access. Have access, will travel, said his happy part.
“You feel so hot inside,” he told her.
“You are so hard,” she told him. “Are you wearing a ribbed condom, or is it those big blue veins I’m feeling?”
The first was a no. No ribbing. The second was just plain impossible, but his ego about went through the roof, anyhow. And, of course, he answered, “It’s my big blue veins.” Which was ridiculous, but who cared!
As he withdrew, her vaginal muscles tugged on him. Nature’s way of keeping the male inside where he could procreate. Or Simone’s body’s way of saying he felt so good, please stay. Probably both.
She wrapped her legs around his butt, and he began the serious business of thrust and retreat, shove forward, drag back, in and out. Slow, then fast, then slow again, until he was no longer capable of thinking, just doing. His vision was blurry, his heart was racing, and Simone was moaning in an endless stream of, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!”
When she came with an almost painful grab on his cock, then convulsed around him, he immediately followed by arching his back and shooting out his own orgasm. There was a roaring in his ears, and blood drained from his head, leaving him weak and sublimely sated.
For a long moment, he just lay atop her, trying to slow his breath down to a pant. The roar diminished gradually, and he felt like he might actually survive.
Until . . .
Damn, but didn’t she take that moment to breathe in his ear! In fact, she was blowing. Little spurts of air. In a rhythmic pattern. It was probably just her attempt to get her own breathing under control, but sonofabitch, he didn’t know whether to say, “Hallelujah!” or, “Have mercy, Lord.”
Not that God had anything to do with sex outside of marriage, although St. Jude might have, if Tante Lulu had sicced him on them with her thunder of love crap. But, no, even the saints didn’t get involved in the sex act, did they?
“Simone,” he said, raising his head to look at her.
Her eyes were half lidded and she was breathing evenly through parted lips that were rosy and swollen from his kisses. But, no, no, no, she was not going to fall asleep on him. “Wake up, Simone. You can’t sack out after blowing me back to life.”
Her eyes shot open. “I gave you a blow job? In my sleep?”
“No, darlin’. Not that kind of blow job.” He rolled over on his back, and held on to her waist, forcing her to sit upright. On his standing half-soon-to-be-full-again erection!
Her eyes went even wider as she noticed said half-stand, and she jiggled her hips a little just to make sure. “Are you serious?”
He might have seen stars for a moment, or maybe it was just the flash of amber light from her lamp as he blinked rapidly. “Serious as any man can be who’s about to have his first ever multiple orgasm.”
She smiled slowly, pleased, and tried to move her hips some more, which he couldn’t allow. Not yet. “Be still,” he ordered. “I want to look at you.”
“Seems to me, you already did enough looking when you commented about my being fat.”
“I never said you were fat. Now, shhh.”
Her knees were folded on either side of his hips, and her buttocks rested on his upper thighs. Her hands were on his chest so that she was leaning forward slightly.
He used that opportunity to examine her ample breasts, recalling how sensitive they’d been on those occasions he’d petted them to orgasm on her outdoor landing. Lifting them from underneath. Palming them. Flicking the pale pink nipples which he’d already roughed to a rosy hue. You could tell she’d never borne a child; otherwise, the nipples and areolas would be much darker. The best part was watching the expression on her face as he played with these most erogenous parts of her lush body.
“Come closer,” he urged as he leaned upward.
She arched her neck back as she did so, giving his mouth access to her breasts. As he took one into his mouth, drawing deeply and squeezing the other, she came apart inside and around him, just like she had before in their petting sessions, but this time—praise God and pass the gumbo, as Tante Lulu often said—his cock was there to feel every seizure of her inner muscles. It was a sign of his out-of-control excitement that he could think of the old lady at a time like this and not go limp.
This was not a violent orgasm, but a sweet wash of sexual pleasure that was wonderful to Adam because of its gentleness. Not that he didn’t appreciate screaming, explosive, mutual climaxes when they came (pun intended), but wasn’t the human body amazing for its variety?
It must also be a sign of his out-of-control excitement that he could have such philosophical thoughts at a time like this. Especially when his half arousal was now full and ready for some friction.
Simone was sitting upright again and was staring at him through glazed eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened, but then she smiled. And, oh, man, he knew he was in trouble by that smile. It was the kind Boudica the Celtic warrior queen gave the Romans before she led her army forward.
She merely rocked at first, forward, then back. Several times.
But he wanted more than that, and he took her hips in his hands, showing her the movement he liked best. A quick learner, she rode him then. Hard.
He held on to her buttocks at first. Then he rose to a sitting position, knees raised, and they rocked each other while he tongue kissed her. Then she Frenched him back. And they were so good together. He wanted it to last forever, but of course it ended much too soon. Or just in time.
This time, when she lay depleted under him, he rose and went into the bathroom to discard the condom and wash himself off. When he returned to the bed, she was stone-cold asleep, the kind of sleep only a perfect orgasm could bring.
He knew that Simone had insecurities about her body, but, oh, man, if she could see herself the way he saw her! Her hair was a mess of shiny brown waves spread out on a white pillow imprinted with multicolored butterflies. She had pulled a matching butterfly sheet up over herself, but her shoulders and arms and upper breasts were still exposed. A sex flush still infused her cheeks and neck and chest. Her lips looked bruised and that might be whisker burn on her chin. He liked that he’d put his mark on her.
In fact, he was beginning to think he was falling in love. It had been a long time since he’d felt like this, and then only for one woman . . . in the early days with Hannah. And look how that ended up.
Why Simone? He had no idea. He’d certainly fought the attraction.
And why now? Could it be as simple as some scientific principle where the human psyche yearned for some kind of destined bonding every so often? Or maybe it was connected to middle-age madness.
Whatever the cause, he just knew that he thought about her all the time, and when he looked at her, he felt happy inside. His heart swelled, literally. Corny, he knew. But maybe not so absurd. Medical researchers had announced recently that people could actually die from a broken heart. Was it so impossible then that the heart could actually inflate with love?
On the other hand, could Tante Lulu and her St. Jude nonsense have anything to do with this awful/wonderful assault on his emotions? Probably not. But still, everyone had warned him about steering clear of the old lady.
On this confusing note, he decided that this would be a good time for him to leave. He liked to be there when Maisie awakened in the morning. But it was only one a.m. Plenty of time. So, he slid into bed beside Simone, pulled her into his arms, and covered them both with the sheet.
Just before he fell asleep, he noticed the cat in the doorway glaring at him. He suspected that he’d usurped the feline’s nighttime spot. “Tough luck, Scarlett,” he said on a yawn. “Tomorrow is another day.”
Little did he know what tomorrow was going to bring.
No regrets . . . yet . . .
Simone was late getting up the next morning, and her first look in the mirror over the bathroom sink almost scared her into ducking back under the covers again. It was going to take twice as long as usual to fix herself so she didn’t look like a woman who had been thoroughly fucked. Excuse the crude expression. It fits! But did she mind? Heck, no! Not the fucking or the extra effort required to repair the damage.
Too bad she wasn’t going to Marcus Pitot’s lakeshore house until tonight. One look at her in this condition, and everyone would assume she was ready to party. Sex party.
Her hair resembled a wild mass of waves due to its drying naturally and her writhing in bed. She wet-combed it tightly off her face into a ponytail, which looked more like a bush than a tail. She’d have to rewash and style later.
Ice cubes on her lips did little to reduce the swelling from so many deep, deep kisses. Women paid big money for this botoxed look, but they didn’t get it at home, overnight. Everyone would guess the cause, and she wanted to hug the secret of her and Adam to herself for a while longer.
Make-up hid the whisker burns on her face and neck. The other places he’d abraded were her not-so-guilty pleasure.
Simone had awakened once around two a.m. to find herself snuggled up against a sleeping Adam. She’d thought about shaking him and sending him home, but she was too sleepy, and he was so warm, and her body was so relaxed, that she’d drifted contentedly back to sleep.
But then she’d awakened again about three a.m. from a deep, erotic dream to find herself already aroused. They were both on their sides, spoon fashion, and Adam had been lightly caressing her body’s intimate parts while she slept, bringing her up to not-quite-orgasmic levels.
“What . . . no . . . that’s not fair,” she protested.
“Shhh,” he said. “Let me . . .”
Before she’d known what was happening, she’d been on her knees, face in the pillow, and he’d been taking her from behind. She’d still been only half awake; so, it had been a dreamy sort of sex, until his one hand played with her hanging breasts and the thumb of the other hand strummed her clitoris, which was still engorged from previous bed play. In a nanosecond, she’d jump-started from This-Is-Nice to Holy-Freakin’-Magic-Fingers!
Good thing she had no neighbors—nighttime ones, anyway—because, for the first time in her life, she’d screamed out her ecstasy. Talk about explosive orgasms. And Adam had been no better. The male roar of triumph! What a thing to hear! Under normal circumstances she would have laughed. Neither of them had been laughing.
Until four a.m. when she’d awakened him to say it was time to take a shower and go home. She’d gotten back at him then by giving him an ear orgasm while he’d leaned against the shower tiles. He’d already told her how sensitive his ears were and how he’d had fantasies about her tongue, and, well, you get the idea.
She’d been back in bed and almost asleep again—What girl wouldn’t be after all those climaxes?—when Adam, fully dressed and about to leave, had leaned down to kiss her and said, “Call me.”
In fact, she could have sworn he’d said, “Call me, love.”