Chapter 8 Will the Fuckery Never End? Cara
“JUST TO BE CLEAR, WE CAN have sex after this, right? As many times as we want?”
I look up at my husband, at the cold sweat that breaks out across his forehead, at the trembling hand he uses to swipe the stray droplet from his temple.
It could be that he’s nervous about the procedure, but I doubt it.
My man is all quiet confidence, the steady hand at the small of my back, strong arms that circle me, pulling me into his chest and holding me just right—tight enough to remind me I’m not alone, loose enough to give me the space to move when I’m ready.
No, my man isn’t nervous right now, as he stands at my side, fingers threaded through mine, eyes roaming my bare legs where they’re exposed beneath the sheet on the examination table. My man is an addict, suffering all the telltale symptoms of withdrawal.
Can’t blame him, really. When the pussy is this good, a day without it is like a day in the desert without water.
“You can participate in sexual activities,” Nurse Sheila says cautiously from the sink where she’s washing her hands.
“You keep saying ‘sexual activities,’ but I wanna know specifically if we can have sex. Like, penis-in-vagina sex.”
I shut my eyes. “Penis in vagina. What are you, ten?”
“Well, she’s dancing around the question! How about I be really clear? Nurse Cockbl—uh, Sheila, when we go down to the parking lot after this, can I put my wife in the backseat and fuck her until you hear her scream my name all the way up here?”
Sheila’s cheeks burn bright red. “Uh, well, I think, um… sex in public places is an offense, I’m pretty sure.”
“Right. Okay. Well, then, let’s say I drive her all the way home because I can definitely wait that long,”—he winks at me, mouthing backseat, baby—“get her upstairs, woo her with some sweet, soft kisses, some slow foreplay before we round third base…” He braces his hands out in front of him, brows hiked, like he’s preparing himself for the answer.
“Can I slide home and blow my load in my wife today?”
Sheila’s wide eyes come to me. For what, I don’t know. Help? She’s not going to get it from me. I’m so horny, I contemplated masturbating with a cucumber yesterday when I was prepping a salad for dinner. It was the only thing in the house comparable to Sir Tom, the Pussy Slayer.
That’s Emmett’s cock, in case that wasn’t clear.
I gesture with my hand for her to answer. “My man asked a question.”
“Yes, Mr. Brodie. You may take your wife home and, um…” She looks at her feet. “Blow your load inside her. Sex following the procedure can increase your chances of success. The more sperm, the better.”
“Oh, excellent.” Emmett hooks his foot around the little stool behind him, wheeling it over so he can sink down to it. Grasping my hand in both of his, he brings it to his grinning mouth, peppering it in kisses. “Let’s make a baby, baby.”
I’M A SELF-MADE WOMAN. I built myself from the ground up. The confidence, the sarcasm, the brains, the fucking power. I own it, every bit of myself, and I’m damn proud of the woman I’ve grown into.
But there’s one thing somebody else gave me, and that’s my impeccable fashion sense.
I pull the pink dress off the hanger in my walk-in closet, slipping into it. The tag is still attached, because this dress is 100 percent going back to the store next week, but I’ll let my grandma have her moment.
“Oh, mon c?ur, no.” She shakes her head, and I stifle my laugh.
“No, Mémère? Are you sure?” I zip the dress, running my fingers over the empire waist before doing a twirl.
Her blue eyes watch me from my iPad, her mouth scrunching in disgust. “It’s horrible, Cara. You have a tiny waist and beautiful hips. Show it off, mon c?ur. Something fitted.”
Letting the dress fall to the ground, I reach for the floral number, smiling to myself when she gasps.
“No. Try the blue one.”
I slip into the dusty-blue chiffon dress, warming when Emmett appears behind me in the mirror, leaning in the doorframe, dressed in fitted black pants and a white button-up, fixing on his bow tie. Mémère’s gaze slides to him, white brows lifting.
“Very handsome, young man. If I were fifty years younger…”
“Watch out, lady.” I smooth my hands over the A-line waist, the boning in the top that makes my boobs look at least two sizes bigger. “You may be my grandmother, and I love you, but I will fight for my man.”
She chuckles, a soft, familiar sound that warms me from the toes up. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, eyes narrowed as she looks me over. “Accentuates your waist wonderfully, but brings a lot of attention to your breasts. I’m not convinced that’s where you want attention today.”
“No,” I agree, already pulling it off. I reach for my favorite, slinky satin in a gorgeous sage green, with a high slit on my left thigh that draws attention to the ruching pulling in my waist.
Emmett straightens from the doorway, and the air in the closet turns thick as he steps into me.
Tension coils low in my belly as he sweeps my hair over my shoulder and trails a single sizzling finger down my bare back, all the way to the dip where he loves to place his palm, hold me down while he’s moving ruthlessly inside me, reminding me who I belong to.
He winds the satin strings around his hands before pulling, tightening the dress around my waist as he laces it up. Roguish eyes come to mine in the mirror, and his hands grip my hips before gliding up over my waist, settling on my belly, pulling me into his heat.
“This is it,” he murmurs against my ear. “Right, Mémère? The only way this woman gets any more impeccable is if she ditches the dress altogether.” His lips touch my jaw. “And it’s not our wedding, so I don’t think that’s allowed.”
“?a alors.” My grandma fans her face. “I can feel the heat all the way over here in Montreal.”
I fight to keep the smile on my face, but my heart falls at that last word. Emmett links our fingers together, squeezing gently. “You’re not in Montreal anymore, Mémère. Remember? You moved into a nursing home in Ottawa three years ago, to be closer to Mom and Dad.”
“Hm?” Her eyes glaze over as she runs the tip of her red-painted nail over her lips.
She looks down, fiddles with the yellow-gold, emerald-cut diamond ring on her left hand, the one Pépère gave her when they were only seventeen.
“Cara, mon c?ur, you and Emmett must come visit this Christmas. Montreal just sparkles in the winter, darling. Remember how much you used to love going to the Christmas market? Pépère would carry you on his shoulders for hours. He’d love to take you for a hot chocolate at La Fontaine Park again, like when you were little.
” Her gaze moves over us in a slow sweep, and she cocks her head. “Cara, qui est ce bel homme avec toi?”
I don’t have the heart to be the bearer of bad news today, the one who reminds my grandma that her husband passed away five years ago.
Instead, I answer her question, even though it kills me every time she forgets who my husband is.
“Emmett est mon mari, Mémère. We got married over two years ago. You and I danced to Natalie Cole together.”
Her eyes light. “ ‘This Will Be’? That was my wedding song, you know.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Oui. I know.”
Her gaze falls to her diamond ring again, and she twists it around her finger before she murmurs a quiet, “I miss him.” She looks up, gasping when she sees me. “Oh, Cara. Look at you, mon c?ur! Utterly exquisite. Do a spin for me, darling.”
She oohs and aahs while I put on my show, tossing my hair over my shoulder, posing in the doorway. She claps and giggles when Emmett twirls me and then, with his hand on my lower back, dips me, the tip of his nose rubbing against mine.
“Bravo! Bravo!” She clasps her hands beneath her chin. “And Emmett, as handsome as the day we met. I swear, if I were younger…”
“Stop trying to steal my husband, Mémère.”
“Well, you know what I always say. A good man can’t be stolen. He knows who his heart belongs to, and no amount of promises of backflips on his cock will have him straying.”
Emmett snickers against my lips. “Nobody backflips on my cock but you, baby.”
“Just as well,” my grandma says on a sigh.
“I’d break a hip. Can’t get down and dirty the way your granddad and I used to back in the day, Cara.
One time, after dinner at his parents’, he took me ’round back.
Ripped my dress open and held his hand over my mouth while he slid inside me beneath the stars.
I could hear his mother on the other side of the kitchen window, droning on and on about how she couldn’t wait for him to get sick of me.
” She checks her fingernails. “Seems he never did get sick of me. Must’ve been all those backflips I did on his cock. What now, Dianne, connard?”
I choke out a laugh, carrying Mémère with me to the bathroom as Emmett howls with laughter.
He claps a hand to my ass, bending to kiss my cheek. “The guys are out front with the limo. I gotta go. See you later?”
I lift my lips to his. “Love you.”
“Love you too, firefly. And you, Mémère,” he adds, crowding my back as he reaches above me, scrawling a message across the mirror. I’d marry you over and over again, every day for the rest of my life. “Watch over my wife until I’ve got her in my arms again.”
“Oh, Cara,” she murmurs as he disappears. “That man is head over heels for you. It’s rare in life that you find someone so in tune with you, who loves you exactly the way you need to be loved. And you’ve found it.”
“I’m one of the lucky ones.”
It’s never been lost on me. Emmett might have been the one that forced us together, but I’ve been hanging on with all my might since. My heart hasn’t been mine since the day we met. Now, it wanders around outside my body, and that’s as powerful as it is terrifying.