Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Selkie
I’m laughing as we get in the truck, Eight’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. It feels so good and what’s even better is the lightness in Eight. The tension is gone, he’s smiling and playful. I’ve never seen this side of him and I’m so glad it exists.
“We should do that again,” he says as he backs out of the alley and turns the truck in the direction of Sagebrush. “Except I get to choose where.”
“I’m good with that,” I say, as I snuggle as close as I can with the bloody console in the way.
He reaches over and strokes the back of my head. “I should’ve done you. Held off. Fucked you up against the wall.”
I think about how amazing that would have been, but I haven’t showered in 24 hours. During that time, we had sex, then sex again, then seriously fucked. And I’m still wearing the clothes I wore yesterday or was it the day before? I’ve lost track.
“That’s a big no, fella,” I reply. “Not until I shower. I smell like I’ve been buried in a garbage bin for three days.”
He sniffs his armpit. “Point taken. I’m no bunch of roses either.”
I don’t need to sniff his armpit to know that.
The trip to Sagebrush alternates between easy chatting and silence, then intense yawning as we both try not to fall asleep. Him more than me, but that’s why I can’t sleep. Must keep him awake, Selkie. Must get home safely.
He parks in the garage when we get to his house, and we walk like zombies through the door and into the living room.
“I have nothing to wear,” I say. “And I’m not putting on these clothes until they’re washed.” I pluck at my shirt to make my point.
“Take them off and I’ll put them in the washer.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem of me having nothing to wear.”
“Why do you need to wear anything? It’s not like it’s going to stay on for long.”
I look over his shoulder to Chloe’s picture on the mantle place.
“Because,” I reply, groping for words. “Just because.” I’m going to have to get used to Chloe in our lives.
I believe Eight when he says she’s firmly in his past. But she will always be a presence because she’s Oscar’s mom and the memories of her have to be precious so he understands that he was loved by her.
I blink away the wetness in my eyes, then put on my resting bitch face. “A tee would be sufficient if you have one.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not Iron Maiden. I prefer Rolling Stones.”
“I don’t have any other tees that have logos on them,” he replies.
“Then why do you have an Iron Maiden T-shirt?”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it. After a few seconds, he says, “You know. I don’t actually know where it came from. I’ve never been to an Iron Maiden concert.”
“Maybe the last girl who spent the night left it behind.”
I’m thrilled when he says, “I’ve never brought a girl here. Except you. And you’re stayin’.”
I shrug out of my jacket and throw it in the corner by the door, then as I walk down the hall towards the bathroom, I pull my tee over my head.
“Do you know that size does count,” I say as he follows. “Women say it doesn’t but that’s because they don’t want to hurt the male ego. After all, men mostly think with their dicks and you know the saying: The bigger the dick the more intelligent the man.”
He pushes me against the wall and presses his hands on either side of me, his armpits a little too close to my nose. “Are you trying to tell me something, Fleming?”
I grin. “Yeah. You must be a fucking genius.”
He laughs hard. “Good answer.”
I slide under his arm and enter the bathroom. “I’m gonna have to brush my teeth,” I say as I grimace at myself in the mirror.
“Henri’s bag is still here,” he replies. “You can use hers.”
I shrug. “Makes sense. Could you grab it for me and leave in on the counter along with one of your fresh tees?”
“Is that how it’s gonna be?” he playfully grumbles. “Me always grabbing things for you?”
“No. I’ll grab things for you. Mainly your cock, but other things too.” I grin and close the door in his face.
The shower and tub are one unit with a shower curtain.
After I strip, I turn on the water, then examine the shampoo and soap options.
Soap is a well-used sliver that should have been chucked two weeks ago and the shampoo bottle is half-empty.
No conditioner, which is not a good thing for hair as lifeless as mine.
It’s not exactly a spa in here, but at this stage, lye would be a blessing.
I hop into the shower and start the washing. Soap the body first, using up what’s left of the sliver. Then hair. Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat.
Just as I’m about to turn off the water, a gust of air sends goosebumps racing over me, then Eight’s broad chest is on my back, his muscular arms wrapping around me.
“While I was getting Henri’s toothbrush, I thought why waste water?” His voice is husky and his unmistakable erection is pressing into the small of my back.
I turn and step into his embrace. “You’re right. We should be environmentally friendly.”
He kisses me deeply as he picks me up and shoves me against the tiles. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my legs around his hips. Then he slides into me not checking to see if I’m ready for his big brain. But I am, and he knows it.
“Oh god,” I moan as he fills me.
He starts pumping slowly, his breath deepening.
I grip him tighter as I meet his thrusts, digging my fingers into his back. He turns me on like no other and I already feel myself climbing. “Fuck,” I groan.
He starts to thrust harder, deeper, so deep, aches shoot through my thighs. My back bumps off the tiles as his rhythm gets faster, more erratic. He lifts me away from the tiles, literally holding me in his arms as I bury my face into the nape of his neck.
I’m so close, so close. I just need a little more. He seems to get it, shifts me slightly, and instead of thrusting up, he thrusts me down. My clit’s on fire as it brushes against the hair on his pelvis. Then I explode, shatter into a million pieces.
Best sex I’ve ever had, which makes me realize that sex with him is so much more amazing because I love him.
I let the momentum carry me away, feel him shift again, then shove me against the wall, his breathing labored. “Christ,” he groans as he comes, deep inside. I feel him in my bones, in every part of me. In the depths of my soul.
He lowers me to my feet, embraces me in a way that makes me feel safe. That makes me want to cry.
“I do love you,” I whisper.
“I do love you,” he murmurs.
Then he lets me go and steps out of the tub.
I miss him already. “Aren’t you going to stay and wash off?”
“If I stay,” he replies, “we’ll never get clean.”
His voice floats back to me. “Get it done, Fleming. I have limited hot water.”
“As if that’s my fault,” I call after him, but without conviction. It was the best shower sex I’ve ever had.
After we’ve both showered, we crawl into bed, me in his arms. Exhaustion washes over me and I close my eyes. “I’m so tired,” I moan.
I’ve almost drifted off when he says, “Move in with me.”
My eyes pop open and my sleepiness disappears.
“When?” I ask.
“Next week,” he replies. “I want you here. I want you and Henri safe. I want to see you in the morning when I open my eyes. I want your face to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep.”
His words make a lump lodge in my throat. They’re not making me cry, they’re making me choke. “Too soon,” I croak, snuggling deeper into him so he knows I still love him.
“Are you being serious or are you being contrary?” he replies as shifts so he can see my face.
I turn the question over in my head. Nope, not contrary. Unfortunately, I’m adulting.
“We’ve known each other a week.”
“I love you. That’s not gonna change.”
“Same, Eight. But from a practical point of view, there are other considerations.”
“Like.”
I grab his jaw and give him a quick kiss as I sit up. “C’mon, dad, I thought you were a genius.”
He snorts a laugh as he sits up and presses his back against the headboard. “Touché. So then, mom, how do we handle this?”
“We need to make sure Henri and Oscar feel secure in our relationship before we take any big steps.” I can’t believe the shit coming out of my mouth.
By the look on Eight’s face, he can’t either. “Suddenly you’ve developed maternal instincts?”
“I’ve always had maternal instincts,” I reply, offended. “They usually get stuck deep down where Henri can’t get at them.”
“We are talking about Henri and Oscar. They’re not normal.”
I chuckle. “Henri isn’t anyway. If we do this too fast, the neighbors will start talking.”
Eight settles his chin on his chest. “So, how do we make them feel secure? We can’t go an hour without fighting or fucking.”
“Well, we’ll keep the fucking behind closed doors or in dark alleys.”
“Obv,” he says.
“The fighting we’ll have to tone down, but we can’t just stop or they’ll know something’s up.”
“Okay, so we’re talking about the impossible, and speaking of that, we’re gonna have to find a way for Oscar and Henri to get along. Otherwise, we’ll never have peace, and they’ll never go back to school.”
“They seem to have bonded on their little adventure,” I point out.
“So they’re already half-way there.”
“I think you’re being optimistic. I’d say one-third.”
“Of course you would,” he grumbles.
“I’m right about this,” I insist. “I bet when we go to the clubhouse tomorrow, the cease-fire’ll be over.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
I snort. “We won’t have to see. We’ll hear it from the parking lot.”
“So we gotta get them to get along first.”
“And back in school.”
“Yeah, that.”
“And there’s my mom to consider.”
His voice and face blank in that way it does when he’s suppressing emotions. “She’s not moving in with us.”
I shudder. “God forbid. But I need to give her notice and some time to get used to the idea. And she’ll want the back rent I’m supposed to be paying.”
“How many months?”
I think about it. “How old is Henri?”
He nods. “It all makes sense, Selkie. And you know I don’t say that lightly when it comes to you.”
“You have a lovely sense of humor.”
“That wasn’t humour. I’m dead serious.”
I bite my tongue. “Ow,” I exclaim.
“What’s wrong,’” he says as he straightens up. He looks alarmed.
“I bit my tongue.”
“Oh.” He relaxes. Then he says, “I’m not gonna not live without you forever. I don’t give a shit whether Elle can’t let you go or the kids can’t get along. We’ll fuckin’ sort things out as we go. That’s what families do.”
He’s right, but... “That’s how parents get drug addicts.”
He capitulates. “How long do I have to wait?”
“Six months.”
He groans. “That’s a long time.”
“I know.” I think of all the things I won’t be able to do with Eight on a full-time basis. “But we can manage this. Our children aren’t innocent. They’ll know what’s going on behind closed doors. I can spend the night here sometimes. And you can spend the night at my place.”
“Not a fuckin’ chance.”
“Mom likes you. She’ll make you breakfast.”
“Not. A. Fucking. Chance,” he repeats.
“Fine.” I pretend I’m annoyed by his stubbornness, but really, I’m relieved. I don’t want him to spend the night at mom’s. She has this habit of walking in on me day or night.
He switches topics. “We have to set up the spare room for Henri.”
“Yep. You’re right. Wallpaper it. She likes poodles and princesses.”
“She does not,” he replies.
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be funny if we did that.”
He yawns and slides down onto the mattress. “We have a half-assed plan, so let’s go to sleep.”
I snuggle under the blankets and wrap my legs with his. I’m almost asleep when I remember. “I have to get my car out of impound.”
“First thing in the morning,” Eight murmurs. His voice is full of sleep.
“It’s already first thing in the morning.”
“Then first thing in the afternoon.”
“We probably should go—”
I’m interrupted by a snore.