Chapter 17
17
Millie
Period cramps are a bitch. But this heavy flow is even worse. While Ezra is gone, I take another shower, this one as hot as I can stand. When I’m finished and dressed, I find the ibuprofen on the nightstand. Beside it, Ezra’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Kane. The preview banner reads Did you talk to the lawyer?
I’m wringing my wet hair with the towel when another text comes through. Sorry, I’m just really nervous. Text me back so I…
Oh, poor kid. I wish I could reply, but I don’t know Ezra’s passcode.
Can I call you? pops up.
A moment later, Kane’s name flashes on the screen, and without a second thought, I answer.
“Kane, hi. It’s Millie.”
“Oh, hi. Is Ezra there?”
“He stepped out and forgot his phone. Is everything okay?”
He doesn’t respond, and he’s silent for so long that I pull the phone back to make sure the call hasn’t been disconnected.
“Yeah, just—did you talk to your lawyer today? ”
An involuntary smile surfaces at the thought of Ezra and me sharing a lawyer, but I tuck that back in quickly.
“He— we did.” It’s only a small fib.
“And?”
“And I think it’s best if you have this conversation with your brother. Why don’t you come over? He should be home soon.”
“Yeah, okay. Bye.” Without waiting for me to respond, he’s gone.
Fifteen minutes later, I welcome Kane into the apartment with a long embrace and guide him to the sofa. “What’s going on, bud?”
He sits on the edge of the cushion, one knee bouncing. “Are you going to adopt me?”
I nearly choke on my saliva, and it takes everything in me to keep my eyeballs from popping out of my face. He thinks we— Ezra and I —are going to adopt him. I’m only ten years older than he is. Do people adopt kids who are only a decade younger? What am I even saying? I’m not adopting Kane. Ezra is. Or he’s trying to. But Kane thinks we’re married, so of course he’d think we both are. Now would be the time to come clean. Tell him we made the whole marriage up to save face in front of Rob.
I’m garnering the courage to admit the truth to him, but before I can, Kane hits me with the saddest look.
“It’s just that…” He runs his hand through his shaggy blond hair just like Ezra does when he’s nervous. “It’s only ever been me and my mom. I only know what it’s like to have a mom—not a dad—and well…” A small sob escapes him before he can choke it back.
I scoot in closer and rub his arm, doing my best to comfort him.
With a deep inhale, he continues. “I miss my mom every fucking day, and no one will ever replace her, but,” he peers at me, his hazel eyes filled with so much anguish and desperation, “you seem cool, and it’s obvious my brother loves you.”
I stiffen at that remark but tell myself he’s drawing a normal conclusion that a husband would love his wife—not that Ezra specifically loves me.
I really wish Ezra were here. He’d know what to do. Probably. I can’t possibly tell this lost, devastated kid that our marriage is a sham. My heart breaks for him, losing a parent at such a young age.
“Are you going to adopt me?” It’s the second time he’s asked, and it punches my heart just as hard.
“Oh, Kane.” I pull him in and sob right along with him.
At the sound of a crash nearby, Kane and I pull apart and turn, finding Ezra standing at the top of the stairs with grocery bags scattered around his feet and oranges and an onion rolling across the tile.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He looks at me first, then to his brother, his eyes wide with panic.
I scoot over and motion for him to sit between us.
“We’re fine,” I confirm while Kane wipes his eyes and nose with his shirt.
Ezra sits and cups my jaw, tenderly thumbing my tears from my face. His eyes ask Are you sure you’re okay?
I nod, leaning into his hand. I’m okay.
“He wants to know what happened with the lawyer. We were waiting for you.” Diving into the rest of our conversation will have to wait until later.
Ezra goes into the details of his call with the lawyer, and though it’s the first time I’m hearing them, I keep my face neutral so Kane doesn’t catch on.
“Do I have to go back to Rob’s?” Kane asks.
“Absolutely not,” Ezra replies. “You can continue staying at Mano’s for summer school, or you’re welcome to the pull-out sofa here with us.”
Us. There’s that word again.
“And I eventually get to live with you for good?”
I dig my nails into Ezra’s hip, silently signaling to him that we’ll have to deal with us later. “Yes,” I reply on his behalf.
He reaches over to interlace our fingers. His hand is strong and warm and brings a sense of comfort I haven’t felt in a long time.
Kane lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” Ezra asks.
“Okay, I’ll stay at Mano’s until summer school is over, then I guess I’ll go back to New York with you?” His voice cracks at the end.
“Is that what you want?” It’s suddenly occurred to me that he probably hasn’t been asked that question since his mother died.
He nods, his hazel eyes glossy with honesty.
“Good. It’s settled. What’s all this?” I ask, standing to collect the bags off the floor.
Ezra rises and takes the groceries from me. “I’m making matzo ball soup for you. You too, Kane. You’re staying for dinner.”
“What’s matzo ball soup?” his brother asks.
“Only the soup that cures everything.”
I’m kicked out of the kitchen—which is totally fine by me—so Kane and I observe Ezra from the barstools and include him in a game of would you rather.
“Would you rather,” I begin, “dress up as a rabbit every day or eat rabbit food for the rest of your life?”
“What do rabbits eat?” Kane asks.
“Hay, grass, and vegetables.”
Ezra quirks a brow at my reply.
“What? I had a rabbit growing up. Her name was Bunny. ”
Kane barks out a laugh. “Your bunny’s name was Bunny?”
“Just answer the question.” I pick a tiny seashell from the dish on the counter and fling it at him.
“I’d dress up like a rabbit,” Kane says.
“Same,” Ezra agrees.
He took his shirt off after he splattered oil on it, and now I’m forced to stare at the dark smattering of hair that starts just below his navel and travels down, down, down ?—
“I’ve got one.” Kane’s voice snaps me back to the present. “Would you rather get stung by a bee every day or pee every hour?”
“Gross,” I laugh. “Get stung by a bee.”
“What? No. Definitely pee,” Ezra says, whipping around to look at me. “You’d want to get stung by a bee?”
“Of course you’d choose to pee. If I had a dick, I’d choose that too. But for a woman, peeing every hour would suck.”
Kane nods solemnly. “That’s fair.”
“My turn.” Ezra’s voice is low. “And it’s a serious one.”
Kane and I lean in, elbows on the counter and ears turned his way.
“Would you rather go to school naked every day or have your most embarrassing moment go viral on social media?”
“Naked every day,” I reply instantly.
“Really? Why?” Ezra asks.
“Because videos on the internet live forever.”
“Yeah,” Kane says, “but everyone has a camera phone, so if you showed up naked to school, that would also go viral.”
“Mmm,” I hum. “Good point.”
“Both options suck.” He roughs a hand through his messy blond hair. “I guess it would depend on what your most embarrassing moment is.”
“True.” I shrug. “What would you pick, Ezra?”
“Go to school naked. Let that shit go viral. ”
We all cackle at his response.
When we finally sit down to eat, Ezra and I watch Kane, waiting for his reaction to the soup that cures everything. My grandparents and parents always made matzo ball soup when either Asher or I was sick. I don’t know what kind of voodoo Jew-doo magic is in it, but it works every time.
Though Kane refers to the matzo balls as “squishy bread testicles,” he declares it delicious.
Ezra sits back, sighing in relief, and we all dig in. While we eat, Kane shares a few stories about his mom, and in turn, Ezra and I share about our own childhoods. We play a few more rounds of would you rather, then I offer to clean the kitchen.
“Thanks, Millie,” Kane says as he hugs me goodbye.
“What for?”
His lips tip up in a sheepish smile. “We just met, and you already make me feel like I’m a part of the family.”
Ezra’s hand flexes against my hip.
Stunned, and with my heart lodged in my throat, I can only stare at him.
“That’s because you are family,” Ezra answers for me.
“Tonight went really well.” I roll to face Ezra, barely making out his features in the dark.
As soon as the kitchen was cleaned, I changed into my amazing period panties and collapsed into bed.
“It did,” he says. “Thank you for being so great with my brother.”
“You’re welcome. He’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, he really is. How are you feeling?”
My answer is a moan, and not the sexy kind .
“That good, huh?”
“I’m fine.” I wave a hand lazily. “I get really heavy periods. I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear while you share a bed with me, especially after this morning, but I promise I’m not naked under here.” I laugh nervously.
“I figured. Have your periods always been bad? Sorry if that’s too personal.”
“No, it’s okay.” I shift under the covers, searching for a more comfortable position. “They’ve always been pretty awful, but they’ve gotten a lot worse lately.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No, I haven’t, Daddy ,” I quip.
Ezra sucks in a breath.
My heart stutters at that reaction. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You did a thing when I called you Daddy.”
“What?” he says, his voice high-pitched. “I didn’t do a thing .”
“You totally did. Oh my god,” I gasp. “Do you have a daddy kink?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s got his face half buried in the pillows, so his words are muffled.
During our text exchange prior to coming to Hawaii, he neither confirmed nor denied it. I’d forgotten about that until now. “Oh, you definitely have a daddy kink.”
He pushes against the pillows between us. “Shut up and answer the question.”
Mmm, bossy too .
I roll back a bit and huff a sigh. “I haven’t had time.”
“Millie.”
“Ezra.”
“ Amelia ,” he reprimands.
My stomach flips. Damn, why does it sound so hot when he uses my government name ?
“I’ve been bouncing from rehearsals to tour to rehearsals for years. I barely stay in one spot long enough to find a doctor.”
Voice low, he says, “Promise me when we get back to New York you’ll see a doctor, yeah?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
With a grunt, he smacks me with a pillow. “I was going to ask if there’s anything I can do to help, but after that, forget it.”
I laugh so hard it comes out as a wheeze. It’s so fun to rile him up. “I’m sorry, but it was too easy.” Wiping at my eyes, I take a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll behave.”
He narrows his eyes, the move barely visible in the light of the moon.
“You said something about helping me?”
“Yes. Is there anything I can do?” he asks. “Medicine, maybe? A heating pad?”
Warmth blooms in my chest at the sincerity in his voice. I’ve already taken ibuprofen, and using a heating pad in the summer in Hawaii would probably feel a lot like being in the ninth circle of hell. “When I was living with Joey, she would rub my lower back.” I’d kill for one of her massages right now. “But you don’t?—”
“I can do that.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I?—”
“Millie.”
“Ezra.”
“Oh my god, not this again,” he groans. “You’re in pain, Mills. Please just accept my help.”
Relief and trepidation war for dominance inside me. “Okay.”
“Permission to cross the pillow border?”
“Permission granted.”
Chuckling, I help him toss them to the ground, then settle onto my right side with my back to him.
When his large hand wraps around my bare waist, a shiver shoots up my spine, and I startle .
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” I swallow hard, digging my nails into the mattress.
Beneath the sheets, Ezra kneads my lower back above the elastic of my underwear. I force myself to relax, and I absolutely do not think about how close his fingers are to my ass. Absolutely not.
I’m lost in his touch, the relief he’s already bringing me, when his ministrations come to an abrupt stop.
I peer over my shoulder, finding him scrolling on his phone. Rude. “What are you doing?”
“It says here orgasms help with period pain.”
“Great. Next time you get your period, you can jerk off.”
“Don’t be a brat.” He pinches my side. “I’m trying to help.”
“If you want to help so badly, why don’t you—” Shit. I do not need to finish that sentence.
Neither of us speaks, the only sound a faint humming from the overhead fan.
Then, “I could, you know.”
My breath catches. “Could what?”
“Help with the, um, orgasm.”
I roll to my other side, dragging the sheet with me. “How the hell do you expect to do that? I’ve got the fucking Red Sea gushing out of my vagina.”
“Wow, you sure know how to turn a guy on.”
“I’m not trying to turn anyone on. I’m trying to bleed in peace,” I wail.
Why is being a woman so fucking painful sometimes?
“I’m not trying to be an ass. I promise.” He watches me, his expression filled with nothing but kindness.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate you. Really, I do. And yes, I have heard that orgasms help with period pain, but I wasn’t kidding about the Red Sea. Even Moses would be intimidated. ”
He’s quiet for a beat, his breathing suddenly louder than the ceiling fan, its pace quickening. “I bet I can make you come without even touching your pussy.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What are you talking about?”
In a gravelly voice, he asks, “Have you ever had a nipple orgasm?”
I blink. I have. Once . But never with a partner.
When I don’t reply, he continues. “You’re considering it, aren’t you?”
“It’s not gonna work,” I huff.
“Trust me, I can make it work.”
Apprehension and excitement clash in my mind. “Don’t be cocky.”
“My cock will not be involved. Promise.”
I inhale deeply, considering. Maybe this really could be the solution. I could get some relief without having to disturb the rough waters down below. Would it really hurt to try? You know, for science? Or as Joey would say, for the plot .
But… “Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
“Why?”
“Because…” Eyes closed, I sigh. “We’re not together.”
“That didn’t stop us before.”
He’s not wrong. And now that he’s mentioned the possibility, I’m feeling desperate.
Rolling onto my back, I drag my fingers up my body, only stopping when I reach my nipples. Over the sheet, I unabashedly circle them once, then twice, eliciting pleasure that has me squirming for more.
“This is a ridiculous idea,” I mumble.
“More ridiculous than pretending to be married? ”
He’s got me there.
I drag the sheet down my body before I have a chance to overthink. “Fuck it.”
When Ezra’s fingers dance across my stomach, I draw the fabric up, subtly signaling that I’m not at ease with being touched there. I haven’t let anyone touch me intimately since my weight gain.
“Millie.” He inches closer, his breath tickling the side of my neck. His birthday wish rushes back to me then. I wished you’d feel comfortable in your body again.
I grip the sheet beneath my navel, my elbow brushing against his bare chest.
He skates a hand over my right breast, sending chills across my entire upper body. “Breathe,” he commands gently.
Oh my gosh, now I understand why romance authors write lines like She let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.
On my exhale, he flicks my erect nipple with a single digit, back and forth. Then he pauses to assess my reaction.
I nod, signaling him to continue.
He pinches, and I gasp.
He tugs, and I moan.
“Can I use my mouth?” he whispers.
Heat pools in my belly in response to the question. “Mm-hmm.”
Raising on his forearm, Ezra hovers over me and sucks my areola into his mouth. The way he flicks and nips is pure torture. All I can think is how much I wish it was my clit he was working over instead.
“Does that feel good?”
A “fuck” escapes my lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The cheeky bastard grins against me, his beard tingling my already sensitive skin.
He catches my other nipple between his teeth and cups the breast he’s just abandoned, rolling the bud between his fingers while he sucks hard.
Back arching off the bed, I moan.
“Straddle me.”
“What?” I force my eyes open.
His dark irises are depthless as he drinks me in. “Get on top of me.” He rolls onto his back. “I can play with you better that way.”
I jackknife to sitting. The move causes the sheet to dip dangerously low on his hips, reminding me that he sleeps in the nude. “Pillow. Lap. Now,” I command.
With a roll of his eyes, he obliges, and once the pillow is in place, I straddle him, my legs caging his hips and my hands planted on either side of his head. He wastes no time squeezing my heavy tits together in front of his face. When he buries his nose in my cleavage and inhales loudly, a bolt of desire shoots through me. God, why does that turn me on?
He jiggles them—also a huge turn-on—between kneading and gripping. In tandem, he rolls and flicks and tugs on my nipples. Finally, he opens his mouth, his tongue poised, wide and flat, and laps at me again and again. I writhe against the pillow as I hover above him, dipping my breast into his mouth. When I pull back, he catches the pebbled bud between his teeth, the unexpected move causing my body to rack with pleasure.
He releases, but only so he can capture my other nipple.
“Fuck, that feels good.”
Eyes hooded, the bastard smirks up at me. With a hand grasping each breast, he rubs his beard back and forth across my skin. “You’re so sexy,” he says into my chest. “Fuck my mouth with your tits.”
Obediently, I lower until one nipple brushes against his lips. With a groan, he opens and then sucks relentlessly, the move mimicking how he’d suck my pussy if he had the chance, I’m sure of it.
My clit swells at the sensation, and my cunt pulses.
He digs the fingers of one hand into my flesh, holding me where he wants me, and with the others, he flicks and rolls my free nipple. He moans loudly against my skin, and I nearly lose it.
“Yes, Ezra. That’s it. Fuck, I’m close.”
He smacks the side of my breast, and I’m a goner. My core tightens and contracts, my cunt spasming like it’s been fucked.
Slap . My toes curl in ecstasy.
Slap . Pinch . Tug. Pull. Suck, suck, suck . My body coils and convulses, and I may or may not call out his name.
As I come down, he suckles my nipple tenderly, lessening the pressure and easing me back into the stratosphere. I collapse against his chest, my ear to his sternum, where his heart races just as rapidly as mine.
He trails his fingers down my back and settles his hands on my thighs, his touch soothing this time. Maybe I’m too euphoric to care that he can feel all my imperfections.
I roll off him and onto my back, not bothering to rebuild our pillow wall—or cover my tits. I’m too blissed out from my nipplegasm.
“How do you feel?” he asks against my shoulder.
“Relaxed, thank you,” I mumble.
“I told you I could do it.”
That cocky motherfucker. With my eyes closed, I shake my head against my pillow, too loopy to fight back.
I hate that he was right.
Although, I kind of don’t.