Chapter 34
Andi
“Nolan is happier than I’ve ever seen him, you know,” Lorna tells me softly as we meander down the cracked sidewalk outside her house for a quick walk before I head to work. Droplets of morning dew cling to each blade of grass, shimmering under the early sun.
“You think?”
She’s in a chipper, energetic mood compared to last night.
She was understandably thrown off by my presence and confused me for Emma.
Not that I minded. My biggest worry was that she’d eventually realize I wasn’t Emma and become upset or confused.
Luckily, she didn’t. And by the time she woke up this morning, she knew who I was.
Still, the experience made me gain even more appreciation for Nolan and the emotional toll this must have on him day to day.
I watch as she runs a finger over the bandage extending up her thin forearm from her burn. “Oh yes. He always has a sunny smile on his face, especially when he’s talking to you. He’s constantly talking about how wonderful you are, how smart. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”
“He makes me really happy,” I say, trying to ignore the lingering question in my gut. Where can this lead, in reality? I’ve done a great job at compartmentalizing those worries and focusing on the now. But with Nolan gone, it’s become harder not to think about.
“He’s a good boy. Good to a fault. I know how much he worries about me.
He always has, ever since he was a little boy,” she says.
Before Nolan went to Montreal, he left me detailed notes about Lorna, everything from when to serve her pre-prepared meals to how to administer her medication and how to dress her burns, and he included a list of numbers for her nurses and doctors.
He also insists on calling me every couple hours to make sure things are okay, which is really sweet.
“It feels like yesterday he was taking care of Em, making sure she did her homework, got to school. Gosh, he grew up fast.”
I nod.
Her eyes well appreciatively. “You’d be amazed by how fast the decades pile up and pass you by. How little time we have, even the luckiest of us. That’s why I’m so grateful he found someone like you. Someone who lights him up from the inside out. He needs that.”
I think about how quickly the past few years have flown by since I’ve worked for Gretchen.
I’d be lying if I said I took advantage of all that life has to offer.
If anything, I’ve been going through the motions, just getting through the day, trying to stay as busy as possible so I don’t have to think too hard about my life.
I think about that as we finish the block before Lorna starts to get tired. I can tell by the way she’s losing her train of thought mid-sentence.
Theresa is at the house by the time we return so I can get to work. It’s a busy day, as Gretchen has an appearance at the children’s hospital. It gives me a couple free hours to get things done in advance before Mexico.
Normally, I’d work past dinner, but tonight, I make sure to head back by four to relieve Theresa. Lorna still remembers me by the time I arrive, thankfully, and we spend the night chatting on the deck, followed by some TV before she turns in early.
It’s only eight, which is more time than I usually have to myself before sleeping, so I use the extra time for writing.
It’s not my desk at home, but it’s near perfect.
Nolan’s bed is comfier than I expected for a firm mattress and pillow.
Though I noticed Nolan purchased two brand-new soft pillows, which he left on the end of the bed in their original packaging.
I slide under the crisp sheets and pull the comforter to my chin, inhaling his scent, cocooning myself in it as I write (more accurately: type and delete, repeat). About an hour in, my phone dings.
Nolan: Hey, let me know when it’s a good time to call.
Andi: Feel free!
He calls a couple minutes later. “Sorry I haven’t checked in since this afternoon. Things were busy with Eric tonight. He had a town hall that ran later than expected. You know how he is, always wanting to stay and chat. His stalker was also here, so I had to fill out a report.”
“Oh no! Don’t apologize, though. It was a good night.”
“Did my mom think you were Em again?”
“No, actually.” I tell him about our night and how she seemed to be in good spirits today. He seemed pretty down last night when I told him about her confusion, so it’s nice to give him some good news. “Are you back at the hotel?”
“Mm-hm. What are you doing?” His voice is a little gruffer, slower. He sounds tired.
“Your mom went to bed half an hour ago so now I’m lying here, in your bed, struggling to write,” I add, sinking back deeper into the pillow.
He mutters something pained that sounds a lot like shit. “What are you struggling with? Maybe I can help.”
“No. Not with this particular scene.”
“Why?”
“Because. It’s, um, X-rated.” My cheeks heat at the admission.
He lets out a low hum. “It’s a sex scene?”
“Yup. Now you see why I can’t ask you to help brainstorm ideas.”
He chuckles that low, grumbly laugh, and my heart rate doubles at the mere sound. “It’s not weird at all. Set the scene for me.”
I blow the air from my cheeks. I’ve never confided in anyone about my writing, aside from the odd beta reader online, let alone solicited help for the steamy scenes.
But he sounds eager for distraction, and I could use some input, even if it’s awkward.
“Well, it takes place on the beach. The couple had a fight and the heroine stomped off on a long walk. The hero follows her to a rocky area and things get…heated. I can’t figure out a way to make it feel fresh since there are already two intimate scenes before this one.
It’s an emotional one, so I want it to reflect that. ”
“What about oral? Sixty-nine?”
“I’ve never understood sixty-nining. Wouldn’t that get complicated, especially with the sand?”
“It’s really not as hard as it looks.” Jesus. His voice.
“What if there’s a height difference? He’s really tall. She’s really short. I mean, would that work, logistically—” I’m rambling now and my skin prickles with sweat. I throw the comforter off me for some air.
“It can still work,” he assures me, his tone serious, as though he’s running me through the logistics of Eric’s motorcade. “Basically, she has to straddle his face backward.”
“While doing oral,” I say, scandalized by saying it out loud. I would never say something like that in public, but on the phone I feel freer, probably because he’s not in front of me.
“Exactly.”
“That sounds hard. No pun intended.” My laugh is a little strangled, and I notice my fists are clenched at my sides.
His rumbly amusement vibrates through my phone. “Again, it’s not.”
“You seem very pro sixty-nining. Is it your favorite position?” I dare to ask, my mind circling back to the storage closet. The roughness of his beard against my temple. The spread of his fingers pressing into my ass, leaving imprints long after.
“One of,” he tells me. “It’s really hot, the angle, the view—everything.”
My body is on fire, pulsing everywhere. “You actually like eating women out?” In romance novels, heroes love it. But I always thought it was a known fact that men in real life don’t enjoy it.
“Fuck yeah.”
At his enthusiasm, a raspy breath escapes my throat as all the tension pools between my legs. “You must be one of the few. Most guys don’t.”
“Has anyone ever eaten you out before?” he asks unapologetically.
“No. Not that I’ve ever really asked. I’ve always been paranoid. I don’t know—”
“Would you like someone to?”
“You. Only you,” I say reflexively. “And only if you want to,” I add, burrowing lower under the covers, tracing circles around my inner thigh, imagining it’s his hands and not mine.
“Are you kidding me? God, Andi. The way you would taste.” The way he says it, so longingly, so confident, my stomach tightens and coils to the point of discomfort.
No one has ever talked to me like this before.
“There’s nothing I’d rather do right now.
” His voice rumbles through my phone, and it feels like he’s right here next to me, parting my legs.
“Fuck,” he breathes over what sounds like the rustling of the covers.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there to do it. To make you come in my bed. Do you want to come, Andi?”
Goose bumps erupt down my legs, over my arms, and my pulse goes into triple time. “Yes,” I whisper as my fingers circle back up to my breasts.
“Are you wearing those lacy panties again?”
“No. I’m in pajama shorts and a tank top,” I say, blinking hard to ground myself. This is real. This is happening.
He huffs a breath. “Fuck. Can you feel my hands, pulling those shorts down?”
“Yes.” I nod, sliding my hands down in unison to kick off my shorts. I swallow as the cool air hits me, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of my body.
“What are you thinking about? Be honest,” he rasps.
“How badly I want you. How I want to touch you,” I admit in a pained effort to keep my voice steady as I picture him and his ropy arms, hovering over me.
“Where would you touch me?” he asks.
I slow my breath. “I’d swirl my tongue up and down your cock, sucking harder at the tip.” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. And most of all, I can’t believe how much I liked saying them.
He lets out a hard breath. “Fuck. Are you touching yourself?”
“I am,” I manage, a shiver cascading down my back. My eyes flutter to a close as I let my fingers dip dangerously close to where I want them. Where I want him. “I’ve touched myself a lot thinking of you.”
He lets out a strained groan that makes my pulse race. “Me too. Ever since that first night, I’ve thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“Even though I embarrassed myself?”
“Listen to me. I literally didn’t stop thinking about you for three fucking years. Do you know how hard I came just from thinking about you? Every time?”
I don’t know how to respond other than to let out a whimper.
“What do you imagine when you think about me, Andi?” he asks, his voice commanding, grumbly, and warm against my neck.
“You on top of me, your hands touching me everywhere,” I admit, dropping my hand from my stomach, lower, to where I’m strung tight.
“Where are your hands right now?” he asks, like he can sense my every move.
“Um, my thigh.”
“Close your eyes, okay? And imagine it’s me touching you. Dragging my finger up and down your inner thigh. Are you doing it?”
I do as I’m told. I imagine the warm length of his body pressed next to me.
The scruff of his beard scratching against my jaw.
The rough pads of his fingertips digging into my skin.
All the blood whooshes down, lower and lower, until I’m squirming under the sheets. “Yes,” I manage through a whimper.
“Good girl. Where would you want me to touch you now?”
“You know where,” I rasp, desperate to touch myself even lower to soothe the ache between my legs.
“Not yet,” he orders. “Drag your fingers up to those gorgeous tits.”
I do as I’m told, circling my fingers around my nipples, driving myself wild with need, chasing what I imagine is his touch.
“You have the nicest tits, you know that? Do you know how much I’ve wanted to touch them? Suck on them?”
I let out a low, grumbly sound from the back of my throat. I’ve never wanted anyone more.
“Okay, now drag your hand down, over your stomach, and down. You’re wet for me already, aren’t you, baby?” he asks without hesitation, because he already knows the answer.
“Soaked,” I admit, a thrill rocketing down to my toes.
“Swirl your fingers around that swollen little clit, just a bit, okay? I want to hear it. Don’t put your fingers in yet.
Just imagine it’s me down there, working you until your pussy is dripping wet and ready for me.
” There’s a huskiness in his voice, an edge to match the intensity pulsating through me.
“Fuck,” I moan, swirling my fingers over myself, quickening the pace as the tension pulls tighter in my belly at his voice alone.
“Faster, Andi. I want to hear you beg for me.”
“Okay.” I hold back a desperate noise, letting the feeling simmer and swell there for an unbearable stretch of time.
“Now slowly slide your index finger in.”
“Fuck,” I moan, clenching around myself, imagining panting against his bare skin as he holds me, guiding me through it.
“You’re doing so good. Now put another one in. Is that pretty pussy as tight as I’m imagining it is?”
The moment my second finger slips in, everything feels heightened. The buzz of the ceiling fan, blowing cool air over my naked body. The sound of my own heart hammering against my chest. “So tight. Oh god, it feels so good. You feel so good.”
“I wish I could see your face. I wish I could fuck you myself. Press those legs down, spread you open, and—”
“I want you to fuck me. I need it so badly.” Being here in his bed, enveloped in his scent without him next to me, feels brutally unfair. So I close my eyes, picturing him burying himself in me, losing himself in me entirely.
“Faster, okay? God, I can hear it, the wet sound of your fingers in your pussy. You’re drenched,” he says with a pained grunt, like he knows it. Like he can see me.
“Nolan. I’m close,” I rasp, my other hand swirling over my nipples, pinching, deepening the sensation.
“Open those legs. Wider for me,” he commands.
I do it. I’d do just about anything he wants me to, at this point.
“That’s it, fall apart with me.” Just the sound of his voice alone drives me senseless with need. I think he could order me to do just about anything right now, and I’d do it. No questions asked.
That’s when the tension breaks. He sucks in a breath and then there’s only silence, as though the entire world has frozen over.
I let out a wild sound I can barely even hear over the ringing in my ears, suppressing it with my other hand as the shock waves erupt.
As I spiral into another galaxy, imagining him next to me, entirely spent, gaze heavy and satisfied.
Me tracing my fingers over his chest, over each groove and freckle, like a treasure map.
“Feel better?” he asks, breathless after a stretch of blissful silence.
“Yes,” I whisper, my body still feeling warm and fizzy, like it’s hovering.
“Good night, Andi.”
“Good night.”