Chapter 23 #2
I'd decided against it because law school was really damn expensive and the notion of leaving my job and dropping out of the day-to-day work of politics seemed impossible to me, even if I would come out of it with the right to throw around expressions like "As an attorney, I can tell you…
" and "I can only give you my opinion, not legal advice. "
If I'd only known leaving the job and day-to-day politics for law school would be less complicated than termination via tweet. If only.
Now, as I wandered a circuit around the house while Midge's attorney droned on in my earbuds about filing tax returns and signing off on another set of documents, I thought about law school again.
Was it too late for me? Did it make sense to adopt a three-year-long project just because I didn't want to rely on this guy to explain things to me?
Was that a valid reason to spend upwards of two hundred thousand dollars on an education?
Would that give me the time I needed to sort out my life?
Probably not but was there really a price I could put on not needing anyone for anything?
Then again, it would be much less expensive to learn the right way to fix up this house. Fewer exams too.
As I looped through the kitchen, I heard a great thwack. I glanced around for the source of the sound, peered at my phone to see if there was a wacky new notification there, darted halfway down the basement stairs and then back up when I found things mostly in order.
Then I heard it again.
It was outside. Definitely outside.
I murmured in agreement as the attorney said something about property taxes and escrow accounts and I hurried out the side door, down the steps I'd rebuilt. I was still proud of them, even if one did have a troubling wobble.
Walking along the side of the house, I headed toward the street until I realized the noise wasn't out there.
I doubled back toward the very much in-progress porch and held a hand over my brows to block out some of the afternoon sun.
It was hot today, unseasonably hot for November. This sweater was an enormous mistake.
As I heard that thwack again, I made my way along the remaining perimeter of the porch, my eyes narrowed while the attorney said something about title insurance. I didn't need to pay attention to that. It was fine.
Then I spotted Linden.
More specifically, I spotted the axe as it slashed through the air and then I spotted the man holding it. Another thwack went up and I watched two wedges of wood tumble off the stump in front of him and drop to the ground.
He stood with his back toward me and his feet planted a shoulder's-width apart as he lifted the axe again. A line of sweat dampened the back of his t-shirt. The tattoos on his biceps peeked out from under his sleeves and gleamed in the bright autumn light.
Then he swung and I felt that thwack inside me. I didn't know whether it was the thrill of covertly watching him or witnessing the insane ripple of muscle as he struck the wood but I didn't care because it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.
He tossed the split wood onto the neat stack he'd constructed near the edge of his deck.
It was handy, I realized, to have all that firewood lined up for the winter.
He planned it this way, of course. That was how Linden operated.
Careful and precise and…fuck me, those shoulders were glorious.
It was no surprise to me that my guy was next-level hot but this—this—was a lesson in lumberbears.
He bent down to heave an absurdly large slab of tree onto the stump. It was absurdly large, at least three feet tall and four or five wide. There was no way in hell he'd be able to cut that with an axe.
That was exactly what he did.
I stayed here, leaning against the porch with one hand shielding my eyes from the sun, the other flat on my chest, a lawyer yammering in my ear about state pension accounts and accrued benefits, and I watched Linden smash that round of wood.
It took several swings of his axe but it wasn't long before that absurdly large slab was divided into a dozen wedges and added to the pile.
And I'd never been more aroused in my entire life.
I was panting a bit, though I blamed it on the weather.
That was the source of my heaving bosom.
I had my legs crossed at the ankle, my thighs tight together.
My skin was outrageously sensitive. I found myself tipping my head to the side and exposing my neck without thinking about it.
A million filthy fantasies flashed through my mind. My pussy had a pulse.
"Okay, sir, yes, that's very good. Very good information. I'm going to have to call you back about all this. Good day and goodbye." I was halfway across the yard when I called out, "Hey."
He turned, ran his wrist across his forehead. With a grin, he asked, "All finished?"
"Yeah," I said, plucking the earbuds out and shoving them in my pocket along with the phone. I reached out, grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "I hope you don't mind but I need to drag you inside and take your clothes off you right now."
He smirked. "Is that so?"
I drew in closer. "You have no idea how much I want you."
His gaze dropped to my chest and I could feel him staring at my nipples. They were shamelessly pebbled against the wool of my sweater and begging for attention. "I think I know." He glanced up, still smirking. "Is that how it is, Peach? Chopping wood works for you?"
"We can analyze it later," I said. "After you've"—I motioned to the stump, even though it made no sense—"after."
Linden stepped back and I had to release my hold on his shirt but that wasn't a problem because he peeled it off his skin and over his head, and used it to mop the sweat from his chest.
I was this close to coming. This close.
"Get in there," he said with a flick of his wrist toward the house. "If I have to take that skirt off you myself, I'll rip it. You've been warned."
Ohhhhhh. I really did love it when he insisted.
I darted inside, beside myself with want and need.
It should've been simple, really, just follow Linden's directions.
Get in here and get naked. So simple. But I lost myself when I played back the words I'd spoken.
The way I watched him and demanded use of his body.
It didn't matter that he was game for it.
No, he didn't figure into this shame spiral at all.
Still, I pulled my sweater over my head and straightened my hair once it was free.
It was a relief to undress with this heat—and everything I'd stirred up while watching Linden.
I slipped off my shoes, a cute pair of mid-heeled oxfords in the cutest shade of cognac, and took my phone and earbuds from my pocket.
I had to put them back in their case and that meant finding the case.
I'd lost one set of earbuds on a flight to Milwaukee and another to the spin cycle once, and I couldn't do that now, could not allow such a silly waste.
Linden found me rooting around in my tote bag, the one I used to ferry clothes back and forth from here to Midge's house. I wasn't prepared to hang my things in his closet or even have the discussion about claiming space in his bedroom. No, it wasn't necessary.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, the sun at his back and his chest still damp with sweat.
My breath caught. This man could be so incredibly rude with his arms and his shirtlessness. "Putting away my earbuds."
"Is that what I told you to do?"
"It's not but if I don't put them away immediately after taking them out, I lose them or drown them in the washing machine." I snapped the case shut. "And I needed to, you know, breathe for a second."
His gaze locked on me, he toed off his boots. "You're still dressed."
I glanced down at my skirt. The pinstriped wool brushed the bottoms of my knees and suddenly felt like a stifling blanket. "As I told you, I needed a second to breathe."
He unlatched his belt, drew down his fly. Left his jeans hanging open. My nipples ached behind the lace of my bra. "You've had a second, Peach."
Linden strolled past me into the bathroom as I struggled against the outrageous mix of desire and insecurity. I felt so much of both, and that conflict kept me stuck there, my fingers still closed around the earbud case.
He was quick to return and settled himself on the sofa, right in the middle with his legs spread wide. He beckoned to me, saying, "I want you over here."
Enough of my brain fell in line at his rough command to allow me to walk over there but my cheeks were hot.
My chest too. I went to him, climbed into his lap, brought my hands to his shoulders.
"I want to rip your clothes off," I said softly.
"But I also feel strange about that. Like I shouldn't say it. Shouldn't want it."
"Why shouldn't you?"
"I don't really know," I admitted. I'd never spoken words like these before. "But sometimes I feel that way and it's overwhelming."
He reached under my skirt, both hands on my ass cheeks, and tore my panties in half. I gasped at the burn and pull of the fabric and the depravity of that move. "Tell me when it's overwhelming, okay? Tell me. I'll get you out of your head until it goes away."
With both hands, Linden gathered my skirt, twisting it until it was tight and rucked up around my waist. He dropped his gaze between my legs, staring at me with the kind of cool, unaffected focus that should not have turned me on.
I didn't know why it did, why this inspection left my skin feeling too hot, too tight, but I couldn't escape it.
And I didn't want to.
"There's a condom in my pocket. Handle that," he ordered.
I was shaking now, every part of me flooded with this confluence of right and wrong.
But that wasn't the whole of it because this wasn't wrong.
There was nothing wrong with wanting a strapping lumberbear to fuck me into next Friday and there was nothing wrong with asking for it in rude, lusty terms. The part of my brain that set off these shame spirals, it was lying to me.
It was lying about beauty and dignity and the space I was allowed to claim as my own.
It was lying about everything—and I didn't know why I'd never noticed that before.
I was allowed to have this. I was allowed.
His hips bucked when I edged his jeans down to his knees and rolled the condom over his length. He had the sort of erection that was so hard, his shaft pointed straight at the ceiling. I enjoyed them all but this type was special.
"If you don't sit that cunt down on my cock right now, I'll find that little clit-sucking vibrator of yours and torment you for the next six hours."
I groaned out loud because the one and only time we'd played with my toys, there were catastrophic orgasms for all. Linden slept for eleven hours. I couldn't sit, stand, or walk without feeling it for three days.
"Always so imperious," I murmured.
My knees braced on either side of him and my hand on his shoulder to keep me steady, I guided him into my opening.
He ran his knuckles up my back, twisted his hand around the band of my bra, holding me in place and then forcing me down as he surged up.
I looked down at my obscenely pebbled nipples, the skirt around my waist, the thick cock pounding up into me.
I'd never felt as strong and desirable and adored as I did when he was inside me. I'd never felt adored like this before.
Was that the word for this? Adored? Was this it?
Or was this what it meant to feel beautiful?
I didn't know. Beauty was always wrong to me but this was too right.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to disappear into the pleasure of the shaft pounding between my legs and the rasp of his beard on my chest, my neck.
I matched his rhythm, rocking my body against his to grab every bit of friction I could, and I stopped thinking.
I stopped wondering whether Linden fucked the way he worshipped and if it was possible to be beautiful while also being depraved and if this was what it felt like to fall in love.