Chapter 8 Uninhibited
EIGHT
UNINHIBITED
CINDY
May continued, hotter than heck. It was Friday afternoon, and I’d powered through the first couple weeks of our family home clean out, tackling the living room and dining room first.
I stood in the middle of both rooms and turned three sixty around, ignoring a wall of some boxes and piles yet to go through, and landing on a fresh sight for my eyes.
The blue couch, matching chair and ottoman, and the coffee and end tables were all set there, ready for company. Not that I was expecting any. At least it was satisfying to see the walls again, although a fresh coat of paint would be nice. A pale shade of gray, perhaps . . .
I dusted the family photo frames on the wall, then plopped down to rest in the chair and put my feet up. The same as Mom would do after a long day caring for five girls and the home.
I missed her more and more since being here. It didn’t help that her spirit lived in every room. Every inch of this place had her hand on it, as she loved crafts and sewing and decorating; if she worried at all before passing if she’d left her mark on this Earth, it wasn’t necessary.
No sooner had I started in on one box of Dad’s things, I’d find something Mom had crafted. A ceramic bowl. A gilded, leaf-lined frame. A quilted pillow. Little touches everywhere always made this place a home.
Dad’s boxes of hoarded crap, on the other hand .
. . I couldn’t believe all the things I found so far.
Every daily Glendale Gazette of the past ten years, stacks and stacks of unopened junk mail, and boxes of plastic containers from his microwaved meals, among other things.
So far, there’d been nothing of value to keep; it all went into the trash pile. Sorry Dad.
That pile was on the porch and would need hauled away soon by someone. By Ryan, according to Megan, who stopped by earlier. She called on me now and then to check on my progress and put in her two cents.
Other than visits from my sisters, I was fine and rather enjoying the solitude back in the comfort of our old home. I hadn’t ventured out much to town, which was best, so I’d avoid running into Ryan.
Then, out of the blue, asshole James started texting and calling me today. His voice message wreaked of desperation.
“Cindy, please call back. Look, we can put the past behind us. I need you here to keep our client Stephenson happy. They’re threatening to pull their entire contract with us unless you return. I’ll give you a twenty percent raise, but don’t make me beg.” I hated how his last few words seethed.
Trouble was, I liked the people at Stephenson, and felt sorry for them to have a firm like Hunter-James to deal with, especially without me.
But I definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with James and all his bullshit, so I ignored him.
Although I couldn’t bring myself to delete or block him either, as if he was some sort of lifeline back to the city.
I burrowed further into the chair. I’d put a few albums on the end table next to me to look through and reminisce at some point.
Needing to forget James, I pulled one into my lap, expecting old photos of me and my sisters.
And wham—the first photo inside was from my prom night with Ryan, tearing my vulnerable side wide open.
My bare midriff was enviable on my teenage body back then, able to metabolize carbs like they were nothing. The royal blue satin sleeveless top showed off my chest—and wow, Ryan must have enjoyed the view, judging by how this photo caught his eyes raking over me.
I chuckled, seeing that moment memorialized, suspended in time in the photo.
Look at him. So boy-next-door and town hero quarterback, in his tuxedo with his hair slicked back.
I ran a finger down the photo sleeve, recalling how my fingertips trailed down his chest that night.
He made me feel so good, kissing me, our hands allover each other.
Before he ruined all my plans by saying he loved me.
I slapped the book closed. “Enough of that,” I warned. Ryan had Rose, and Trudy, and life here—thanks to James, I was way too familiar with this type of situation to want a repeat.
As a distraction, a good shower was in order after the long, hot day of working. I dashed down the hall and into the bathroom, undressing along the way. Uncaring if my clothes left a trail on the floor.
Old houses were funny. I knew that from being an architect at the New York firm of Hunter-James. This one was no exception, considering getting hot water required twisting the faucets just so a certain way.
When satisfied with the temperature, I stepped in. Ah, yes, the water caressed my skin. Although I could think of a pair of big hands I’d prefer caressing me instead. Yes, Ryan had invaded my fantasies all week. And that’s where he’d stay because I couldn’t be with a married man again.
I soaped up my hands and reached down, fingering through my folds. No one suspected I’d lusted after Ryan in high school, but he’d become the man I thought about as an adult while pleasing myself.
I bit my lip, picturing him in the shower here with me. His body would tower over and around me, while I’d invite him to make every dirty fantasy of his with me come true.
The chase for my release came fast and furious. I gulped for air, thinking about him, and gah—dying to know the size of his cock. I was almost there, relieving my clit of the pressure it’d built up since seeing Ryan again last week.
“Yes, Ryan, yes,” I yelped, alone in the house uninhibited me. Until an awful noise came from the pipes and distracted me away from my personal mission.
Suddenly, the wall above the shower head burst allover me. Water sprayed everywhere, invading my eyes.
I screamed as I scrambled to get out of there, but tripped on the edge of the tub, sending me falling face first to the old tile floor—except powerful arms caught me, bringing me upright and tight against him.
“Ryan?” I wiped my eyes enough against his t-shirt to make out his face. “What are you doing here?”
He growled and lifted a hand and wiped away the hair across my forehead. His lust-raged eyes moved down to the tops of my breasts, heaving tight against his chest—then back to my lips.
“Saving your ass again,” his voice rasped, silky and dark.
The water continued spraying everywhere, drenching us, but neither of us moved. Trapped there, I squeezed my thighs tighter, seeking relief even more now with him lusting after me. I sucked my bottom lip, desiring him, tilting my head, inviting his lips.
“Don’t fucking do that,” he groaned. “Not unless you want me to lose control with you.”
I bit my lip harder, drawing blood like a little brat, and he lost it. His lips crushed on mine in a searing kiss that set my heart racing.
I welcomed their rough advance. His full lips fit with mine perfectly, and a hint of my blood worked into my mouth.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, equally taking part in what was happening, splitting his lips with my tongue and making myself well-acquainted with Ryan again.
He’d warned me, and he lost control, picking me up and sitting me on the wet vanity top. This was nothing like prom night where he hardly got to first base. We were adults now and doing adult things, and I could handle this.
His lips grazed down my neck, sucking on a nipple, one at a time, flicking them with his tongue. He growled when my fingers threaded through his hair.
Further down he went, kissing along my wet skin, landing between my legs. I spread wide for him, without a care for the water spraying and damage all around us.
“Ah. Yes, Ryan, right there,” I cried out when his tongue explored through my folds, finding my nub hard and ready for him.
“Fuck, Cynthia, you taste like honey.”
I finally wanted this, everything with him, maybe even forever—Oh crap, what about Trudy? What about Rose?
His fingers found my opening, ready to plunge in, and God, I wanted nothing more than to ride his fingers and chase my orgasm, but I pushed his hand away, coming to my senses.
“Wait.”
“Okay, whatever you need. I can suck you all night.” His tongue never let up.
“No, I mean stop. I can’t do this again.” Breathless, I pushed against him. His face registered all kinds of confusion as he lifted up.
“Again? What are you talking about? This is our first fucking time.”
“No… I can’t do this again. I’m a married man magnet.”
“What? I’m not married.”
“Ugh. But you’re engaged. I’m done with all men.” I shoved off from him and ran across the hall, slamming the door shut. The rising bile of regrets almost choked me as I stood dripping on the floor in the middle of my room.