Chapter 18 Veronica #2
Since I had a little extra time, I walked down to the senior mixer, taught my dance class, and stayed around afterward chatting with some of the people who’d attended.
After arriving back at home, I made myself some boxed mac and cheese for dinner, but I ate it with a salad using veggies from the farmers’ market, so I figured it all evened out.
When I was done eating, I cleaned up the kitchen and went back to my apartment.
Around ten p.m., I took a shower and got ready for bed. In the bathroom mirror, I examined the bruises he’d left on my hips, surprised to find myself aroused by them.
But maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Maybe it made perfect sense that I would like wearing the evidence of Austin’s powerful desire for me, that they made me feel strong and sexy.
Maybe it was part of reclaiming my body as my own—I could decide when pain felt good.
I could decide that bruises were beautiful.
I could decide to be a canvas for my own pleasure—and for his.
I checked my phone one last time before crawling into bed, trying not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t texted or called. A glance out the window told me his truck wasn’t in the driveway.
Get over it, I scolded myself. It’s just one night. It’s just sex. Okay, maybe it’s earth-shaking, mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex, but you went without it for twenty-nine years, so you can certainly handle going without it tonight.
But we only had three nights left. What was I going to do when our time was up and I had to go without it forever?
Don’t think about it.
I slammed my eyes shut, but I was still awake when I heard my phone vibrate. My hand shot out to grab it off the nightstand.
Hey. Sorry to text so late. Xander was fucking everything up and I had to fix things. You still awake?
Yes.
I’m getting in the shower. Want to keep me company?
Yes.
I’ll leave the back door open.
Okay.
Hurry.
I’ve been hard for you all day.
The shower was running when I slipped inside the bathroom, the marble tiles cool beneath my bare feet. The shower door was steamed up, but the blurry shape of him behind it made my breath come faster. Eagerly, I stripped off my clothes.
He pushed the door open, and my heart careened at the sight of him—wet and muscular and, as promised, already hard.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
“Hi, baby.” He looked me over head to toe, then studied my hips. “Are those marks from me?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” His hands skimmed over them. “Do they hurt?”
“No.”
His dark eyes smoldered. “Will you think I’m a dick if I tell you I like the way they look?”
I shook my head. “Will you think I’m crazy if I ask for more?”
“I think you’re fucking perfect.” Wrapping his arms around me, he sealed his mouth to mine as the hot water streamed down our bodies.
His hands roamed freely, gliding easily over my wet skin, while his tongue stroked mine with possessive fervor.
I worked my hands up and down the solid length of his erection as the steam rose around us.
He turned me to face the wall and pressed up tightly behind me, reaching between my legs with one hand and covering my breast with the other.
I braced my hands on the tiles, which were rectangular, charcoal gray, and laid in a herringbone pattern.
It was so cool, I was momentarily distracted.
“Wow, this shower is gorgeous. Did you remodel this bathroom yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I love it.”
He slipped a finger inside me. “Can we please talk about that later?”
“Sorry—yes.” But god, it turned me on that he was so talented. So good with his hands.
His lips moved down the side of my throat as his fingers rubbed my clit. He sucked hard on the spot where my neck sloped toward my shoulder. “I want to leave a mark right here,” he told me, his voice low and gravelly.
“Yes,” I whispered, even though I knew it would be visible in most of my tops. “I want it where I can see it.”
With his mouth and tongue working on my neck, he used his hands to deliver an orgasm that turned my bones to jelly.
His name was still echoing off the tiles when he turned me to face him.
He fisted his cock with one hand while he pinned me back against the wall with his other hand on my throat, his thumb stroking the bruise he’d left with his mouth.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes traveling over my skin. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
Held immobile against the wall, I watched with wide eyes and heavy breaths as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft, the muscles in his arm working, his abs flexing. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his jaw was clenched. “I could come just looking at you.”
“Do it,” I whispered. “Let me watch. Put it on me.”
“Is that what you want?” he growled. “My cum on your skin?”
“Yes,” I panted. “You can mark me like no one else ever has.”
Within seconds, he was ejaculating onto my stomach in quick, hot bursts. Then he took his hand and rubbed it into my skin—over my breasts, down my ribcage, and over the bruises on one hip.
Finally, he let go of my neck and pulled me toward him, wrapping me in his arms. He didn’t say anything right away, and it took a minute for his breathing to slow. I felt his heartbeat against my chest.
“There’s something about you that brings out the caveman in me,” he said.
“You’re not always like this?” I asked.
“Never.”
“Good.” I smiled, pleased that this was a side of him he’d never shared with anyone else. “Neither am I.”
“Let me do something nice for you.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . wash your hair.”
I leaned back and looked up at him in surprise. “You want to wash my hair?”
“Yes. I fucking love your hair. I remember the day we met, when you came back after taking your hair down, I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“I believe you were scowling at me.”
“That was only because I was mad at you for being so beautiful. For making me want you.” He let me go and reached for his shampoo bottle. “But I won’t hold a grudge if you let me wash your hair.”
“With your man shampoo? Is my hair going to smell like wood chips and baseball glove?”
“It’s all I have,” he said apologetically. “But I am very good at washing hair. I won’t get soap in your eyes.”
I laughed. “Okay. Then it’s a deal.”
Later, when the lights were off and I was tucked against his side in bed, he told me he’d made a dinner reservation for Saturday night at The Pier Inn.
“You did?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes. There was no way we were going to get in so soon without a little help. My cousin Delilah is a manager there. She reserved a table for us at eight.”
“That’s so nice,” I said. “Will I get to meet her?”
“If she’s there, I can introduce you.”
I smiled. “I’m excited. I want to get something new to wear.”
“It’s not fancy or anything.”
“Hush.” I swatted his bare chest. “I want something new for our date night.” As soon as I said it, I was sorry. “I didn’t mean date night like date date,” I said quickly. “I know it’s not a date. We’re not dating. It’s just dinner with a friend.”
“Relax,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what we call it. People are going to see us and make up stories anyway.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. By Sunday morning, everyone will know Austin Buckley took his runaway bride nanny to dinner, and there will be half a dozen rumors about what it means.”
I giggled. “What will they think it means?”
“Well, someone will swear to god they saw a ring on your finger, so it probably means we’re secretly engaged.
Someone else will say they saw us sitting at the seawall at sunset, so you’re definitely pregnant.
And someone else will say they heard from their sister’s best friend’s cousin’s ex’s dog groomer, who lives in Chicago, that I attacked your former fiancé with an axe right on Michigan Avenue. ”
“Those are some serious rumors.”
“Yeah, well, Cherry Tree Harbor is a small town with two specialties: fudge and gossip.”
“But it’s so charming! Everyone I’ve met has been so kind. It must have been a wonderful place to grow up. And it’s a great place to raise a family.”
“It is.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you want kids?”
“Yes. I’ve always had this dream about belonging to a big family. I was so lonely growing up, so envious of kids at school who had lots of brothers and sisters and cousins around.”
His hand began to stroke my shoulder, soothing and sweet.
“But pursuing that dream wasn’t as easy as pursuing dance. It would have meant handing over a part of me I was used to keeping to myself. My mom always said, Guard your heart like it’s your home. Be careful who you let in. I did a good job of that.”
Austin didn’t say anything, but his hand continued to caress me.
“I think that’s part of why I agreed to marry Neil.
I had this idea that being part of a family like his would fulfill that yearning I’d had as a child.
” My fingers played with the hair on his chest. “But it backfired. His family was awful. I didn’t fit in, they never accepted me, and I ended up feeling unwanted all over again. ”
“What do you mean all over again?” Austin asked quietly. “Who didn’t want you before?”
“Well—my father,” I said. “And my grandparents. The only other family I had besides my mom.”
His hand stilled for a moment.
“That probably sounds stupid,” I said quickly. “Because it’s not like they knew me and rejected me. It wasn’t personal. They just didn’t want me in the first place. But it . . . it felt personal. I always wondered what was wrong with me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you.” He pulled me in a little tighter and kissed my head. “There never was.”
“Except that I can’t seem to get a relationship right, which is eventually a problem if you want a family.”
“And yet somehow I managed it,” he said wryly.
I smiled. “You did. But I’d like to share a life with someone. I just need to get better at trusting people not to hurt me. Or at least better at choosing who to put my trust in.” I picked up my head and looked at him. “I can’t depend on you to punch every guy that hurts me.”
“I would,” he said seriously, tucking my damp hair behind my ear. “Honestly, I fucking would.”
My heart liked that a little too much.
“God, I didn’t mean to dump all this on you.” I put my head down again. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did. I like knowing things about you.”
“I like knowing things about you too. You just don’t talk as much as I do.”
“No one talks as much as you do. Not even Mabel.”
“Okay, but tell me one thing about yourself.”
“Like what?”
I thought for a moment. “Who did you admire most growing up?”
“My dad,” he said without missing a beat. “He was always the strongest person I ever knew. I wanted to be like him.”
“You are,” I said softly.
He kissed my head again and sniffed. “You’re right—your hair totally smells like wood chips and baseball glove.”
Laughing, I put my arms across his chest and held him tight.
But my smile faded when I remembered that we only had three more nights together.
I didn’t want this to end.