When We Were Us (Sly Fox #3)

Chapter 19

Christmas morning arrived with a flurry of torn wrapping paper and surprised gasps. As I unwrapped each gift, a pattern emerged that both touched and amused me. A white quilted receiving blanket, a basket of bottles, tiny light blue booties, and a silver rattle – each item a testament to Oliver's excitement about our upcoming addition.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a mix of exasperation and affection coloring my voice. "Are you serious? I'm not even one month pregnant."

Oliver's face split into a proud grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I want to be prepared," he declared, puffing out his chest slightly.

A surge of hormones coursed through me, transforming my amusement into something more primal. I fixed Oliver with a heated stare. "You want to be prepared? Then fuck me before we leave."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up, a look of mock concern crossing his features. "I'm not sure I like the hormone-fueled Ryleigh," he teased, though I could see the interest sparking in his eyes.

"Why the hell not?" I challenged, stepping closer to him. "You love having sex."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking both amused and slightly overwhelmed. "You're constantly in need."

I shrugged unapologetically. "I'm hormonal. Get used to it."

Oliver let out a low chuckle. "I think three or four times is my limit per day."

"I should've married someone who could keep up with me," I shot back, my tone playful.

Something shifted in Oliver's demeanor. In one fluid motion, he stood up from the couch and unzipped his pants, revealing his growing arousal. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "They couldn't compare to me. Come on, Mrs. Fox, ready for a quickie?"

I raised an eyebrow, my body already responding to his challenge. "Why a quickie?"

"Vlad will be here in half an hour," Oliver explained, his hands already reaching for me. "You'll need to clean up after."

A wicked idea crossed my mind. "No, I won't. Wear a condom."

Oliver's face contorted as if I'd suggested something truly unpleasant. "A condom? I hate those things."

"I'm your pregnant wife, and I'm politely asking you to wear a condom."

Oliver's lips curved into a smirk. "Why don’t I just lick you? That would be as enjoyable for me as it would be for you."

My brows furrowed. "Because I want your big battering ram of a cock inside me. Is that a good enough answer?"

He crossed his arms, considering. "Well, when you put it in those terms... Come on, Mrs. Fox, let’s hit the bedroom for one more round."

"Here. You can do it from the back while I lay over the arm of the couch."

Oliver's eyes darkened with desire. "I like this adventurous side of you."

"Shut up, Oliver, and get a condom—time’s wasting."

He chuckled. "You make it sound so mechanical."

"It won’t be when you come. Now go."

Oliver hurried down the hall to fetch a condom while I took off my panties, pulled up my skirt, bent over the couch arm, and spread my legs. His low whistle echoed as he returned.

"Man, if I could come home to you like this each night..."

"Why would you need to when we could fuck in the limo? Are you heading back to the office in the New Year?"

"I think so. Now stop talking about work and let me make you come," he commanded.

I heard the tearing of the condom package and the rolling of the latex. Oliver slicked his penis through my folds, teasing me. I shifted my hips, anticipating his entry. He did it a few more times before thrusting hard inside me. A soft moan escaped my lips as he filled me, stretching my walls with his girth.

"Yes, yes, I love when you’re inside me."

"And I love to be inside you. It’s my favorite place to be."

He grabbed my hips, pumping steadily, his pelvis slapping against my ass, the denim of his jeans rubbing against my skin. He gently spanked me and reached around to rub my clit, but I pushed his hand away.

“I don’t need that,” I panted.

“But it will make you come quicker because I’m on the edge right now.”

I relented and he rubbed me three times before I climaxed, squeezing his cock as he grunted through his orgasm. He bent over me, moved the hair from my neck and kissed at the nape, inhaling my scent in his nose.

"I don’t know if it’s the hormones or your maturity, but you smell good enough to eat," Oliver muttered, his lips grazing my neck.

I let out a content sigh. “You always say that.”

“This is different. Your scent has changed. I love it. I’m not sure I want to go back to the office because I quite like being here alone with you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

“But I go into the office a few times a week,” I reminded him, feeling the tension in the room shift.

“True, but you don’t always stay all day.”

“I just might stay all day if you do,” I teased, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Why? So, you could sexually harass me?” he asked with a grin.

I snorted as Oliver pulled out of me, helping me up gently. He spied my white panties on the floor and swiped them up, bringing them to his nose with a mischievous look. I stood there with my hand out, waiting for him to hand them back. Instead, he stuffed them into the back pocket of his black jeans.

“Are you serious right now? What the hell are you going to do with those?” I asked, incredulous.

“A little memento. I might want to take a whiff of you while we’re at your parents,” he replied, his grin widening.

“You have me. Why would you need my panties?” I questioned, shaking my head.

“Will you join me in the bathroom if I need a sampling?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“You’re kidding with this.” I reached around to his back pocket, but he caught me in a tight hug, planting a hard kiss on my mouth.

“I’d like to stay home if you really want to know,” he murmured against my lips.

“We have to go. My parents think there’s something wrong between us, especially since we weren’t at their home for Thanksgiving,” I explained, trying to pull away.

“What do they think is wrong?” Oliver’s tone grew serious, his grip tightening slightly.

“They think we’re having problems.”

“And you told them what?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

“I said no. I said we’re doing fabulous.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Then we have no choice but to go and put on a good show for them.”

“What we’ll be doing is not a show. I truly love you,” I huffed.

“And I love you, Mrs. Fox, but you’re not getting your panties back.”

“Would you like me to also not wear any so you can have free access?” I asked with a smirk.

He gave me a wicked smile. “I would love that, but I’m a gentleman and respectful. I wouldn’t do that in your parent’s home.”

“Bullshit. If you had the chance, you would take me to my childhood bedroom and fuck me until I begged you to stop.”

Oliver groaned, pulling at the crotch of his jeans. “Enough. Go put on some panties and let’s get moving.”

I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. You’ll just have to find out later.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he swatted my ass. “You drive me crazy, Ryleigh.”

“And you love it,” I replied, heading toward the bedroom to get ready, leaving him standing there, grinning like a cat with a canary.

The crisp winter air nipped at our faces as we stepped out of the building. Vlad stood waiting by the sleek black limo, his imposing figure a familiar sight I hadn't realized I'd missed. Without thinking, I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around him in a warm embrace.

"Mrs. Fox," Vlad said, his body stiffening in surprise. His deep voice rumbled through his chest, tinged with an accent thicker than I remembered.

I pulled back, searching his face. "How are you?" I asked, genuine concern coloring my tone.

Vlad's expression softened slightly. "I'm doing well, thank you," he replied, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

I released him and slid into the car's plush interior. Oliver followed close behind, carefully maneuvering Trouble's carrier. As Vlad settled into the driver's seat, I caught sight of Brenda sitting beside him. I lowered the mirrored glass partition, offering her a warm smile. She nodded in acknowledgment before turning her attention back to the road ahead.

Oliver's hand found the button, raising the partition once more. His voice was low, tinged with disapproval. "You shouldn't hug Vlad."

I turned to face him, confusion furrowing my brow. "Why not?"

"He's working," Oliver explained, his tone clipped.

Frustration bubbled up inside me. "I'm grateful for what he did," I countered.

Oliver's jaw tightened. "That's his job."

"It doesn't hurt to show gratitude," I insisted, my voice rising slightly.

Oliver's expression softened marginally. "I agree, and I have."

Curiosity piqued, I leaned in. "How?"

"I had a discussion with him after I got out of rehab," Oliver explained, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "I also raised his salary. He's had to deal with a lot since what happened."

I nodded, a wave of emotion washing over me. "I'm sure. We all have." My thoughts drifted to another hero of that harrowing day. "I owe Brenda my life. I owe her your life. We would both have died if she wasn't there at the right time." A sudden realization struck me. "That reminds me, have you heard from Jonah?"

Oliver's face darkened, his gaze turning distant. "Nothing. I've given up looking for him. When he's ready, he'll surface." He paused, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. "For all I know, Antonio is after him."

I felt a shiver of fear and I bit my lip. Oliver must have known what I was thinking because he put his arm around me and pulled me against his side.

Oliver's voice was low and steady as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the passing cityscape outside the limo's tinted windows. "He isn't coming after you. We're watching him, and so are the police. Antonio needs to keep his nose clean because there's suspicion that he had a part in what happened on Fox Island."

I turned to face him, disbelief etched across my features. "How could they not believe he had anything to do with it?"

Oliver's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. "Because he wasn't anywhere near St. Croix when it happened. In fact, he was visiting his mother in Italy at the time." He paused, his fingers drumming against his thigh. "Vlad's tech guy found information to suggest he was there two weeks before."

I shook my head, frustration building in my chest. "That doesn't mean he didn't have a hand in the planning."

"I'm sure he did," Oliver conceded, his voice tinged with resignation. "But there's nothing to suggest it. The police can't accuse him of something without evidence."

"Sneaky fuck," I spat, anger bubbling up inside me. "I hate them all for what they've done to my family." My voice softened as I continued, "I know my mother is affected by the news about who killed my father. It was so many years ago, but she loved him." I reached out, gripping Oliver's arm. "That's why you can't say anything about the connection to the Carusos. I don't want anyone to know, especially her and my brothers."

Oliver's eyes met mine, a flicker of guilt passing through them. "I've already spoken to Anders."

I recoiled as if I'd been slapped, my mouth falling open in shock. "Are you out of your mind?" I hissed. "He doesn't keep anything from my mother. If she knows, my brothers will too."

Oliver raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't tell him everything. Only that there was a business connection to your father."

My eyes narrowed, suspicion gnawing at me. "But why did you have to say anything at all?"

"Anders is a smart man," Oliver explained, his tone measured. "He questioned me, and I wasn't going to lie."

"But you did lie," I accused, my voice rising.

Oliver shook his head firmly. "I didn't. I just never told him everything. He didn't ask me point-blank what the business connection was." He reached out, gently taking my hand in his. "For all I know, he can figure it out on his own. Give your stepfather some credit."

As the limo glided through the city streets, I found myself grappling with a mixture of fear, anger, and uncertainty. The weight of secrets – both kept and revealed – hung heavy between us, a reminder of the delicate balance we were trying to maintain in the aftermath of tragedy.

I couldn't shake the feeling that despite our best efforts, the truth would eventually come to light, bringing with it consequences we might not be prepared to face.

I looked at Oliver, my voice hesitant as I broached the subject that had been weighing on my mind. "What are we going to do with Fox Island?"

His eyes met mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us. "Do you want me to sell it?" he asked softly. "I'm not sure I want to go there again."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I don't either. The good memories have been washed away by the bad ones." My voice cracked slightly as I continued, "I'll never be able to go there and feel safe. I'm sorry. I know you put a lot of work into it."

Oliver reached out, taking my hand in his. His thumb traced soothing circles on my skin as he spoke. "I don't give a shit about the island. I only care about how you feel." He paused, considering. "I can put it on the market. I'm sure it will sell fast now that it's fully operational with power and water."

"It was lovely before..." I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Yes, it was," Oliver agreed, his voice tinged with regret. Then, his tone lightened slightly. "We can find another place. Maybe somewhere out west where no one can sneak up on us."

I shot him a look, caught between amusement and exasperation. "Is that supposed to be a joke? I don't want to live my life looking over my shoulder."

Oliver's expression sobered. "We're completely safe," he assured me, his voice firm.

"Then why do we have security?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's precautionary. I'm protecting what's important to me."

I felt a rush of affection mixed with a hint of frustration at his overprotectiveness. Before I could respond, Oliver leaned in, pressing his soft lips to mine in a tender kiss.

As we parted, I found myself smiling despite the heavy topic. "You're impossible, you know that?" I murmured, my tone softening.

Oliver's eyes twinkled with love. "Impossible to resist, you mean?"

I playfully swatted his arm but didn't pull away. As we sat there, the weight of our decision about Fox Island hanging between us, I realized that home wasn't about a place – it was about the person you shared it with. And despite everything we'd been through, Oliver was still my home.

The living room buzzed with festive energy as we gathered around the tree. My mother, true to form, had outdone herself, especially with the arrival of her new grandchild. Teagan, the undisputed star of the holiday, cooed contentedly in Sadie's arms.

As I watched my niece being showered with gifts she wouldn't be able to use for months, I felt the secret of my own pregnancy pressing against my lips. The urge to share our joy was almost overwhelming, but I held back, savoring the private knowledge for just a little longer.

Oliver's arm tightened around my waist, his warmth a comforting presence. His eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. We'd gone all out for Teagan's first Christmas, our own excitement for the future barely contained.

When Teagan began to fuss, signaling nap time, I found myself volunteering to help my mother in the kitchen. As I arranged prosciutto-wrapped melon on a festive platter, she turned to me, her eyes searching my face.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice laced with motherly concern.

I focused on the task at hand, keeping my tone light. "Fine."

She paused, then pressed gently, "Better than Thanksgiving?"

I felt a flicker of irritation. "There was nothing wrong on Thanksgiving. I had a work deadline."

My mother's disapproval was palpable. "It was a holiday. You should spend it with family."

I met her gaze, my voice firm. "I was with family. Oliver."

My mother's voice was soft, laced with concern as she turned to face me. "You two seem to be getting along well."

I paused, setting down the platter I was holding. "We are," I replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my tone. "Why would you think different? I love him."

She busied herself with arranging appetizers, avoiding my gaze. "Sometimes tragedies cause rifts in relationships."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. "It's been hard to deal with what happened, but we survived."

My mother's hands stilled, her eyes meeting mine. "Have you thought about seeing a therapist?"

Frustration bubbled up inside me. "I don't need a therapist," I snapped. "Get off it, Mom. I want to enjoy the holiday."

Before she could respond, Sadie and Kristen swept into the kitchen, their cheerful voices cutting through the tension. Grateful for the interruption, I mumbled an excuse and slipped away, seeking refuge in the bathroom.

As I washed my hands, trying to calm my nerves, a soft knock on the door startled me.

"Sweetheart, can I come in?" Oliver's voice was gentle, concerned.

I sighed, reaching for the door handle. As I opened it, I met his worried gaze with a weary look. "Don't start," I warned.

Oliver held up his hands in surrender. "I have no intention. I heard you talking with your mother."

Leaning against the sink, I explained, "She's just worried. You didn't see how I was after my father was murdered. She wants to make sure the same thing isn't happening to me. I assured her I was fine."

Oliver stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "She means well. I feel the same way."

I shrugged off his touch, frustration seeping into my voice. "Oliver, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Then, a thought struck me, and I turned to face him fully. "What about you? Why don't you have nightmares about what happened?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken fears and lingering trauma. Oliver's expression shifted, a flicker of something – pain? guilt? – passing across his features. As he opened his mouth to respond, I realized that perhaps I wasn't the only one still grappling with the aftermath of our shared ordeal.

The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation drifted down the hallway, a stark contrast to the tension in our little bubble. In that moment, surrounded by holiday cheer yet haunted by shadows of the past, I wondered if we were both putting on a brave face for the sake of those around us – and for each other.

He brushed a few strands of hair from my cheek. “I just don’t. Remember, I was barely conscious for most of it.”

“But you got shot.”

He pulled me against his ivory cashmere sweater and cupped the back of my head.

“I’m fine. I have no residual effects from it.”

I wished I didn’t. Anxiety, panic, worry – they were all present more than I cared to admit. When I was a child, I was more resilient but now, I carried everything around with me like a thousand pound weight. There were times we went out and I found myself looking over my shoulder. And I would never admit to Oliver my true feelings but I didn’t have to since my nightmares revealed my stress.

“Can we make a pact not to talk about this today? I want to enjoy the holiday without having it destroyed by bringing up one of the worst times in my life.”

He placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I promise. Your mom is serving hot buttered cider with the appetizers.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Shit, she knows that’s my favorite. I can’t drink that.”

Oliver chuckled. “Then just say no.”

“She’ll wonder why.”

“Tell her you haven’t been feeling well lately.”

I pursed my lips. “Then she’ll really question.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “Hell, tell her you’re pregnant.”

“We talked about this, and I don’t want to do that yet. Now I’m all stressed out.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Like what Mr. Fox?”

I knew exactly what he had in mind. He wanted to make me come. He wanted to relieve the tension in my body. I’m sure he could feel it.

“Your choice,” he said huskily.

I frowned. “Not here. Why are you always trying to get me to have sex in strange places?”

He grinned. “A bathroom is not a strange place. We’ve had sex in ours many times.”

“That’s our home. This is my parent’s home.”

“I could lick you. I’m in the mood for an early dessert.”

“Oliver, get the hell out of here.”

I pushed him to the door, and he chuckled as he twisted the brass knob to exit. I followed him and we walked hand in hand into the dining room.

My mother’s Christmas meal didn’t disappoint, as usual. I wondered if I would ever be as good a cook. I wouldn’t if I kept ordering out. She served a beautiful golden turkey, honey glazed spiral ham, cornbread stuffing, baked ziti, meatballs, orange cranberry sauce, buttermilk biscuits, roasted asparagus and several other dishes. By the time we finished, I was sleepy.

Dessert was an assortment of desserts, including macrons that Oliver had his pastry chef from The Diamond Square make special. My mother loved strawberry cheesecake and the chef chose the largest and sweetest ones she could find before she poured the glaze on top.

Trouble and Blackie made out like two bandits. They got plenty of tidbits from the table while we ate and opened gifts from everyone. Our apartment was becoming overrun with balls, chew toys, rawhide bones and squeaky toys. I would have to do a purge of the old ones with the haul Trouble got today.

We said goodbye shortly before 7 p.m. Vlad was waiting in the driveway for us without Brenda who was only working a partial day. I never asked if Vlad had a family but if he did, they were patient with his work schedule. Oliver practically had to carry me to the car and since he wasn’t at full strength yet, he wouldn’t be able to manage that well.

I dozed against Oliver as we drove from Westchester back to the city. Traffic was light and flurries were starting to fall as we entered Henry Hudson Parkway. Oliver cuddled me, pulling me against his body and planting kisses on my hair.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” I mumbled before I dropped off to sleep.

My baby, where is he? I woke up to my son’s cries. He was no longer in the bassinet near my bed as I rose up from my pillow. I was frantic, calling for him. His cries faded as stepped out into the hall, hitting the light switch on the wall but it wouldn’t turn on. I flicked it up and down to no avail.

“Oliver?”

I got no answer. He was beside me when I went to bed. I called again and heard a sinister laugh from the dark. The light that was usually on over the kitchen sink was off too. In fact, no lights were on in the penthouse. In my haste, I tripped over something, sprawling to the floor.

It was large and warm. I touched it and felt something sticky and wet. It coated my hand and then there was a flicker of light. I turned to see a face illuminated by the flame, a face I wanted to soon forget. It was rotted and teeming with worms that oozed from its loose flesh. I screamed and it echoed off the high ceilings. I couldn’t stop as the thing advanced on me and I scrambled over what I had tripped over… the bloody body of my husband. I couldn’t stop screaming and…

“Dammit Ryleigh, wake up.”

My lids flew open to the concerned face of my husband. I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I saw him. He wasn’t dead and that thing wasn’t after me.

I wiped sweat from my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You were screaming so loud you woke me out of a deep sleep. What happened?”

“It was horrible and not worth repeating,” I said tearfully.

He cupped my face. “We’ll be home soon. We still have some gifts to open.”

“I don’t want to do that. I want to just crawl into bed and cuddle.”

“That can be arranged.”

I yawned and snuggled against him but didn’t close my eyes. I was afraid to after the horrible dream I had.