Deep(98)

“I’ll go get the papers from my car.” She stood, and Nick’s hand went around her arm and yanked her back down to the sofa.



“No.”



“What?”



“You don’t drop that and walk away.”



“Drop what? Did I say something you didn’t know?”



“I didn’t know you blamed me. You told me you didn’t.”



“I don’t. But then you make a big show of laying down the law about me asking about your business, when all I want is for your business to stay out of my life. I don’t want to know about your business. I don’t want any part of it. I love you. I love all of you, the bad and the good. I need all of you. I don’t care what you do, or what you’ve done. It makes you who you are, and I love you. I’m glad of what you did, whatever it was, to the men who came to the diner. But whatever happens in your work that isn’t moving teddy bears out of containers on the harbor and into toy stores in Boise, I don’t want to know. That’s why I said what I said. Don’t ask, don’t tell.” She took a breath, still feeling strangely excited. Then, she had a new thought and narrowed her eyes. “Where business is concerned. I won’t be okay with a ‘goo-mar-dah’ or whatever you call that—a mistress. I’ll ask about that shit.”



Nick’s expression had been shifting during her diatribe, and by the time she said her last sentence, he was smiling. “Comare. But close. I told you before, I’ve never cheated. I’ve had plenty of relationships back to back, but I don’t cheat.” He leaned toward her and pulled at the hem of her knit top. When he spoke again, his voice was low and rough. “You’re plenty for me, bella. I love you. I’d have been faithful even if you’d never wanted me inside you again.” His hand slid under her top and over the skin of her belly. “But you do want me inside you.” His other hand pushed up her short, flowing skirt and slid along the outside of her thigh, under her panties, and around to cup her cheek. “Don’t you?”



He pulled her down to lie on the sofa under him. “Don’t you?”



She did. The exhilaration she’d felt at getting truly, thoroughly angry and speaking her mind, standing up for herself, was making her nerves and muscles buzz pleasantly, and she realized, when his hand left her side to move under her skirt and panties, that her pussy was buzzing, too. And soaking wet.



His fingers brushed back and forth over her clit, and the intensity of the pleasure made her body twitch and bounce. His mouth hovered just above hers. Wanting to taste him, to feel his tongue moving with hers in the way she knew so well, she lifted her head and tried to catch him, but he lifted away. “Don’t you?”



She no longer had any idea what he was talking about. The fingers of one hand were at her clit, those of the other hand brushed lightly up and down over her anus, his mouth was tantalizingly close to hers. “Don’t I what?” she growled, frustrated.



“Want me inside you. You want me to fill you up and fuck you hard. I can feel your pussy throbbing already.”



“If you already know, why are you still talking?”



“Good point.” He slid his fingers inside her, and Bev thought she’d come right then. She surged toward him, getting his fingers deeper, and made a noise in the back of her throat.



He laughed. “God, I love that. You’re back, bella. You’re back.” He took hold of her panties and yanked, ripping them at both sides at once. The harsh pull of the tearing fabric burned her hips and made her cry out.



Without moving too far away, he reached down and opened his pants. And then he filled her up and fucked her hard.





~ 21 ~





“I have something for you, bella.” He pulled the zipper up the back of Beverly’s pearl-grey lace dress. Her curves were returning, and the dress fit her perfectly, easing over the flawless swell of her ass. He took a moment and indulged himself, sliding his hands over the lace, across her shoulders, down her arms, around her hips, up her sides. When she sighed and leaned back on him, he smiled and kissed her temple.



“Another gift? Where do you find the time to do all this shopping?”



He didn’t, in fact, have to do much shopping. He had a jeweler, Deirdre, who set things aside for him and let him know when she’d found something of particular interest. He thought he’d spoken to Deirdre more about Beverly by now than anyone else in his life. When he’d bought her the dress she was now wearing, he’d called and described it, and Deirdre had suggested what was in his jacket pocket now.