UP IN FLAMES

Oh fuck, he needed to be in her again. “I like it, too.” Placing the tips of his fingers under her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. “And I love it when you lose control.”

Her mouth opened, as if she was about to deny that, but he kissed her before she could deny what was so obvious. He wanted her upstairs and in his bed, but they got sidetracked on the stairs, and he ended up between her thighs, his arm along her back, taking the burn of the rocking motions. Later, much later, they made it to his bedroom. Both of them were exhausted, and he felt like he’d run a marathon. He lazily trailed a hand up and down her spine. Each time he reached the slight curve of her lower back, his fingers brushed the swell of her ass and she’d shiver. Of course, he kept doing it.

She nuzzled her cheek against his chest, letting out a content sigh. “What you did downstairs, on the table people eat at, wasn’t very appropriate.”

Alaric chuckled deeply. “What is it about you and appropriateness?”

Her lips curved up. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always felt like I should behave that way.”

“Felt?” As in past tense. His brows rose.

She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think I could ever be appropriate with you.”

His heart jolted like he’d slammed a shot of moonshine and he murmured, “Damn straight.” And then he gathered her as close as he possibly could, dreading the day she’d have to leave him.

———–

Vanessa woke Sunday, muscles sore in a pleasant way, and for the first time in many years, she wasn’t looking forward to Monday morning. She wanted another week of Alaric and his fingers, his tongue, his mouth, and everything about him.

Smiling like a total goober, she rolled onto her side and into the spot Alaric had occupied minutes before. Stretching out, she smoothed her hand over the sheet. His phone had gone off, waking both of them. He hadn’t answered. Instead, he…he’d made love to her, sweetly and slowly, bringing them both to a shattering climax.

The phone still rested on the nightstand, untouched.

Hopefully it wasn’t an emergency, because Alaric was downstairs, making breakfast again. She should really get her lazy ass out of bed and take a shower, but her bones felt like jelly.

Mmm. Shower. She would never think of bathing the same way again.

A sudden knot of unease formed under her breast as she flopped onto her back. Her eyes were suddenly wide, fixed on the ceiling. She mentally tallied up the week-the sex, the conversations, the food. Damn, Alaric could cook. Nothing about what they had been doing was casual. Smacking her hands over her face, she groaned. She’d barely spent any time thinking about what would happen when she finally left. And that had to be pretty stupid. She was just busy getting screwed every which way from Sunday and playing house. Instead of feeling regret, she felt a smidgen of satisfaction, and that alone made her feel a shit ton of dread.

She sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts as her gaze flickered around the room. The past weeks…well, it had been wonderful, but it had to come to an end. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest and the dread turned the blood in her veins to ice. When everything was said and done, where did it leave her and Alaric? Her heart wanted to say there’d be a future but her brain was telling her heart to shut the fuck up, because it wasn’t as hopeful.

Climbing out of bed, she searched for her clothes before realizing she hadn’t worn any into his bedroom in quite some time. Sighing, she picked up his shirt and slipped it over her head. Now, after all these years and doing everything to avoid it, she finally knew how her mom felt when she-

“Stop,” she said out loud, scrubbing her hands down her face. Panic tasted like a bitter pill in the back of her throat. “You’re not falling…”

Refusing to even finish that statement, she took several deep breaths and headed into the bathroom. Knots formed in her stomach when she picked up her toothbrush among his things. This…this was all so serious, but was it to him? To her?

Quickly brushing her teeth, she splashed water over her face and pulled it together. Her neurotic and über-idiotic tendencies were not going to insert themselves and make this happy, fun, and sexy twosome into a nightmarish foursome. Nobody had professed undying feelings for the other and no one was hurting. Everything was fine. It wasn’t like her mom. She wasn’t obsessed.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Picking up her brush, she quickly ran it through her hair, told herself to shut the fuck up, and placed it back on his sink.

She was downstairs and almost into the kitchen before she heard the voices.

“You haven’t answered a single phone call of mine in, like, a week. What the fuck is up with that?”

Oh, shit.

Recognizing Paul’s voice, she froze in the dining room. The door was right there, and a second later, she saw Alaric stride across the kitchen, shirtless, pajama bottoms hanging low, carrying a skillet. Dear Lord, he looked hot carrying a skillet. Okay. Focus. Prioritize. Alaric’s hotness was not the concern right now. How to get back upstairs without being seen was.

“I’ve been busy,” Alaric replied drily. “And I listened to your messages. There wasn’t anything important. Not like it had to do with your wedding or anything. No one was dying.”

“No shit, jackass.” Paul came into view, leaning against the kitchen-oh God, the kitchen table.

Images of what they’d done on that table assaulted Vanessa’s brain. She needed to get out of here, but she was rooted to the spot. One wrong noise and Paul would see her in his partner’s clothes and well, that shit would be awkward.

“You haven’t even been answering anyone’s calls.” Accusation rang in Paul’s tone, and Vanessa frowned. “And you really should’ve.”

“Why?” Alaric appeared, stopping in front of Paul, folding his thick arms. “Don’t you think you should mind your own business?”

Paul cocked his head to the side. “You’re my partner, and therefore it is my business.”