I set her on the counter, pressing against her, pushing her T-shirt up—needing to feel her skin to skin.
“The kids,” she gasps.
I kiss her neck, her ear, her beautiful face. “We’ll hear them. As long as they’re screaming we’ll know they’re okay.”
And we do hear them, loud and clear, through the window. Still yelling and playing—the good kind of screams.
Her tongue slides against mine and I groan. Then Chelsea pants, “But they could come in any minute. They might see us.”
She’s right. Damn it.
I look around the room, eyes frantic and searching. The pantry! I carry her in, slam the door behind me with my foot, and reach around with my hand to lock it.
Chelsea nips at my lips, sucks on my earlobe. “I always wondered why the pantry had a lock.”
All I’m able to say is, “Locks are awesome.”
She laughs against my mouth. Her feet touch the floor just long enough to peel our clothes off. Then I pick her up, legs around me, back against the wall.
I take my cock in hand and test the waters—they’re slick and wonderfully hot. I push in slow, gentle, ’cause it’s been awhile. When I’m fully seated, when there’s not a breath of space between us, Chelsea whispers, “I missed you so much.”
I start to move, sliding in and out in a smooth rhythm. And it’s so fucking perfect and real. And right. Nothing has ever felt this right in my life.
Her head tilts back and my eyes roll closed. I worship her neck with my mouth. I promise and whisper how beautiful she is. All the things I want to do to her. All the things she means to me.
She squeezes me harder, pulls me closer with her legs, fingers buried in my hair.
Chelsea’s breath hitches. “I . . . love you. Oh god, Jake . . . so much. I love you so much.”
And it’s too much. Overwhelming. And yet, not nearly enough.
The pressure builds, tight and low and fantastic. The purest of pleasure unfurls in my stomach, making my thrusts quicken, chasing that edge with Chelsea. We find it together, pulsing and writhing, clasping hands and moaning voices.
I pant against her cheek, my heart not getting the message yet that it’s time to slow. I brush her hair back from her forehead and gaze into her angel face.
“So . . . you love me, huh?”
Chelsea smiles, even as tears rise in her eyes. “Yes. I’ve loved you since you carried me to bed, sick as a dog, and told me everything was gonna be okay. I love every part of you, even the parts you were afraid to show me. And even though you’re kind of an idiot sometimes, I’m going to love you forever.”
I laugh and kiss her sweetly. “Good to know.”
• • •
I spend that night at Chelsea’s. We make sure all the kids take baths and get to bed. Then we spend half the night talking. Planning. The other half is spent . . . not talking. Nothing coherent anyway.
I hand in my resignation letter the next day, begin to make the necessary arrangements for my departure from Adams & Williamson. And not a thing about it feels wrong.
Chelsea and I are both waiting when the kids get home from school. We gather them in the den, to talk about what we’ve planned.
“I know it seems fast,” Chelsea tells them while I bounce the hell out of Ronan on my leg. “But there was this movie in the eighties—your parents loved it—called When Harry Met Sally—”
“Sounds lame,” Rory interrupts.
“It was kind of lame,” I tell him out the side of my mouth.
But Chelsea hears me. “It was not lame! It was perfect. Anyway, there’s a line from it that says how when you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right away.” She glances at me. “That’s how Jake and I feel about each other.”
I jump in. “But if you guys aren’t good with this, I want you to tell us. It’s okay to say no—you won’t hurt my feelings. I only want to move in here if you all really want me to.”
They look at each other. And think. It’s a little fucking weird, how quiet they are.
“Would you move into Mom and Dad’s room?” Riley asks.
I wink at Chelsea, ’cause we already talked about this.
“Actually,” Chelsea tells them, “we were thinking we’d do some construction on my room down here. Make it big enough for two people, make the bathroom and the closets larger. And your parents’ room . . . Jake and I thought it’d be pretty neat if we made it an upstairs family room. Somewhere we can all hang out together. We could get a pool table, a big couch, a new television . . .”
“And an arcade game!”
Rory’s obviously on board.
Chelsea nods. “And I could draw whatever you want on the walls. And we could paint it together.”
“Oooh, ooh—I want butterflies!” Rosaleen yells. “And unicorns and rainbows.”
“And monster trucks,” Rory says.
“And skateboards,” Raymond adds, tapping his brother’s fist.
“And,” Riley finishes, “a whole wall with One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer Fatheads.”
“Yeah, we can do all that,” Chelsea tells them.
“It’s gonna look like a schizophrenic’s room,” I murmur, and she laughs.
“So about Jake moving in here with us, what do you say, guys?”
“Can I move in with my boyfriend one day?” Riley asks, because she’s smart.
“The kids,” she gasps.
I kiss her neck, her ear, her beautiful face. “We’ll hear them. As long as they’re screaming we’ll know they’re okay.”
And we do hear them, loud and clear, through the window. Still yelling and playing—the good kind of screams.
Her tongue slides against mine and I groan. Then Chelsea pants, “But they could come in any minute. They might see us.”
She’s right. Damn it.
I look around the room, eyes frantic and searching. The pantry! I carry her in, slam the door behind me with my foot, and reach around with my hand to lock it.
Chelsea nips at my lips, sucks on my earlobe. “I always wondered why the pantry had a lock.”
All I’m able to say is, “Locks are awesome.”
She laughs against my mouth. Her feet touch the floor just long enough to peel our clothes off. Then I pick her up, legs around me, back against the wall.
I take my cock in hand and test the waters—they’re slick and wonderfully hot. I push in slow, gentle, ’cause it’s been awhile. When I’m fully seated, when there’s not a breath of space between us, Chelsea whispers, “I missed you so much.”
I start to move, sliding in and out in a smooth rhythm. And it’s so fucking perfect and real. And right. Nothing has ever felt this right in my life.
Her head tilts back and my eyes roll closed. I worship her neck with my mouth. I promise and whisper how beautiful she is. All the things I want to do to her. All the things she means to me.
She squeezes me harder, pulls me closer with her legs, fingers buried in my hair.
Chelsea’s breath hitches. “I . . . love you. Oh god, Jake . . . so much. I love you so much.”
And it’s too much. Overwhelming. And yet, not nearly enough.
The pressure builds, tight and low and fantastic. The purest of pleasure unfurls in my stomach, making my thrusts quicken, chasing that edge with Chelsea. We find it together, pulsing and writhing, clasping hands and moaning voices.
I pant against her cheek, my heart not getting the message yet that it’s time to slow. I brush her hair back from her forehead and gaze into her angel face.
“So . . . you love me, huh?”
Chelsea smiles, even as tears rise in her eyes. “Yes. I’ve loved you since you carried me to bed, sick as a dog, and told me everything was gonna be okay. I love every part of you, even the parts you were afraid to show me. And even though you’re kind of an idiot sometimes, I’m going to love you forever.”
I laugh and kiss her sweetly. “Good to know.”
• • •
I spend that night at Chelsea’s. We make sure all the kids take baths and get to bed. Then we spend half the night talking. Planning. The other half is spent . . . not talking. Nothing coherent anyway.
I hand in my resignation letter the next day, begin to make the necessary arrangements for my departure from Adams & Williamson. And not a thing about it feels wrong.
Chelsea and I are both waiting when the kids get home from school. We gather them in the den, to talk about what we’ve planned.
“I know it seems fast,” Chelsea tells them while I bounce the hell out of Ronan on my leg. “But there was this movie in the eighties—your parents loved it—called When Harry Met Sally—”
“Sounds lame,” Rory interrupts.
“It was kind of lame,” I tell him out the side of my mouth.
But Chelsea hears me. “It was not lame! It was perfect. Anyway, there’s a line from it that says how when you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right away.” She glances at me. “That’s how Jake and I feel about each other.”
I jump in. “But if you guys aren’t good with this, I want you to tell us. It’s okay to say no—you won’t hurt my feelings. I only want to move in here if you all really want me to.”
They look at each other. And think. It’s a little fucking weird, how quiet they are.
“Would you move into Mom and Dad’s room?” Riley asks.
I wink at Chelsea, ’cause we already talked about this.
“Actually,” Chelsea tells them, “we were thinking we’d do some construction on my room down here. Make it big enough for two people, make the bathroom and the closets larger. And your parents’ room . . . Jake and I thought it’d be pretty neat if we made it an upstairs family room. Somewhere we can all hang out together. We could get a pool table, a big couch, a new television . . .”
“And an arcade game!”
Rory’s obviously on board.
Chelsea nods. “And I could draw whatever you want on the walls. And we could paint it together.”
“Oooh, ooh—I want butterflies!” Rosaleen yells. “And unicorns and rainbows.”
“And monster trucks,” Rory says.
“And skateboards,” Raymond adds, tapping his brother’s fist.
“And,” Riley finishes, “a whole wall with One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer Fatheads.”
“Yeah, we can do all that,” Chelsea tells them.
“It’s gonna look like a schizophrenic’s room,” I murmur, and she laughs.
“So about Jake moving in here with us, what do you say, guys?”
“Can I move in with my boyfriend one day?” Riley asks, because she’s smart.
