The sound of her coming undone, the contraction of her body squeezing every ounce of pleasure from me, sends me over the edge. I swallow my shout, having just enough presence of mind not to wake the kids. It doesn’t matter if I own Bristol’s pussy. This woman owns my heart. She’s got my mind, my will, my soul, my emotions—all of it on lock. Happily trapped in the palm of her hand.
She’s still trembling against me when I pick her up and lay her against the pillows. Now that we fucked the edge off, there is room for other things. Like exhaustion. She’s already half asleep.
“Love you,” she murmurs, turning onto her side and tucking her pillow between her head and her shoulder.
I was exhausted, but now I’m wound up, unable to sleep. Mind-blowing sex opens the floodgates. Everything pours into my mind at once. Possible fixes for the song that wasn’t working tonight in the studio. The memory of my kids up the hall, snug and secure in their beds, and almost too beautiful for words. The sounds of Bristol coming, her whispers fueled by pleasure.
The shadows under her eyes.
As much as it feels like the planet shakes when we make love . . . that the very foundations of the earth shift, tectonic plates sliding to make a whole new world, it isn’t. Those dark circles under her eyes remind me that the things I was concerned about before we made love still need to be addressed.
First light filters in through tiny cracks where the drapes aren’t completely drawn tight. I hook a leg over Bristol’s hip and an arm around her waist, possessively anchoring her back to my front.
Tomorrow.
I’ll ask about the shadows under her eyes and work and the kids, and the question I asked her once before and have to ask her again.
Did she mean it when she said she would follow me anywhere?
Two
Bristol
I don’t think my boobs will ever be the same.
Seriously. Why are they so big? I alternate between fear that they will never return to their original size and dread that they will deflate and hang low and be saggy balloons with nipples. I was still breastfeeding Nina when I found out I was pregnant with Martin. Back-to-back babies meant very little recovery time for the rack.
And I know for a fact my feet will never return to pre-baby proportions. A half size up, and I can’t wear any of my Louboutins. Also, I am not above re-vagination if things start feeling loose down there. I need a tight-fit fuck. Though given the size of Grip’s cock, I don’t think that will be a problem anytime soon.
Damn, he fucked me into a coma last night.
Not complaining. I can attest to the fact that a good slumber fuck is waaaaaaay better than melatonin. With all that I have going on, you’d think sleep would come easily, but mine has been sporadic. No rest for the weary.
Or the busy.
I can’t seem to turn my brain off even when my body is ready to tap out. Between feeding Martin in the middle of the night, trying to keep up with the warp speed of Prodigy’s expansion and growth, and keeping Nina’s little adventurous self alive, I’m half-zombie. I’m just really good at covering it. Lots of concealer. Lots of yoga. Lots of juicing.
What’s LA without juicing?
I’m doing everything I can to keep all the balls in the air, and I think it’s working. Sure, I’m exhausted and smell faintly bovine most of the time, but the kids are healthy, happy, and spend more time with me than anyone else, which is important to me. My clients are all flourishing, climbing and succeeding. Prodigy is a force. I set up the New York office before Martin was born, but I really wanted to be in LA for the birth, surrounded by my family. Now the New York office needs some TLC, so it may be time to head back. I have to talk with Grip about camping out on the East Coast for a while, and I’m dreading it. I’m thinking, though, if the kids and I stay in New York when he goes on tour in a few weeks, it should be fine.
I’m feeling especially good today. Frieda, our nanny, came early because I have a meeting this morning. So she has the kids for a few hours. After Martin’s first feeding, a nice long shower has me relaxed. I’m wearing my favorite knee-length cardigan, and I actually fit into a pair of pre-Martin jeans. The sex last night has my blood singing hallelujah as it flows through my veins. I didn’t realize it has been over a week since we had sex. That’s a long time for Grip.
Hell, I guess it’s a long time for me, too.
I tiptoe through our bedroom, trying to be quiet and keep the room dark so Grip can sleep. Between working on the new album, and prepping for the tour, he’s been stretched as thin as I have.
I walk into our closet to study the shelves of shoes, half of which I’m not sure I can wear anymore. I’m considering a pair of Gucci stilettos when Grip walks in.
“Morning,” I say over my shoulder with a smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.
“Nah.” He sits on the tufted ottoman in the middle of the closet, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk before the day gets away from us.”
“Talk?” My hand freezes over three pairs of red pumps. I turn to face him, temporarily distracted by the stacks of muscles flexing in his stomach and rippling under the taut skin of his chest. A thin, silky trail of hair bisects his abs and arrows down to the drawstring of his sleep pants. I can see the morning wood-ish outline of his dick. My mouth waters. When was the last time I gave Grip head? I can’t remember.
Oh, God, I can’t remember.
“Bris?”
“Huh?” I jerk my eyes from his crotch to find one thick brow quirked over amused dark eyes.
“You know you can get it,” Grip drawls, leaning forward to grasp my wrist and pull me down to his lap. He cups my jaw with one big hand and takes my mouth as a willing hostage. Our tongues twist, and I taste toothpaste and his natural addictive flavor. His hands wander beneath my tank top, and he finds my nipple, squeezing gently.
“Baby, I have to go,” I mutter against his lips and then move to stand.
“No.” He spans my waist and firmly pulls me back down. “We need to talk.”
“We can.” I drop a kiss onto his lips and get up, grabbing the Gucci heels and wiggling one foot in. “Later. Gotta go.”
“Where are you going?” He frowns. “I thought you weren’t in the office until this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I had to flip my schedule for this meeting. A producer for that big new period piece wants to cast Kai.”
“Is there nudity?” A grin lights his handsome face. “Because you know Rhys is not about that life.”
“There is a little nekkid.” I lean one hand against the wall and balance to put on the other shoe. “And Rhyson will have to grow the fuck up and get over it.”
“What’s that mean?” His grin drops.
“It means this is a great opportunity for Kai, one she wants to take. She shouldn’t let his outdated caveman hang-ups stop her.”
“Last I checked,” Grip says, “that isn’t how they run their marriage.”
“You’re right. I’m sure he’ll manage to convince her it isn’t right for them and she’ll turn it down.” I roll my eyes and walk back toward our bedroom. “I hope not. That’s why I’m going to this meeting. To salvage any of the offer we can and see what compromises can be made.”
“Maybe we have some compromises of our own to make,” Grip says softly from behind me.
I stop and turn, one hand on my hip and head cocked to the side.
“Now what’s that mean?” I demand.
He sketches a quick frown and shakes his head.
“We can talk about it tonight,” he says. “I don’t want to make you late.”
“Is everything . . .” I search for the right word. “Okay?”
Are we okay?
We’ve known each other more than fifteen years, and half that time we weren’t even close to okay. I was scared to risk loving him for a long time. I never want to be not okay with him again. We had amazing sex last night, but I know with our schedules, we haven’t been nearly as close as we’re used to.
“It’s fine, Bris. I just . . .” He licks his lips and blows out a quick breath before meeting my eyes. “I miss you.”