I lean back against the wall, buttoning up before someone sees and trying to catch my breath. My legs are trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm Oliver gave me, and my heart is still hammering in my chest. And the intensity of his promise as he walked away . . . I can’t help but wish he would’ve dragged me into our room and fucked me senseless.
I suck in a trembling breath, rubbing at my throat where I can still feel the burning kisses he left on my skin. My panties are soaked. I need to change them. His eyes held sweet promise the whole time, his fingers ripping a climax from me that was otherworldly.
This is getting out of hand. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I want him to take me. To possess me. And I don't care about any of my fucking rules anymore. I want him to break them all.
“Are you okay, darling?” a soft voice says behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I look to my right to see Grandma looking at me with concern.
What the hell? How the hell did she sneak up on me? She can barely move.
I swallow and flash a cheery smile. “I'm fine.”
“You sure?” She persists. “You ran away from your table like a bat out of hell. The dessert wasn't even served yet.”
“I just needed to clean up what spilled on me. I didn’t want it to stain.”
She's quiet for a moment, letting me squirm in my obvious lie. We can both see my shirt is unchanged. Finally, she looks at me. “Is everything all right between you and Oliver?”
“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn't it be?”
Grandma waves her hand lightly. “Oh, I don't know. It just seems that you're not happy when asked about him. To me, that's a sign that there is trouble.”
“There's nothing wrong between me and Oliver. If anything, I'm just a little high-strung about Mother getting married. After what happened to Dad, I never thought I'd see the day.” While the last part’s true, I’m just trying to deflect her curiosity. The truth is . . . there might be trouble, but not what she’s thinking. There might actually be something building between us.
Grandma shakes her head. She loved Dad like a son. “I never thought so either, but you know people have to move on with their lives. It wouldn't have been fair if she sat there and lived in the memory of your father and never started living her life again. Look at me. I never remarried, and a part of me regrets it.”
This is news to me, and I feel compelled to take her hand in mine. “Oh, Grandma, I had no clue that you were lonely. You always seem so strong and independent.”
“That was just the shell that I put around myself. Every morning I wake up alone is terrible. It gets to you after a while,” she says.
I shake my head, tears forming in my eyes. “Grandpa would’ve wanted you to be happy.”
“You know, Mindy, for the longest time, I thought the opposite. But then I realized that I was projecting my fears onto my deceased husband. I felt guilty because of my own feelings. By the time I realized my truth, it was too late. Now I would be happy and just settle for a great-grandbaby.”
Damn, that again. Why, oh, why am I to be saddled with these expectations? It’s not fair to Grandma, but it’s also not fair to me, and it makes me feel even more like a liar.
I do a nervous chuckle, trying to buy for time. “Well, maybe we’ll surprise you.”
It makes me sick to my stomach saying it, but I don’t know what to say. “Babies do tend to sort of just . . . well, happen.”
“Well, as much as I would love that,” Grandma says, “I wouldn’t dare ask you to do it to make me happy. If it happens, it happens. The most important thing is to live your truth. Because when you do that, the universe will make all the things you want happen.”
Live your truth. When I’m living a damn lie. I can't believe I allowed myself to get into this! What was I thinking? I’m too used to joking about things and brushing things aside. I didn’t stop to consider the feelings of others who would be caught up in my web of deceit because I didn’t think it was that serious.
It’s hard, but I manage to plaster a grateful look on my face. “Thank you so much for your words of wisdom, Grandma. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” I pull her into an embrace, holding her frail body tight. “What can I do to ever show you how much you mean to me?”
“How about visiting me more often? You don’t want to wait around. The next time you see me, they might be carrying me out in a cardboard box.”
“Oh, stop it. I’ll do better. I promise.”
“That’s what I want to hear,” Grandma says. Standing on her tiptoes, she gives me a kiss. “Now come back out here and get your dessert. The others will be wondering where you went.”
“Okay, I will,” I tell her, turning toward my room. “After I go to the bathroom to tinkle.”
She nods at me and totters off. I sigh in relief as soon as she’s gone. This is turning out to be harder than I imagined. I thought it would be easy to come back, crack jokes, and hide behind all the bluster. Oliver isn’t making it easy by being so irresistible.
Just a few days, I tell myself. This will all be over. I’ll tell them Oliver and I are done. And this will just be one bad memory.
I go to the bathroom and clean up, changing my panties. He’s so going to pay for that.
Back outside, there’s a commotion going on. Grandma is waving her arms, yelling at Mom, while Bertha is going off like she’s on crack, and it takes a moment for me to figure out what’s happening.
“I told you about keeping this dog on a leash!” Grandma is snapping, pointing at Bertha, who is circling her and barking at her like she’s intruder. I look, and my breath catches in my throat as I see that Grandma’s slacks have been ripped, although I don’t see any blood. “That heffa doesn’t like me!”
“I got it,” Oliver says, rising to his feet and letting out a piercing whistle. Bertha stops in her tracks, sitting on her haunches. Slowly, Oliver approaches her. When he gets close, he bends down and picks her up with ease.
“There, there, girl,” he says, stroking her gently. “Time to put you in time out.”
“Wow,” Roxy says, shocked by how easy Oliver handled the problem. “You’re a dog whisperer too?”
“Glad someone could tame that little heathen,” Grandma mutters, retaking her seat. “If I’d known Mary Jo was going to let that ball of fur run wild, I would have brought my cat, Giselda, to put her in her place.”
I ignore Grandma for the most part, my heart fluttering as I watch Oliver hold and stroke Bertha. I don’t even know why. I’m okay with pets, but the way he’s holding the dog in his arms, almost like it’s a baby, is doing weird things to my ovaries.
I walk over and sit back down at the table. Oliver follows me over, still holding Bertha.
“That was something else,” I say to him as he sits down in his seat. The dog looks like it’s silly putty in his hands, nuzzled against his chest. It’s hard to act like nothing happened after he just finger-banged me in the hallway, but I have to pretend like nothing did, both because it’s my family and because I need to maintain my sanity.
“I have a way with dogs,” Oliver says with a smile, looking up at me. His eyes seem to say to me, and with women.
A flush comes to my cheeks and I look away. I can still feel his fingers inside me, and I want more. So much more.
Oliver gives me a questioning look. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie through my teeth, giving him a sickly, weak grin. “I just . . . I could use a little bit of that Panna cotta.”
“Here,” Oliver says, taking a bite of his before sliding it over to me. “Take mine. I think Roxy has devoured the rest.”
“Thank you,” I say automatically. Oh, God, I’m thanking him now?