“Yeah, you do. This is your fantasy, Dr. Shepard. It’s all about what you want. And I know what you want.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me. What do I want?”
He grips my thighs, massaging the supple flesh, stroking my skin with his thumbs, and then kisses a trail up my inner thigh. “You want me to kiss you here.” He slides his hands up under the skirt of my dress and grabs my ass. “You want me to grab your ass like this, and you want me to give it a good squeeze.”
“Yes.”
“It feels good. You’ve got a great ass, Dr. Shepard.”
“I do Pilates at home.”
“I know. I can tell by the way you carry yourself. Like a lean, toned, naughty girl.”
“I’ve been doing a really intense squat routine too.”
“Fucking hell, it shows. Your ass feels so good in my hands, and you know what else feels good?”
“What?”
“Your cotton panties.”
“You don’t know what color they are yet.”
He glides one hand down from the curve of my ass to the upper thigh and around until I feel it up between my legs. “So wet. Feels white to me.” He raises the bottom of my dress up until he can see that he is correct—I am wearing white cotton panties. “I win.” He presses the tip of his thumb flat against my clit, over the fabric. “So do you.”
“God dammit,” I whisper, gripping the handrail so tightly I’m bruising the palms of my hands. “What do I win?”
“A little bit of this.” He rubs in slow circles, light pressure—so aggravating and hot.
“Oh shit.” My thighs are quivering. I squeeze them together as tight as I can.
He reaches behind me with one hand to grab my wrist, silently instructing me to hold the hem of my dress up.
“A little bit of this…” He yanks my panties down to my ankles and licks me there where I need it most. Once, with the tip of his tongue. Then he sucks on my clit, and I cry out.
“Oh God!” I thread my fingers through his hair.
The way his stubble scrapes against the skin of my inner thighs, it feels exactly as good as I thought it would.
He circles and swirls with his tongue, and then it’s inside me.
I tug on his hair, and he groans and lifts one of my legs so it hangs over his shoulder down his back. He tilts me toward his face, presses his tongue deeper inside me, thrusting in and out, fucking me with it. Squeezing my ass and moaning. I’m right on the edge. Rocking my pelvis back and forth. There’s a surge of electricity through my center. The spark of sexual energy that has flickered inside me ever since the first time Dylan Brodie dropped to his knee in that grocery store has become a torrent. I jolt and jerk a few times.
Suddenly, I realize I don’t feel his tongue anymore. He grabs my wrists and turns me around to face the wall. He slides his hands down along the side of me and around to the front. He slips the fingers of one hand inside me and unzips his pants with the other.
That’s when he presses himself against my back and growls into my ear—
“Mooooommmm!!! Why can’t I open the door! I have to poop!”
Fucking shit fuck fuck.
Noah bangs on the door. Arthur and Smurf are barking now. “Hurryyyyy!”
“Why can’t you use your bathroom?!” I force myself to stand up slowly so I don’t slip and fall or pass out.
“I did, but it didn’t flush right, so I don’t want to use it again! Why’s the door locked?”
Fucking fuck shit fuck.
I push open the shower curtain and grab a towel. “Hang on! Coming!”
I mean, not anymore I’m not.
Still—that was the best Wednesday night I’ve had in a long, long time.
But fuck.
11
DYLAN: Hey. I got a kitten.
POPS BRODIE: Well hey there, Dylan. Is that meant to be code for something?
DYLAN: No. I brought home an abandoned baby cat that someone found. I’m keeping her. Her name is Mr. Noodles.
POPS BRODIE: Well now how do you like that. You got yourself a little girl to take care of. Your mama’s not on this text convo, you know?
DYLAN: Yeah, I know.
POPS BRODIE: And if she finds out I heard this news before she did, I will never hear the end of it.
DYLAN: I know. I’ll tell her. I just wanted to say hi.
POPS BRODIE: To me?
DYLAN: Yeah.
POPS BRODIE: Well hello. Pardon my surprise, but the only time you’ve ever texted me without including your mama was to ask me what to get your mama for her birthday. Everything all right?
DYLAN: I’m fine. Just started therapy with someone new. Been thinking about things.
POPS BRODIE: I see.
POPS BRODIE: Not exactly a parent’s favorite thing to hear.
POPS BRODIE: Anything you’d care to discuss?
DYLAN: Nothing bad. I was just thinking about when we’d go visit you on set when I was little. How that made me want to be an actor. I can’t remember if you encouraged me to do that or not.
POPS BRODIE: To act?
DYLAN: Yes sir. Were you happy that I did?
POPS BRODIE: I was when I saw how happy it made you. I was glad you found your calling when you were so young. Not many do.
DYLAN: Did you love it? Acting?
POPS BRODIE: It was just a job, to be honest. I would not say that it was my calling, no.
DYLAN: Then what is?
POPS BRODIE: Being married to your mama.
POPS BRODIE: Just don’t tell her I said so. After all these years, I wouldn’t want it going to her head.
DYLAN: Your secret’s safe with me, Pops.
POPS BRODIE: You sure you’re all right?
DYLAN: Yeah. I better leave for my appointment. I’ll text Mama about the kitten after. Thanks for the chat.
POPS BRODIE: Anytime, son. You take care.
12
Dylan
I know I should have asked Dr. Shepard if it would be okay for me to bring a kitten to therapy with me, but if there’s one thing I want more than to date my therapist, it’s to make sure Mr. Noodles doesn’t think I’m abandoning her.
“Is it okay for me to take her out? You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?” I ask. I start to unzip this super manly pet tote bag thing that’s resting on my lap. A week ago I was ready to unzip my pants in here, and now I’m going to ask my therapist if she wants to hold my kitty.
“Yes, that’s fine. I’m not allergic. But you probably shouldn’t put her on the floor—there are a lot of hard-to-reach places she could get to.”
There are a lot of hard to reach places I’d like to get to.
I hear an audible gasp when I pull my fluffy gray-and-white little baby girl out.
“Ohhh. She’s so cute.”
“You wanna hold her?”
“Yes. I do.” No hesitation. She closes her notebook, places it on the side table, and comes over to take Mr. Noodles from me. “So tiny!”
Said no woman ever when approaching my lap.
I hold Mr. Noodles up in both hands. Scarlett bends forward to make eye contact with the kitty before taking her from me. I can see down the top of her blouse again. I get an eyeful of some amazing white silky undergarment, cleavage, that delicate gold chain necklace, and smooth skin that deserves to be kissed and caressed for hours. Maybe scratched up a little from stubble. Maybe a lot.