The Ahern Brothers Collection, page 40
I groan as I watch her shiver. Those pearls tighten, and I can’t help but tug them hard. Abby’s hands grab onto my hair, she presses herself closer to me. I nip the puckered ends, sucking them long and hard while moving my fingers between her thighs. She’s so wet. I dip two fingers inside her.
“Oh God,” Abby whimpers.
“What do you need?”
“Your mouth,” she begs, pushing my head until my face is right between her legs.
I push her legs open wider and lap her up with my tongue, sliding over her pussy slowly, loving the way she tastes, feels. I nibble her between my teeth, thrusting my fingers in and out of her. It doesn’t take long for her body to tremble. Her voice fills the kitchen as she says my name.
“Please,” she begs.
My cock is hard as a rock, ready for her but I can’t. “We ran out of condoms.”
“I’m on the pill,” she says cautiously. “Clean too. What if we don’t use condoms?”
“Abby,” I say her name, shocked by her response.
My heart hammers against my chest, I’m borderline desperate to pound inside her.
“We don’t have to.” Her voice constricts. “I mean. It’s different from how it happened with … them. I know I’m clean, but … forget it.”
“Please, don’t misunderstand my silence.” I lift her chin. “These past twenty-four hours have been incredible. Shocking, but in a great way. You are giving me yourself, and now you’re taking it to another level. It’d be an honor. I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to even consider going bare. But with you? Of course. Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t, Wes. Having sex again. Reclaiming my body. Learning that sex is natural, beautiful, and amazing is something I’ve been talking about with my therapists for years. That’s why I’m open to it, because I’m following my body, my heart, and also my mind.”
“We’re following our hearts, then,” I say covering her mouth with mine.
I grab the base of my cock with one hand and pull her body to the edge of the counter thrusting into her, barely controlling myself. Fuck, it feels so good I’m about to come. She’s fucking tight, soft—like velvet or silk. So fucking smooth I’m losing my shit. This isn’t going to last long. I try my best, pushing into her, slowly pulling back out. Trying to make it last, make it count.
I slip my hand down to her entrance finding her swollen clit, and I start rubbing it with my finger. Taunting it and teasing it as I change the pace pushing harder and faster. My hips slam into her quicker. Fuck, I'm rough, but I can’t stop myself. She doesn’t let me go but instead, bucks into me, her legs hugging my back and her hips grinding just as fast as I thrust.
Our breaths come short and quick. We gasp for air, but I don’t let her mouth go for long. I need it. My hand works her clit harder and faster. Our pulses quicken. I can hear our hearts beating fast in rhythm. Climax happens so quickly, her milking my cock, crying my name aloud. I’m clutching her body, coming fast as I’m blasting inside her. My legs barely hold me while I shake uncontrollably.
“I love you,” I say, trying to recover my breath.
“Thank you,” she says. A lazy smile spreads across her lips. “I love you too. So much.”
— — —
After taking a shower, we’re both in her room dressing. “I need to bring in a change of clothes.”
“That’s a good idea,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me.
“You’re good with your mouth, Ahern.” She releases me and slips her feet into a pair of sandals.
“Baby, I’m good at everything.”
“I noticed. Maybe I’ll be needing more of your services,” she says with a flirty smile.
“Ask, and you shall receive.”
Her face turns serious and she sighs. “Thank you for giving me what I need. For holding back a little, for letting me get used to you.”
“Hey, we have a lifetime together ahead of us. We can practice whatever you want at any pace.”
“A lifetime?” Her arched eyebrow rises along with a corner of her luscious lip.
“That’s the plan.” I shrug.
“And you’re offering me whatever I want?” she asks. I can practically hear the wheels inside her head turning.
I nod, frowning, waiting for her response.
“You know, that thing you did with your finger.” She lowers her gaze and mumbles. “In my back hole.”
Fuck, I did do it. “Is that okay?” I hold my breath.
“Could you maybe use your dick sometime?”
My heart stops because that’s the last request I would expect from her.
“You really want that?” I stutter trying not to sound too eager.
“Soon. I want you to do it, and my mouth too. Help me reclaim my sexuality. I want new memories. Sweet, loving, raw. Our memories.
“Like just now in the shower and in the kitchen, I’m glad you did it hard and let yourself enjoy it.”
“It felt selfish on my part.”
“Seeing you pleased makes me happy too. What kind of lover are you?” she asks.
“You mean, what do I like in bed?” She nods in response. “I like it a little raw. I’m demanding, but I also like to please. Sometimes I get off from tying up the woman I’m with and pleasuring her all night—using my cock to fuck her everywhere.”
Our gazes connect, and I say firmly. “In your case though, I want to own you any way you’d let me.”
“Always a good answer, Mr. Ahern.”
I push her against the wall, lift her arms above her head, and kiss her deeply.
She whimpers as I pull her skirt up and trace her pussy with my fingers. “You have to guide me, baby. I want to give you everything, but I need to know your limits.”
“Someday you might be able to spend the night fucking every inch of my body,” she says with a breathy voice. “But I’m not promising that I’ll allow you to tie me up.”
Thirty
Abby
Wes and I are inseparable. One week becomes two, and time passes so fast that without even realizing it, today we’re already celebrating a month since we reconnected. He’s left a couple of times for day-trips to check on the resort. But now the inevitable is happening. Wes has to go back to San Jose.
I’ve been dragging these last few days because he’s flying to Tahoe on Thursday and from there he’s going back to San Jose. He’s staying away for three long, painful weeks. We’ve promised to FaceTime, and I’ll probably fly in for the weekend, but still, it won’t be the same. It sounds like we won’t be able to see each other as much as we have been until the end of the year. Four long months.
I stare at the computer, wishing I were home. He asked me to stay, to skip work for him—at least for today. Sterling won’t be thrilled because it will mean he’ll have less time to work on his art. We could compromise. I can leave on Thursday and come back on Monday morning. At least, I’d get to see where he lives.
“Just the person I need to talk to,” Sterling enters my office. “You made it to the top of my shit list today.”
“Good morning, Sluggy,” I greet him, confused by his shitty mood.
He arches an eyebrow and glares at me. “I heard that my brother is moving in with you,” he says.
“How are you on this lovely day?”
“Don’t change the subject,” he snarls. “We have more pressing matters to discuss. You’re stealing my roommate.”
“Wes isn’t moving in with me,” I clarify.
He’s leaving for San Jose, I sob internally.
“He’s packing all his shit as we speak.”
“Well, there’s no point in having clothes at your place and mine,” I explain with the same logic Wes used last night.
“That’s called moving in with your girlfriend.” Slugger’s voice resonates throughout my tiny office.
“Check your facts,” I match his tone. “Wes is leaving for San Jose soon.”
“Don’t pout,” he says mockingly. “I’m sure he’ll be back for you.”
“No, Tahoe needs his attention too.” My chin quivers because this isn’t what I want. We’re just getting back together.
“Are you okay with that?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to miss him. Chester is going to miss Oakley,” I explain.
Every night we cuddle after making love, and the dogs join us. We’ll spend the night alone. It’s not impossible—I’ve done it for years, but I don’t want to miss him.
Sterling paces around the room a couple of times, stops right in front of me and crosses his arms. “You’re not moving out, are you?”
There’s a knock on the door. Anita steps into my office. “Abby, you have a visitor.”
“Wes.” I smile widely.
“God, you’re just like him,” Sterling says, exasperated. “Whipped.”
“Shut up, Slugger,” I chide.
“No. It’s Mrs. Ahern,” Anita says.
I gasp, looking at Sterling. “Did you know?”
He shakes his head. “I knew we should’ve installed a door to my studio in this office.”
“Is this a good time to remind you that you were the one against that door?” I cross my arms because I suggested it when we were doing a few modifications. It was a brilliant idea, but he was the one who shut it down.
“Ugh, I hate when you’re right.”
“I know why I want to run away, but why don’t you want to see her?”
“I do.” He shrugs. “I just don’t want to witness the fight between the two of you.”
“Wait, fight? Do you know something I don’t know?”
She hates me. I knew it. Wes has been lying to me.
“Well, you two aren’t on speaking terms. I assumed you had a fight, and I’d rather stay out of a shouting match.”
What fight?
“There was never a fight.” I roll my eyes, rise from my seat, and leave the office.
“Hi, Linda,” I walk toward her stopping a few feet away.
She looks different. Instead of wearing an elegant suit, she sports a tunic and a pair of white shorts. Her hair is cut into a short bob, and her signature pink lipstick is on point.
“This place is lovely, dear.” She studies the walls. “You did a great job.”
“It’s Sterling’s.”
“It has your style written all over it, dear,” she corrects me. “His art, sure. But the classiness is yours. God knows my son would’ve splashed the walls with a rainbow of colors before hanging the oil paintings. These hardwood floors would be made out of polished concrete, and the music would be screeching guitars with whiny men screaming about nonsense.”
“I love you so much, Mother.” Sterling comes up right beside me. “Nothing says, this is my kid more than, ‘look at how terrible his taste in art and music is.’”
“That’s not what I meant,” she sighs.
“Your intentions are noted. You tried to compliment her by putting me down. Some things never change.” He kisses his mom on the forehead. “Holler if you need me, Abster. I’ll be in the back.”
“He didn’t have to leave,” Linda says regretfully.
“He has work to do,” I say, hoping to erase the bad taste from their encounter. “Thank you for the compliment though.”
“I’m a terrible mother.”
“There’s a difference between not expressing yourself thoughtfully and being a terrible parent. You’re a good mom,” I reassure her.
“Oh, Abby.”
“Not many mothers know their son’s favorite music or taste for unique décor.”
She chuckles, covering her mouth. “Still, he’s upset.”
“What can I do for you, Linda?” I stop the nonsense. We could spend hours circling the real issue, but it’d be torture for me.
“I’m here to apologize,” she says, sighing. “I failed you.”
Before I interrupt her, I remind myself that everyone has a right to let out their feelings. Even if she never failed me, I don’t have any reason to invalidate her emotions.
“When you first came to us, I knew something terrible had happened to you,” she confesses. “There’s no way that one kid was abused and not the other. I’d fostered other children. We’d seen the signs. I just hoped that maybe if I ignored it, you’d somehow forget it.”
She sobs, searches for a tissue in her purse, and wipes away her tears. “It was stupid. Will and I tried to keep you distracted from problems we knew you carried. I suggested those trips because it was easier to hear you were happy over the phone than witness those nightmares.”
“You only loved the fun Abby?” I frown, disappointed in my own question, but I just couldn’t stay quiet.
“Yes. No.” She clamps her lips and closes her eyes for a moment. “That’s how I lived my whole life. In denial.”
“What do you mean?”
“I denied that anything bad had happened to you, just like I ignored the fact that my husband cared more about his company—the power and money—than he did his own family. When he was at home, he was a good husband and father.”
She lets out a cry and then laughs. “He was always at the office. In my head, I had this perfect life with my perfect sons and a wonderful husband. We were happy. In reality, I was lonely. I distracted myself by competing against other mothers and wives. I tried to show them I had a better life.
“I decided to become a foster parent because it was the only way I could show that I was a good mother. Even better than the others because I helped children who weren’t mine. Then, when I had Wes and Sterling, I had to show them that I was so much better at raising money for causes. All my efforts were to show that I wasn’t just a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work so she could start her life.”
“You’re a great mother,” I assure her.
“After almost thirty years of waiting, my husband died. My sons were unhappy. You still had those unhealed wounds. And then, because I didn’t speak up, you almost died. I’m sorry I didn’t go to the hospital, but I couldn’t visit you. I couldn’t make myself go see you. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you, but because I knew it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I state. I take her hand and squeeze it. “You kept me safe and gave me what you thought was best for me. You can’t blame yourself for something that happened to me before we even met. It hurt not having you there when I was in the hospital. It made me wonder if you’d rejected me because I’d been sexually abused. I’m sorry about Will. I knew his death affected you. I had no idea how much.”
I take a deep breath. “Miscommunication is what hurt our relationship. You’re an important part of my life. Don’t ever doubt that. We can’t fix the past though. That’s behind us.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. You’re the closest thing I have to a mother. That doesn’t mean I want to force you back into a role you don’t want to be in,” I say, maybe a little too defensively and too fast. I regret it as soon as I say it, but I can’t lie about how I feel. She’s not giving me a lot to work with.
“You’re important to me,” she says. “You’re my kid. Will and I both saw you as our daughter. I failed you the same way I failed my sons.”
“Stop using that word. Parents don’t get a manual with instructions. You love your kids, and you do your best. That’s what you’ve done since Wes arrived at your house. Focus on what you’ve done right. The day I came to you, you opened your heart to a kid who’d been neglected for years. I was safe. You made sure I had everything I needed. You were overbearing but only because you cared. Being perfect isn’t what life is about. It’s about living—including making mistakes and loving our flaws. Will loved you in his own way, and maybe you two could’ve managed your marriage differently, but he’s gone now. Remember the good you two shared, and let go of the rest.”
“I left you when you needed me most,” she insists.
“You couldn’t have done much anyway. It was bad. I wasn’t myself,” I say, and that’s all I’ll share with her for now. “I’m here. You’re here. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, Abby. You’ve always been so good and sweet.” She cries and hugs me, and suddenly I’m sobbing because I missed this bond we’ve shared since the day I arrived at her door.
I’m not sure how long we cry in each other's arms, but a significant weight is lifted from me as the tears flow without reservation. We move to my office when I realize that we have an audience and a little crowd has gathered around us.
“Wes told me what you’re doing with the lot he’s giving you,” she says, fixing her makeup and making sure that she looks just like she did when she arrived.
“I hope it’s okay.” I really do because he already transferred the property into the charity’s name.
“Of course it’s okay,” she assures me. “I’m here to offer my help. We can start fundraising. I know just the right people.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
Linda gets serious. I smile as she talks about her plans and what she’s done so far. Apparently, there’s a lot she can do while traveling from Greece to Denver. She sent emails and made numerous calls between layovers and shopping trips. There’s already a high tea scheduled for next Monday at the Brown Palace to kick off fundraising for the center.
“Once you’re well connected, I’ll let you take the driver’s seat on the development aspect,” she finishes her speech.
“Why don’t you stay in charge of it?” I offer.
“I’m not coming back, sweetheart. This is just a long visit to help you settle in.”
“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”
“I want to experience everything I couldn’t while I waited for Will. I molded myself into being the perfect wife, and I never want to be that person again. There are too many beautiful places in the world to get stuck in just one.”
