One in Waiting (Reedsville Roosters Book 2), page 13
“I…I’d like to come. Please. I need to. Please.”
“Then you may.” She sat up, sinking down onto him, and gave his plug a little twist as his tip collided against with her G-spot.
She let her orgasm unfold as she straightened up onto her knees, and pressed his cock down so his ejaculate painted his chest.
When he finally stopped coming, he lay still with his expression pulled in what some would misconstrue as horror. That grimace and those wide eyes.
It was awe.
“Breathe, Mr. Ardent,” she whispered.
As if he’d been waiting for her permission, he let out a short exhalation and drew in a long breath.
“Fuck,” Leary said softly.
Emilie eased herself off the bed, weak-kneed, and walked around to the foot. She picked up Ren’s right ankle and undid the Velcro and the cuff, rubbing the red places where the leather had pressed into his skin and kissing the places that might bruise. He hadn’t complained, but perhaps he hadn’t felt it. Athletes were probably very good at compartmentalizing small injuries. Next time, she’d use something softer.
Leary stood, holding his own spent cock in his hand as she freed Ren’s other ankle. “I’ll get you a cloth for him.”
“Thank you. And thank you, also, for not interfering.”
He nodded, and started for the hallway.
Emilie freed Ren’s wrists, rubbing and kissing each, and crawled back onto the bed between his legs. “I’m going to pull the plug.”
He made a rimshot sound.
She smiled and gently worked it out, his thighs tightening around her as she retrieved it. She set it aside and accepted the cloth Leary held out.
She cleaned the cum off Ren’s chest, and gently swiped the cloth over his softening cock. She didn’t know what his recovery time was like, but she didn’t want to risk getting him hot and bothered again when she needed to get that ring off.
“Do they make other kinds?” Ren asked, as he watched her work it up his shaft.
“They come in different materials with varying degrees of rigidity. Some are textured. Some are made to fit over the scrotum, too. There are even some that have attachments for a partner’s pleasure. I’ve never liked them much. Why?”
“Leary and I were down in Daytona a few months ago. We took a walk through a sex shop while waiting for the portable buzzer to vibrate and let us know our restaurant table was ready. Saw a bunch of things we couldn’t make heads or tails of, an we weren’t curious enough at the time to ask.”
“And you’re curious now?”
Ren nodded.
“You’d be hard-pressed to find a sex shop around here. That’s why I get those brown paper packages in the mail. Bonus is you can return anything that’s unused if you change your mind.”
“You could fill up a whole basement with the stuff, I bet.”
She made a noncommittal grunt and carried the cloth to the bathroom. Usually, she preferred fetish clubs over bedrooms. Bedrooms were more personal, but for Ren—and Leary, if she thought about it—they seemed right.
Halfway to the door, she stopped. Turned.
“Um. My bed is made. Why don’t you take a little walk down the hall to get the circulation flowing again. I’ll meet you in there. I’ll bring you both drinks.”
Ren started moving immediately, but Leary hesitated at the foot of the bed, staring at her.
When Ren was out of earshot, she whispered, “Don’t make a big deal out of it. This is hard enough for me.”
“You’re going to consider it, then? Of not tossing us away?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Leary. You’re the ones who are leaving, remember?”
This time when she started walking, she didn’t stop until she’d made it into the bathroom and tossed the washcloth into the hamper.
She turned on the cold water full blast and splashed her face.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Can I really do this, or should it be one more decision I should let Ceria make for me?
It seemed like a big one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At the end of a long day, Ren felt good at having put on a pair of boots and making his body remember how to do all the things he’d grown up doing. Being on a horse and out in the pastures. Toting around Emilie’s messy binder and talking to this Joe and that one, figuring out where the weak spots were and brainstorming ways to shore them up.
The ranch hands were acting like he had a second head growing off the side of his neck, but Ren gave no fucks. They could hem and haw and ogle all they wanted, but they sure as shit weren’t going to try to bowl him over and dick around like they did to Emilie. It was the same thing mechanics did to women they thought were too stupid to figure out that they were being bullshitted. The ranch hands had obviously been getting by with doing half-assed work, and that needed to come to a stop, unless they wanted to work for half the money. He’d see to it that they would, if that was the case. He’d do it for Emilie.
Fuck, he’d do anything for her, and didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about what that meant. The day before, he’d been worried about losing Leary to her. Now he was more concerned she didn’t want either of them. At least if she wanted Leary, Ren still had at a little bit of a chance to worm his way into her affections. Maybe keeping the two of them close would be his best chance at hoping there’d be a three of them someday.
Back at Emilie’s house, he parked her borrowed pickup truck in the driveway and picked the binder up off the floor. He hopped out with a bit of spring in his step thinking about a hot meal and a couple of hot bodies when a waifish figure on the hammock in the front yard gave him pause.
The brunette girl lifted a hand in greeting.
Ren waved back, squinting. “That’s not Emilie.”
The girl rolled out of the contraption and walked over, her thumbs hooked into her jeans’ pockets and her face awash with the innocence of age sixteen.
Shit.
“Hi. New here? I think I know most of the ranch hands on sight by now, but I’m not here all the time.”
She sounded just like her mother, only with more sunshine and far less cynicism. It was evident the child actually liked most people, not that it was a bad thing Emilie didn’t. Her slight misanthropy was a personality quirk that suited her in the same way the cut of her jeans did.
He cleared his throat and tried to focus before his mind ran away completely. “I’m just a visitor. Taking some notes about the place.” Copious notes. Emilie might kill him over those notes.
“Oh.” The child stuck out a hand. “Alison Wayne. Emilie’s my mother.”
Ren gave a slow nod and shook her hand. “Yep. I could see that. I’m Ren Ardent.”
She canted her head. “Familiarity that strong?”
“Yep. If anyone says otherwise, they’re lying. You look like a Beaudelaire.”
“Oh yeah?” She rocked back on her heels, forehead furrowing. “I’ve only seen one.”
The screen door creaked open and Ceria leaned outside. “I don’t like the way you look with that binder, Mr. Ardent.”
He let out a breath, waved goodbye to Alison, and started for the door. “You’re going to like me even less when I tell you what I wrote in it. Why the hell are there so many rotted fence posts?”
“Any answer I give you would be a lie,” she said as Ren squeezed past her. She called outside, “Are you going to sit out there gathering mosquito bites along with that tan, or are you coming in for dinner?”
“Eh,” the child called back. “I’ve got thirty pages left of this book. I’ll be inside in a while. What’d Cook make this time?”
“Just sandwiches.”
“They’ll keep.”
Ceria let the door swing closed and shook her head. “I swear, that child…” She let a frustrated grunt punctuate her statement.
Ren followed her into the kitchen where Cook had left an assortment of rolls, deli meats, cheeses, sliced vegetables, and condiments along with sides like potato salad and baked beans. No Leary in sight, but Emilie was there, standing near the sink, wide-eyed and a bit green around gills. What the hell?
He slipped the binder onto the counter and squirted a pool of dish soap into his palm. He turned on the water and scrubbed his hands and nails. “What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” She turned her head, that piercing gaze locked onto him, focused whereas it hadn’t been before. It was as if she hadn’t noticed he was there until then.
“You all right?” There he’d been feeling sorry for himself at seeing that child outside—selfishly thinking, “Well, I’m toast”—but he’d forgotten how complicated things actually were. The situation wasn’t a happy reunion like he saw too often on television. Emilie didn’t have her arms open wide for her long-lost child to run into. Emile was hiding from that child.
“I’m…I’m fine.” She picked up a plate and carried it to the table. Ceria followed her and picked up one, too. She whispered to Ren, “She’d been standing there five minutes staring out the window at the hammock before you drove up.”
“I can hear, you know,” Emilie said. She pushed back the chips to make room for her plate and picked up a wheat roll.
“I’ll whisper softer next time,” Ceria said. “I wouldn’t have been able to hear it.”
“You’re so conscientious.”
“I know. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have told him. I would have just let him flail around you, guessing what got stuck in your craw.”
“Ceria…”
“What? What warning are you going to give me? Have I ever not told you the truth?”
“It seems you’d have everyone disseminating that truth to me.”
“And why not?” Ceria plopped a spoonful of potato salad onto her plate. “I know we think on opposite ends of the spectrum on a lot of issues, but you can’t argue with this. You should want the people you’re fucking to not be afraid to be honest with you.”
“Um…” Ren set his plate back on the counter before he accidentally cracked it in his tense grip.
Ceria waved a dismissive hand at him. “I don’t need to know the details, but I know in general terms what kind of trouble she gets herself into.”
“Is that what I am? Trouble?”
Ceria shrugged. “Could be. You tell me. What’s your end goal?”
“Ceria,” Emilie warned again, this time notching her fists onto her hips.
“Talking is how people solve problems, Emilie. This doesn’t involve just you.” Ceria poked some meat into a roll as if it were all no big deal, but it was. There was nothing simple about what was happening between him, Leary, and Emilie, or even if it was destined to continue. He’d never been the kind of man who hid his relationships, but he’d also never been involved with anyone who’d had kids. As frightened as he was of their tentative rapport crashing down, he didn’t really want to be anyone’s hidden taboo. He’d consider it for Emilie, but not for Leary, too. They were out, and they were going to stay out. What’s Leary gonna tell that little girl? It wasn’t a basic birds-and-bees type of conversation.
Emilie raked a hand through her ponytail again and again, and stared into the pile of food on the table. When she didn’t move after a moment, Ren looked to Ceria.
She sighed and pressed her hands onto the tabletop. “I’ve got the band list for the Camp Out. That trippy zydeco act you like so much will be back.”
Emilie kept swatting at her hair, but looked up. “Really? How much are they charging me this year?”
“Nothing. They fired their last manager. They would have done it for free last year because their families wanted to come anyway, but their manager insisted they charge their usual fairground rate. They felt awful about it because they had those two big buses and were taking up a lot of space with their contingency.”
“Cool. I’ll make sure to find them and thank them.”
“I’m sure they’d love to see your face for once.”
Emile pulled her hand free of her hair and went back to assembling her meal.
He was fascinated by the way Ceria redirected her. She didn’t do it by bossing her around and demanding Emilie act normal. She adapted based on whatever Emile needed at the moment. It had probably taken Ceria a very long time to figure that out. He wondered if he could do it, too.
He pulled open a baggie of pepper jack cheese and nudged out a few slices. “I, uh…think I’ve met everyone on your ranch now,” he said.
Emilie cringed. “Oh, boy. In my defense, some were holdovers from when my foster parents were alive. I don’t think I’d have the heart to fire them if I needed to.”
“I don’t think the old-timers are your problem. They seem pretty loyal.”
“’Cause they know her,” Ceria said. She dropped a peeled orange onto Emile’s plate. “Have known her since she showed up here like Holy Mary on her donkey.”
“Ha ha.” Emilie tucked a pickle onto her plate and carried it to the island.
“Want a beer?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He grabbed a Corona from the fridge door and popped the lid on the bottle opener built in to the cabinet.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He held her gaze overlong, hoping that simple word conveyed everything he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He was scared, yeah. Didn’t know what was going to happen, but he didn’t want her to doubt his regard of her.
She nodded and looked down at her plate. Not fixating this time, but seeming to ponder what food item to tackle first.
He went back to his own plate and finished filling it up. “Nah. The old-timers are hardworking. Doing their jobs and picking up the slack of some of the others, too, from what I could see. Assessing them was easy enough because none of them knew who I was or why I was there.”
“Do they need firing or better supervision?” Ceria asked. “I’m happy to do the firing, but you’d have to leave the supervision to someone else.”
“Some need option number one, and others need supervision, in my opinion.” He looked to Emilie. “Feel free to get a second opinion, though. I’m probably a bit less forgiving than the average cowboy when it comes to this kind of shit. I learned about ranching from my granddad, and he didn’t have time for nonsense. I guess that’s how he ended up taking me in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Adopted me when I was eight. I was back and forth a lot before then. Between my mom’s place and county foster homes. He and my grandma got sick of having to keep going to fetch me, so I guess they decided to give my mom one last chance to get her act together. Suffice it to say, she didn’t. She ended up in jail one night, and they went to collect me from the police station. Drove all through the night to Arizona to collect me before I got filed into the system again.”
Emilie’s cheeks flushed and lips parted. Mortified. He could read it on her now. She wasn’t usually very expressive, but when she was, a man could read her like a book.
“Don’t go making comparisons,” he said softly. “It’s not even the same. You gonna ask me if I hate my mother for not fighting for me? No. I don’t hate her. Am I disappointed? Sure. Every boy wants his mother, but she wasn’t equipped to be that. Do you understand?”
She didn’t answer. Just picked up the end of her ponytail and fiddled.
He pulled out the stool beside her and waited for her to look at him. “Hear me?”
She nodded after a moment.
“She scares you?”
She nodded again.
“That’s good, because it means you care.”
“Caring’s not enough.”
“It’s a good start, right? What do you want?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t let myself think about it. It’s easier to think about everything except that, because maybe I’ll think through it all and decide that what I want is something I can’t have, and decide to not even attempt it. And then I might think of other ways to approach it only to come to the same conclusion. The fabulous thing about anti-anxiety medications is that they keep my mind from swirling around and around.”
“You stopped taking them?” He wondered if that was what that sticky note on the refrigerator referred to.
“A while ago. My therapist thought I was using them as a crutch and that I should try to actually confront some of my demons. And then my uncle had that accident and I ended up in New Orleans and there was Leary… How about that?” She looked at Ren through the corners of her eyes.
“Well, you’re upright. That counts for something.”
“It so does,” Ceria said.
“But that’s not enough, is it?” Emilie asked. “I’m supposed to have my shit together. I’m a fucking Beaudelaire. My problems are supposed to be the kinds of things I can have other people take care of or that can be neatly swept under rugs.”
The floorboards creaked near the archway between kitchen and living room, and they all turned to see Alison standing there clutching her book. Cheeks red, she held up the muddy paperback and grimaced. “Heroine dies at the end. That shouldn’t be allowed.”
Emilie tensed beside him.
It’ll be all right, Em. He pressed a discreet palm between her shoulder blades, and rubbed.
“Why’s the book muddy?” Ren asked.
Alison sighed and pulled a length of paper towels off the roll. “I might have thrown it. I’ll have to remember to not buy any more books by this author.”
“Try an actual romance,” Ceria said. “Guaranteed happily-ever-after.”
Alison squinted at her. “Don’t you need ID to buy those?”
It seemed everyone caught the joke except Ren. Even Emilie’s back quaked from her suppressed laughter.
“Do I even want to know?” Ren asked.
“Nope, cowboy,” Ceria said. “You don’t. The only reading you need to concern yourself with is what’s inside that binder you’ve been studiously marking up.”
“I really want to know what the joke was about. Throw me a bone, Alison.”
Alison rocked back on her heels and grinned. “Nope.” Her gaze fell to the hand at Emilie’s back. He waited for a reaction from her of some sort, but other than a slight narrowing of her eyes, she gave no hints she’d even saw it. She left the book on the counter and went to the sink to wash her hands. Looking over her shoulder at Emilie, she asked, “Where did Leary go? Is he still on the phone?”
