Past Midnight (22 page)

That was the epitaph for her life over the last year; she couldn’t be bothered. Even now, she cut up cheese, salami, and apples, putting it all on a plate with some crackers. After staring a moment, she added a handful of peeled baby carrots and cherry tomatoes to the plate. So it wasn’t gourmet. At least she’d poured his beer into a mug. That was saying something.

She carried the plate and mug out to the back patio. The chairs and table were still covered with plastic protecting them for the winter,
last
year’s winter. They’d never even uncovered them this summer.

What had been the point?

Erin closed her eyes against the ache.

Setting the plate and glass down, she removed the plastic from one chair, pulling it over to the stand-alone fire pit. The night was chilly but dry. Glowing logs arranged in a metal casing, the fire pit was gas and lit easily despite having been idle for so long. They’d used it in the spring and fall, when the days were lovely but the nights could be cool.

With the chair next to it, the gas fire would keep Dominic warm tonight until his blood heated. Standing behind it, she cocked her head one way, then the other, repositioned the chair slightly. The view was now directly into the sunroom, the rattan sofa spotlighted and clearly visible. Instead of returning inside the way she came, through the kitchen, she entered the sunroom, turning off the light as she went.

It was all about staging and good lighting. He wanted to watch her, see her pleasure rise. It wasn’t in her to say she was sorry; she didn’t want to talk about last night or her feelings. Or anything. But he’d understand she was trying to make it up to him.

He would park his car in the garage next to hers as usual, and come in through the kitchen door. There, he’d find a note with instructions.

He’d gone to see Hansen because she’d told him to fix it. She’d told him to do something. He could never fix everything; it was too late. But he was trying.

She had to make an effort, too.

 

 

THE HOUSE WAS DARK WHEN HE PULLED IN THE DRIVEWAY. GLANCING at the dash clock, it wasn’t even seven yet, so he wasn’t late. But she’d turned off all the lights. He let out a breath, punching the garage door opener. Her car was inside. He parked in his spot next to it.

She’d probably left him takeout on the counter, then closeted herself in her office.

Dominic closed his eyes a moment, then yanked on the door handle. He should have eaten the artichoke hearts.

The garage was clean, neat, a lawn mower to one side, hedge clippers, various garden tools. He managed to mow the lawn at least once a month, but he hadn’t been out to do the trimming. The box hedge was no longer a box.

Inside, she’d left the stove light on for him, that was all. He stood there a long moment staring at the empty counter. No takeout, not even the scent of takeout.

He wanted to howl.

Then he saw the note on the floor, and his skin chilled. He swallowed. She wouldn’t. No. She couldn’t. His limbs seemed to move like an automaton. He bent, the creak of his knees loud pops in the empty, soundless house.

For a moment, he couldn’t see, couldn’t read, spots swam before his eyes. Then his vision cleared, and he slid the note into the pool of light from the stove.

“Your dinner and beer are out on the patio. Get yourself all warmed up by the fire pit.”

He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until he gulped in a searing breath. He didn’t know his heart had arrested until it started pounding in his chest.

She’d left him dinner and a mug on the patio. She’d lit the fire. She had a plan. He would never tell her the momentary fear that had seized him. She’d be horrified it could have crossed his mind. He almost ran to the patio, shoving open the back screen door, slamming it against the wall in his rush.

She wasn’t there, but the fire pit glowed with warmth, and a plate of cheese, meat, crackers, and vegetables lay on the low table next to the chair. The arrangement faced the darkened sunroom.

It had been one of Erin’s favorite rooms. She hadn’t used it in a year, just as they hadn’t used the barbecue or the patio or the fire pit.

Then the light came on inside, illuminating the sunroom sofa as if it were a stage, and his heart stopped all over again.

HOLY HELL. SHE WAS ALL GORGEOUS, SMOOTH NAKED SKIN. AND HE was the teenage boy next door spying on his neighbor, a hot, sexy older woman he’d lusted after all summer.

As he watched, she climbed knees first onto the rattan sofa, gripping the back with one hand, her pert ass thrust out as she spread her legs slightly. His heart rate skyrocketed. There were no preliminaries, no sexy striptease, just this, just her, hand suddenly between her legs. He didn’t want the build up. It was better this way, unexpectedly thrust into it, his pulse pounding, skin tingling, balls aching, cock hard and dripping pre-come.

He could almost smell the sweet, lusty scent of her.

She tipped a finger back between her legs to stroke the crease of her ass, reminding him of the things he’d done to her in the hotel on Friday. Maybe she wanted to remind him.

She widened her spread, and the tip of the vibrator penetrated her pussy. She slid down on it, rocking, twisting, undulating, fucking it. It felt like his own cock being lured inside her. The night was cold, but he started to sweat. Without a touch, he was ready to ram straight inside her.

But he watched, savoring every move of her body, the blush of her skin. He wished he could hear her, but the fantasy of a teenage boy peeping on his sexy neighbor was too good to give up. The fire pit cast warmth in his direction, but he was heating up from the inside out.

Then she turned, fell with a fluid grace to the sofa cushion and gave him a view of her plump, glistening pussy before she set the vibrator to it once more. Her body writhed sinuously, her faint cries slipping through the sunroom’s windows.

The sight made him hard and shot his blood through his veins. He saw it for the apology it was, to make up for turning her back on him. She’d planned it, set the stage, and this was her gift.

Or maybe she was torturing him because he’d forced her to her knees in his lab. Either way, he didn’t care. This was perfection.

She shifted, gave him another delicious view. He knew the signs, the look of concentration, the utter focus; she was close to orgasm, straining toward it. Then she came with one loud, clear cry that penetrated the very walls of the sunroom.

He saw her laugh. Sometimes, before, she used to laugh after she came hard, as much a part of the release as the orgasm itself. The ring of her laughter, even muted by the windows, rolled his heart over in his chest. God, what he wouldn’t give to hear it every time she came for him.

Then she was looking at him, head cocked, peering into the dark surrounding him, only the glow of the fire pit illuminating one side of his face. She yanked on a robe, covering herself from head to foot, clutching it to her chin.

Then she pushed the door open. “Have you been watching me, Nickie?”

“No, ma’am,” he answered, feeling slightly giddy as if he truly were a teenage boy caught in the act.

She stepped down the two wood stairs, letting the door slam shut. “You were spying, you dirty boy.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Mrs. DeKnight.”

She crossed the patio, her feet bare and probably cold against the concrete. “You’re a liar, Nickie.” She leaned over his chair and cupped his cock through his jeans. “You were watching. And you’re hard.”

“I couldn’t help it, Mrs. DeKnight. You were so fucking gorgeous.”

She straightened. “I’m going to have to tell your mother that you were spying and that you used the word
fuck
.”

“Please don’t, Mrs. DeKnight.”

“Actions have consequences, Nickie.”

He put his hands together as if he were praying. “Please don’t tell. I’ll do anything you want. Mow your lawn. Wash your car. Clean out your fireplace.”

“Now that all sounds very interesting, Nickie, but right now I’m really cold. What are you going to do about that?”

He brightened. “I can warm you up.”

“Yes, maybe you can.” She stared down at him. “Unzip your jeans.”

He did her one better, pulling his cock out as well.

“Oh my, Nickie. You have grown up.” She licked her lips. It made his dick jump. Christ, she was good. They should have done a hell of a lot more role-playing over the years.

She bent to him, stroked his cock with nothing more than her gaze. “Have you ever played with any of your little girlfriends, Nickie, put your penis in them?”

“No, ma’am, I never did that.”

She smiled slyly. “But you’ve done something, haven’t you.”

The fact that it wasn’t a question formed his answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

She raised her bare foot and laid it on his cock, a shock of cold against his hot, hard flesh. “Tell me what you’ve done, dirty boy,” she whispered.

“I touched her pussy and licked my fingers.” He dared to put a hand on her calf, running his fingers up to the back of her knee. “She tasted good.”

“I’ll just bet she did.” She winked. “Did she touch your cock, too?”

Her robe had fallen open over her raised knee and he could scent her now, the sweet, musky fragrance of arousal.

“Yes,” he said. “She sucked me.”

She laughed, a naughty, sexy sound that strummed his cock. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what a real woman can do.”

“I don’t know.”

She rubbed him with the sole of her foot. “I think I should take your virginity, Nickie, don’t you?”

He was aware they were in their backyard, surrounded by fences high enough to keep out the neighbors. But the house next door was a two-story. The family didn’t have a teenage kid, but they did have a twentysomething son. He’d recently moved back home because he couldn’t make ends meet on his own. The windows were dark, but Dominic imagined. He wondered if Erin had occasionally imagined. Sometimes she didn’t close the blinds when she dressed, not really suspecting the neighbor son of peeping, but not caring if he did.

“Yes, Mrs. DeKnight, I think you should take my virginity right here in this chair.”

“That’s such a lovely cock, Nickie, I can’t resist it.” She lowered her eyelids in a seductive perusal. “I’m going to ruin you for all your future girlfriends.” She leaned over to trail a finger down his nose. “You’re going to be hooked on older women.”

Then she turned, lifted her robe, enveloping his cock in her fist, and sank down on him back to front. He closed his eyes, his heart hammering, his head swimming as he put his hands beneath the robe to the warm, supple flesh of her hips.

God, he loved when she played with him. No matter the other things that had gone wrong between them, the agony, the loss, the emotional chasm that ensued,
this
helped him survive.

No matter how angry or lost they were, if they had this, there was a connection they could build on.

“Fuck me, Mrs. DeKnight,” he whispered, burying his face in the hair at her nape. “Make me a man.”

“You’ll never find more of a woman, Nickie. You’ll be spoiled.” Grabbing the arms of the chair, she took charge, riding him, fucking him.

His eyeballs threatened to roll back in his head, it was so damn good, her muscles toned, her pussy warm, wet honey. Her legs trembled with effort as her body closed around him, flexing, working him from the inside. He wondered if she knew how her body moved on him or if it was an unconscious tightening, part of her desire, her need. It drove him crazy.

“Oh, Nickie, you’re so hard,” she sang to the night.

“I never knew a woman could feel like this, Mrs. DeKnight.” She would always feel like this to him, hot, tight, sexy.

She gave him a tinkling laugh, cutting it off with a moan of sheer pleasure. The ache built, his cock throbbed, his mind grew drugged by the sensation, the wet slide of her. Then he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her down hard, thrusting high at the same time. She quivered and groaned with orgasm, and with only two more strokes inside her, he lost himself, coming back to earth seconds later with her snuggled in his lap, arms around his neck. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d gotten there when only moments before she’d been straddling him, facing the night.

“Oh, Nickie,” she whispered against his throat, “you’re such a young stud.”

He held her close, his heart thudding, and he couldn’t speak, overwhelmed by tonight’s gift. Maybe she hadn’t meant it that way, but it was how he chose to take it. Finally, he found his voice. “I’m spoiled for all time, Mrs. DeKnight.”

She tipped her head back, a smile on her lips, in her eyes. Then she kissed him, a sweet touch of her lips, her tongue along the seam of his mouth, flirting inside when he opened to her, tasting, teasing. He thought he might die with the sheer intensity of the moment. A simple kiss, yet she hadn’t kissed him in over a year. He’d kissed her, but this, it was all her.

Then she settled back in his arms again, knees pulled up, feet tucked within the bottom of the robe. “I can’t believe I did this in the dead of winter.”

He laughed. He felt so normal. Well, as normal as a man could feel after fucking his wife in the backyard when the neighbors could watch from a second-floor window. Next thing, he’d hear sirens. Though he couldn’t imagine Harold or his son calling the cops instead of watching. Irene, though, she might.

All he said was, “Thank God it wasn’t raining, hailing, or snowing.” He wrapped her closer, one side of their bodies warmed by the fire pit. He wasn’t willing to move yet, not even with the cold night air burrowing beneath his sweatshirt.

In this moment, he felt one with her; a part of her soul in him, a part of his in hers. Close, the way they used to be, the way they could be again if only . . . “Baby, we need to talk sometime, you know. Say what needs to be said.”