I still can’t believe Will could possibly want me. Only me. I’m the longest relationship he’s ever had, and somehow, he hasn’t gotten bored yet. But by the way he worships my body at night, and the way he looks at me with reverence in the morning light, I have to bring myself to believe it at some point.
Just not yet. It’s much too soon.
So, I keep a part of myself walled away. I’m not going to even think about the three little words my stupid brainwantsto speak out loud to him.
Today, I’m only focusing on one thing: making sure my mom doesn’t embarrass me in front of Will.
Which brings me to why I’m here in my kitchen prepping smoked meat sandwiches—my mom’s favourite. Luckily for me, that doesn’t actually involve a ton of work. On top of running my own business and raising three kids, you won’t see me start smoking meat from scratch. So I do what every self-respecting Montréaler would do and buy Schwartz’s Smoked Meat Pouches from Costco instead.
As I’m cutting up a plate of veggies to go along with dinner, Will waltzes into the kitchen from the living room. The girls are cooped up in their blankets watchingInside Outand Julian isnapping, so we’re both getting a quiet moment of reprieve. His footsteps approach and anticipation builds in my core, sending waves of anxious excitement through me.
The heat of his chest radiates against my back before we even make contact. Will presses himself against me, his arms wound around me, and I’m enveloped by his clean, intoxicating scent. My hands go still, my eyes close, and I let the cutting knife slip from my grasp.
Will’s stubble tickles my neck, his breath tantalizing me. “Are you sure you don’t need help with dinner?” His voice is low, sultry.
“I’m sure.” My own voice comes out unsteady. Dinner isn’t what I need help with right now. But what I need is out of the question during daylight hours, especially when I have custody of the girls.
The same thought seems to go through his mind, because one hand travels underneath the fabric of my sweater, beginning to softly stroke the sensitive skin at my ribs. He travels higher, cupping my breast, and I let out a breathy sigh.
“If the kids weren’t here right now, do you know what I’d do to you?” he whispers into my ear right before nibbling at the sensitive spot just below.
“What would you do to me?” I’m playing a dangerous game—one I know we can’t see through. But I can’t resist him.
“I’d start by putting my mouth right here.” He rolls my nipple between his thumb and index, and my knees go weak. “Bite and lick until your legs gave out. Then I’d kiss my way down until I could taste you.”
“Oh.” The sound comes out nearly strangled from my throat.
“The truth is,” he continues, expertly stroking and massaging underneath my shirt, “I can’t even feel excited about dinner anymore. Because nothing tastes as good as you do.”
“Fuck,” I whimper.
His hands suddenly stop. I whimper again, this time in frustration, when he pulls away from me. “To be continued,” he teases right before slapping my ass.
I turn to face him and I want to swipe that stupid smug grin off his face. How am I supposed to keep making dinner now?
“You’re a special kind of evil,” I say with a groan.
“Oh, I know.” He winks, about to head back to watch the girls, but stops and turns for one last line. “But believe me when I say I’m going to make it up to you.” Then he’s gone.
Ugh.
I try to get back to dinner, but my body is betraying me. I don’t think Matt ever made me feel this way, even at the very beginning of our relationship when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Even if the idea of him now is more repulsive to me than poutine without real authentic cheese curds, there was a time when I did find him hot and desirable. But he never truly made an effort to elicit that hunger in me or do more than accidentally get me off on the way to getting himself off.
I should have seen that as a sign. But how could I have known better when my past experiences came from high school douchebags and college frat boys?
My train of thought comes to a halt when there’s a rapid knock at my door. Mom.
“Come in!” I call out, hearing the movie pause in the living room. Mom barely steps through the door before Heather and Gwen rush toward her, a whirlwind of hugs and kisses enveloping her, stopping her from even closing the door behind her.
Mom looks stunning tonight; she’s taken the time to curl her silver hair. She returns the hugs to her granddaughters with all her usual vigour.
I wash my hands in the sink and hurry to greet her with a warm hug. “Sweetie, you are glowing,” she whispers in my earbefore pulling away. Her eyes drift past me, lighting up with curiosity and delight. “William, it’s been ages.” I turn to see Will standing a few feet behind me, a rare hint of uncertainty in his demeanour.
“Miss Brouillette, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” He takes a step forward to embrace my mom, who promptly makes a waving gesture.
“Attend minute, toé.If you’re going to date my daughter and spend time with my grandkids, you’re going to call me Chantal.” She meets his polite embrace and squeezes him a bit more tightly than I expected, despite being so much smaller than him. Will’s cheeks go red.
“M’man, slack un peu,” I say. Mom obeys and eases up on the hug. “So, I don’t think any introductions are needed.” I turn my attention to Will. “Will you both be okay while I finish up the smoked meats?”
