I expect him to put his finger into me, but I’m surprised when there’s a delay. Dazed, I open my eyes to find him rolling on a condom, his eyes locked on to my spread center almost hungrily. A moment later he thrusts into me, sliding in easily, and groans, swearing under his breath.
The same pressure that has been building and then ebbing awakens again, mounting to a new frenzy as he moves in and out of me at a frantic pace. This is not a gentle bedding. This is an I-won’t-be-able-to-walk-tomorrow fucking and I love it. I can’t believe I’ve spent my whole life without this, deprived myself of this holiest of communions.
I scream out his name as I break, and a moment later he follows, groaning as he finds his release inside of me.
For a moment we stay that way, sweaty and clinging together. Then he lifts his head, grinning at me with an almost woozy happiness before he playfully nips at the top of my breast. “I never realized you were such a bad, bad girl.”
I laugh quietly, running my hand over his spine. “You love it.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his eyes heavy with emotion as he strokes my face. “I do.”
Chapter 51
Helen
For the first time ever, I’m late for my writing group. Bad luck that it happens to be on the night that I’m reading my pages.
Thad looks completely unrepentant as we walk down the corridor together, hand in hand. “I told you we wouldn’t make it on time,” I remind him under my breath as we approach the doors to the event room.
I try to sound a little stern, but honestly, it was as much my fault as his. I should have known not to wear the cutout dress with the sweetheart neckline that basically makes it impossible for him not to ogle my breasts. And I really should have worn underwear if I’d wanted to ensure we made it out the door when we were supposed to.
Thad just smirks, with all the smugness of a man who’s managed to give his partner multiple orgasms in one quick, frantic session. “You’re the one reading,” he reminds me. “What are they gonna do—start without you?”
As we enter the room, Florence and Deb are both frowning down at their phones. “…have her number?” Florence asks, looking up at my entrance, then staring for a moment before her jaw drops open. “Helen?”
At first I assume the sight of me holding hands with a man must be what’s throwing her off. Then I realize that, between my road trip with Thad and skipping several reading night sessions over the past few months, Florence probably isn’t used to seeing me without my oversized turtleneck and messy bun. I haven’t retired my sweaters completely, since they’re ridiculously comfortable, but from now on I’ll only be wearing them in wintertime. And I’ve decided I like putting a little more effort into my appearance—not for anyone else, but for my own sense of confidence. No more hiding.
“Hi, ladies. Sorry I’m late. Are we ready to go?”
Deb and Florence both exchange befuddled looks before Deb manages to nod. “Sure thing, sweetie.”
I spot Matilda and Nina at the refreshment table. Between the night of the ruined gumbo and now, they’ve already been filled in via text that Thad and I are officially back on, though they’ve yet to see us together in person. Even from across the room, I can see that Matilda is skeptical and disapproving, though Nina gives me a quiet, supportive smile, and even a little thumbs-up when Matilda isn’t looking.
I’m not worried about Matilda, though. She’ll come around. She’s not necessarily all bark and no bite, since I’m pretty sure shewouldbite if she felt the situation called for it, but she’ll adjust once she realizes that the only person who rivals her protectiveness of me is Thad.
And maybe Dan O’Malley and Quinn Sullivan, but only when their mothers get involved.
As Florence tells everyone to settle down for the reading, I see Kathleen rush to grab a seat in the front row. Oh, no. With all the turmoil of the past few days, both good and bad, I’d forgotten that my writing group received very different pages than what I’m going to read tonight. That’s kind of a big no-no with writing groups, since people will have already formed their critiques based on what I sent out, but oh, well. It’s good to break a few rules every now and then.
“Good luck,” Thad murmurs in my ear, giving my hand a squeeze as I make my way up to the podium.
Standing up in front of a sea of expectant faces, I clear my throat. “Hi, everyone. Sorry about the wait. The last time I read for you, Axel and Rosamund had finally given in to their feelings, but as you all know from some of the developments in the months in between, Rosamund was having second thoughts about giving her heart to such a sexy outcast.”
I cast a quick, guilty glance at Thad, but he just grins at me, leaning back in his chair. Apparently that’s just another ego booster, now that he knows how much Axel was based on him.
“And she began to realize how much someone like Wilfred could bring to her life,” I continue, turning my focus back to my writing group, “with how much they have in common.”
From the front row, Kathleen actually fist-pumps into the air, Judd Nelson–style. This is everything she’s been waiting for.
“In the pages I sent you at the beginning of the week, Wilfred and Rosamund finally share their first kiss and express their feelings for each other.” I take in a deep breath, bracing myself. “But what I’m going to read for you tonight goes a little differently. Sorry for the last-minute change, but the muse demanded it.”
I proceed to read my now-revised story, in which Rosamund thinks about what a good man Wilfred is, but worries that she’ll never fully get over Axel. Wilfred and Rosamund go on the walk that is supposed to end in them revealing their feelings for each other—but this time, they’re interrupted by Axel, who crashes their planned picnic.
“‘What are you doing here?’ Rosamund demanded, her breath catching at the sight of Axel. She’d tried so hard to forget him, to get over him, but the second he walked back into her life, it was like he’d never left.
“‘I can’t live another day without telling you how I really feel,’ Axel insisted, his blue-gray eyes sending currents of feeling running through her body. ‘Maybe it’s too late. Maybe you love someone else. But you have to know that I’m still yours, and I always will be. And I believe, I hope, you’re still mine.’”
A cheer goes up in the group—from everyone, basically, except for Kathleen, who shrieks and covers her face.
