The Ground Rules (22 page)

I take out the vibrator from its case and hold it in my hands—the sleek see-through rubber is cold against my palm. I get right to it, turn it on, and spread my legs wide.

I glide it against my lips, slowly back and forth, delighting in the sensation.

“Sweet hell…” is all Weston manages to say.

I close my eyes. My other hand strokes my left breast. My fingers caress my nipple. “I like to imagine you’re the one touching me.”

“I wish.” His voice is ragged, uneven.

The pressure is building—it feels so good. Usually, I climax really quickly this way.

But I want to give him a good show, so I drag the vibrator away from my sex, down my thigh.

“Teasing yourself?”

“I need to,” I breathe, “if I want this to last longer than a minute.”

“You’re killing me.”

I open my eyes to look at him. He seems so turned on, yet he’s just sitting there watching me, behaving, like the good boy he is.

I sit up, still watching him—he’s being so good. I turn off the vibrator and get up off the bed.

He jerks to attention. “What are you…”

I walk up to him and reach for his belt.

With a hint of a smile, he asks, “What are you doing?”

“I want you to touch yourself too, while you watch me.”

“I don’t hate that idea,” he says as I free his erection, big and glorious.

I lean down and wrap my mouth around it.

“Mirella…” he breathes.

I suck him, hard and slow, enjoying the sensation of him. But I don’t want to take it too far. “There…” I whisper, pulling back. “I got you started…nice and wet.”

His hand grips his long shaft, in a smooth up and down movement. I sit on the bed and watch him—watching him masturbate is such a turn-on.

I spread my legs wide again, giving him a nice view—I’m quite uninhibited when I’m aroused. I slide the vibrating dildo up and down along my sex, loving the way my body feels…and builds—every cell seems alive. I bring myself to the edge, but then I pull away when I sense myself too near.

Weston’s lids are heavy, and his breathing seems to grow shallow.

“Don’t move too fast,” I warn him. “The show’s not over,” I whisper and turn over on my knees, my ass facing him.

“God…I love that view.”

“You and every single man.”

I ease into the vibrator. It fills me deep. I slide it in and out, pushing my hips hard onto it, imagining I’m straddling Weston.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is soft.

As the vibration hits my G-spot over and over, I feel myself nearing climax. I can’t see Weston, but I can hear him—he’s nearing too. And if I can hold off for just a second, I can time the grand finale perfectly.

But no can do.

Despite myself, I explode into waves of pleasure, my moans surprisingly loud.

When the pleasure finally recedes, I crash down on the bed, spent.

My body is numb.

“Incredible,” he whispers.

I realize he hasn’t climaxed yet, and I want him to.

“You can touch me now,” I say playfully, looking back at him, “if you want to.”

He jumps to his feet and lunges at me. His hands grab my hips, and he trails his tongue down my spine, all the way to the tip of my crack.

He puts on a condom as fast as humanly possible and presses into me—the sensation of him inside me is always so amazing—I can never seem to get enough.

He reaches his climax almost instantly.

We both crash onto the crisp white sheets, our bodies fused.

Tell me I’m better than him.

“I T
HINK
T
HIS
M
IGHT
B
E
the most memorable present I’ve ever received,” he whispers, his lips against my earlobe.

I laugh. “I think I enjoyed it more than you did.”

He strokes my hair away from my face. “I sincerely doubt that. That was astonishing.”

I turn over and reach for him. I wrap my arms around him—his shirt is soft against my naked skin. “Lie with me.”

He lies beside me and presses against me, his arms hold me tight and keep me warm.

We lie like this for what seems like an eternity, without words. I think about how wonderful it would be to be snuggled in his arms like this forever. Almost as if he’s reading my thoughts, he says, his voice soft, “I wish you could stay the night.”

My heart fills with butterflies. “Me too.”

“But…we can’t.”

“No, we can’t,” I agree.

I hate these damned rules.

“It would be nice to wake up next to you,” he says.

It would be.

“You have no idea what I look like first thing in the morning,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood before I start to cry. “And the morning breath…you have no idea.”

He laughs a hearty laugh—the sound of it in my ear is wonderful.

“Trust me…it’s better off this way.” There is genuine emotion in his eyes.

“I trust you.”

“Mirella,” he whispers, hesitating. “It’s been over three weeks since we last saw each other.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been concerned about the last time we were together,” he says with uncertainty in his tone.

I know what he’s asking.

“I’ve had my period,” I reassure him. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Good,” he says, squeezing me tight.

And I wonder…what if it hadn’t been…good.

Would he have stood by me? Or would he have insisted I get an abortion? My intuition tells me it would be the latter. But I honestly have no clue. A baby would be pure chaos…and completely unexpected.

And I know how Weston hates the unexpected.

I receive a surprise e-mail from Kathryn, addressed to both Gabe and me.

Hello Mirella and Gabe,

Weston and Bridget were wondering if you would like to join them for dinner at Lake Point Tower this Thursday night, at six o’clock, followed by a visit to Adler Planetarium.

If so, will you be needing the car service?

Please get back to me at your earliest convenience,

Kathryn

Gabe calls me from work at lunch time. I’m a little giddy when I answer—I love when Gabe calls me from work—it’s a rare occurrence.

“So, this is unusual,” he says, his voice upbeat. “A date on a school night.”

“Yes,” I agree. “It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“You think it will be awkward?”

He laughs. “No…not at all.”

I laugh too. Yes…how could it not be?

“I’m not sure it’s a great idea,” I confess. “Things have been running so smoothly. Why mess with that?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe it will rein us in, in case any of us were entertaining delusions, getting carried away. Show us who belongs with who, you know what I’m saying?”

He leaves me speechless for a beat—his words shock me. Occasionally Gabe will say something insightful and eerily apropos, and I almost wonder if he’s been spying on me.

“Maybe you’re right. Listen, I need to go. I need to get lunch ready for the girls.”

The thing is…his words have rattled me.

Gabe’s words are still on my mind when I get dressed for our double date. I’ve chosen my favorite skinny jeans and a breezy, white Bohemian top.

Is Gabe right?

Do I need to be reined in?

Will seeing Weston with Bridget knock me back to reality? Because Gwen is right—I have been stumbling a little.

It will probably not be easy, I admit to myself. I’ve been very good at not thinking about her. When Weston and I get together, it seems there’s just us two in the whole world, and I often forget he has a whole other life I’m not a part of—a whole family, children I’ve never met, a home I’ve never seen—multiple homes I’ve never seen.

And now I’ve managed to self-talk myself into a mood.

By the time I touch up my makeup and fix my hair, I’m officially bitchy. I don’t want to go on a double date.

I want to see Weston…and
only
Weston.

And I remind myself, this is exactly
why
I try not to think about these things.

As I slip on my open-toed wedges, I kiss the top of Claire’s head. “Promise you’ll be good for Caroline?”

“I promise,” she says in her sweet voice. I can’t resist kissing her on both cheeks.

“You too, Chloe.” I kiss her cheeks as well.

My two beautiful girls.

“We won’t be late.”

A wide smile stretches across Caroline’s face. “Have fun,” she tells us, adjusting her dark-framed glasses.

“We’ll try,” I say, half-rolling my eyes, still a bit cranky—I just can’t seem to shake it.

We ride to the city in Gabe’s truck. There’s no way on earth he would ever accept a ride in Weston’s car—probably not even if we were stranded in the middle of nowhere, dying of dehydration.

Of course, I’m not about to argue with him.

“You don’t look happy,” he points out, his eyes fixed on the road.

“Hmpf,” I grunt.

He laughs a little. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. I’m just not looking forward to it.”

“But we had fun with them before, didn’t we?”

“We did,” I agree. “But that was before…”

“Before we all fucked each other?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yes,” I say, trailing my finger along the seam of my jeans. “I just think it’ll be awkward.”

“Yes, maybe,” he agrees. “I’ve been thinking about how I’ll react. I’m sure I’ll want to punch the guy in the face.”

I laugh a little. “Please restrain yourself,” I plead, half-serious. “He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“He wouldn’t. I could kill the guy.”

My smile fades. “You could.”

And I think about it for a second.

He could.

Weston works out two hours a day but is nowhere as big as Gabe. And Gabe is a brawler—it’s in his blood. In his younger days, he was arrested twice for assault—a few too many drinks resulting in a few ill-advised bar fights—messed both guys up pretty good. But in recent years, he’s taken out his aggression in MMA training, and it has been a godsend. With his training, and his primal taste for blood, he could definitely do some damage.

Yes…Weston should definitely not get on his bad side.

We meet Weston and Bridget at the Lake Point Tower.

I spot the familiar sleek town car drive up and get butterflies in my stomach—not the good kind. Edward walks around the car and waves. I smile brightly at him—my first smile in a while. My smile fades as he opens the door for Bridget and Weston. Bridget looks fabulous in a cream fitted suit and stiletto pumps, and I suddenly feel frumpy in my jeans and cheap top. She flashes her megawatt smile at both of us as she walks in our direction. Weston is dressed more casually—designer jeans and a dark fitted V-neck shirt. As he walks behind her, he almost looks like a little boy clinging on to this larger-than-life woman.

Wherever she is, Bridget owns the place.

She air-kisses me on both cheeks. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

The whole thing is surreal—our exchange is so ordinary—so typical—there’s no indication whatsoever we’ve been with each other’s husbands. She certainly doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

She gives Gabe a quick hug, and I cringe inwardly, visions of their naked bodies intertwined. My gaze travels to Weston who gives me a sheepish smile—I can tell he’s in agony—the strangeness of the situation is not lost on him. He offers his hand, and I smile up at him as he smiles at me, both of us on the same page.

“Gabe,” Weston says as he shakes his hand firmly.

“Weston,” Gabe says.

And that’s as far as that conversation goes.

We ride up the elevator in a flash, and thankfully, we’re up on the seventieth floor before we can even start a conversation.

We sit by the window and enjoy the magnificent view.

I find myself sitting across from Weston, and he can barely look at me—it seems like it was on our first double date—we had ended up in front of each other, and we had barely been able to look at each other then too. Every now and then, Bridget leans in, smiles, and touches Weston with the affection of a woman who loves her husband. I try not to look at them. I don’t understand her—she seems to love him. Why is she sharing him? But then again, I love my husband too. Why am
I
sharing?

We are one messed-up bunch.

The server takes our drink orders and leaves us. Bridget asks me how I’ve been. I tell her about my summer break and ask her if she’s been busy over the summer. But her words barely register, disrupted by this intense déjà-vu.

It wasn’t so long ago when Weston and I had dinner here—the memories clog my mind—the twinkling lights, my red dress, Weston taking off that dress and everything else, as slowly as humanly possible, teasing me. The recollection arouses me, and as I catch a glimpse of Weston, I see he’s looking at me with that intense expression, the same expression he wore when I stripped for him, when I masturbated for him.

This was such a bad idea, I think, trying hard to focus on Bridget’s words. But it’s hard to carry on a conversation with a woman when her husband is looking at you like he wants to devour you.

The server comes back with a bottle of Merlot Weston has ordered and pours us all a glass.

Weston finally breaks his stare. And I take a drink. God knows…I need it.

With his eyes off me, I can finally manage a decent conversation. Gabe, Bridget, and I talk mostly about our kids, she goes into great lengths about their recent trip to Italy, and I don’t want to hear it. I try consciously not to scowl or let my bitterness show.

We enjoy a nice enough supper.

I have the scallops again since I enjoyed them so much the last time. And I’m thankful dinner is going relatively well. I mentally pat myself on the back—I haven’t made a scene, I haven’t hurled insults, thrown things, or stormed out, which is impressive, considering the emotions I’m having.

Weston is mostly quiet, but that’s the way he is when it’s the four of us. He’s as arresting as ever—his large almond shaped eyes are just as striking as ever. Part of me wishes we could sneak away in a dark corner of the restaurant and steal a kiss. It feels strange being so close to him and not being able to touch him. It makes me want to touch him even more. And judging from the way he’s been looking at me, he feels the same way.

This is undue torture.

“I didn’t even realize the Planetarium was open at night,” Gabe tells Bridget.

“Yes. Once a month, it’s after dark night. It’s great geekish fun,” she jokes, resting her hand on Weston’s shoulder. “There’s a bar and everything.”

“Well, it should be lots of fun,” I add, trying not to look at Weston.

“Weston loves it there. He’s into all that astronomy stuff,” she comments, taking a sip of Merlot. “And robotics too, but I don’t want to bore you with that.”

I smile. I could never be bored hearing about Weston.

“And he’s really into sea life.”

“Yes…I know,” I say tightly, swallowing the urge to prove how well I know him. Weston raises a brow and looks away.

It’s true. I do know a lot, but I’ll never know as much as she does.

Despite the fact that I’ve had only two glasses of wine, I feel a little lightheaded as we exit the tower. Bridget and Weston hop in their town car, and we head to the parking lot.

“Meet us at the south entrance,” Bridget instructs us as Edward opens the car door for her.

We wave good-bye as we make our way to the parking lot. I’m glad I’ve dressed comfortably.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Gabe says as we head toward the island. “He’s kind of predatory.”