Page 8 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

four

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avery

The Mistake

“I still think it’s pretty cool that you two work together and you know, don’t drive each other batshit crazy,” Amelie says, dusting the parmesan crumbles from her french fry.

I shake my head, pushing my hair behind my shoulder before bringing my spoon to my lips. “Why order the parmesan fries if you’re going to dust all the parmesan off?”

She plucks another fry from the plate. “Because I like the essence of parm,” she smiles playfully. “Anyway, let me see that freaking ring again.”

Extending my hand to her, she slides her sunnies down the bridge of her nose before grabbing my hand and sighing. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

She shakes her head, releasing me to shove her glasses back on and sip her Diet Coke. “I already know he’s rich, has good taste and looks like a finger bang in a suit . Now just confirm he’s packing .”

I roll my eyes. I don’t need to tell her I’m not confirming that, because she already knows that I will not. “Don’t call him a finger bang in a suit.”

She waves me off. “Fine, don’t tell me. I already know. That type of man oozes BDE.”

My cheeks flare at the memory of Sutton sliding into me this morning, missionary, before the sun came up, sleep still heavy in our bodies.

We made love slowly, and he held himself deep inside me when he filled me, kissing the soft spot behind my ear.

It was intense and perfect, and while I came twice, it almost felt like edging more than anything.

Because I’m squirmy in my seat as I recall the memory, wanting him even more than I did just hours ago.

“Anyway,” I take another spoonful of soup as Sutton returns to the table, holding his tie to his body as he sits.

“We were just talking about–” Amelie starts, wearing an expression that says my filter is off and I’m about to embarrass you , I interject.

“The seating arrangement. I told Amelie she’s going to be seated next to your father.

” I reach for his hand beneath the table, and he places it on his knee.

My stomach tightens. I stare at the side of his profile as he banters with my friend, and wonder if he even knows just how much I want him, and all the things I’m dying to explore together.

The two of them chat about our honeymoon plans—Sutton is whisking us away to Bora Bora for a week of unplugged bliss— and when we’re done eating, he takes my hand and helps me up, having paid the bill when he excused himself earlier.

After kissing Amelie goodbye, he guides me to the curb where he’s parked. “Ready?” With his hand on the small of my back, he helps me inside then joins, driving us to our afternoon appointment.

On behalf of Mercer Properties, I staged a not-yet-listed property last week.

Today, Sutton and I are headed there with the photographer to take listing photos, as well as walking the appraiser through the property.

It will be the first time Sutton is seeing my work on this specific home, and I’m excited.

In truth, I’m always excited on the days we get to work together. Amelie thinks it’s crazy we can work together and be married, but if I could add more Sutton to my life somehow, I would.

“You know, with the wedding in just a few months,” he begins, splitting his focus between the buzzing city streets and me. “You should officially move in.” He reaches for me, linking our hands, bringing them to rest comfortably atop the center console.

“I practically live at your home already” I tell him, stroking my thumb over his knuckles, loving the size of his hand against mine.

His size usurps me in all ways, and I love knowing that he could use his size to his advantage and have me, in any position possible.

He doesn’t, but just knowing he could sets my body ablaze.

“Practically isn’t the same.” He surprises me by kissing my knuckles, steering his car with one hand. “I called our preferred movers.” We come to a stop and he flashes me a gorgeous smile. “They’re available to move you out of your apartment and into my home tomorrow.”

“And how much did that cost you?” I prod, because I know Sutton. If he wants me to be moved in, he’ll make it happen.

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you say yes.” He accelerates as the GPS calls for him to turn, and a few moments later, the property is in view. “Is that a yes?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a childish grin from stretching my lips.

“Did you really think I would say no?” I’ve been wanting him to ask me this since I became his girlfriend, but at our six month anniversary he made it clear that he doesn’t do roommates, not without nuptials on the horizon.

He shrugs as he pulls into the long, winding service driveway of the property, turning the GPS off. “I’d hoped you’d say yes, and Jerry owed me a favor.”

Jerry was a friend of Brandon’s, who was struggling to get back onto his feet after a stint in jail left him jobless.

We used to hire him to help move pieces that I couldn’t help Brandon with, and when Sutton took us on, I told him about Jerry.

I explained to him that Jerry, while he’d only worked with us a handful of times, was hard-working and kind, and didn’t just move furniture like most paid movers.

He moved things like he paid for them with his own money, and in the handful of jobs we did together, not a single item was scratched or dented, which is rare in the moving business.

My fiancée is just one of those men that quietly helps others live their best lives, and doesn’t feel the need to make a show of it.

He didn’t claim a stake in Jerry’s life being exponentially better, and he doesn’t remind Jerry or anyone else that he had a hand.

He just helps, and silently cheers on the people who thrive because of his assistance.

Everything about Sutton Mercer is an aphrodisiac.

He walks around the vehicle and opens my car door, extending a hand. I feel like a glamorous movie star being helped to my feet when he opens my door. Cherished. Special. Important. That’s always how he makes me feel.

He carries my purse for me as he holds my hand, dragging his thumb over our knuckles.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he says to me, voice raspy and quiet, not with intention, but nonetheless my insides flare.

His lips dust my temple before he inputs the code, and opens the back door.

The mud room is chilly, and immediately my nipples stiffen beneath the draped silk red dress I put on today.

Sutton lets go of my hand and slips out to the car, returning a few seconds later with my sweater.

After a wink that makes me molten, he feeds my arms through and tugs my hair from the collar, letting it fall down my back.

“I don’t want you cold,” he says, and his eyes drop to my chest for less than a split second before coming back to mine. “This is better.”

I get the impression that he didn’t want the photographer to see my nipples, and just knowing that Sutton was thinking of my nipples being stiff makes me hot.

Everything about my fiancé turns me into a quietly obsessive sixteen-year-old girl–but then, as I follow Sutton through the butler’s pantry into the laundry room, then into the kitchen, I wonder if this is just grown, adult love?

Maybe real, pure, unadulterated love is obsessive and passionate, and maybe it’s normal for me to be breathless at the sight of him with his shirt off even though I’ve seen it a thousand times or more.

Maybe it’s just the sign of a healthy adult relationship, the way that I get turned on at the idea of him being vulgar with me, spitting into my mouth or coming on my face.

Wanting someone so much must be a symptom of the realest form of love, of that much I’ve convinced myself by the time Sutton turns to face me, awe in his expression.

“Avery Rose Bennett,” he says, shaking his head, placing one of his rousing hands along his lower abdomen. “The place looks absolutely phenomenal.”

I swipe my hands down the soft charmeuse fabric, hoping I don’t leave a trace of my nerves behind. He’s liked everything I’ve ever done, and yet, my stomach still knots while I wait for his response. All I ever want to do is make him proud, because he makes me so proud.

“Looks kinda familiar, huh?” I tease, pretending to survey the tan roller shades covering the largest window in the room.

“Soluna shades,” I say aloud, hoping the flare in my cheeks dies down.

His strong fingers loop my wrist, spinning me to face him.

Landing gently against his chest, Sutton leans down and surprises me with a kiss.

“Looks like our home,” he breathes, a partial smirk gracing his full lips.

I nod at him, “our home,” I repeat, testing the words.

Our. We’ve been a couple for a year, but somehow knowing that we are going from our as boyfriend and girlfriend to our as husband and wife electrifies me.

He kisses me again, this time slipping me his tongue, stroking languidly and slowly against mine.

When he pulls back, he shakes his head a little, adding, “it was never a home on the nights you weren’t there. ”

My heart flutters wildly as I melt into his kiss, a helpless smile curving against his warm lips.

“I’m there every night except for two.”

He shakes his head, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I cry myself to sleep both of those nights,” he deadpans. “It’s my saddest secret.”

I try to stifle a laugh, but a snort comes out, and it makes Sutton smile.

“You did a beautiful job, my beautiful fiancée. And I’m glad you’re moving in tomorrow.

And I’m even more happy that in a few weeks,” he says, finding my hand, “you’ll be Mrs. Sutton Mercer, and I will make all of San Francisco jealous. ”

“I think every woman in San Francisco hates me for taking you off the market,” I reply, catching his hand with mine as he strokes his fingers down my hair. My heart is absolutely putting my ribs to the test as I inhale a breath through my nose, desperate to steady my nerves.

We’re alone. My body is buzzing from his words, the way he kissed me with his tongue–which he usually only does at home—and with talk of our wedding earlier, me moving in tomorrow—I let my most private desires take control and I grow bold.

Bolder than I’ve ever been before.

I move his hand from my hair to my center, using my other hand to lift the hem of my dress.

Bringing his hand to my panties, I hold it there, our eyes locked, his breathing hitched.

My mouth falls open, and his eyes dart to my split lips.

My ears ache from the way my pulse echoes in them, and with each second that passes, regret gnaws at the flames of my arousal.

“Avery,” he starts, taking his hand off my thong, gently lifting my hand from the hem of my dress. The red fabric rushes over my skin, covering me, and Sutton closes his hands around mine, eyes searching mine.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out, my eyes burning with humiliated tears.

I’ve never initiated anything sexual with Sutton, because I like when he is in control—when he guides our sex life, it gives me insight as to what he enjoys, and knowing what makes him aroused is arousing to me.

“I shouldn’t have–” I don’t get to finish that sentence.

“Hey.” He pulls me closer. “Avery,” he says, his voice growing soft.

He takes my face in his hands, and forces me to look at him.

I pray a tear doesn’t fall. How embarrassing to initiate being touched and to be rejected, then to cry about it.

I want to melt. I should have known that he would not want to do this here. I know Sutton.

“That kiss,” I breathe, referring to the way he slid his tongue against mine. “I just thought–” This time, he doesn’t interject, but still, my sentence dies on the vine.

“It’s not because I don’t want it, or want you.

You have no idea how much I want you, Avery.

Your little moans, your whimpers, all those sweet, soft noises you make when I’m over you,” he kisses me, keeping a finger pressed to my chin, “when I’m inside you,” he continues.

“Those are too special to spread around. I don’t want some appraiser or photographer hearing the way you come undone.

Those are my noises, they’re for me. Only me. ”

I nod my head as he pulls me into a deep kiss, heat flashing through me from so much contact with him.

I thought with that kiss, I’d put his hand there and his eyes would roll closed and he’d make me come, and we’d get through this appraisal and photography session with a dirty little secret between us.

And as soon as everyone left, he’d put me in the car and command me to suck him on the drive home, because he’d been hard all day after touching me.

I thought that hot and messy kiss was a step forward, toward what we’ll explore once I’m officially a Mercer. But I see now that this setting wasn’t the best place, and that Sutton will unravel for me best in privacy.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I’m not sure what else to say.

I wanted this, yes, but not at the expense of making Sutton uncomfortable.

Had it been the other way around and I hadn’t wanted to get physical and he’d initiated—only in theory, of course, because I don’t think Sutton could ever approach me for oral sex or any kind of sex and find me not in the mood.

But he’s different. And I knew and know that much.

This was my mistake.

Another kiss as he sweeps his fingers through the sides of my hair, then smooths his hands along my hips, righting the soft fabric of my crimson dress. “Tonight,” he assures me. “I can’t wait to have you tonight. In our home .”

I nod my head. “Our home.”

“Mr. Mercer?” A voice calls, and the appraiser arrives.