Page 25 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Ian

I t’s been two days since the picnic and the game Nicole and I played while everyone around us went about their business, having no idea she had two orgasms. Right there in the middle of the party.

It wouldn’t be an understatement to say I’ve thought about those too-short moments at least once an hour.

For the last two nights, I’ve stroked my cock, remembering it until I came all over my hand and stomach.

Then I went back to the Jane Austen book, waiting on my nightly check-in text from my bookworm—an update that she’s home safe and an answer to a question that I’ve started asking her recently: what was the best part of your day today?

Like some sad sack of shit, I always hope it’ll be me. Seeing me or talking to me. Anything to let me know that I am the best part of her day, like she is the best part of my day, but it’s usually something about her work, a kid she spoke to, or someone she helped.

And I despise myself all over again.

Because I was the one to put myself in this position. It is solely my fault that I am obsessed with an unavailable woman.

I thought I’d be able to compartmentalize like I usually do, but not when I see her every day.

I’ve known her from afar for years, but I know her intimately now, and I can’t do it.

I can’t pretend I don’t hate how she goes home to the house she owns with her husband every night.

Or that she still wears her wedding rings.

I told her I wanted to take her out on a proper date, but deciding on how I’d get her there was an issue.

Being the stand-up gentleman I am, I said I wanted to drive her, but she didn’t like the idea of me picking her up at her house, fearing neighbors might see and question her leaving with me.

So, after some negotiation, she agreed that we’d go out later, after the bookstore closed.

She’d sneak out the back door to my car.

I hate hiding, but I understand why she’s uncomfortable, and I’d rather follow her rules than not have her at all.

I knock on the back door, and after a moment, she breezes out in a light red dress with tiny white flowers all over.

The thick straps and hemline that reaches her knees are not especially provocative, but with a slit up the side and a fit that hugs all her lithe curves, she might as well be walking the runway. I wolf-whistle through my teeth.

“Look at you.” I take Nicole’s hand, lift it up, then nudge her to spin in a circle, so I can see all of her. From the soft curls in her dark brown hair to the thin gold jewelry adorning her neck and wrists. “Stunning.”

I guide her to where my 1970 Chevrolet Impala is parked and repeat myself. “You’re stunning.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She flicks at the open collar of my white shirt, letting her fingers slowly drag down each of the buttons before resting on the waistband of my pants, toying with my belt.

This girl could be quite bold when given room to bloom.

A mistress of herself.

“Gonna be hard for me to keep my hands off you tonight,” I say, and she smiles shyly as I wrap my hand around her waist and close the distance between us so I can whisper, “And I’m gonna need you to take your underwear off.”

“ What ?”

I deliberately lower my gaze below her waist. “Underwear. Off.”

She shakes her head, cheeks flushing underneath the streetlamp light. “I… You…”

“Want them in my hand.”

In a poor attempt to throw me off, she taps the dark red roof of my car. “This is nice. You restore cars, right? How?—”

“Now, Nicole.” I hold my palm up.

She visibly swallows and teeters side to side on the heels of her sandals. “Now? Out here?”

“Just me and you here, baby. But if it’ll make you feel more comfortable…” I open the passenger side door and then block it off so she’s mostly hidden between it and me. “Go ahead.”

She cranes her neck to look around, double-checking she’s not being spied on, before dragging the skirt of her dress up a few inches as she reaches underneath.

After a few wiggles of her hips, she slides the thin scrap of cotton down her legs, and I make sure she doesn’t trip as she steps out of them.

Then they’re in my hands, and I can’t wipe the grin off my face.

“Good girl.”

“What are you going to do with them?” she asks, carefully sitting in the car, her legs together.

“Keep ’em safe.” I stuff them in my pocket and shut the door to round the hood. Once I’m seated inside, I curl my hand around her neck, tugging her to me for a kiss.

It’s been two days.

Far too long since I made her come and an eternity since I tasted her.

But before the night is out, I’m planning on devouring much more than her lips.

I steer with one hand on the wheel, the other on Nicole’s left thigh, as we chat about the books we’ve been reading, my kids, and how I got into restoring cars, anything to fill the half hour it takes to drive to the restaurant, including the weather and sudden thunderstorm that hit last night, which led to her talking about how she’s still paying off the loan it took to fix all the water damage she had a few years ago in her store.

“Sometimes it’s hard to keep up the work on these old buildings,” I say, waiting to turn at the green light.

“Guess you would know.”

“Hm?” I glance over at her after making the left.

“You.” She loses the battle of hiding her teasing smile. “You’d know what it takes to keep up with something old.”

I squeeze her thigh. “Brat.” I pull into the parking lot and tell her to wait for me to open the door for her. When I do, I slip my hand up her dress, palming her ass. “Careful, baby. This old man knows more tricks than you can imagine, and I’ll use all of them on you.”

At the expansion of her pupils, I press a quick kiss to her mouth, murmuring one last warning about being a good girl, then weave my fingers with hers, unselfconscious about being physical with her this far from home. I knew she wouldn’t be able to relax if we stayed in West Chester.

Inside, we’re seated at one of the circular booths on the perimeter of the floor that provides plenty of shelter. Excellent.

I scoot her right up against my side, my hand still on her thigh as we order drinks—a whiskey on the rocks for me and white wine for her—and I trail my fingertips up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh.

She clamps her legs together when the waiter arrives at our table once again, pad and pen in hand, but I don’t stop touching her, enjoying how she tenses, trying to keep her voice even as she orders the risotto.

I skate my fingers higher up her thighs, to the heat emanating from between them, only to stop a millimeter away to order the lamb.

Once we’re alone again, I sip on my drink and remove my hand from her leg to rest my arm along the back of the booth, playing with her hair. Without her underwear, I know she already feels restless, and my goal is to keep her that way, on the edge.

“Tell me more about your family.”

“What do you want to know?” She squirms beside me when I trace the shell of her ear.

“Everything you want to tell me.”

She takes a sip of her wine before angling herself toward me, our knees touching.

She doesn’t wear perfume, the natural scent of her skin better than anything in this place.

Absolutely delectable, and I lift her hand to my mouth to kiss her inner wrist then settle it in my lap, toying with the rings on her index and middle fingers.

“I know you said you don’t talk to them often, but was there a big rift? ”

“Not really,” she says, eyes on my hand. She uses her fingertip to trace the tattoo on the back of it. “We check in with texts more often than we have phone calls, but…” She meets my gaze. “We’re not close. Not like you are with your kids.”

I wouldn’t call myself a perfect dad, but I love my children, and I try to make sure they know it. That’s all I can do.

“How does Aunt Sue fit in?” I ask, flipping her hand up to trace over the lines of her palm.

“She’s my mom’s sister, and she and I always bonded.

It’s not that we were together often since she lived here, but I think she saw herself in me whenever the whole family got together for whatever holiday or reunion.

” She smiles to herself, her gaze somewhere in her mind as she explains, “There was a project we had to do in sixth grade. Interview a relative about our family history, and for some reason, I chose Aunt Sue instead of my parents. I got her email address, and since then, we kept in contact. She became my touchstone.”

I’m the last person to understand female relationships, especially because I grew up with two brothers, but I imagine Nicole’s mother might have taken umbrage at her sister and daughter being so close. “Is your mom okay with that?”

“She never said anything to me about it bothering her.” Nicole shrugs. “Besides, I don’t think I was what she expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t fit in much with my family. I love them and they love me, but sometimes I felt like I was on the outside looking in.

My mom has that kind of… Well, my parents were high school sweethearts, and she was a cheerleader.

Growing up, she was into all the booster stuff with my brothers, and I think she expected a daughter more like her.

Especially after they tried for a girl for so long.

She’s very outgoing and…” Nicole saws her teeth into her bottom lip.

“What?”

She tosses me a look, like she’s reluctant to admit it. “Everyone in my family… They lived their best days in high school, you know what I mean?”

I suck air through my teeth. “They peaked?”

She laughs a little, covering her mouth. “That’s awful. I’m awful.”

“You’re not awful.” I pull her hand away from her face and nuzzle her palm.

She’s basically putty in my lap with the way she leans toward me. I release her hand and curl my hand around her neck.

“What about you?” she asks, fitting perfectly against my side. “When did you peak?”