The Space Between (23 page)

Andy’s knees pressed against her shoulders, and she glanced at her kelly green and pink polka dot knee socks. “You can take them off,” she said while the head of my cock pressed into her wet folds. “But you have to keep me warm.”

She eased the socks down her legs, nodding for me to complete the job, exposing her slender feet tipped with shiny black toenails to me. I brushed my fingers over her skin, hooked her ankles around my waist, and laced our fingers together, pinning her wrists to the mattress. Andy squeezed my hands, her fingertips gently rubbing against me.

For a moment, the offering stunned me. For whatever reason, socks were a hard limit, and now they weren’t. It meant something I didn’t understand, but my dick was not concerned with deconstructing the symbolism.

Lavender tinted with the aroma of her arousal permeated every breath while her fingers communicated her desires against my hands, alternately squeezing and stroking and scratching. She met me, thrust for thrust, and demanded more until I was drenched with sweat and pistoning into the hot clench of her center.

“Oh fuck yes,” she moaned. I knew she was close, and a few more deep thrusts would send her right over the edge. “More, Patrick. I want more of you.”

She had no idea how right she was. I realized I wanted more of her too—more than I understood. I wanted her hands in my hair, on my skin. I wanted to watch her orgasm shatter through her body and listen to her quiet moans. I wanted to hold her while she slept and wake up with her in my bed. Whatever it was before this night wasn’t enough anymore and the recognition I could never be content with so little left me reeling.

I sank into her heat, groaning at the sensation of her body engulfing me, drawing me in. We fit together perfectly. Our bodies anticipated each other’s moves and I felt the ghost of release tickling the base of my spine. Bracing our clasped hands beside her shoulders, I dragged her lip between my teeth and nibbled while my hips rocked into her, offering barely enough friction to turn her body feverish.

I wanted to convince her we could be open about our relationship without compromising her career. I needed her to know that, despite her heroic attempts at avoidance, she did something to me I couldn’t comprehend, and whatever it was, I liked it. There was more to say, more to confess but Andy still wanted secrets. She thought she needed them, and nothing I said would change that yet.

I’ll never know how I managed to hold back.

When Andy went over the edge, her body melting beneath me, I saw that rare openness take over. So captivated by her unrestrained smile and wide, hazy eyes, I barely noticed my orgasm charging through my veins until heat filled the condom. My lips found Andy’s and my hands were in her hair, and she was the only woman I wanted.

For that moment, she was raw and beautiful and mine.

ANDY

07:33 Patrick:
where did you go?

07:37 Andy:
home

07:38 Patrick:
why?

07:39 Andy:
clean clothes

07:40 Patrick:
tell me if you’re leaving. or, keep your ass in my bed until I get back from my run, because I wasn’t finished with you.

07:42 Andy:
I’m going to Roslindale this morning and you’re going to Medford, so…

07:43 Patrick:
grr

07:43 Andy:
?

07:44 Patrick:
I’d like to know who scheduled us on opposite sides of town

07:44 Andy:
my boss.

07:46 Patrick:
I need to have a few words with that asshole.

I
slipped my
phone into my pocket—this line of conversation was going nowhere good—and headed for the early Gothic cottage. Studying my clipboard, I forced all sexytime thoughts from my head and ignored the repeated vibrations inside my pocket. A narration of his plans for me wasn’t going to fast-forward the time before lunch, and it wasn’t magically depositing me into his bed.

My only option was supervising some demo and thinking about anything other than the thin grasp I had on the storm brewing between Patrick and me.

*

“This doesn’t make
sense,” he muttered. I noted the measurements while Patrick’s hands skimmed over the surface of a pale yellow wall. He pivoted, and gestured for me to join him. “Does this feel like the original plaster to you?”

I spent the early morning hours figuring out how things would be different today. We never agreed upon a more-than-sex plan, and I didn’t know how I’d handle it if Patrick wanted to be all cuddly at jobsites. I was down for a quick, silent fuck in a closet on special occasions but I drew the line at holding hands in front of our general contractors—those boys would die laughing if they knew I was with the boss, and any credibility I had built would them would be lost.

Relief did not even begin to describe how I felt when we met up for lunch and things felt normal—or, as normal as they could be when you’re sleeping with your boss and revealing basically every private thought you’ve ever had.

My hands pressed against the wall, and I concentrated on the smooth, seamless texture beneath my skin. “No. This feels like drywall. Drywall with…some kind of faux finish, or a few layers of oil-based paint. It’s too flat for one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old plaster.”

“Exactly,” he murmured, and stepped back from the wall. “But those—” Patrick gestured to the other walls, “aren’t. It’s just this one.”

I shrugged. “A lot of walls are redone when there are electrical or plumbing issues.”

“There are no major junctions here, though.” Patrick took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest, and I seriously considered stroking his bicep. Just for a minute, and just because I could, even though it contradicted everything else in my head. “Let’s bust it open.”

“Patrick. That’s ridiculous.”

He stared at the wall for another moment then strode into the hall. I found him standing in the doorway of the neighboring room, his hands fisted at his side. That was the room—the one where his mother died—and this time, I let my hand rest on his arm.

I always resented that my father died alone on the street, in a sea of strangers, and the opportunity to say goodbye was stolen from me, though I never considered being there—powerlessly watching his final breaths—might have been worse in ways I couldn’t begin to fathom.

Resting my head against Patrick’s shoulder, I squeezed his arm. I knew something about Patrick’s grief. He kept it hidden away, but I saw it. I knew it.

We stayed that way for a few moments, and he covered my hand with his before charging toward the wall adjoining the yellow room.

“It’s the same. This isn’t the original wall. Do we have a sledgehammer around? I might have one in the trunk.”

“No.” I shot him a bland look. “I don’t want a sledgehammer in here until the floors are protected and the original moldings and baseboards are appropriately handled.”

“This doesn’t make sense. He did this for a reason. He wouldn’t put up new walls to fuck with us…there’s a reason.”

Patrick was quiet on the drive back to the city and didn’t say much while we returned to his office. Something was bubbling around in his brain, but he immediately turned his attention to design plans when he reached his desk.

The afternoon quickly faded to evening while I updated my plans with the corrected measurements and printed new copies for the contractors.

He glanced up when I returned with a reel of new designs hot off the printer. “Matt and Riley are downstairs. They want to check out what you have. I told them about the room dimensions and new walls.”

It was a full house in Matt’s office. Shannon, Matt, Riley, and Lauren occupied the seats around the conference table, and the hungry vultures dug in the minute I put the plans down. Patrick nodded toward the small sofa on the other side of Matt’s office, and we sat there while they debated. I listened attentively for comments on my designs, and was pleased with the stray remarks.

Patrick’s knee bumped mine and he whispered, “Your phone.”

Grabbing it from my pocket, I glanced at the unopened text messages. I shot him a confused expression. He nodded toward my phone, his knee rubbing against my leg again. “Why are you texting me?”

“Because you don’t want them to hear what I have to say,” he replied with an irritable wave toward his siblings.

Growing up in a family firm, planning for his career trajectory was far different from someone who wasn’t an heir apparent. It was easy for him to dismiss my issues with making our relationship public. He never needed to defend his choices in interviews, and whether industry people talked about his personal life probably didn’t cross his mind.

My mind skipped ahead to June, and my licensing exams. Once my apprenticeship ended, things would be different—he’d still be running a firm and I’d still be a young architect, but maybe…could we make it work? Would I stay at Walsh Associates? Would they want me to stay? Would they want me to stay because I was with Patrick? Could we stay together if I moved to a competing firm? Were there competing firms that interested me?

Patrick’s knee firmly nudged me out of my thoughts, and he growled, “
Andy
.”

Questions about the future spiraled through my mind while I tried to focus on the screen of my phone.

18:05 Patrick:
those pants make thinking very difficult for me.

18:06 Patrick:
I’d very much like to get you out of them.

18:06 Patrick:
can we arrange that?

Turning my head, I met Patrick’s smirk and narrowed my eyes in response. There was nothing exciting about my black wool wide-leg trousers.

18:19 Andy:
I like these pants. I’m sorry you don’t care for them.

18:20 Patrick:
trust me, i like them. so much that I want to take them off and get a better look.

18:20 Andy:
at the pants?

18:21 Patrick:
no. not even a little.

18:21 Patrick:
are you coming to my place? I want to take you to bed.

18:22 Patrick:
maybe you could wear those boots. The ones you wore to 21st. and nothing else.

18:23 Patrick:
and maybe I could wrap your legs around my neck and lick your sweet pussy for an hour

18:24 Patrick:
and maybe then I’d fuck you so hard and for so long that you can’t move a muscle without thinking about me tomorrow

18:25 Patrick:
and maybe after you’ve come 16 times, you can suck my cock until I come in your mouth

“Hey.”

Startled and blushing a dark shade of crimson, I fumbled my phone. Patrick caught it before it bounced to the floor, a loosely restrained smirk on his lips. I smiled at Lauren as she dropped into an armchair beside us.

“What’s up, Laur?” Patrick asked. He pressed the phone into my palm, his fingers brushing slowly over my wrist.

“It sounds like aliens might be to blame,” Lauren laughed, looking over her shoulder at Shannon, Matt, and Riley as they argued and gestured wildly at the plans. “Up for a pedicure? Shannon and I usually go for pedis on Thursdays but she’s focused on this. We go to this great place that serves margaritas but I don’t like drinking alone. I mean, I will, but…I’d rather go with friends and not be that lonely drunk lady talking to herself.”

“Yeah, and someone needs to keep your drunk ass from tripping into oncoming traffic,” Matt called over his shoulder.

“Oh would you be quiet?” she said. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

I laughed. “Margaritas and pedicures?”

“Yeah. It’s been forever since we talked, and I never get to see you when I swing by. I’d love to chat with you again.”

I looked at Patrick expectantly. Claiming to need me working on Wellesley would be believable—and keep me in pocket. Patrick’s eyes flashed with disappointment but he quickly schooled his expression.

He nodded at me, and said, “Go. They’re just dicking around. I doubt they even have notes on the design.” As we turned to leave, Patrick called, “Keep your phone on, Asani.”

*