15
Need a Hand?
Flipping and flopping of shoes against the hardwood floor outside the laundry room tapped closer. Still hazy from epic orgasm, it took Freya a moment to identify the sound.
Silencing a squeal, she moved and stood in front of the door, blocking in case anyone tried to come in. Shit, what if they’d been caught? Thirty seconds ago, she couldn’t hear anything beyond her pulse in her ears, her irrepressible sighs as Zane sent her across the brilliant sky, grounding her with his rumbling moans that echoed hers, his strong hands bracing her hips.
As he rose to his feet, lower lip still teasing between his teeth, he grinned. Holding her finger up in front of her mouth, she nodded outside in case he hadn’t heard. Nodding, he acknowledged the sound and casually slipped the rest of the way out of his shorts, tossing them in the washer.
Breathless, she nearly came again watching him. Damn, that man was built. In every possible way.
The flopping feet halted, followed by the creak of the bathroom door. The sound heightened over the tile floor of the bathroom, no more than a layer of sheetrock between them. Relaxing against the door, she tried to slow her pulse.
Instead of pulling on his swim shorts, Zane set them on top of the dryer and closed the narrow distance between them, his bare skin an inch from hers. It took about every bit of restraint she was capable of to not plaster herself against him, her breasts heavy as she craved more of his touch. As much as her brain understood where that would lead, again, her nipples tightened and pulled her toward him. Dammit, her body knew pheromones, and didn’t give a shit about annulments.
Whispering in her ear, his breath against her skin reminding her of how clever that mouth was, he said, “Was that closer to handholding or consummating?”
A silent chuckle escaped her lips, their eyes meeting in the dim room, both sporting devious grins. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I happened to have bumped into you while doing my laundry.”
The sink through the wall turned on, their unwelcome neighbor washing their hands. Stepping back, he grabbed her bag and handed it to her before finally pulling on his swim shorts. Freya slipped on the black bikini.
The bathroom door swung open and closed again, a few quick flip-flops, then a soft knock at the door stopped Freya’s heart entirely. Pippa’s voice echoed through the door, “Freya?”
“Yes?” she managed to answer, her voice crackling as the panic started to ease that it wasn’t either of her parents or her aunt or uncle.
“If you’re hungry, we’re dishing up. Is Zane upstairs? I’ll go let him know.”
“I, uh, I’ve about got the washer figured out. I’ll tell him.”
“I forgot they bought a new machine. Need a hand in there?”
“Nope. I’ve got all the hands I need,” she stifled a chuckle as very, very capable hands traced down her sternum, then scooped under her swimsuit top and grasped her breasts in his palms, simultaneously tweaking her taut nipples until she lost her voice. She flashed him a glare; not easy to appear convincing as she leaned into his grip, her breath caught in her throat as she was already primed to react to his touch and halfway to another orgasm.
“Okay. Well, again, I’m really sorry about the champagne. I’ve got an extra change of clothes if yours aren’t done in time.”
More footsteps walked toward them as Pippa continued her painfully long conversation, Zane driving her out of her mind as he massaged.
Asher’s voice echoed through the door, “Zane? Quit ruining your annulment with my cousin and get your ass out here. Dinner’s ready.”
Slipping his hands out of her top, Zane placed a lingering kiss on the upper curve of her breast as he checked that she was tucked back in properly, then swung the door open. “Cockblock,” he muttered at Asher as he headed out.
As they walked away, Asher corrected, “Wingman.”
While Pippa stood shellshocked in the hall, Freya dumped in the laundry soap and turned on the washing machine. Finally, she bit her lip to hide her smile and acknowledged Pippa. “Not a word,” she raised her eyebrows.
“Of course not,” Pippa shrugged dramatically. “Come on. How many times did you cover for me when I’d sneak out to Lincoln’s?”
Freya’s head tipped back as laughter bubbled up from her throat. “Once. Your graduation night when you finally gave Lincoln your virginity.” She turned and pulled her sundress from her bag.
“That’s it? Sophie’s right. I should have gotten into more trouble.”
“Or not. Look where it’s gotten me? Three broken engagements and a drunk wedding I’m going to blow the annulment for because every time I’m with the man, we end up fooling around. You couldn’t handle breaking the rules, and I can’t resist quality pheromones.”
“Maybe this time they’re right.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do you know the last time I painted anything?”
Pippa’s eyebrows dropped. They halted before going out the front door. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have artist’s block. Zane is a distraction I don’t need.”
“You’ve only been home a few weeks. It’s probably more the stress of the move than Zane. Be patient, it’ll come back.”
“You sound like me.”
“See? I’m not a hopeless case.” Pippa grinned and waved Freya ahead. “You’re right. Sometimes you should go with the flow.”
Dinner was relaxed; burgers in the shade, the sun glinting off the pool, not a sound but the easy conversation of her favorite people on the planet. Swallowing her last bite of burger, she walked to the garbage bag that hung over the edge of the fence.
Tammy
