Limits (19 page)

The laugh stops in her throat. I thrust deep, bracing my arms and holding her wrists. Her eyes lock on mine, never breaking contact. Not when she draws her knees up and lifts her hips higher. Not when the first wave of slick tightness surrounds my dick, making my vision blur. Not when her lush little mouth opens wide and the first panting moans break into something louder, something wilder.

I drive deeper into her, adjusting until the moans turn to pleas and, finally, a long, fantastically sexy string of Spanish that ends with my name.

She’s so wet, I can’t hold back for another second. She shakes and bucks under me, and I finally empty into her, rocked to my core, and completely spent. I lay on top of her for a second, then move to roll off of her.

“Stop.” She twines her legs around my waist, pressing her heels into my ass. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses me softly. “Stay in me. I want to feel you in me.”

“Am I heavy?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. Her breathing is shallow and slow, and I roll to the side, still buried inside her, but not lying on top of her. She hitches her hips closer and nuzzles her head against my shoulder before going slack. I’ve never seen anyone fall asleep this quickly.

The room is dark, and I wait until her body shudders with a chill before I pull away from her. I grab the edge of the covers and pull them down, then slide her between the sheets, cool and crisp in their newness. I pull her, Genevieve, my wife, into my arms, bury my face in the silk of her hair, and slide into the deep sleep where she already waits, our bodies twined and satiated. My last thought is that I have to tell Marigold I’ll need more that of that Eros balm.
    

“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask, slamming the book I’ve been staring for the last two hours shut.

Adam clicks with crazy speed on his laptop screen and grabs his pen from on top of a stack of folders, scribbling notes without actually looking. “Are you finished studying already?”

“Already? Gah!” I throw my head back dramatically, and toss the book to the other side of the sofa. “I’ve been at it for hours.”

“But do you
know
the material?” Adam says, looking up from the papers on the small desk he’s set up in the corner of the room.

I work out the kink in my neck and send a warning glare his way. “Hey, you’re not my tutor right now. Mind your business.”

“Fine,” Adam’s voice is easy, as usual. It takes a lot to fluster my husband. He files away his paperwork, then stalks over to the couch, his lips twisted in a wicked grin. He sits down next to me and pulls my feet onto his lap.

“Uh-uh, don’t even start,” I warn, shaking my finger at him and yanking my foot back before he puts me under his spell again. “You think because you gave me a mediocre foot rub once and I came to bed with you, that trick’ll work every time? No way. I’m not that easy. Plus, I want to go out! I want to do something fun! I want to show off my hot husband to the entire town.” I press my foot to his shoulder and give him a playful push.

Adam blows out a long breath and glances over at his computer screen, cluttered with so many open tabs, I don’t understand how it doesn’t crash. “That sounds great, Gen, but I’ve got a ton of work to do. It’s going to have to be another night.”

I curl my lip under in my best pout.

“Don’t start, you know I’ve got to figure this yeast problem out.” He leans forward and nips on my bottom lip until I relent and laugh.

“Fine. I’ll take that
foot rub then,” I say, walking my feet up his lap.

He grabs my feet in his hands and rubs his thumbs over my arches, making my bones turn to instant
Jell-O. “Why don’t you go out, Gen? You haven’t seen any of your friends since the wedding, and before that, you were so busy planning you didn’t see anyone apart from my ugly mug. Go out, have some fun. I’ll be here.” He pulls my feet up and kisses them, his lips tickling the sensitive skin.

I really do want to spend the evening out with Adam, but if he’s not up for it, I’d rather go out with my girls than sit here and stare at these textbooks any longer. I ponder it for another few seconds, then leap off the couch to find something sparkly to wear.

***

“We’re never going to get in. Look at all of these people.” I’m wearing six-inch heels, and I still have to stand on my toes and crane my neck in an attempt to gauge our chances. The line of people wrapped around the club goes on for as long as I can see. I haven’t been to this place before, but I have a hard time believing that whatever’s inside is worth a wait like this, especially in this weather. The Santa Ana winds have kicked up and are about to turn this night into a scene from
The Wizard of Oz
.

“No worries, Jemma knows the doorman. And by know him, I mean, she went home with him the other night. Can you believe that? Sweet Jemma, all grown up,” Kat says, bumping my hip with hers and sliding another coat of sticky lip gloss on.

I give a sage nod like I’m super interested in Jemma’s doorman conquest, but, really, I’m more interested in how to get my stupid, sequined dress to stay down in this wind.

“Isn’t he gorg?” Jemma turns and whispers to me as her doorman-friend opens the rope for the three of us to enter the bar. She can’t rip her eyes off of his beefy arms and leering smile as he waves us by. She gives him a little wave and wink as we make our way in.

It’s got a Moroccan vibe, with hundreds of hanging pendant lights and Damascus chandeliers. We ordered a few of those chandeliers for the store once, and I happen to know that they cost a fortune. It’s not a glamorous habit, but I can’t help but scope out the decor and furnishings whenever I go somewhere for the first time. I imagine the owners of this club dropped a jaw dropping amount of money on lighting alone, not to mention the dark leather couches that line one wall and look more like king size beds than sofas. There are also rich carpets hung on the walls and low shiny wood tables where people sit on thick silk pillows and smoke sweet tobacco from dizzyingly gorgeous glass hookahs.

“Do you want to dance?” Jemma asks, dragging me by the arm and already swinging her hips to the music.

I glance around at the wall-to-wall hipsters, bobbing their heads to 90s music.

“I think...I think I’m going to go grab a drink,” I stall. She and Kat wander off, and I’ve already broken my first rule of going out, which is never to separate from my girls.

I stand back behind the crowd of people waiting at the bar, but the bartender catches my eye.

“What can I get you?” he calls over the loud voices and thumping music.

“Um, just a soda.” I squeeze my way between too many bodies wearing too much perfume to finally get to the bar.

The bartender flashes a cocky smile and flips two bottles, pulling them back over two shot glasses he fills with expert care and little attention. His dark eyes drag up and down my sequin-covered curves. “Ah, come on, have some fun.” He slides the shots down, collects his tips, and winks at me. “You’re making my job too easy.”

“Fine, I’ll have a gimlet.” I fumble with the snap on my clutch, annoyed to be spending more than I want on a drink I didn’t even feel like ordering.

The bartender pulls his head back and squints at me. “That’s surprising. I would’ve pegged you for a sex on the beach, kind of girl,” he says. He gives me another quick wink before turning his back to make my drink.

“Why don’t you let me buy that one for you, doll?” A man next to me in tortoise shell glasses and an un-ironic bow tie leans so close I can smell his sour breath.

I avoid eye contact and turn away from him as he tries to press himself close to
me. “I don’t think so, thanks.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink, you can sit and talk,” he pushes, bracing one arm on the bar and leaning in so his mouth is close to my ear.

I put a hand up and shake my head. “Look, I’m good. I just want to get my drink and then find my friends.” I shift my eyes to the bartender, who better be making the world’s most delicious gimlet, based on how long it’s taking.

“I bet I could be better company than them.” He steps on my toe, and I feel the brush of his corduroy pants on leg.

Why the
hell
is this idiot incapable of taking my not-so-subtle hint, and where is my damn drink already?

“Married,” I snap, and hold up my left hand proudly. Mr. Bowtie backs off, looking around like he expects my husband to come swinging off some vine, beating his chest and swinging his fists.

The bartender gives me my drink and tries to drag me into more conversation, but I plunk down my twenty bucks and stomp off to find a quiet corner where I can avoid being relentlessly bothered.

I take a few sips of my drink, then stop to take in the room and look for Kat and Jemma, but I don’t see them anywhere. Great. I tip my head back and I notice for the first time since we walked in that part of the ceiling is open.

The moon is hidden tonight, but the sky is still full of stars. So many stars. And I suddenly feel so stupid for wasting my time at this place that I don’t feel like I really fit in at. I realize I’d so much rather be back at home in comfortable clothes, without these towering heels pinching my toes and making it hard to walk through these crowds. I’d rather be on the couch, snuggled against Adam’s chest with his fingers running over my hair, than standing here, holding this watered down drink and looking at these stars all alone, while the speakers vibrate with terrible music only someone like Lydia could love.

I slide my phone out of my small clutch and dial Adam.

Please answer.

Please don’t have fallen asleep with your face in a book about spores.
Again.

“Gen, baby? Are you okay?” His voice is so sweet, all frantic with worry.

I let out a long breath, the relief palpable in the way the tension melts out of my body just because I heard him say my name.

I press the phone closer to my ear and look back up at those stars before I answer. “I’m fine. I just...I sort of want to come home. I know I just got here, and I know you have work to do, so I can totally take a cab. But, if you were maybe going to take a break anyway...could you come and get me?”

Adam lets out a smooth, warm laugh that makes my own lips curl up into a smile.

“Gen, there’s
nothing
I’d rather do than bring you home tonight. Where are you?”

***

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so glad to see someone as I am when Adam shows up at the club, and an hour later we’re sitting on the beach. The wind is no longer annoying, though it hasn’t

died down in the least. It feels good to sink my bare feet deep into the cool sand, my back pressed against Adam’s chest, his arms around me as we watch the waves crash on the beach together.

“This is delicious,” I say, wiping special sauce from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “I didn’t realize how starving I was.”

“In-N-Out will do that to you. Every damn time,” Adam says, kissing the top of my head.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” I snuggle back tighter against him and listen to the steady thump of his heart. I’m only just starting to get a grasp on how good his heart really is: good enough to never want me to be stranded. Good enough to think about how hungry I might be before I even realize it. Good enough to take me somewhere I love when he has so much he needs to get done. “I know I said I wanted to go out, and I did. I do. I just—”

“You’re an old married woman now? Not into the same things anymore?” Adam jokes, pulling me up onto his lap so he can wrap his arms around me and look at me.

I turn to face him, loving the way his tall frame can envelope me, make me feel so protected and sheltered. “Yes! I mean, no. I just wasn’t into it tonight. It was loud and crowded, and it would have been cool to dance, but people were packed in so tight and there were guys at the bar hitting on me.” Adam’s eyebrow raises at the mention of my being hit on, but he doesn’t interrupt. “And I missed you. And this. This is easy. This is
us
.”

It feels good to be part of an ‘us’ for the first time in my life.

“I know what you mean,” Adam says, sliding his hands down my arms and holding my hands tight.

I hook my fingers around
his. “You do?”

He nuzzles his face into the folds of the oversized jacket—his jacket—that he grabbed before we headed out of the car so I wouldn’t be cold. His scruff drags along my shoulder and up along my neck, the rough grate of it contrasting with the smooth, hungry sweep of his lips. The combination makes me shiver, and my shiver makes him chuckle. “Absolutely. You don’t even know how nice it is to come home to you every day, Genevieve. I’ve never had that before. It feels right. We feel right, don’t we?”

“Yep,” I say. I squirm closer to Adam, straddling my legs around his waist and dropping light kisses across his cheeks and nose. I press my lips to the spot just under his jaw that I love so much. “How about this? Does this feel right?”

Adam lets out a low, encouraging moan.

The waves crash and hiss behind us, and I grab him by the collar, tugging his mouth tight to mine. He wraps his arms around me, cocooning me—us—in our own tiny world.