Chapter Six
SHANNON
Fifteen months ago
I didn’t know whether I should be proud or embarrassed that I didn’t learn to drink tequila until I was in my thirties and met Lauren. I’d always thought it involved worms and the most heinous hangovers in life, and I stuck with my beer, wine, and whiskey.
“To the last weekend of the summer,” Lauren said, lifting her margarita glass in salute.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. I leaned back in the massaging seat and sipped my beverage while the technician scrubbed last month’s dark plum paint from my toes.
Lauren knew how to find all the hidden gems, and this cozy spa with its happy hour pedicures was the best of them. Neither of us was particularly good about taking time for ourselves. We gave everything to our careers and our people, but we were good about forcing each other to breathe once in a while.
Our version of breathing involved liquor, cupcakes, swearing, and shopping.
“You should come to dinner tomorrow night,” she said while flipping through an old copy of Glamour.
“What are we having?” I asked.
Lauren studied an article about sex positions to drive her man wild. She chuckled and shook her head before turning back to me. “I don’t know yet. Might just order paella.”
“Ohhhh, paella,” I said. “I’d be down for that.”
“Everyone loves paella,” she said. “It’s like spicy rice crispy treats for adults. With chorizo.”
We clinked our glasses together again, and I went back to debating between polish shades. I was a creature of habit, and if I was painfully honest with myself, I didn’t love change. I preferred consistency, knowing what to expect, knowing what was around each corner.
I stuck with dark plum.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the Cape with us this weekend?” Lauren asked.
She and Matt were spending the long Labor Day weekend on Cape Cod, at the same inn where they were married three months ago. I kept telling them I didn’t want to crash their second honeymoon, but I was nowhere near ready to return to the scene of my wedding weekend crimes.
“Do you not find it strange that you’re trying to bring me along for a romantic getaway?” I glanced around and lowered my voice. “Tell me: what’s wrong? Are you bored with each other? Is the spark already dying? Is married sex that bad?”
Lauren swatted me as she doubled over laughing, and my drink splashed down the front of my dress. “No!” she said. “On all counts.”
“Then why would you want me hanging out with you? Do you really want me barging in, in the middle of your sexytimes, asking if you want to go biking or paddle boarding or some outdoorsy shit like that? Or snuggling up between the two of you to watch movies and hog the popcorn?”
Lauren sipped her drink and tucked her hair behind her ears, nodding to herself. “Honest?”
I gulped. Nothing preceded by an offer of honesty was ever good. “Always.”
“It seems like I haven’t seen you all summer,” she said. “This is the first time we’ve talked, just you and me since…since the wedding. You only dodge people when you’re trying to figure something out by yourself. But I miss you. I’m worried about you.”
I waved her off. I hadn’t been avoiding her. Not completely. “There’s no need to worry about me—”
“Don’t even start,” Lauren said, laughing. “But you spend enough time taking care of everyone else that you spend no time taking care of yourself.”
“I just…” My voice trailed off while I skimmed through my appointments for the rest of the week.
Tomorrow was packed but Friday was wide open after visiting some properties in the morning. Good. I needed that time to catch up on budgeting for Walsh Associates’ next round of investment purchases, and I owed wedding gifts to a handful of business acquaintances and once-upon-a-time friends. Everyone had some of those: people you used to be tight with, but now only saw via social media and the occasional get-together.
“I’m not going to force you to talk to me,” Lauren said. “But I know you have your hands full at the office. I also know that sorting through your mom’s things is emotionally exhausting and super stressful—”
Yesyesyes. I can feel the weight of it on my shoulders and in my heart, and I am doing everything in my power to keep it together.
“—and you insist on doing it by yourself.”
Because I can’t let anyone else do it. I have to own this and I have to do it my way.
“And I know Sam has been a whiny bitch for months.”
That whiny bitch is headed for an epic breakdown if he doesn’t start taking care of himself.
“You know I think taking a break from online dating is really positive, because hello—weirdos—but the dry spell must be rough. So I worry about you.”
It was a miracle that I didn’t choke on my margarita. When it came to Lauren, I rarely censored the details of my love life but I’d been selective recently. I didn’t want the “Hey, I fucked your brother” bomb slipping out between stories about the guy who kept at least eighty Glo-Worm dolls in his bedroom or the guy who insisted on wearing a wool beanie cap during sex. In the summer.
I continued scrolling through my emails, hoping this line of questioning would be replaced by anything else. I hated being the object of concern. I was the one who did the worrying and checking on people. If someone noticed that I was off, even my best friend, I wasn’t doing enough to keep it together. I didn’t know how to be the person others worried about, and I rarely knew what to do with their concern.
“What are we celebrating? Tomorrow night?” I asked, changing the subject while shooting a quick response to Tom’s messages.
“Lots of things,” Lauren said. She shook her head at me, annoyed that I was dodging her questions. No, she never forced anyone to talk to her, but she had that severe teacher stare down hard. She could force a mime to break character with that stare. “We’re celebrating eating outside on warm summer evenings, and sangria, and long weekends.” She paused while the server refilled her glass. “Oh, and Will’s in town.”
This time, I did choke.
I blamed it on the stiff tequila and slapped away Lauren’s hands when she rubbed my back like a colicky infant. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said and knocked back the rest of my drink. “Didn’t you say he was deployed?”
I was going for vague curiosity. I didn’t want to know what was happening in Will’s life; I was only asking because she brought it up and I was polite like that.
Even though he was an arrogant asshole.
She hummed and held up a finger for me to wait while she sent a text to Matt. “Yeah, a three-month tour. Most SEAL Team guys go through cycles of deployment, training ops, and leave. Will isn’t most team guys. There’s always another mission, another training op, another promotion. He can’t get enough of it. Just like my dad.”
Since I was working damn hard at my vague curiosity, I paged through Instagram for a minute. It was the only thing I could do to keep from firing off fifteen questions about Will.
“You must be excited to see him. Will, that is.” I glanced over at Lauren. “How long is he in town?”
“Um, I think he’s planning to head out on Friday. He said something about surfing somewhere.”
“Surfing is good,” I murmured. “How long is he on leave?”
She was too busy texting Matt—the two of them were ridiculous with the texts—to care that I was looking for a detailed accounting of her brother’s whereabouts. And it wasn’t like I was going to do anything with that information.
We had our fling, it was over, and there was nothing more to it.
And side note: I didn’t even like the guy.
“Not long. The weekend, maybe a bit longer,” she said, smiling at her screen. Seriously, I’ve seen the mobile phone bills. Those two could clear five hundred texts per day without breaking a sweat. “But he’s running training missions with new SEALs for the next six months. A lot safer than the missions he was leading overseas. My mother’s happy about that.”
“I can imagine,” I said. My knowledge of all things military was limited to the stray details Lauren shared about her wildly overprotective father and her life growing up near the naval base in Coronado. “So where do these training missions take place? Is that in California?”
Maybe my curiosity was more than vague.
“No, he went through BUD/S—it’s like SEAL 101—in Coronado, but he’s based out of Little Creek, Virginia. He’s never there anymore. He’s been overseas for the past few years, and I don’t even remember the last time he was stateside, aside from the wedding.”
“Huh,” I said. For someone accustomed to direct questioning, this vague curiosity bullshit was strenuous. “Must be tough, you know…not getting home often. Probably hard on his friends…or girlfriend.”
She frowned at the creamy orange shade on her big toe. “Do you have anything a little brighter? More a tangerine?” The technician fetched every polish between yellow and red, and Lauren studied each while my question lingered between us. After much consideration, she selected a new color and sent another text.
Chuckling, she typed out a few more messages and I was convinced she was ignoring my original comment. It was probably the best avenue for everyone involved; I didn’t need to fall down the Will Halsted rabbit hole again.
As I said, I didn’t even like the guy. Total douche waffle.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” she murmured. “Hasn’t since he finished the second leg of SEAL training and shipped out to Afghanistan.”
I hid my smile behind the margarita glass.
The discussion turned to Lauren’s school and the last-minute preparations necessary to start the year. Her teachers were busy setting up their classrooms and getting familiar with the warehouse-turned-schoolhouse, and she was eager to finally open the doors to new students.
We loitered on the sidewalk when the toenail polish was dry, debating whether we’d survive another round of drinks. Considering we both had early morning meetings and we’d already put away several margaritas, we decided it was time to call it a night.
“Come over around seven tomorrow night. We’ll make sangria and sit on the terrace and soak up the last seconds of summer,” Lauren said as she started walking backward toward her place. “Oh, and you might like to know Will has been asking about you, too.”
*
I was aiming for casually late. I landed closer to offensively late.
When the office started clearing out around five, I dug into some property value research in preparation for my Friday morning appointments. The title history was more complicated than I expected, and when I looked up from my work, it was almost eight thirty.
“This wasn’t the plan,” I yelled to my empty office. I gathered my things and headed for the garage, aggravated that I didn’t have time to stop at my favorite wine shop to grab a few bottles.
Traffic was heavy and street parking was a nightmare, and it was after nine o’clock when I reached Matt and Lauren’s loft. I let myself in and dropped my things in the entryway, and heard laughter coming from the terrace.
I didn’t give myself a moment to hesitate and marched straight to the screen door. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, settling into a seat between Matt and Lauren at the round patio table. “I was buried with research on the Commonwealth Avenue property.”
“We didn’t think you were coming,” Matt said.
“Shannon always comes,” Will said, his eyes trained on me as if Matt and Lauren didn’t exist. “Sometimes it takes her a little longer to get there, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
And there he was. The same obnoxious, sun-bleached blond prick who gave me two of the best nights of my life and vanished without so much as a ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
“Well then,” Lauren said under her breath. “Sangria?” She didn’t wait for my response, and set a glass in front of me.
“Will,” I said.
“Shannon,” he replied.
I glanced around the table, ignoring Will’s cool, steady gaze. “What did I miss?” I asked.
“We were just telling Will that we’re thinking about getting a kitten,” she said, gesturing to Matt. “Or a puppy.”
“Because you two don’t have enough to do?” I asked.
“Because she,” Matt nodded to Lauren, “always gives me shit about growing up without pets.”
“Every kid should have a pet. At least a freaking goldfish, dude,” Lauren said. “And I think we can handle a kitten.”
“We are not getting a cat,” Matt said. “We need a black lab or a beagle, maybe a bulldog. Something loyal and fun. I don’t want some moody cat.”
“He’s right,” Will said. “Cats are assholes.”
Cats are assholes? What kind of statement is that?
“Why don’t you explain that one to me,” I said.
Will shrugged and lifted his beer bottle. “Real men have dogs. Dogs do as they’re fucking told, and they’re happy to have your company. Haven’t you ever seen a dog when you come home at the end of the day? It’s the best moment of their lives. Every day, they have a new best moment of their lives. Cats are selfish. They don’t give a shit whether you’re coming or going.”
“So you’re looking for submission,” I said. The corners of Will’s mouth tipped up into a smirk. “The dog bows to its master. The cat is the master.”
“There can only be one alpha, Shannon,” he said, and I felt those words like no others. It was as if he was speaking directly to my clit, saying, ‘Come on, my little pet. It’s time to play.’
“Yeah…” Lauren said. “I wasn’t so much worried about power dynamics. I was more concerned with the number of times we’d need to walk a dog each day and that we don’t currently have a backyard.”
“We can change that,” Matt said. “Say the word and I’ll build you that house.”
Lauren held up her hands. “Don’t rush me,” she said.
“You don’t find that argument a bit misogynistic?” I asked. I knew I was baiting Will. “Considering that cats are typically associated with women—how many sexy cats do you see on Halloween, right?—and dogs are associated with men, isn’t hating cats equivalent to hating women?”
Will’s tongue peeked out and painted his bottom lip, and my eyes went straight to his mouth.
“We’ve had this conversation before, and you’re well aware that I don’t hate women,” he said. Lauren gasped out a quiet laugh and turned to Matt, asking him what they’d name a bulldog. “Not at all. I like my dogs loyal and my woman fiery.”
The debate over canines and felines transitioned to the house Matt was planning to build for him and Lauren—when she was ready for a house, of course—and I was surprised to find Will speaking in complete sentences. He didn’t growl at Matt once.
I picked at the dish of gelato Lauren placed in front of me while the men discussed football. I could hold my own in sports talk but I preferred observing Will. I’d never had the opportunity to watch him before, taking in the way he carried himself, understanding his mannerisms. He projected strength and control, yet his presence was commanding without being oppressive. He was unshakably chill, and the way his eyes cruised over the terrace gave me the impression he was aware of absolutely everything. His beard was fuller. Without thinking, my legs squeezed together at the memory of his scruff on my thighs.
I never expected to be face-to-face with him again. At least not this soon.
And I still didn’t like him.
“I’ll be right back,” I said when the conversation shifted to World Series predictions. I only liked talking baseball with Riley. That kid was a stats savant.
I slipped inside and busied myself in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wrapping up the leftovers. The loft was spacious, and only a few rooms were carved out of the open space. I wandered down the hall, ducking into the bathroom under the staircase.
Will was waiting for me when I opened the door. “How’ve you been, peanut?”
Crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe, I smiled at him. “Can’t complain.” He stared for a long moment, and I realized I’d missed the way his gaze felt on me. This gaze, not the detached, watchful stare I saw outside, but this hot, lazy intensity only a surfer boy could pull off. “How’s the military industrial complex?”
“Business is brisk,” he said.
I inclined my head down the hall, toward the terrace. “You’re being unusually amenable.”
Will rubbed his palm over his jaw, grinning. “He grills a decent steak,” he said, “but I got eyes on him. The second he steps out of line—”
I shook my head and placed my hand on his chest. “Take it down a notch, commando.”
He glanced at my hand and then up at me, smirking. That fucking smirk. It was his quiet way of making it damn clear that he was in charge here, and he wasn’t about to let that change. “Where do you want me to take it, peanut?”
I wasn’t sure who moved first, but within the next breath, my hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the bathroom door was slamming shut behind us, and my mouth found Will’s. His hands gripped my thighs, boosting me up and pressing my back to the wall.
“You should know I don’t have sex in bathrooms,” I whispered against his lips. “Apparently that’s a thing people do, but I’m not one of those people.”
“I have no intention of fucking you here,” he said. His fingers traced the edge of my panties but never dipped inside. “Just wanted to see if you tasted as good as I remembered.”
“And your game is just as weak as it was in May,” I said.
Will kissed me again, and this time it was slow. Patient.
Then he slapped my ass, set me on the ground, and walked away.
That asshole.
I stared at myself in the mirror, assessing my swollen lips, disheveled hair, askew sheath dress, and ragged, desperate breaths. My entire body was pulsing with need, and I could barely see beyond that wild hunger. If I didn’t get an orgasm right now, I was going to implode.
I got myself back in order, constructed a reasonable excuse for leaving early, and departed without making eye contact with Will. I drove home, frustrated and impatient, thinking up all the things I should have said to him.
What gave him the right to kiss me like that and walk away as if it was nothing?
And if he wasn’t interested enough to finish what he started, he shouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.
My apartment was dark and quiet, the only noise coming from the cyclical hum of the air conditioner, and I didn’t turn on any lights. I stomped toward the master bedroom, heading straight for the attached bath. My clothes fell in scattered heaps, and I stopped only long enough to turn on the shower and drop my bracelets and earrings beside the sink. The water was cool, the perfect balance to my overheated skin. I leaned against the chilly tile until my body was soaked.
Reaching for the detachable showerhead, I clicked over to my favorite setting, perched my foot on the built-in bench, and positioned the spray exactly where I needed it. My eyes closed, I dropped my forehead to the shower wall, and sighed as the first sensations rolled through me.
Shower orgasms weren’t especially powerful but they were quick, and they always took the edge off. I didn’t have time to pick out a vibrator, find the lube, cozy up in bed, and engage in thorough self-love. I’d do that later. Right now, I couldn’t forget the way Will’s hands gripped my ass, the feel of his weight against me, the pressure of his lips. I couldn’t forget the way his body pinned me with such intent, a reminder that he knew how to bring me pleasure I didn’t know was possible.
I slouched against the wall as I came, and the showerhead slipped from my fingers. The sounds of running water and my hammering pulse rang in my ears, blocking out everything else, and I stayed there, lingering in the small relief of an inadequate orgasm. My mind filled with to-do lists and odd thoughts of budgeting issues and reminders I needed to send Tom, and any tension that might have dissolved just now was replaced with even more.
On a defeated groan, I set the showerhead in its cradle and stood under the spray. I needed the water to wash it all away, to offer me a reprieve from the overwhelming ache inside me, to turn off my racing mind. Instead, I was left with shriveled fingers.
When I stepped out of the shower, I slathered on moisturizer, shrugged into a light robe, and twisted my hair into a bun. I required my bed, a glass of wine, another orgasm, and some Friends reruns, and stepped out of the bathroom with that checklist in mind.
“That was hot as fuck.”
I shrieked and reared back against the bathroom door, one hand pressed against my thudding heart. Will was sprawled on my bed, the remote control in one hand, a half-eaten apple in the other. He continued flipping through muted sports stations while my stomach did terror-convulsions.
“I was tempted to join in but I couldn’t interrupt something that incredible. It was like watching an act of God,” he said around the apple. “Hot. As. Fuck.”
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” I screeched.
He shrugged. “I let myself in.”
“You’re a presumptuous dick.” I couldn’t believe this guy. One minute he was slapping my ass, the next he was breaking and entering. Oh, and watching me give the downtown a thorough rinse. “Is that a commando tactic of yours?”
“Yeah, and you want to know another one?” I rolled my eyes. “You have to sit on my face for me to show you.”
“Choke on my dick,” I said.
“You have that one backward, peanut. You’re supposed to choke on my dick,” he said. He tossed the apple core into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. Of course he made the shot. He was unbearable like that.
“No, I’m pretty sure I had it right the first time,” I said.
“You mean this drawer of dildos?” He pointed to the short chest beside my bed. I couldn’t believe he went through my things. Any second now, I was going to start chucking those dildos at his head. The idea of pummeling him with the long fat one was quite appealing. “Quite the collection, but since the real thing is right here”—he motioned to his crotch—“hop on and give it a ride. Save the rubber for another day.”
“No, not when the real thing”—I frowned at his pants—“only performs for two minutes at a time.”
“That mouth of yours,” he growled, pressing the heel of his palm between his legs. It was probably an indication that we were both a special brand of crazy, but hurling insults was the most effective form of foreplay we knew.
That was precisely what this was: the hottest fucking foreplay I’d ever had. It was like dirty talk. Slightly evil, highly effective dirty talk.
I yanked the robe tighter to my chest and collected my phone from the dresser. For once, I didn’t have a landslide of new emails and texts waiting for me, and I thanked the universe for holiday weekends. “You are one creepy motherfucker. Is this what you do now? Show up in women’s apartments with your dick in your hand, expecting to get laid?”
Will tossed the remote control aside and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “My dick was never in hand. That’s your job.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and slammed my phone down. “You watched me! In the shower! When I was, I mean, I was…”
“When you were hot as fuck,” Will said. “It’s a compliment. You should learn how to take them.”
“I’d like to know,” I started, edging closer to the bed, “why you came here.”
He reached for the silky belt holding my robe shut, pulling me between his legs. He threaded the fabric through his fingers, tugging until the knot at my waist loosened. The robe parted, exposing a narrow strip of skin. He leaned forward, offering a quick glance up at me, then ran his lips from my collarbone down to my belly button. His whiskers tickled my skin, and as much as I wanted to call him names and yell at him for being such a beast, I wanted to feel this.
I wanted to feel good, and I didn’t want to care about anything else.
“Shannon,” he said, my name heaving out in a sigh that ignited a wave of goosebumps across my chest. “You know why I’m here.”
Will’s hands moved under the robe and over my shoulders, and the fabric fell to the floor with a soft rustle. He caged me between his legs, his thighs tightening against my hips, and my fingers dove through his hair as my mouth met his.
He reached between us, unfastened his belt, and popped the buttons on his jeans open. His clothes soon joined mine on the floor. He brought me to his lap, his erection tucked against my belly, and kissed up my neck and over my jaw to my mouth. My body had plans of its own, rocking against Will’s cock and drawing rough gasps and grunts from him.
“You want this?” he said with clenched teeth.
His jaw was locked and his fingers were digging into my hips, nearly painful, and I pressed my lips to his throat. “You went to the trouble of breaking into my apartment. You must want this,” I said against his skin.
Will’s hands moved from my hips to my shoulders, and he pulled me away from him. Light from the television flickered around us but neither of us stopped to turn it off. He cupped my face, angling me until we were eye to eye. “If you don’t want it, I don’t want it. Simple as that,” he said.
I nodded, and pressed myself against his chest. His arms came around me and I bit down on my lip to keep it from trembling.
There was a second where I nearly lost my balance, where I almost dropped all the balls I was juggling. That tiny drop of decency from him threatened to bring me down right here, and I was this close to sobbing in his lap.
I was lucky; I had incredible therapists who helped me escape the mental stranglehold of my father’s abuse. They taught me to conquer the degradation and crippling powerlessness, and they made me believe that I deserved a healthy sex life. It required years of reminding myself that sex wasn’t dirty or wrong, and there was no shame in wanting it, either.
That didn’t mean the paralyzing fear never paid me a visit. It stayed in the background, always reminding me to protect myself.
Until Will told me I was safe with him.
“Use your words, peanut. I know you have them.”
I fought my way back from that dark corner of my mind to focus on the heat of his cock against my belly, the security of his arms, the desire throbbing in my veins. He was right; I had the words now, and with those words, I was always in control.
Even when I let him take charge.
Pumping his cock twice, I shifted and sank down over him. “Yes.” My head lolled back on my shoulders and I released a deep, starved moan that had been burning for the satisfaction of feeling Will seated inside me again. “This.” My nails raked over his scalp and fisted around his hair, jerking his head back. “You.”
Will’s eyes drifted shut as I started rocking into him. His hands found my waist and held me, letting me take everything I needed.
“I hope you’re enjoying this,” he said on a shuddering breath.
“Not going to last?” I asked.
“All right, peanut, that’s it,” he murmured, his palm connecting low on my ass.
The moment I was about to grind into him, he lifted me off his lap and tossed me on the bed. I landed in a contorted pile of girl, my body folded in the least sexy pose imaginable, my hair sliding from its tie, and my head buried between a stack of pillows. Before I could right myself or hit Will with a bitchy comeback, he yanked the blankets and sheets out from under me. He spanked my ass hard, flipped me over, and anchored my hands above my head.
“You’re done talking. You’re done thinking. Close your eyes and shut it all down.” His other hand trailed down my inner thigh, and with one quick movement, he slapped my pussy. Slapped. “I’m the boss here.”
Oh.
Yes. Yes he was.