Lake + Manning: Something in the Way, 4 Read online

  Tempted to give in to him, I blinked away my haze and forced myself back to reality. I’d get mine soon enough, but first I wanted to pamper this man who worked way too hard. I urged his hand from my pants. “Later,” I said. “Right now, what I really need is a chair.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Once he’d left, I checked that I had everything I needed. Or at least what I’d seen Manning use in the mornings. He returned with a dining chair and sat facing the mirror. Behind him, I clipped a hand towel around his shoulders then tilted his chin back until he was looking upside down at me. “This is my first time,” I said. “How do I do it?”

  “I don’t know. Just shave.”

  “Do I go with or against the grain?”

  “I go against but I never really thought about it.”

  I went to stand in front of him. “You do this almost every day. It never occurred to you to make sure to do it right?”

  “The hair’s gone each morning, isn’t it?”

  With a sigh, I shook my head and filled my palm with shaving cream. I smoothed it over his jaw, careful not to get it in his hairline—or up his nose as I covered his upper lip.

  “You’re being way too nice about this whole thing,” he said. “Slap on the cream and slice away.”

  “Sit there a few minutes and let the cream soften the hair,” I said, ignoring him. “I’m going to look up how to do this properly.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “No? Is that how you shave me—slice away?”

  He frowned. “Of course not.”

  “Then let me do this my way.” I stuck out my tongue and went to our shared office, which had only a desk with a chair, a printer, and some lightweight file cabinets. It was the smallest room in the house and closest to the master—perfect for a nursery—but Manning had set up there temporarily because it let the most light in. I sat at the computer, ran a search on how to shave a man’s face, and returned to the bathroom with one of the articles.

  Manning slow-blinked at me. “You printed out directions?”

  “I want to do it right. Step one,” I read, “apply cream and let the hair soften.” I gave Manning a told-you-so look in the mirror and scanned the rest of the instructions before swapping them for his razor. “You don’t take care of yourself when I’m gone.”

  “Where’s that coming from?”

  I stood between his knees, tilted his chin up, and slid the razor down his jaw. “You don’t shave correctly. You’re supposed to go with the grain.”

  “I’m a grown man, Lake.”

  “Are you? When I’m not here, you don’t eat enough vegetables. You smoke more.”

  “Nah.”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t. Also, you work from dawn ’til dusk. Maybe it’s time to put an ad in the paper. If you had help around here, you could cut back. And you’d see a real human each day so you’d have to look presentable.” I pulled back to inspect my progress on his right cheek. “I worry you’re lonely up here all by yourself.”

  “I am,” he said, running a hand up the outside of my thigh. “That’s no secret.”

  “Even after I graduate, I’ll be working long hours. I can’t be here all the time.”

  “Lake, I don’t need anything other than what we've got. I’m not looking to make more friends or hire someone who’ll be in my business.”

  “They’ll be in your shed, working side by side with you. It doesn’t mean you have to give up any control.”

  “I do have to give up money, though. I suspect this person’ll want to get paid.”

  “The whole idea is that they produce more, and you make more.”

  “Doubt that when I’d have to double check their work all day long.”

  “That’s called trust. And letting go. And delegation.” I frowned at his purposeful stubbornness. “I know you don’t need a business lesson. I just want you to go easier on yourself.”

  His eyes roamed over my face. “You should take your own advice.”

  “I can’t.” I tilted his chin back even farther to get to his neck. “In my case, sometimes, we’re talking life or death. I have to be as prepared as possible before I start working with people’s pets.”

  “See? We’re each getting established still. It’ll come. Give it time.”

  I set down the razor and toweled off the remaining shaving cream. He shut his eyes as I wiped his jaw, then while I raked my fingers through the sides of his hair. If I was going to bring up marriage, this was about as good an opening as I could ask for. My palms got suddenly clammy. He looked so relaxed, probably for the first time since I’d left—and did I really need to pester him about why he’d suddenly dropped the subject? Manning was a deliberate man. Whatever they were, he had his reasons.

  “Feels good,” he murmured. “I need you, Lake.” He pulled me between his legs by my hips, his eyes trailing up my stomach and over my breasts in a way that tightened my insides. “I have since you walked in the door.”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Now.” He stood and swooped me up before I could protest, carrying me toward the bedroom.

  “I have one more thing planned,” I said, pushing his chest. “Reroute to the den.”

  “Mmm, yeah,” he said, pivoting and heading the opposite direction down the hall. “We haven’t done it in there in a while.”

  I rolled my eyes as he stopped short in the doorway of the den. “When did you do all this?”

  “While you were working. Put me down and get the fireplace going.”

  Once on the ground, I set to work lighting the candles on the mantel I’d put out before dinner. In the middle of the room, near the fireplace on a sheepskin rug, I’d made a bed of pillows.

  Manning looked back at me while stocking the fireplace. “Johnnie Walker Blue Label?” he asked as I poured us drinks at a side table. “What’s the occasion?”

  “You.” I set his tumbler aside. “I know you weren’t happy I wanted to stay in Pomona and study last week. And I’m sure you worked yourself to the bone. I’m giving you a long massage to make up for it.”

  He lit a roll of newspaper and held it up the chimney to warm the flue. “You think you’re strong enough to take on these knots?”

  “Oh, yes.” I grinned, picking up massage oil and flexing my bicep. “Nobody knows your body like I do, Great Bear. I’m going to hit all your sweet spots.”

  He actually shuddered.

  I perched on the edge of the couch and motioned for him to sit on the floor between my legs. “Strip.”

  He elbowed off his flannel, tossing it aside as he got to the ground. I squirted oil on his shoulders and rubbed it over his upper back and biceps. Massaging him was like kneading concrete and after a few minutes, with the fire in full effect, my hairline started to perspire. I readjusted on the couch, my thigh muscles aching from holding my legs open.

  “Doing all right?” he asked.

  “Yep.” I worked the back of his neck, running my fingers up to his scalp then down his spine. The California sun was strong, even in winter, and despite his naturally bronzed skin, he had a faint tan line at the back of his neck. “Is it making any difference?”

  “Yeah, Birdy.” He laughed. “But you’re sweating on me.”

  I pinched his arm. “You love it.”

  He looked over his shoulder and up at me. “Come here.”

  I leaned over his front, sliding my hands down his pecs from behind, flipping my long hair over his shoulder to nuzzle his neck. He pulled me closer by my arms. “There’s the sweet spot,” he said as I massaged his abs of stone, my fingers inching lower and lower.

  He released my arm to pick up his whisky from the side table, took a sip, and passed it back to me. The burn of liquor, of the fireplace on my skin, loosened my limbs.

  “You’re shaking.” He trapped my knees with his biceps, pulling my legs to his sides and massaging my calves.

  “Your shoulders are too wide.” I put the glass next to him on the g
round. “My thighs hurt.”

  He scooted forward, away from me. “I’ve never heard a better invitation. I’m more than happy to relieve your aching thighs.”

  “Tonight’s about you. Get on the rug so I can work on yours.”

  “When did you get so bossy?” he asked but went to lie on the floor where I’d piled the pillows. He stuffed one under his chest, resting his chin on his forearms. “Persistent? Impulsive? Yes. But my little bird used to have a shy side.”

  “You’ve spent the last few years touching, licking, and kissing the shy right out of me,” I pointed out, sitting on his ass.

  “I have, haven’t I?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “How come Blue’s not nudging her snout up my ass?”

  “I put her out back.”

  “You really planned this out.”

  “Shh.” I ran my thumbs up the muscles around his spine. “Try to relax.”

  Once I’d located a knot, I used one elbow, then both, to get deeper. I added more and more pressure until he groaned. “All right, you win,” he said. “That feels fucking great.”

  When I hit a sore spot, he bucked his hips. As turned on as I was easing the aches in my strong man, as much as I wanted him to pull me into his arms and make love to me, I mostly wished he’d be able to relax until I’d exhausted myself.

  Of course, I had no delusions that would actually happen. There’d be no end to the massage or start to sex. Manning’s groans deepened as I hit his lower back. I dipped my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, kneading the top of his ass.

  “Don’t neglect the front,” he said.

  I slickened my palms with more oil. He lifted his hips as I slid my hands down the front of his pants and stroked him once, long and slow. I sat back as he flipped over and took his pants off. There’d be no more subduing the bear, so I gave in and climbed on.

  “Your face is pink,” he said.

  “I’m warm from the fire.”

  He opened my blouse, offering slight relief from the heat. I shut my eyes as he slid my top off my shoulders, then unbuttoned my jeans. “Let me see you,” he said.

  He could already see as much of me as he wanted, but as always, he wanted my eyes open. I looked down at him, leaning my hands on his chest. My hair made a curtain around us, his abs tensing as the ends grazed his skin. “Even lit up by the fire,” he said, shoving a hand in the front of my jeans, “you look angelic.”

  I sucked in a breath as he circled his fingertips over my clit through my underwear. “Maybe it’s a disguise to lure you in,” I said, biting my lip.

  “It’s working.” He slipped aside the crotch of my panties. “The question is, how deep do you want me?”

  I bent at the waist to hover my mouth above his. “Do you have a setting other than ‘as deep as possible’?” I asked.

  He fought against my jeans to push two fingers inside me, flicking them until my thighs shook for a different reason. With the tight fit, his palm massaged my clit. “Are you teasing me?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. “Because that’s a two-way street.”

  “I doubt that’s a game you want to play.” Worked up from the massage, I was nearly panting already. I wiggled off his lap to kiss my way over his pecs and abs, letting my hair trail on his skin, knowing how it tickled and aroused him. Pulling down his underwear, I licked the underside of his shaft while raking my nails along his inner thighs. I tongued the tip of him, glancing up from under my lashes.

  By the time he gave in and fisted the hair at my scalp, he was writhing beneath me. “You win,” he said. “Put your mouth on me.”

  “Not yet.” I smirked. Once, turning Manning on had been an adventure, his body new territory to chart. Now, I could follow the map with my eyes closed and had many times. Just as he knew a feathered touch along my ribs always made my breath hitch, I knew grazing a fingernail under his balls turned his erection from stone to pure steel. Gone were the days of my timidity and uncertainty. When I took Manning in my mouth, I did it with the confidence that I could send him to heaven with a blowjob—and also that he wouldn’t let me. When he was as turned on as he was now, he never finished anywhere but balls deep inside me.

  I sucked Manning with everything I had, to make him feel like a king, to show him how I worshipped him—and I didn’t stop until he started to come apart beneath me. I had him partway down my throat when he tugged me up by my hair.

  I stood to peel off my jeans, taking my time so he could watch. I didn’t have to ask how he wanted me. Whenever we fucked after time apart, he had to be able to touch me everywhere, look me in the eye, watch my face as I climaxed. That first time, he wanted me raw so he could come inside me. After he’d had his fill, he might fuck me from behind or ask me to swallow him, but never that first time.

  I slipped my underwear down to my ankles and stepped out of them to stand over him.

  “Are you wet enough or you want me to eat you out first?” he asked.

  With only his words and the flicker of his tongue over his bottom lip, my knees weakened. “I don’t think I can wait,” I said.

  “Me neither.”

  As I lowered myself, he took my hips, positioning them over him. I braced my hands against his chest and sank onto him. Some nights, he couldn’t get inside me fast enough. Others, he allowed me to take control, to tease both of us as I let myself adjust to his size. It didn’t matter how many times we’d been together, our union always felt like the first time—overwhelming, big, thick.

  Manning squeezed my waist until his fingertips nearly touched. He cupped my breasts as I rocked on him, thumbing my nipples, then wrapping his hands loosely around my neck. He held me in place as he took over, thrusting up into me so I could do nothing but take all of him and moan each time he hit the right spot.

  He flipped me onto my back. The right side of my body cooled quickly away from the fire. His first thrust from on top came undiluted, hard and deep, the manifestation of his ache to be inside me all day.

  He dropped his forehead to mine, and without warning, he slowed, lengthening his thrusts. He kissed me with the same gentle control, both of us appreciating the simple joy of being there together.

  “Let’s make love here every night,” he murmured.

  “Life is not that good,” I said. “It can’t be.”

  “It can. It is.”

  My heart swelled, and I held on more tightly as he picked up his pace. One of his hands roamed down my side and over my hip, pulling my thigh up until my knee was bent. He reached underneath me, teasing forbidden spots that he knew put me on the brink of climax. I let myself get lost in him, in the desperate and loving way he took me, and when he was ready to come, he made sure I did first.

  As my orgasm worked through me, he moved my hands above my head. I barely felt the grip of his fingers laced with mine, the grunts that rumbled his chest, and then the hot, slick way he filled me.

  Manning rolled onto his back, sweating with labored breaths. I stayed where I was, boneless and sinking into the pillows. After a few moments, he squeezed an arm underneath me to pull me into his side. “I thought I was eating frozen leftovers by myself and jerking off tonight,” he said, eyes already closed. “I can hardly believe my luck.”

  He murmured his last words, fading fast. I was still wide awake. “You jerk off when I’m not here?” I teased.

  “Hmm.”

  “To what?” I shifted up to rest my arm on his chest and my chin on the back of my hand so I could see him. “Internet porn?”

  A grunt was his only response. I’d lost him. I took a few moments to study his serene face. I’d accomplished what I’d wanted—I’d spoiled him into a coma. But alone with my thoughts, Val’s questions floated to the front of my mind. How long until I got to call myself his wife? I’d waited years to be his at all. Even though I was the one who’d wanted to put off marriage, it didn’t really make sense to me anymore. Once I graduated and moved back in fulltime, there was no reason not to have a wedding.

  Ma
nning’s breathing had evened out. Now probably wasn’t the right time to bring up marriage.

  Then again, when had either of us ever gotten our timing right?

  3

  The crackling fire warmed Manning’s dark features as he dozed. Flames made shadows on his strong, angular face, his expression still and peaceful because of our lovemaking. It wasn’t helping my sudden impatience to bring up marriage that he looked handsome as ever.

  “Are you awake?” I asked.

  “Mmm.”

  “You know I love our life.”

  It took a couple seconds, but just like I knew it would, that brought Manning back to consciousness. He opened one eye. “What?”

  I traced a circle in his chest hair. “And in the past, I said I wanted to finish school before we made any big changes.”

  “And I said we’ve already waited long enough.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?” He scanned my face. “Hard as I try, I can’t read your mind. You want to ask me something, do it.”

  Manning always reminded me he couldn’t read my mind, but I didn’t believe that for a moment. He knew what I wanted—he always seemed to, anyway. It was the small things, like when he brought me tea some nights while I studied, and others, he seemed to sense when I’d hit a wall. He’d carry me off to bed, even when I protested that I should push through a few more hours. I didn’t have to ask for what I wanted very often, and since there was no bigger request than “marry me,” it made me shy. “You really don’t know?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “But I need you to say it.”

  I blew out a breath. “Remember a few months ago, we were on that hike in the woods, and you stopped to tie your shoes?”

  He laughed a little. “We’ve been on a lot of hikes, Lake.”

  “But you got down on one knee, and I wasn’t expecting anything, but the way you did it, it looked like . . . I mean, I know it’s dumb, but . . .” Like it had in that moment, my heart skipped with the possibility of Manning proposing. “I’m embarrassed to admit where my mind went. And not for the first time.”