A Family Woman Page 4

  By the time we returned with the drinks and snacks, Casey was teaching Sarah, Bailey, and Janice a few hip-hop moves. Bailey’s cell phone provided the music. Dottie looked on with a blend of condemnation and grandmotherly pride.

  “No, Bailey, like this.” Casey stepped side to side, snapping her fingers clumsily with both hands. Then she surged forward, stomping her feet and tossing her arms about.

  Bailey mimicked her. “I think I got it.”

  Janice and Sarah followed suit.

  Sarah grinned at what I assumed was the shocked look on my face. “You’re a natural teacher, Casey.”

  The child giggled.

  “If I somehow get signed up for hip-hop classes, I’m going to kick your ass,” I whispered to Ethan.

  “I think Sarah gave up on your dance skills on your wedding day.”

  Casey eyed the gigantic muffin Ethan held, and all gyration came to an abrupt end. She reached up for it. “Please, sir, may I have some more?” Casey wasn’t just a good teacher, but a great listener. I had taught her the Oliver Twist line weeks ago. I wasn’t an expert, but Ethan’s child was in the top one percent when it came to intelligence.

  Ethan settled next to her and broke the muffin in half. “You can have the rest for dessert tonight.”

  “So, Lizzie, you went to school and taught here?” Bailey tore a tiny piece off her cinnamon roll.

  “Correct.” I sipped my chai. “Ask me anything. I’m a CSU expert.”

  Janice perked up. “What does clam jam mean?”

  “I said I’m a CSU expert, not an expert of idiotic phrases.”

  “It’s serious. All people like you should know.” Janice overlapped her arms, and she and Ethan shared another conspiratorial smirk. It was hard to believe we were all finished with school and married with kids or babies on the way. As soon as Janice and Ethan saw each other, their antics had regressed to high school level.

  “What about people like me?” Even though she was mocking me, it was nice that we had fallen back into the groove of grad school. I hadn’t seen Janice since her wedding day, before I finished my PhD. Since then, she and her husband, Collin, had welcomed two children. She’d left the kids behind with him in San Francisco for this trip.

  “If you knew the term, you’d know what I’d meant.” Janice’s smile contained the perfect splash of arrogance, just to goad me.

  Sarah laughed. “Even I know what it means.”

  “Me too,” Ethan piped in.

  I regarded Bailey and Dottie. From the grin on Bailey’s face, she knew, but Dottie was in the clueless boat with me. “Okay, I give. What’s clam jam?”

  Janice covered Casey’s ears. “The lesbian version of cock-blocking.”

  “You may have to define”—Sarah covered Casey’s ears as well—“cock-blocking.”

  Ethan inched closer. “It means preventing someone from scoring. You know what scoring is, right?”

  “Something you and your wife never do.”

  “Touché.” He smiled proudly. Ethan’s aversion to bodily fluids complicated sexual relations, hence why they’d adopted Casey.

  Dottie tutted. Apparently discussing clam-jamming, cock-blocking, and scoring weren’t Dottie-approved topics of conversations while shopping for a college for her youngest granddaughter, or ever. I full-heartedly agreed, but Janice’s Californian openness was known to test my boundaries.

  “I have one.” Bailey slapped the tabletop. “What’s a gold star?” She turned to me and boosted a brow.

  “Ah, like in school for good behavior,” I mumbled.

  They all started laughing, even Dottie. I hadn’t pegged her as the traitorous type, but clearly I was wrong.

  Sarah whispered behind her hand to the adults at the table, “She is one and doesn’t even know it.”

  “One of what?” I demanded.

  “You’ve never been with a man?” Dottie hefted an eyebrow.

  How in the world had I gotten myself into this position? Even after all of these years, Janice still knew how to play me like a fiddle.

  “Seriously, who in their right mind has the time to learn phrases like ‘gold star’ or ‘clam jam’? I can list a hundred useful things that everyone should know but doesn’t.” I stabbed the air with a finger.

  “She wanders the library, updating the list daily.” Janice tittered.

  I scowled.

  “You didn’t answer my question, dear. Have you ever”—Dottie looked sideways at Casey, who was happily doodling on a piece of paper—“canoodled with a man?”

  Janice’s grandmother fixed her steely eyes on me.

  “Have you ever canoodled with a woman?” I countered.

  “Yes. Two, in fact.” She turned to Janice and Sarah. “It was nice, but something was missing.”

  Everyone but Casey snickered.

  I swiped a palm across my brow. “You know, labels are for keeping everything and everyone in a box.” I couldn’t stop myself from blinking excessively. “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Janice responded, “We should be ashamed of ourselves? You don’t appreciate your LGBTQ heritage and culture.” She laughed and turned to Sarah. “She’s probably a pillow princess to boot.”

  Confounded, I queried Sarah for an explanation. For the first time during this exchange, Sarah colored. She whispered behind her hand, “It means you don’t reciprocate in bed.”

  I huffed and turned on Janice. “That’s a lie. I love eating my wife’s pussy,” I exclaimed much too loudly, neglecting to cover Casey’s ears.

  “Why would you eat Hank?” Casey asked, referring to my cat. Thankfully, the brainiac hadn’t learned the other definition of pussy yet.

  “Because she’s a mean lady,” Ethan said. “Only mean ladies eat cats and brag about it in front of children.”

  Casey squinted one eye, sizing me up. “She’s not mean.”

  Ethan relaxed in his chair. “What is she then?”

  “My friend.”

  “At least I have one at this table,” I grumbled.

  Janice stood and looped her arms about my neck. “Don’t be mad. I’ve missed teasing you; that’s all.” She squeezed. “It’s not my fault you make such an easy target.”

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Nope. As a mom-to-be you need to remember one thing: don’t lose your sense of humor. Some days, it’s the only thing that will keep you from losing your mind. And surround yourself with those who love you. You’ll need all the support you can get.”

  “You’re going to be a mom?” Casey’s eyes widened.

  “Yes. Lizzie and I are going to have a baby.” Sarah rubbed her baby bump. “Two. Twins, actually.”

  Casey whipped her head back to me. “How can you have a baby if you don’t know The Little Mermaid?”

  Even Casey had serious reservations about my parenting skills.

  She stared at me, a serious frown on her young face. “Oh boy, you have a lot to learn.”

  ***

  In bed that night, Sarah asked, “Do you miss being on campus?”

  My first thought was: Does she know Dr. Marcel offered me a teaching position this fall? The semester would start days after the babies’ due date. My second impulse was: Quick! Wave a shiny object to get her off the scent.

  I rolled over and nuzzled my face into the crook of her neck.

  Sarah shoved me off. “That means yes.”

  “My trying to seduce you means I miss teaching?”

  She sat up and fluffed some pillows behind her back. “Ah, I didn’t mention teaching.”

  Again, my instinct was to distract. “You got me. What’s my punishment?” I traced my fingertips along her jawline as sensually as possible.

  She laughed and swatted my hand away. “The secret you’re keeping must be good.”

  “Why do I even bother?”

  “Keeping a secret?” She shrugged. “Who knows? You ar
en’t good at it.”

  “Not that. Trying to seduce you.”

  “Please, if you really wanted to have sex, you’d have succeeded by now.” Sarah laid a hand on my chest. “Something’s troubling you. You may not know the full truth yourself, but I know there’s angst inside. Why don’t you talk to me about it?”

  “If I don’t know the full truth, how can I talk about it?” I groaned.

  Sarah let out an exasperated sigh, the one she’d perfected years ago. I liked to call it the I love you, Lizzie, but it ain’t easy sigh. “Talking things over may help you realize what’s bothering you.” Her eyes pleaded with me.

  I stared at the blue and taupe paisley pattern on our new comforter. “Talking things over isn’t one of my strong suits.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Okay, wise guy. I get it. I’m imperfect and the source of all our relationship issues, and you are the goddess of positive chi.”

  Sarah cuffed the back of my head. “Don’t be an ass. I want to help you. Let me in, please.”

  I propped one pillow beneath my lower back and squashed a mint-green decorative pillow against my chest. “I haven’t been able to write a word in weeks now. For some reason, I can’t stop researching to focus on the real task at hand: getting words written.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Sarah sat up, flashing her supportive face.

  I faced her. “Really? You’re going to act like my therapist? Lob questions back at me to get a gut reaction?”

  “Does it work in therapy?” She smiled knowingly.

  “Ye—hey, you did it again.”

  Sarah tugged my tank top up and stroked my stomach with soft fingertips. “Keep going.”

  “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” I pinched my eyes shut, focusing only on her touch.

  “Later. Right now, let it out. Don’t think; just speak.”

  Keeping my eyes shut, I said, “I like researching. Learning new things, even about things that have been studied and analyzed from fifty different angles by even more historians. Shutting down the curious aspect of my brain to write is much harder these days.”

  Sarah’s hand worked its way toward my right breast. She focused on the areola, not making contact with my hardening nipple. “You’ve always liked researching, but you’ve been able to synthesize the research in a presentable way. What’s stopping you now?”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t know. I’ve set deadlines. I’ve tried insisting that if I don’t write a certain amount of words in a day I can’t go for a bike ride, or some other form of punishment. But it’s not working. I’m losing my focus, and it’s scaring me.” My eyes opened and fixated on her worried face. “I don’t want to slide into oblivion.”

  “Oblivion—that seems a bit dramatic. No wonder you’re scaring yourself.” She straddled my stomach and cupped my chin with her hand. “I’m not an expert, but I know you. You have a fabulous way of making a mountain out of a molehill. And the way you accomplish that best is by putting too much pressure and expectations on yourself. Nothing major will happen if you don’t write your next book—”

  “Thanks for that,” I cut her off.

  She smiled her you’re about to get laid smile, which quieted me instantly. “Let me finish. What I mean is no one will die if you don’t write it. No catastrophic tragedy will wipe out the human population—”

  “I am writing about the Nazis, so part of your theory is wrong. That whole if you don’t know your history, you’re doomed to repeat it shtick.” I winked.

  “Because no one else has written about Nazis and the Holocaust?” The sarcasm in her voice matched her quirked brow. “Are you going to let me finish?” She lowered her mouth to an inch from mine.

  I nodded.

  “Blot out the fear, the fear of writing a crappy first draft. Swipe away the possibility of being wrong—that’s what your editor and specialized beta readers help with. Not everyone has Dr. Marcel, the preeminent historian in your time period, as a first reader. Just sit down and write the words. Try setting a timer for twenty minutes and just type. See what happens. I know for a fact that your watch has a timer.”

  What she said made sense. Sarah pressed her lips to mine, and I responded eagerly for thirty seconds before breaking away and wiggling out from under her.

  “Where are you going?” She rolled onto her back.

  “To write for twenty minutes. Can you hold that thought?” I waved to the lit candles and her sexy lingerie.

  “You want to start now?” Her face wasn’t annoyed, albeit slightly perplexed.

  “Is there a better time?” I slipped one arm into a navy cardigan.

  Sarah laughed. “Serves me right for being so good at guessing what’s going on inside that brain of yours.”

  I crouched down and kissed the top of her head. “That’s right. This is all your fault. I’ll be back in twenty.”

  “You better be, or I’ll take care of myself.” She slid her hand under her pink silk panties.

  My resolve started to waver.

  Sarah flicked her hand. “Go. And then come back and get busy. Sexy busy.”

  ***

  Approximately twenty-three minutes later, I tiptoed into the bedroom and eased under the covers. Sarah’s back faced me. Unsure whether she was asleep, I nuzzled against her backside, peppering the back of her neck with kisses.

  She reacted a little.

  My hand reached around and slithered up her nightie, heading straight for her burgeoning breasts.

  My caress elicited a moan from the now half-awake Sarah. “Gentle.” Her breasts were becoming increasingly tender as the pregnancy progressed.

  Regretfully, I abandoned the tempting titties, although I had to suppress a disappointed sigh. Instead, I rolled her onto her back and staked my claim on her mouth. Sarah met my passion, upping the stakes by bolting upright and yanking her nightie off.

  “Damn, they’re gorgeous.” I attempted a wolf whistle.

  Sarah ignored my feeble attempt and followed my gaze to her breasts. “It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve always loved having you fondle my girls, but now that they’re in peak form, I can’t stand to have you touch them.”

  “It’s a travesty, and I study travesties for a living, so I know.” I tapped a confident thumb on my chest.

  “Did you just compare my boobs to the Holocaust?” She tilted her head to the side, which made her smile appear even more sarcastic and seductive. A sliver of moonlight reflected in her stunning eyes.

  “Uh… of course not. Who would do such a thing?”

  “Only an idiot.” She laughed—a laugh that implied I was indeed an idiot but that it was one of the things she loved about me. I’d never understand how that attracted her to me—neither of us did. Her eyes roamed over my body. Tugging on my cardigan she said, “I think you’re a mite overdressed, Professor.”

  “Now that’s a problem that can be resolved as quick as”—I freed my arms from the sweater and shed my tank top—“that.”

  Sarah pushed me onto my back and positioned herself over my body. “Now these are not off limits.” Slowly, she descended, not stopping until she sucked my right nipple into her mouth, teasing and biting.

  My head sank down into the plush pillow. “Thank God for that.” My hands cupped her ass cheeks, easing her into my hot zone. I could feel her desire wetting the lining of her panties. I massaged her ass with greedy hands. “These are mine, all mine.”

  “You like?” She craned her head over her shoulder, eyeing my hands as I grabbed her ass.

  “I love your body. I’m still unsure how I was able to get you to fall in love with me.”

  She swung her head around to stare down at me. “I’m still unclear about that as well.”

  I beckoned her with a finger. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  “Is that all you want?”

  “It’s the starting point.”

  “For what?” />
  “Fucking.”

  “I love when you talk that way.”

  I gripped the back of her head and forced her mouth to mine. The need for talking was over. Action was what I craved, and from the silent need in her eyes, Sarah wholeheartedly agreed.

  I flipped her onto her back, startling her but ratcheting her yearning up a few notches. My tongue delved into her mouth, savoring the taste of craving. Her fingers bunched the hair on the back of my head, luring me further into her.

  I let my tongue work down the side of her body, bypassing her breasts, although I studied them longingly as her chest moved up and down with each rapid breath. I focused on the area right below her belly button, licking and nipping her expanding belly. Tenderly, I smoothed a palm over the apex of the growth, not uttering my feelings aloud. By the way Sarah draped her hand over mine, I was certain she understood what I was communicating. Together we were creating a family: one we would cherish through thick and thin.

  My teeth raked her pubic hair, causing her breath to hitch. Slight variations in her breathing always affected me, driving my need to please her, to prove how much I loved her, how much I craved her pussy. Tasting her. Smelling her. Being inside her.

  She raised her hips off the light-gray sheets, alerting me she was ready.

  I tugged off her panties and flicked her clit with my tongue, using enough force to cause her to moan but not enough to overplay my hand. Separating her lips with my own, my tongue glided all the way down through her warm tunnel and back up to stake my claim on the spot she so desperately wanted me to invade. I meandered to her inner thigh, concentrating on the softness of her skin, the top of my head nuzzling her love zone, keeping her stimulated, promising more.

  And I so desperately wanted to give her more. Sometimes, it was difficult to determine who it was harder on: Sarah or me. Foreplay had significant advantages, but it wasn’t a game for the weak-willed. Holding off, even for a few moments, intensified the experience, transforming it into an act of love and not mere fucking.