Page 65 of Play With Me
“Relax, baby.” His whispers ghost over my legs as he removes my shorts and underwear. “Let me take care of you.”
As he lowers his head between my legs, our eyes lock. His tongue is deliberate. Languid and methodical as he brings me to the edge of release. I’ve never experienced an orgasm from such a slow build-up, but my climax still hits with the same toe-curling pleasure Anders always pulls from me.
There’s something else this time, though.
A fluffy, sweet cloud has settled over us. Filled with feelings that remind me of a romance I once longed for. The words are on the tip of his tongue as it curls against mine—I can feel it. Words I don’tknow that I’m ready to hear. A sense of domestication I’m not sure I can handle.
I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to my child and the man who first stole my heart. But I’ve also had this other life where I can pretend I’m someone else for a little while. Acknowledging the feelings growing between Anders and me, admitting the emotions swirling around my chest, and trying to find a way in—I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
“Cara…” His voice is guarded as he brushes my hair out of my face. “There’s something I wanted–”
“I’m exhausted,” I interrupt as panic seizes my lungs. “Thank you for the stress relief, but I should get to bed.”
His brows furrow, his turtle shell orbs darting back and forth between mine. A long blink carries away the puzzlement in his gaze. “Okay…” The bed dips as he rolls onto his side and watches me get dressed with a clipped, “Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” I say over my shoulder, refusing to look back. Because if I do, I might just let Anders say what he wants to say. And if he tells me what I think he wants to, my world will turn upside down.
My life is in New York. His is here in California.
I don’t want to have my heart broken once he returns here, and I can’t move Maya across the country. Mick said he would never allow it.
Especially not now that he wants to tell her he’s her father.
I softly open the door to my room, sneaking in as quietly as I can. I crawl into bed with Maya and gently pull back the curtain of hair covering her face.
She is my priority. Her present. Her future. She’s my everything.
I refuse to be selfish and upend her world for my own happiness.
Anders will understand.
He has to.
Anders
Cinnamon and sugar assault my senses as I walk down the hall to the kitchen. Despite being entirely thrown by Carmela’s dismissal last night, as soon as she left my room, I fell asleep and had a dreamless night’s sleep. It feels good to be back home. In my own bed, in familiar territory.
“These are so good,” Maya mumbles around a mouthful of pancakes as I come around the corner. “Mom, can we have these every weekend?”
Carmela stands at the stove, intently watching the pan she’s hovering over. Her curls are piled messily on top of her head, random silken strands falling around her face. She’s wearing a simple pair of linen shorts and a T-shirt, looking the most laid-back I’ve ever seen her. “What, mijita? You don’t like the box mix I get?” she jests.
Next to her is my mother, mixing up another batch of batter. “I can give you the recipe. It’s super easy. You can premix all the dry ingredients and add the liquids when you’re ready to make them.”
Grandma must still be sleeping since it’s nearly eight in the morning. I lean against the kitchen doorframe, watching Mom and Cara move around each other like they’ve been doing it forever.
It’s Maya who notices me first. “Morning, Anders.”
“Morning, little one.” I smile and take a seat next to her at the table. “Excited for today?”
She shrugs, pushing the last bite of her cinnamon pancakes around on the plate.
A cup appears before me, and I look up to see Carmela pouring me coffee. I try to catch her eye, but she actively avoids looking at me and addresses her daughter. “You love Harry Potter, Maya. I thought you’d be more excited to go.”
Maya mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “I’m too old for Harry Potter.”
“You can never be too old for Harry Potter,” I tell her quietly. “Matter of fact, I was thinking of getting a wand while we’re there. I’m a Ravenclaw.” I can feel Carmela’s gaze burning a hole into my cheek. I keep my focus on her teenager, though, poking Maya’s hand with my fork so she’ll look at me.
She rolls her eyes before they connect with mine. “You’re more like a Hufflepuff, anddefinitelytoo old for Harry Potter.”