Chapter Fourteen
Over the splish-splashing from the bathroom in the hall, Tristan’s booming voice sang, “Joy?”
She popped her head in the doorway, catching a glimpse of the rugged man with his drenched T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, up to his elbows in thick white foam as he bathed his toddler, who doused herself nose to knees in maple syrup at breakfast. “What’s up?”
“Look at me, Joy.” Beneath a mound of suds piled high on her curly blonde head, Nicole screeched, “I’ma whip’ cream monster.”
Joy couldn’t help but smile. “You sure are.”
“Would you mind grabbing Niblet’s princess towel? It’s probably in the dryer.”
“You got it, boss.”
Three weeks of portraying the live-in nanny/housekeeper, Joy was used to keeping up appearances in front of the observant three-year old to avoid any issues should Stacy probe her chatty daughter for information regarding Tristan’s private life, as she’d been guilty of doing to her boys regarding Victor’s fiancée.
Living in a blissful bubble under one roof with Tristan and Nicole, this parallel universe was everything and nothing like she’d thought it would be. Although she was still an outsider looking in on the dynamic daddy-daughter duo, Tristan included Joy in everything, making her feel like a true blue insider. Suddenly her life was filled with an unexpected plethora of positive emotions as their romance grew exponentially, combined with the instinct to nurture his sweet and sassy child. Nicole filled a void in Joy’s soul that made her miss her children even more.
As a trio, they were a perfect fit of misfits, which bared zero resemblance to her former failed life in Florida with Victor and the boys. If she dwelled on that painful punch to the gut for too long, a black cloud of shame and regret eventually gathered overhead, showering her with irrepressible grief. In those dark moments, she’d jump on the treadmill, putting the broken-hearted pieces together with sweat rather than tears.
Joy couldn’t remember the last time she bathed her kids; once they were potty-trained they preferred their father to handle the bonding task. Nor could she pinpoint when the boys’ aversion started or how deep it ran, but it was there, in every cold kiss and apprehensive hug. Nothing was more painful than saying I love you and never hearing I love you too in return. What made it intolerably worse was Victor instigating the negative behavior with positive reinforcement. It wasn’t fair to blame the boys for regurgitating what they were taught.
Downstairs, Joy pulled out the pink hooded towel, still warm from the dryer. What a good dad Nicole had—the man thought of everything. He even paused in his current project in order to complete the pristine princess bedroom he’d promised—building a raised bed that resembled a miniature castle.
As much as she needed him to finish her house fast, how could she complain about him doing something good for his child? He’d done so much for Joy after knowing her such a short time, and he guaranteed it would be done before the boys arrived. However the more time she spent with him, the more she realized she’d miss living with him, but at least they’d be neighbors, and that was almost as good.
“One princess towel for one pretty princess.” Before she could hand it to Tristan, Nicole hopped out of the tub and into Joy’s arms. “Happy Mudder’s Day, Joy. I can hug you now ’cause I’m clean.”
Joy’d begged Tristan not to acknowledge the Hallmark holiday, however he did it anyway and subtly well with a “Like a Mother” card signed in Nicole’s toddler scrawl that hit a tender spot, plus a bouquet of Montauk daisies. It was hard enough phoning Sophia this morning to wish her mother a wonderful day. Hearing the sentiment from the heart-shaped mouth of a babe would have brought Joy to tears had she not already swallowed two anxiety pills with her coffee.
Tristan winced at his child’s words. “I’m sorry, Joy. We were talking about her mom. And the cards she made for Stacy. And you.” A concerned tug at the corner of his mouth produced an innocent smile. “Naturally, you’ve been like a second mother to her. I hope you’re all right with it.”
A damp-eyed Joy squeezed Nicole’s little body, unleashing all the love in the world for her boys onto this angel. “It’s fine.” She bit back tears. “I’m fine. Thank you, baby. You’re such a good, good girl.”
When Joy was sure her heart would burst, Nicole responded with a wet kiss on the cheek and the most miraculous words. “I luf you.”
Joy gasped. It was useless to fight it—the emotional dam broke and she couldn’t hold back the waterworks. “I-I love you too.” She uttered the four-letter word as if she never denounced it.
“Okay you two silly monkeys…” Tristan pried his daughter from Joy’s embrace. “Lemme get you dressed.” He ushered the child across the hallway. “And you…are you really okay?”
Joy fidgeted with the ends of her bathrobe belt, tightening the knot at her waist. “Of course. I’m just…you know.”
“Dry those tears. We’re going out for the day.” He brushed her cheeks with his fingertips before shutting the bathroom door.
After splashing cool water on her face and patting her skin with the towel, Joy regained her composure with the help of some cleansing breaths. Feeling sorry for herself was becoming her new pastime, and she needed to snap out of it. She would’ve hopped on the treadmill for a sprint before showering, but Tristan had some grand plan in mind that included her.
The more engrossed she became in Tristan and Nicole’s circle of love, the more she craved the same with Mason and Owen. How many nights had she dialed nine digits of the Florida phone number, always hanging up before hitting the final button, afraid of the rejection she’d grown to expect? Too many to count.
At last, Mother’s Day arrived, the single day of the year she shouldn’t fret over a phone call. It ought to be a given the boys call their mother, albeit an awkward and obligatory call at that. Still, it was a call she shouldn’t have to place in order to speak to her children. Yet here she was, waiting not-so-patiently with a hollow heart, willing her cellphone to ring. It’s bad enough the holiday fell on a Sunday when there’s no mail delivery. If her boys sent a card it must have gotten lost in the mail because, according to her mother, only one envelope arrived addressed to Grandma Sophia. Nothing for Joy. You’d think after all these years, aware Victor doesn’t do holidays like a normal person, it wouldn’t bother her anymore, but it did. Maybe it was the agony of being so far from her kids for this long.
Very well, then. Joy could play Victor’s game. School lets out the end of May and that’s when he’ll ship the boys up to Long Island. They can’t send a letter without a stamp. She’ll be damned if she’d be the one to ensure any Father’s Day cards get mailed this year. But plotting the revenge didn’t make her feel any better.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Tristan peeked into the bathroom as Joy studied her hopeless reflection.
“Nothing.” She shrugged, knowing she’d vent if he pressed hard enough.
“Might as well spill it, Joy. Mother’s Day’s on your mind, and I know you’re hoping your boys call.”
Her throat cramped as she stifled the painful sob. “They didn’t even send me a card.”
“It’s still early in the day.”
Joy rolled her eyes. “I’m hopeful, not delusional. There is no mail on Sundays.”
“Maybe it got lost.”
“Well, my mother got a card from them.” Knowing her ex, he would’ve only sent it to spite Joy but she kept the presumption to herself.
Tristan stepped into the bathroom and shut the door before crushing Joy in a hug. “I know it’s a tough thing for you to do, and this an even tougher thing for me to ask of you, but can you try not to think about it?”
Although Joy knew he meant well, she still didn’t need to hear it right now. “Yeah. Okay.” The chemical reaction of his pheromones, fingers, and friction made her skin tingle beneath her robe, and all she could do was push her palms to his chest, forcing inches between them. When that wasn’t enough distance, she yanked open the door to flee the confined space. “This is me, not thinking about it.”
Tristan followed her down the hallway, past Nicole parked on the living room couch, entranced by the Sleeping Beauty DVD for the umpteenth time, with Rex on one side and Cookie on the other.
“What can I do to take your mind off it?” His broken smile said he was willing to do anything.
Joy shrugged. Let me crawl back in bed and wither away. “I’ve got a ton of laundry to fold.” She jogged downstairs to unload the clothes dryer. With a full basket, she hurried back upstairs, dumped it on the bed in the spare room—her room—and picked pieces out of the pile.
“This isn’t gonna take all day, Joy.” Tristan sorted through the mound to match a tiny pair socks and made them into a ball. “Dontcha wanna do something fun?”
“Fun?” Joy snapped child-sized jeans in the air, smoothing the wrinkles before folding them in half. “Like what? Fly a kite.” After lashing her wicked tongue, she bit it, knowing Tristan was only being nice, while she was being a number one bitch. No wonder Victor left. No wonder the boys hate me.
“We can fly a kite if you want.” His gentle tone only made Joy feel worse.
“I don’t know, Tristan.” She tossed a small white undershirt, unfolded on the pile. “I don’t feel like fun today.”
He picked up the undershirt, folded it, and put it in the basket. “Maybe you’ll change your mind after I drop Nicole over at Nick and Lily’s.”
“Just because I’m cranky doesn’t mean she can’t spend the day with us. I’ll snap out of my funk once I shower.” After I take another pill.
“I gotta be honest with you…” He folded the remainder of his daughter’s clothes at twice Joy’s speed. “I thought having Nicole around would be too much for you to handle today.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But think of it this way—it’s a win-win. They’re trying to make a baby so having Nicole around will be an amusing preview for them. Plus we can use some extra us time.”
“Us time?” While Nicole spent mornings in half-day preschool, Joy and Tristan scheduled morning meetings in the shower, saving water by washing each other’s back and other body parts. “We aren’t lacking any us time that I’m aware of, are we?”
“I can never get enough us time.” He dropped the last item on the stack in the basket then curled his arm around her waist and slid a knee between her thighs—a move so smooth, Joy almost forgot her sour state. “We don’t have to do anything crazy. How about going to the nursery to pick up some plants?”
His offer was too accommodating to shoot down. And the monochromatic landscape could use a pop of color to break up the greenery. “Yeah. Okay.” Joy melted against him, almost wishing she didn’t make the belt knot so impossible to untie. “I can get into some sunshine and gardening.”
****
After they dropped off Nicole at Nick and Lily’s, Tristan spent the afternoon two steps behind Joy as she meandered aimlessly through the colorful aisles of the garden center. Coming here might not have been a great idea after all—surrounded by couples who dragged their children along for the ride—the sort of reminder Joy didn’t need on this maternally emotional day. It was a struggle just to get her attention long enough to decide which color impatiens she preferred.
“Do you like the pink? How about the purple?” Tristan scanned the various flats. “Red are pretty, dontcha think? Mix some white ones in there? Whaddaya say?” Not much, that’s for certain.
“Yeah. Sure. Fine. They’re all nice.” The faraway look in her eyes matched her distant tone. She didn’t even acknowledge the magnificent spectacle of the season’s first monarch butterflies flitting from flower to flower.
There was no way Tristan could fix the hole in Joy’s heart but he sure as hell would try taking her mind off it, even for a little while. “If you’re not into this, let’s find something else to do.”
“No, no. I’m all right. This is fun. I love flower shopping. It’s just…isn’t it too cold?” She shivered in her red zip-up sweatshirt. “My folks used to start planting on Memorial Day.”
“Wanna take a drive out east for some wine tasting? It’s a beautiful day for it and it’ll warm you up.” Why didn’t he think of the childless activity sooner? “Better yet, wanna catch a ferry over to the casino?”
“Thanks, but…” Joy leaned into him, her head on his chest. “I’m not in the mood. I just wanna go home.”
When they got to the house, she plopped on the couch as Tristan popped open a bottle of white wine.
“Stop trying to get me drunk. You know I’m a sure thing.” She pushed the glass away.
“Take it. It’s medicinal.” He put it in her hands. “It’ll calm your nerves. I hate seeing you so upset.” It was after three and her boys still hadn’t called. Tristan wanted to wring Victor’s neck. No matter how mad Stacy ever was with him, she never used their daughter as a weapon.
Joy swallowed three glasses easily while Tristan milked one. Miraculously he no longer craved a smoke to go with his alcohol, thanks to the flu, but mostly because of her positive influence. Everything about this heaven-sent woman made him want to be a better man. With her inspiration, he’d gotten back on track with his long-lost workout routine and was finally fitting better in his jeans and even needed to wear a belt again.
“Come on.” He helped her off the couch and led her toward the bedroom. “I know how to fix that frown.”
“Please…I’m not in the mood to be arrested right now. I’m starting to think I opened the wrong can of worms asking for handcuffs.”
Since their first night with the sex prop, he’d locked her up for the most minor infraction. Fork left in the sink. Guilty. Leaving the cap off the toothpaste. Sorry officer, I’ll never do it again. Forgetting to buy milk on the way home. A crime punishable with hot and heavy sex. Doing it doggy-style became his new favorite position, next to Joy on top. “Okay, no cuffs today.”
With the smallest nudge, Joy fell backward on the bed. “Be gentle please.” Her weak voice broke as she curled around a pillow. “I’m fragile today.”
“Absolutely.” Tristan pulled off her white canvas sneakers and tossed them in the corner. Then peeled down her painted on blue jeans. When she grabbed the hoodie’s zipper tab at her neck, he caught her wrists and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I got this. You play Sleeping Beauty.”
“All right.” She smiled and laid back. “And who are you gonna be?”
“The Beast, of course.”
Joy giggled. “Wrong fairy tale.”
“Consider this a mash-up.”
He dragged down the zipper deliberately slow, the hiss of the metal teeth killing the quiet as he revealed her tight white tank-top that matched skimpy cotton panties. He sucked in a breath at the pin-up worthy woman on his bed, hotter than any schoolboy fantasy. His gaze roved up her fit frame, taking in the sensational sight before falling upon her exquisite face. “I want you so bad.”
“You got me.” Joy licked her lips and batted glossy green bedroom eyes. “Now what are you gonna do with me?”
He knew it was the wine talking, but he wouldn’t complain. Playing along, playing dumb, he asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“I dunno. We can try something other than the cuffs for a change.”
His erection twitched, and he swallowed a lump of excitement. “Really?”
“Sure.” She smirked. “What else was in the magic basket? Refresh my memory.”
He rolled off the bed to check the top dresser drawer where they stashed the adult toys out of Nicole’s reach. “Nipple clips?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not today.”
“Anal beads.”
“Nah. I’m not really feelin’ it.” Joy shook her head and grabbed a pillow, tucking it protectively between her legs. “I’m an exit-only kinda girl.”
“How about Ben-Wa balls?”
“If you put those in, where are you gonna put that?” She pointed to his denim-clad crotch.
“Ohh…” His gaze narrowed on her bow-shaped lips. “I know where I can put it.”
“Is that so?” Joy gyrated her hips against the luckiest pillow in the world.
A little sixty-nine action might feel fine right now, however Tristan wanted Joy to forget her troubles, not through hard labor on her end but mind-blowing, memory-erasing sex to scrub the Mother’s Day misery from her brain. Never mind her unappreciative offspring and their demented dad—she deserved nothing but pure, sweet love.
He pulled out a few purple satin scarves, the feather tickler, and a bottle of oil. “I wanna do something just for you right now.” With his knee on the bed, he leaned over her.
“Mmm…” she hummed in delight, watching with curious wide eyes.
When he lifted the hem of her tank top, she sucked in a sharp breath, arching to let him pull it off, inch by glorious inch, giving him full view of ripe breasts begging for his mouth. Clenching his teeth, it took all his effort to restrain the animal instinct clawing for release. Patience, man, patience.
He took her slender wrist and wrapped the slippery fabric around twice before lacing one end through the slat at the edge of the headboard. Strutting to the other side of the king-sized bed, he showed off his new and improved biceps with a few flexes as he tugged the ends on the second scarf, like a body-building magician, then did the same procedure to her other wrist, tying her tight, spreading her arms like a T.
Then he crawled in the space between her long legs, ran his palms down the outside of her firm thighs, teasing behind her knees with his middle fingers, debating if he should tie them down as well. “You’re not gonna hurt me with these dangerous weapons, are ya? I kinda need ’em to be free for what I’ve got planned.”
Tristan cupped her heel in his hand and brought her narrow foot to his lips. He kissed the tip of her little toe, inching his way up the slope, then the arch and the ankle, while Joy’s neglected foot rubbed between his thighs, creating friction that set him on fire.
When her big toe found the fold of his zipper, she husked, “Take ’em off.”
“Soon, sunshine.” He flattened her legs to the mattress, then whipped out a third scarf.
“Wait—what’re you doing?”
“Having fun.” Blocking her vision with the strip of satin, he crisscrossed it behind her head before tying the ends into a big bow over her eyes.
“I can’t see.”
“That’s the point. Just feel. You’ve been stressing out since we met and I’m worried you might snap one of these days. Just lay back while I give you a ride that’ll clear your mind right up. Get all those cobwebs out of the cogs. Give you something else to think about for a change.”
“I wanna know what you’re gonna do to me.”
“Trust me.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” To keep her from spoiling the treat by talking, he untied the bow at her eyes, keeping the taut knot in place, then fed her the long ends of satin, just enough to keep her quiet. “No more words from you—got it? If you say no I’ll hear it. Moan and groan all you want—in fact, I’m hoping for it.”
Nodding, Joy’s body wilted into the mattress.
“Good.” Tristan got up, switched on the clock-radio, and turned up the volume loud enough so she couldn’t hear the bottle tops opening, the cream squirting into his hand, and the slick friction as he warmed it between his palms.
****
What’s this crazy man doing to me? Joy swallowed a scream, reminded by the mouthful of satin this was supposed to be a quiet, reflective time for her to enjoy, not interrogate Tristan on his intentions.
His goal was obvious—to rock her world, which did quite well. All the time. Every time.
She used to nibble her sons’ adorable baby feet, but it was nothing compared to Tristan’s delicious torture. Victor never nibbled her toes, ever. Is this something other couples do? She’d have to ask Lily. When his strong fingers pressed deep into her sole, penetrating the arch, she howled through the fabric.
Tristan stopped. “Are you okay?”
“Esss.”
“Want me to keep going?”
“Ooo esss…”
“Okay.” Joy could hear the smile in his voice.
In this frenzied moment, there was no room for thoughts of her boys, or Victor, or her parents, or anything at all. Not with Tristan’s tongue gliding up the sensitive skin inside her left leg, while his wavy hair tickled the right one.
Joy spread her limbs, giving him more space to work his magic as he nuzzled the top of her thighs, panting his hot breath against the flimsy material before snagging the waistband between his teeth and tugging off her panties.
He wrapped her legs around his neck as he leaned over to lap up the liquid heat leaking below her hips, lavishing the intimate place with the same languid treatment he’d given to the rest of her body, paying special attention to the swollen nub craving his friction.
Ohhh. She moaned her approval, encouraging him to dive deeper while she rode the wave of ecstasy but it was impossible to hear anything over the little clock-radio pumping out sultry sounds: a haunting organ, heavy drums, a whining lead guitar, and thumping bass. When the singer belted out, “In A Gadda Da Vida, honey…” Joy felt the rough timbre in her knees. Just as she got into the trippy melody, Tristan’s tender touch halted and he got off the bed.
Joy lifted her head, wishing she could see through the blindfold. “Uhddaya doin’?”
“Don’t you wanna hear something a little more…I dunno…modern?”
“No.” Joy shook her head savagely. “Weave it.”
“You like that song?”
“Yeah…o’ course. It’s a cwassic. Just weave da song and keep doin’ what ya doin’.”
“Bossy lady.” Tristan put back the psychedelic tune. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He kissed her nether lips like he kissed her mouth, making her grind against his five o’clock shadow. When he snuck in a finger, then two, Joy would have hit the ceiling if not for the restraints.
Damn, his big idea, tying me down. If only she could reach his head, she’d shove his face even closer to her core, as if it were possible. The vibration from his hungry humming ripped through her body like a shock of pleasure. All she could do was writhe and buck like a captured animal.
Then he stopped.
Joy didn’t need to see to figure things out.
The quick unzip and rustle of his jeans said it all. The nightstand drawer slid open, then slammed shut, meaning one thing: party time.
With her useless arms unable to brace her for what was coming, Joy dug her heels into the mattress and pushed back against the pillow. Tristan’s knee urged her thighs wider as he fit his hips against hers. Like a compass needle, the tip of his arousal found her pleasure point-of-no-return and slid inside slo-o-ow.
“Yesss,” he hissed against her ear. “Feels sooo good…”
The instrumental ended, and the singer’s thick voice kicked in again, “In A Gadda Da Vida, honey…” as Tristan plunged inside, making her scream despite the scarf. He pulled out, then pushed in with equal force and speed, working her into a lather while his lips found her breast.
As the song came to a bittersweet end, Joy released the most delicious explosion in the history of climaxes. Tristan was right yet again, effectively driving out every aching thought from her head and filling the black void with shooting stars and ribbons of rainbows until peace washed over her. The perfect happy ending to a not-so-perfect day.