Page 105 of The Homemaker
Somewhere there’s a tiny part of my brain holding on to rational thoughts, and they’re fighting to remind me of trivial things like Murphy is not mine. But the other ninety-nine percent of my mind homes in on one thing: his tongue making deliciously languid strokes against mine.
We don’t miss a beat when he lifts me onto the cold, white marble countertop. I want this to be an alternate universe where we’re doing nothing wrong because it feels too good. I’ve been an unsettled wanderer for eight years, because this man is the only thing in my life that has felt right since Chris died.
He begins to unbutton my dress, his mouth moving to my neck. I close my eyes and let my head lull to the side to give him better access. His hands give up on my buttons after three, and he snakes his hands up the skirt of my dress, curling his fingers around the waist of my panties and dragging them down my legs.
“Lie back, beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.
I have no self-control, so I do what he asks. He sets my underwear on the counter, then guides my wedged pumps to the edge. Then he kisses his way up my leg while planting his hands on my inner thighs to spread my legs wider.
My back arches and I grip his hair in anticipation.
Oh god …
He’s going too slowly. Why must he torture me? He’s … all … most … there …
“Hello?”
HOLYFUCKINGHELL
I jackknife to sitting and fly off the counter. It’s my mom coming in the backdoor.
Murphy is way cooler than I am. He takes my underwear and starts to slide them into his pocket.
I scowl at him, ripping them from his grip and tucking them into my dress pocket. Then I shove him and hiss, “Go!”
Working the last button to my dress, I meet my mom just before she steps into the kitchen.
“Oh.” She jerks backward. “You scared me.”
I scared her? Okay. Sure.
“What’s up?” I ask, smoothing the apron down the front of my dress.
“You weren’t answering your phone. And I couldn’t find any Advil in your bathroom.” She squints, lifting the inside of her wrist to my forehead. “Are you running a fever? Your cheeks are burning red. I definitely think you’re getting sick.”
“Uh …” I retreat a step and push her hand away. “I’m fine. I got the dish water too hot.”
She gives me a wary look.
“Hey, Krista,” Murphy says, popping back into the kitchen like he’s been somewhere else, doing only good things.
“Hi, Murphy. Listen, I’m so sorry about bringing up your rental property. I should have?—”
“Don’t sweat it.” He fills a glass with water. “I should’ve told Blair earlier. It’s not that she didn’t know; it’s just that she recently found out. After my dad died, I went out of my way to not look back. Clearly, not telling Blair sooner was taking it too far.” He smiles before sipping his water.
“Well, thank you for understanding. Listen, I won’t keep you, but my dear daughter wasn’t answering her phone. And I have a slight headache, so I need Advil, Tylenol or something like that.”
“Oh, sure. Let me see what I can find,” he says.
“No.Really, I’ll get it.” I head toward the hall bathroom, but Murphy does, too, like it takes both of us to find a bottle of pain pills.
“Your in-laws and fiancée will be back soon. Just go to your room. I’ve got this.” I flick my wrist to shoo him away just as I step into the bathroom. I find a bottle of Advil and turn, but he’s right here, blocking the doorway.
I frown. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“You missed a button.” He reaches forward and fixes the missed button while forcing me backward and kicking the door partially shut.
“What are you?—”
