The Dare Collection August 2019. Christy McKellen

before my eyes.

      ‘That’s good. I believe there are medications that can slow down the progression of dementia. And my father hasn’t said a word, so perhaps only those closest to him are aware of the changes.’

      ‘Thank you for saying that. For everything. I never realised just how close you two were.’

      We walk the rest of the way in silence, perhaps each lost to our memories of the good old days when Graham was the rock, full of wisdom, sage advice and readily given support.

      And, where only minutes ago I was certain Blair would be gone from my life as quickly as she’d entered it, it now feels like she’s always been a part of our tight-knit little circle, and perhaps always should be.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Reid

      THE MINUTE WE enter the house she spins and backs me up against the front door, until she’s pressed against me, shoulder to thigh. I’m already hard because I’ve anticipated that the minute we touch, my doubts, my fears, the need to fix something out of my control will settle, the tension of stupidly almost losing her draining away.

      She deserves better than me, better than an older, cynical, set-in-his-ways bachelor. She’s bravery to my caution, laughter to my cynicism, sunshine and smiles and a hundred other fucking feel-good clichés, and one day, when she’s ready, she’ll move on to a relationship she deserves, perhaps marriage.

      The thought sours my tongue but I swallow it down. I’ve had my shot and I’m on the slippery slope to forty. But by some miracle she’s still here, willing to forgive me, albeit with a forfeit in mind, one I’m only too happy to pay.

      ‘This time I’m calling the shots, my hands on the steering wheel—is that too challenging for you?’ she whispers against my lips, her hips undulating so she’s massaging my dick between our bodies with every move.

      ‘You can steer this, as long as I can dictate the number of times I make you come.’ It kills me, but I keep my hands hanging by my sides, when everything inside me fights to touch her, to make things right between us the only way I know how. But I want her to know I’m in this. That I can keep my promise, keep the sex separate, even if the demarcation, at least for me, blurs a little.

      Her eyes flare and I want to start straight away, to chalk up an orgasm tally so long she loses the strength to walk. ‘Okay, but this time we’ll be banishing a few ghosts.’

      ‘You know where the bedroom is.’ My voice turns husky with the need strangling me, and it takes every ounce of control I possess to keep still.

      ‘Hmm, that sounds kind of...middle-aged.’ She grips the belt loops on my jeans and tugs my hips, dragging our lower halves impossibly closer. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I see confirmation in her eyes, which dance with excitement and something wicked, something pure Blair—challenge.

      ‘So what exactly did you have in mind?’ If she stokes the fire in me any higher, we’re going to burn ourselves clear through the door.

      ‘I want to live out my sofa fantasy.’ She doesn’t wait for my response, merely takes my hand and drags me down the hallway and into the living room.

      ‘You have a sofa fantasy?’ I tilt my head in the direction of the cream sectional sofa that dominates this room. ‘Not that I’m complaining—there are six pieces of upholstered furniture in this house and I’m happy to abuse each and every one of them for you, but didn’t we cover that with the chesterfield in my office?’

      ‘Humour me.’ She releases my hand and inches closer to the furniture. ‘Remember when I told you how I discovered Josh’s cheating?’

      Of course. She found him on the sofa... My stomach rolls with compassion, every thump of my heart promising retribution if I ever meet her ex. I tug her into my arms, ready and willing to give her some better memories. ‘I’ll give you anything you want, Blair.’ I cover her mouth with mine in a slow, lazy exploration of our duelling tongues, because I’m weak where she’s concerned, and I’m done being patient. I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and hold her mouth on mine. Without breaking the kiss, I bend my knees, scoop my arms around her waist and lift her so she’s plastered against me from shoulders to thighs. I kiss her until we’re both panting hard and then I allow her to slowly slide down to the floor, so her breasts and the heat from between her legs slide all over me. I twist my mouth away with a groan. ‘Fuck, you’re so sexy. Get naked—let’s abuse my sofa.’

      She laughs, steps back out of reach, pressing one fingertip to my lips. ‘Uh-huh. You get naked.’ Her voice is breathy. Having me willing and ready to be her man-toy excites her so her nipples prod through her bra and T-shirt.

      My hands settle on the swell of her hips. I want her close, at arm’s length, as if our disagreement has left me craving a deeper connection.

      She smiles a sexy half-smile. ‘Touch yourself again.’

      I lift one eyebrow, biting back my eagerness to comply. ‘You like that?’

      She nods, her breath hitching. ‘I liked that you couldn’t stop yourself the first time. That you wanted me that much.’

      Something in my chest surges anew at her stark honesty, her embracing what she wants. She completely dismantles me. ‘I want you more now.’ Fuck, what is she doing with me—a distrustful, workaholic divorcee? There must be a thousand men her age lined up. That last thought has my jaw clamped so hard I hear my enamel creak.

      ‘Show me,’ she says, reaching for the hem of her T-shirt.

      I yank my own shirt off over my head, pop my fly and release my cock, my heart thumping when her aroused stare drops to my crotch. I grip myself, lazily tugging while I shove my jeans and boxers down my thighs with my free hand. I stare into her eyes. ‘I want you, Blair.’

      She licks her lips. ‘I see that. But do you trust me?’ Her bold question hangs in the air as she slides her jeans down her legs and kicks them away together with her shoes.

      ‘Yes.’ The truth of that single word surprises me, but it’s not a lie or false assurance to get laid.

      Like this with her, just the two of us, I’m as authentic as I’ve ever felt.

      ‘We’ll see,’ she says, wriggling free of her bra and swiftly adding her lacy underwear to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, until she’s gloriously naked, and every muscle holding me together strains her way.

      ‘Look at you,’ I croak out, my eyes gorging on her naked breasts, her tight nipples and the sweet haven at the top of her thighs. My chest tightens with repressed need. Need to go to her, to touch her and make things one hundred per cent right between us, where words fail me. Because I’m not as brave as Blair, not as open and fearless. But I want to give her what she needs. This is about her—her pleasure, her in control and me making amends, no matter what it costs me.

      ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispers.

      I groan, the effort to be everything she wants weakening my knees. She chews her lip, her stare still torn between my face and my hand pumping my cock.

      She joins me then, her hand slipping between her thighs, and her fingers find her clit, her whole body jerking in confirmation and her eyes half-drugged with lust as we stand face-to-face. Open and exposed and vulnerable.

      ‘That’s a wondrous sight.’ I’m struggling to talk, so good is the vision of her pleasuring herself while my dick is in my hand, but I don’t want to rush this. I want to show her that I care about her despite the years that separate us or what anyone else thinks. But we’re on her timescale.

      She sways, a flush staining her chest, and I’m jealous of those slick fingers between her legs. I want to be the source of her pleasure. I want her moans and her ecstasy and her orgasm so she sees