Creed did clean. He vacuumed, did the dishes and did the laundry. He hated that house and not just because it was ramshackle but because it didn’t smell good, didn’t look good and it was a pain in the ass to clean not only his own mess but that of a drunk of a mother who didn’t give a shit. Like me but for different reasons, he couldn’t wait to get out.
Still, even remembering that, it must be said I didn’t know what I expected of single Dad Creed but this definitely wasn’t it.
We were standing at the windows looking out at his view when Creed murmured, “Hot as an oven now, baby, but come September through to May, that right there is paradise.”
I looked up at him to see his eyes trained to the view. He must have felt my gaze because he tipped his down to me.
“What’s the stringy cactus?” I asked.
“Ocotillo. Orange flowers, twice a year. The desert in bloom, outside you and my kids, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re here in March, Sylvie, I’ll take you out. So pretty, you’ll forget to breathe.”
I held his eyes and forgot to breathe right then.
He liked it here, a lot. He’d found a home. He’d settled.
I forced myself to nod and looked back at the view before I turned out of his arm, took in all that lay behind me before looking back up at him and remarking, “You live in a showplace, Creed.”
“You grew up in a showplace,” he, for some reason, reminded me. “You grew up with that and your Dad proved your whole life he didn’t give one shit about you and in the end proved it beyond doubt, usin’ you to cover his ass. But I grew up in a pit with a Ma who proved daily she didn’t give a shit about anyone but herself. My kids don’t have to live with that. I left Chelle in a five bedroom house in a neighborhood in the west valley and she’s still there. Her man moved in with her. It isn’t like this, more family, less show. But it’s clean, new, nice, in a neighborhood filled with people who give a shit about their home, kids, friends and neighbors. What goes on behind closed doors could be somethin’ else but that’s the feel of the place. What my kids have with their Mom and here, though, is good and safe and it surrounds them with the knowledge that someone gives a shit.”
I stared up at him and said not a word.
He leaned down to me. “Way I see it, you escaped your traps with the way you live in Denver. This,” he motioned to our surroundings with an arm, “is me escapin’ mine. Bonus, I give good to my kids.”
Bonus, I give good to my kids.
God, my new badass Creed, who was a great Dad, who gave a shit and had a cool house and the ability to take out the trash without being asked, was awesome.
Therefore, I stated, “I love you, Tucker Creed,” and got to watch as he grinned.
Then he hooked a hand behind my neck, pulled me in and up and brushed his mouth to mine before lifting his head an inch, giving my neck a squeeze and asking, “Got no paneling or shag carpet and the kitchen is cleaned more than once every year, but you think you could be happy here?”
I ignored his teasing, my eyes slowly slid from side to side then back to his beautiful blue ones whereupon I answered on a shrug, “Don’t know. I might be able to make do.”
Creed burst out laughing but drowned the noise two seconds later by taking my mouth and laughing down my throat.
Then he showed me more of his house by taking my hand and guiding me to the master suite.
Like the rest of the house, it was awesome, except more, because it was all Creed.
Not to mention, it had a huge bed.
* * * * *
I twisted my neck and whispered, “Harder, baby. Faster.”
Creed had an arm wrapped around my chest at an angle so his hand was curved around my breast, thumb circling the tip. His other hand was between my legs, fingers toying with my clit. We were on our sides, his front was pressed against my back and his c**k was sliding slow and gentle between my legs.
“Slow, Sylvie. Sweet,” he murmured, twisted his own neck, lifted his head and slid his tongue down my neck.
I shivered and tipped my ass further to get more of him.
“Like that,” he growled against my skin.
I did too. Oh yeah, I did too. All of it. Even the growl. Maybe especially the growl.
I focused hazily on the view of his pool and backyard through the floor to ceiling windows that made up one wall of his bedroom and I realized he was making love to me. Making love to me in his bed, his home, his city.
I loved it. I loved the feel of it. I loved that he was giving it to me and I loved why. He wanted me to want to join my life to his here and he wanted it badly. So he was trying to convince me and he was using a really good way to go about that.