On Dublin Street(70)

When Thursday rolled around and I got a text from Braden to tell me he couldn’t make it that night, I have to admit to a teensy little bit of disappointment. I couldn’t admit to being hugely disappointed because I’d stuffed that emotion under my steel trap door. He was in the final stages of closing a deal on the development he’d been working on this summer so I understood. It didn’t mean it didn’t suck.


I dug deep and wrote the entire day away, amazed and gratified that I’d managed to write a few more chapters without having to open up the memories that were sure to send me back into the bathroom with a panic attack. Although, admittedly, I hadn’t had one of those since the epic attack last Friday.


Thursday night with no Braden to keep me busy, I let Denzel ease my pain with a Denzel Washington marathon. Ellie gave up two movies in and went to her bed. A few hours later I was out.


I woke up as I felt the world drop beneath me. “What?” I mumbled, my eyes trying to adjust to the dim light.


“Shh, babe,” Braden’s low voice rumbled above me, and I realized I was in his arms. “I’m putting you to bed.”


I sleepily wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me towards my bedroom. “What are doing here?”


“Missed you.”


“Mmm,” I mumbled, burying deeper into him. “Missed you too.”


A second later I was out.


***


One minute I was dreaming the world was flooding, the water rising inside our apartment with no way out, my panic growing deeper and deeper as the water crept up towards the ceiling, leaving me waiting on imminent death, when a bolt of lust shot between my legs and I looked down to see a gorgeous merman’s head there. The water drained away in an instant and I was flat on my back with the faceless merman who was now just man and he was licking away at me with gusto.


“Oh God,” I breathed, sensation ripping through me and pulling me with it into consciousness.


My eyes flew open. I was in my bed. It was morning.


And Braden’s head was between my legs.


“Braden,” I murmured, relaxing against the mattress, my hands sliding into his soft hair. He had the most magical tongue.


My hips jerked as he sucked at my clit, his tongue circling it, his fingers sliding inside me. I lost control of my breathing, my heart pounding in my ears, and I was coming around his mouth in seconds.


Talk about a wake-up call.


My muscles sunk into the bed as Braden crawled up my body, his eyes smiling down at me as he braced himself above me. I could feel his hard on rub against my wet center. “Morning, babe.”


I caressed his waist, scoring my nails lightly across his skin in a way I knew he liked. “Morning to you, too. And what a happy morning it is.”


He laughed at my goofy grin and fell off me to lie at my side. I turned to check the clock but my eyes caught on the object on my desk. I bolted upright, staring at it, wondering if I was actually seeing right. I felt Braden at my back and his chin came down on my shoulder.


“Do you like it?”


A typewriter. A shiny, black, old-fashioned typewriter sat on my desk beside my laptop. It was beautiful. It was just like the one my mom had promised to buy me. Just like the one I’d told Braden my mom had promised to buy me. The one she didn’t buy me because she’d died before she could.


This was an amazing gift. A thoughtful, beautiful gift. And it was more than sex.


I felt the pressure on my chest before I could do anything to stop it, my brain fogging up like it too was too full. The tingles exploded across my skin as my heart galloped out of control.


“Jocelyn,” Braden’s worried voice penetrated the fog, and I reached for his hand to reassure him. “Breathe,” he murmured in my ear, his hand squeezing mine, his other on my hip, holding me into him.


I breathed in and out in rhythm, taking back control, letting my lungs open, my heart rate slow, my brain unfog itself. Exhausted, I leaned back into Braden’s chest.


After a minute or two, Braden spoke, “I know you don’t want to talk about why you’re taking these panic attacks, but… do they happen a lot?”


“Sometimes. More lately.”


He sighed and my body moved as his chest moved. “Maybe you should talk to someone about them?”


I pulled away from him, unable to look at him. “I already am.”


“You are?”


I nodded, hiding behind my hair. “A therapist.”


His voice was quiet. “You’re seeing a therapist?”


“Yeah.”


My hair was brushed back behind my ear, his fingers gliding along my jaw to turn my face to his. His eyes were kind, concerned. Understanding. “Good. I’m glad you’re talking to someone at least.”


You’re beautiful. “Thank you for my typewriter. It’s beautiful.”


Braden gave me an uneasy smile. “I didn’t mean to cause a panic attack.”


I kissed him quickly, reassuringly. “That’s my bullshit, don’t worry about it. I love it. It was really thoughtful.” And more. To push out the ‘more’, I grinned devilishly, my hand sliding down his stomach to grasp his cock. It hardened instantly. “I can’t accept it, however, without giving a gift in return.”