Special Delivery

“Hey guys, I’m home!” I don’t hear any commotion in the house, which is very unusual considering my kids are very, very loud like their uncles. And their Aunty Nik. Not that my husband is much quieter. I set my bag and hardhat down on the shelf my Wally built for me for this exact purpose, giving the oiled wood finish a pat and a smile. He’s home almost every day by four and putters around with my dad doing yard work and building things.

Then I frown because it’s obvious nobody is here. “Nora? Walt? Where is everyone?” Usually, even if it’s a day the kids are with their grandmothers, they’re home by now, waiting for me. I sigh and start wriggling my phone out of my jeans pocket to call Walt, but I hear a knock at the door. 

“Just a second,” I mutter, flinging the door open without checking…and there he is. Walt stands on the stoop outside the storm door, one arm up as he leans on the frame, all decked out in the too-small postal uniform he never returned after he wore it for Halloween. 

He grins at me and lowers his mirrored Aviator sunglasses, waggling his eyebrows. I stare at the exposed skin of his abdomen as the tight polo shirt inches up. 

“I got a special delivery here for the sexiest woman alive,” he says, adjusting his posture to cross his arms. Is he chewing gum? God, he’s so hot. 

I blink a few times and run my fingers through my ponytail, realizing I’m actually feeling nervous in the presence of my live-in boyfriend. “You gonna open the door and sign for your package?” Walt maintains the ruse, adjusting a messenger bag so it swings to his side, revealing just what’s going on in those little shorts. 

“Oh, gosh, yes, sorry.” I am not doing a good job playing along at this game. Or maybe I am, because I feel as flustered as if this really were a hot-mailman fantasy. I grin at him. “Do you have a clipboard or something?”

“It’s best if I show you the package,” he says, tugging me close against him. Heat radiates off his big body and I swoon a bit into his chest. “You might need to assess it for damages.”

“Are you ever going to stop giving me shit about poking your penis?”

“I am never going to stop,” he says, before silencing me with a kiss. He groans a little into my mouth and I open for his tongue, loving the way he swipes it along mine, like he’s tasting me for the first time. 

A second later, I’m pressed against the wall by the front door as Walt juts his hips against me. “Oh god,” I groan. “The package seems perfect.”

Strong hands lift me up the wall until my feet dangle above my stuff-shelf. I wrap my legs around Walt’s waist as his teeth nibble at my neck and his thumbs work at the buttons on my flannel shirt. I’m being held aloft by the weight of him pressing me into the wall, and I’m incredibly turned on. 

“This is unexpected,” I whisper, moaning as he rocks his hips again. My jeans are lined up against the hard ridge in his shorts, and I start wriggling, seeking pressure and sensation in my center. And then I gasp when Walt gets my shirt open and yanks down my sports bra, baring my breasts for a second before he has his mouth on them. 

My feet scrabble for purchase, resting on the shelf for balance as I dig my hands into his shoulders. “I thought I was supposed to inspect YOUR package,” I pant, and he chuckles. 

“That’s right,” he says, yanking me off the wall and tossing me over one shoulder. I use the opportunity to pinch his ass as he walks us down the hall to our room, where he flops me down on the bed. And then he starts stripping for me, slowly. My god, he’s magnificent. 

I wriggle out of my jeans and underwear as I watch him peel off his polo and shorts. His blue eyes flash and he turns around, bending to unlace his shoes so I can stare at his ass in his tight black boxer briefs. “I can’t see the package,” I say with a laugh, my finger dipping between my legs. I can’t help but touch myself at the sight of him peeling out of his underwear. 

And then he springs back onto the bed, on top of me, both of us naked and pressed against each other. “This is better,” he says as he nibbles his way along my body. He guides my hand to his dick and hisses when I wrap my palm around it. 

“Oh, sir, this package is perfect. Where do I sign?” I give him a few tugs and he reaches between my legs, spreading me open, finding me wet and ready for him. 

“We can do a verbal acceptance,” he mutters, peppering me with kisses as I continue to stroke at him. I feel a bead of moisture at his tip and spread it around his smooth skin with my thumb, making him groan. 

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, I want the package. Right now, please.”

Walt adjusts his weight, lining himself up at my entrance and bracing his weight on his forearms. His smile reaches all the way through his body as he slides inside me, so slick and hot and perfect. “I’m so full of you,” I breathe, feeling him stretch me open. It always feels this way, delicious and tight, like my body is glad to see him every time. 

Walt kisses me as he thrusts and for a few minutes, it’s slow and gentle and lovely. And then both of us go mad. I jerk my hips up off the mattress, crashing into his pelvis as he swirls and dips to meet me. “Orla,” he grunts. “You feel so tight. So perfect. God, you’re hot. Look at you. Fucking look at you, with your tits shaking as I slam into you.”

And then I do look down as my body vibrates with the force of his lovemaking. The game is forgotten and it’s just us now, driving each other wild. “Touch me,” I plead just as he moves his hand in between us, his fingers circling my clit in the exact rhythm I need to send me over the edge. 

I come in a rush, pulsing around Walt and digging my nails into his skin as I shriek his name. He tries to kiss me and I bite his lip, hard. “Oh, god,” he moans in response, speeding up his thrusts and then hooking one arm and then the other under my knees. I’m spread so wide, bent in half as he plows into me and I remember, again, how much I love this side of Walt. In bed, he is completely unhinged, and I need it. “I need it just like this,” I shout. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at me reverently. And that’s what does it for me, the look on his face as he hammers his body into me. 

“God, I love you so much,” I tell him. And I start coming again, harder than the last time, as I feel Walt unleash inside me. 

“Orla,” he moans, spurting and spasming. He says my name again and again until he stills and drops my legs. We cling to each other, panting, until our hearts slow. And then we cling to each other some more. 

Eventually, he pulls out and tries to go clean up, but I keep him close. “Not just yet,” I say. “I want to soak up the silence with you.” Again, he grins at me, running his fingers through my hair. “Mm, that feels good,” I tell him. “This was a nice surprise.”

“I’m feeling pretty good about it,” he says, rolling onto his back and tucking me against his side. I love that I can just be with him this way, all my walls down. I trace my fingers along the faint hair on his chest, smiling. 

“Hey,” I say, raising my head to rest my chin on his chest. “Where’re my kids?”

“Oh, you weren’t watching them?” He jokes and finally squirms away to go to the bathroom. I throw a pillow at him and follow him, leaning on the door as I wait my turn. Finally, when I’m cleaned up and starting to fumble back into my clothes, he says, “They’re with my mom, and we’re doing Brady family dinner there.”

“Wait, Celeste is hosting everyone?” I freeze with one leg in my jeans, staring at him in disbelief.

He nods, rooting around in his dresser for something more appropriate to wear. “Yup.” He pops his P and steps into a pair of dark jeans that make his thighs look terrific. “It was her idea. She even bought juice boxes.”

“Your mother? Bought juice boxes?” It feels like yesterday I was having to explain to her that Nora shouldn’t use the Waterford crystal glasses. 

“She’s trying real hard, Orla,” Walt says, booping my nose and tugging my hand. 

“I know she is,” I tell him, making sure the lights are off and fumbling for my keys. I laugh when I see he’s dangling his set in the air. He ushers me onto the porch and locks up our front door, whistling as we head for his car. 

I slide into the passenger seat, checking myself in the mirror and fixing my hair as he backs out of the driveway. I stare at him as he puts one arm behind my seat to look over his shoulder, and I realize how happy I am to be here with him, navigating relationships with his family, building a life that’s loud and messy and joyful. 

“I love you, you know,” I tell him, squeezing his leg as he merges onto the highway heading north to his mother’s house. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and I sink a little deeper into my seat, because I know it. I feel it, and I trust it. I love that we are doing new, uncharted things together and I love knowing he’s here at my side, talking me through it all. Walt reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze, and we ride that way, hands clasped together, toward the rest of the Brady family.

Wrap up the series with Mick Brady’s book Restoration.

Check out the ladies of FOOF! Samantha Vine’s book is Fireball.