“We should all get together some time,” Doc suggested.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, changing the subject as I headed toward the door.
“Carrie really likes you,” he said and I stopped, my hand on the doorknob, to look back at him. “I just wanted you to know. She’s had a hard time here, since we moved from Boston, finding people to connect with. I’m glad you’re friends.”
I softened at his words. “I’m glad too.”
My front door was locked. I’d gone out the back into the yard to sunbathe with Carrie and had forgotten to bring my keys. If I hadn’t gone all the way around back, I wouldn’t have known Mason was home until I got inside. His moped was parked in our yard, chained to the fence. It was the fastest way to get around campus and his parents had bought him one last Christmas. Only the best for their boy. My heart leapt when I saw it.
I went through the back door into the kitchen, closing it quietly behind me.
Jezebel came over to greet me with a quizzical “mew,” asking where I’d been all night. I noticed a can of food opened for her on the floor. He hadn’t bothered putting it in her dish and he’d left the lid half-on, the edge sharp, but at least he’d fed her.
“Here precious.” I picked up the can. Miss Picky had only eaten half of it. I turned the rest into her bowl, tossing the can into the garbage. Her tail rose immediately and she settled herself in front of her dish as if to say, “This is more like it.”
I took a deep breath and opened our bedroom door. The screen was still propped against the wall-it had been a week and I still hadn’t managed to figure out how to put it back-but at least I’d remembered to shut the window before I left.
“Mace,” I whispered. He was on his back in bed, snoring gently, an arm thrown across his eyes against the light. The sheet didn’t do much to keep out the sun and it was getting bright. I hesitated, part of me desperate to climb in with him, another part of me heeding the “warning” sign flashing in my head. I went past, into the bathroom, turning on the shower. I stood under the hot water for a long time, until it started turning cool, before getting out and toweling off.
“Dani?” His voice was sleepy, eyes still closed as I opened the door.
It was warm and stuffy-we didn’t have air conditioning-especially with the steam of the shower seeping into our bedroom, and Mason had just the sheet tangled around his waist. He was a beautiful man, his arms defined, chest broad. He’d cut his sandy brown hair, buzzed it short for the summer, and I fought the urge to get into bed with him and run my hand over his shorn head.
“Where were you last night?” he asked.
I snugged the towel around me tighter, just looking at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either,” I replied in a small voice, remembering our last fight with painful clarity, but I relented when he opened his eyes and held a hand out to me. I went to him in spite of myself, dropping my towel and slipping under the covers beside him.
“Your hair’s wet.” He kissed the top of my head as I tucked it under his chin, resting my cheek against his chest, a heartbreakingly familiar position. His arms were strong and warm and I let him hold me for the first time in a very long time, closing my eyes and drifting.
When his hand moved under the covers, sliding up over my hip, fitting my body more fully against his and sliding a thigh between mine, I welcomed his intimate heat and weight. I let him kiss me, his tongue probing, letting myself go soft and open beneath him as we rolled, our bodies joining in silent apology to one another.
I was still wet from last night, from touching myself and listening, and the memory served as kindling to our fire. I was desperate for him, something in me awakened, brought to life again, a Frankenstein’s monster charged with energy, reborn and hungry.
“Dani!” He gasped in surprise at my wild response, probably shocked that I was responding at all. I had been a rigid sheet of ice in my own corner of the bed for months after Isabella was gone. Then he had left the permafrost of our marriage for warmer climes, a catalyst that had allowed me to finally melt into a flood of tears.
He was hard and thick in my hand, thrusting in spite of himself. I saw the doubt in his eyes. I saw it and felt it and pushed past it, squeezing and rubbing him up and down against my slit, teasing us both. We both hesitated, breathing hard already with the gravity and weight of the moment. This was the act that had begun and ended our whole life together.
“Are you sure?” He nuzzled my neck, sucking at my skin, my wet hair. No, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The world had turned upside down and I was walking on the ceiling all the time now, always afraid of falling.
My only response was to slide him into me, opening my thighs and letting him thrust, taking him deep. I hid my face against his chest, wrapping myself around him, arms and legs, so he wouldn’t see me welling up with tears. It was the first time anything, anyone, had touched me inside since Isabella.
“Oh Dani,” he whispered, taking everything I had to give him, his breath hot against my hair. “Oh you feel so good.”
“So do you.” I squeezed him hard, making him groan and thrust faster. I couldn’t get enough and I shoved my pelvis up to meet his, again and again. For that moment, everything else disappeared and it was just us, as it had been. He was mine and I was the girl who loved him completely, without restraint or regret.
I panted and clung to him, digging my heels into the well of his back as if I could drive him in further, take him wholly into me. He moaned and slowed, gasping, “Wait, wait,” in my ear, but I wouldn’t let him go.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, my nails digging into his upper arms as he held himself over me. “Please! Don’t stop!”
His eyes met mine, half-lidded with lust, his mouth slightly open. I whimpered and he dipped his head to kiss me, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he began again, his groan swallowed in the press and roll of our tongues. I planted my feet on the bed and lifted my hips, seeing his eyes roll back as he bottomed out inside of me.
“Harder!” I urged, my fingers seeking my own heat, searching between us for the place where we were joined, slick and hot and wet. I rubbed myself as he fucked me harder, giving me just what I’d asked for, although I knew it was going to cost him everything. His cock twitched inside of me and he rolled, pulling me on top of him and lifting me off the bed with one final thrust.
“Noooo,” I howled, almost there but not quite, feeling him coming, knowing the look on his face, brow knitted, eyes closed tight, his lower lip pulled between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he panted, reaching up and grabbing my breasts, thumbing my nipples. “I couldn’t stop.”
I whimpered, still rubbing myself, and he glanced down, his fingers tracing over my ribs, my belly.
I saw him cringe, seeing the bruises there. “Did I do that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” It did, but I didn’t care, not then. I wanted him in spite of everything.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands petting me from my breasts down to my pussy. “I’m so sorry.”
“Mason,” I pleaded, and he knew, he gave me just what I needed, he always had.
I let him pull me up to his face, moaning softly when his mouth settled over my mound.
It wasn’t going to take much, but oh god, it felt so good I didn’t ever want it to stop.
His tongue lapped at me, finding my clit right away, so sensitive and ready. I shuddered, spreading my legs wide and rocking. His hands on my hips moved to steady me and I stilled, letting him do all the work, my pussy on fire. There was no holding it back. I leaned my cheek against the wall behind us-we didn’t have a headboard like
the Baumgartners, we didn’t even have a bed frame, just a boxspring and mattress on the floor-and gave into my orgasm.
“Mason!” I gasped as his tongue fluttered at my clit, sending me flying. He moaned into my pussy as I came, flooding him with my juices, burying his face there for more as if he could drink me in altogether. My knees gave out and I collapsed next to him on the bed, laughing as he kissed me, his face still wet with my cum.
“Come here,” he said, curling around me on the bed, pulling the covers up around us. We were quiet for quite a while and I thought he might be asleep until Jezebel jumped up onto the bed and climbed across Mason’s hip and side, sniffing and twitching him with her whiskers as if to say, “Hello, stranger!”
“So where were you last night?” he asked again, sliding a hand down Jezzie’s back, making her arch. I blushed, watching them over my shoulder and remembering how he could make me do that, just like a cat.
“At the neighbors’.” I flushed even more deeply at the memory of my night at the Baumgartners’. “It was
