At Peace (The 'Burg #2)(132)

“Joe! Put me down!” I demanded, pushing against his back.

He did. Bending at the waist, he threw me on the bed.

I turned and got up on all fours, scrambling.

He caught my ankles, yanked them, my knees came out from under me and he pulled me to him, twisted me to my back then he landed on top of me.

“Joe –” I tried but his hand was in my hair, it fisted, he tilted my head and his mouth came down hard on mine.

Fucking hell, but that was it. It was insane but that was all he had to do.

He was wrong. I remembered. I remembered every second with him, even the ones when we weren’t having sex, and I missed them. God, so much, I had to bury it, covering it with everything I had so it wouldn’t break me.

But it all came back, the longing, the hurt, the hunger, everything we were, everything I wanted us to be and it was everything there was.

We tore at each other’s clothes, yanking them off while we wrestled for supremacy, kissing, licking, biting, touching, scratching.

“Christ, baby,” Joe growled as my hand wrapped tightly around his hard shaft.

“I missed you,” I whispered my admission, why, I didn’t know. It just came out of me.

His face disappeared in my neck and his mouth at my ear, he ordered, “Spread your legs for me, buddy.”

I did, he slid between then without delay he slammed inside, filling me.

My hands glided into his overlong hair and I moaned, “Baby.”

“Wrap your legs around me, honey.”

I did and used them, heels digging into his back to lift my h*ps and he went in faster, harder, deeper.

“Good Christ, you feel good,” he groaned in my ear.

It was debatable but I figured he felt better, though I wasn’t going to argue the point just then. Instead I wrapped him tighter, his mouth came to mine and he kissed me.

Not long after, I was close, his mouth was on mine but somehow he could feel it coming.

“Say my name.”

“Joe.”

He ground his c**k in deep and demanded, “Who do you belong to?”

I closed my eyes and whispered, “You, Joe.”

“That’s it,” he growled against my mouth, driving deep and I felt it as he urged, “come for me, baby.”

“Okay,” I breathed and came, huge, hard, long, amazing, wrapping him tight, holding him close, pulling him deep as the orgasm he gave me had me in its grip and it was so beautiful, I didn’t want it ever to let me go.

It did, they always do, even the spectacular ones Joe gave me and I came down in time to listen to and feel Joe’s.

After, Joe stayed planted deep, his hand tangled in my hair, the other one at my ass, his weight heavy on me, his mouth moving at my neck and it was then I realized I really was a slut.

Mike and I hadn’t had sex last night but we’d fooled around far more serious than ever before. Mike had given me an orgasm with his mouth and I’d returned the favor. I didn’t know why he pulled back from the act; maybe he sensed I wasn’t ready. But what we did was great, brilliant, he was a gentle lover (as far as I could tell), taking his time, like his stealth kisses, getting off on building the burn, patient but, in the end, demanding.

I’d liked it a lot.

But not nearly as much as what I just had.

Two orgasms from two different men in less than twelve hours.

Yes, I was a slut.

When I came to this conclusion, Joe moved, pulling out and moving me with him, righting us in bed, pulling the covers down, sliding us between them, shoving the comforter back and then pulling the sheet up to our waists.

I didn’t fight, struggle or say anything as he settled me into him. My mind was blank. No, not blank, frozen in disgust at myself.

Then I came back into the room and I saw that he’d slightly modified our usual position where I had my head to his shoulder, my body pressed to his side.

He’d pulled me partly over him, my cheek to his chest between his pecs, his fingers had wrapped around my wrist, positioning my arm around his hip, his knee had come up, hooking my leg with it so my calf fell between his legs and I was semi-straddling his thigh.

I could hear his heart beating, steady, strong. I’d never heard that before or never noticed it and its strength weirdly defined him. Strong, vital and alive.

And he’d also yanked the sheet over us, to our waists. This was something I did with him in between times, unconsciously doing it, completely comfortable with our nudity while we were in the act but feeling vulnerable when we weren’t. I’d pull the sheet up to our waists, not higher just there. Even after years with Tim, I’d done the same.

Tim had never pulled the sheet up. Joe noticed and he did.

And he remembered me, how I felt, even smelled. Like me, he remembered at night when we were apart.

I sucked in breath.

His fingers slid into my hair.

“It’ll take two months to renovate the house,” he said suddenly and I blinked then realized he was starting the conversation in the middle again and my stomach got warm and soft at the memory of something Joe, something I thought I’d never have back and I steeled myself against it but I knew this was a futile effort. “Took ‘em a day to gut it but it’ll take two months to renovate it,” he finished.

I stayed silent because I didn’t have anything to say but also because my mind was not frozen and blank anymore. Now there was so much in my brain, I couldn’t catch a thought.