The Other Man(58)

He was still wearing his jeans.  He’d cleaned up, again, and even zipped them up this time.

But I was still nude, completely, sitting on the edge of my bed, legs splayed wide apart.

It was so undignified, the way I was spread open for him, just letting him stare at every part of the body I’d just let him have three times, that it spurred me into action.

“If you want me to stay awake,” I informed him, standing and moving to shrug on my favorite silk robe, “I’m going to need coffee.”

He left the room without a word to make said coffee, I presumed.

I took the opportunity to clean myself up and finger comb my disheveled hair.

Also, I gave myself a good berating in the mirror.

What’s wrong with you? I asked myself.  Why do you just keep going back for more?

But it was swiftly clear the berating did no good, as, after I’d straightened myself up to a minimal degree, I went out to join him in the kitchen.

Going back for more.

He handed me a cup of coffee right as I got to the kitchen, moving past me, into the dining room, and taking a seat.

That was unusual.

He never just sat down.

It was so strange that I found myself standing over him, right in his personal space.

He just sipped his own cup of coffee and stared at me.

I sipped mine and stared back.  I had not one clue what to say to him, where to start.

The truth was, I didn’t want to start, because I knew how it would end.

Don’t come back here.  We’re finished.

How was I ever going to manage to make those words come out of my mouth?  I had not a clue.

But I knew that they needed to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“I don’t know what to say to you,” I finally told him, after we’d both drained our cups.

We’d been silent the whole time, watching each other between long drags of coffee.

Neither of us wanted to have this talk, it seemed.

He took the mug from my hand, set it on the table, then picked me clean off the ground by the hips, setting me astride him.

We were breathing our coffee breath into each other’s mouths.  “I thought you said we needed to talk,” I said softly.  “This won’t solve anything.”

He didn’t answer, just stared at me while he worked between our bodies, getting us both ready.

“Heath,” I chided when I realized he was hell bent on f*cking me again.

He stilled, cold eyes intense, then spurred into action, reaching for my hands, setting them, palm down, over the muscled flesh of his pecs.

“Go ahead,” he rasped.  “Touch me.  Do it.”

I did, hands moving over his chest, softly tracing at his scarred flesh, and as I watched the way it made him cringe, I knew why he wanted me to.

It was painful to him, and he wanted to hurt.

But, regardless of everything that had happened, all the ways I was hurting myself, I didn’t want that.

I took my hands away, gripping his where they held my hips.

He made a pained noise and kissed me.

So much for talking.

He took me right there in his lap, opening my robe and impaling me.

“Condom,” I cried out.  Just because we’d had that one night of a slip up, months ago, didn’t mean I meant to be so careless again.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he rasped into my mouth.  As he spoke, he closed his eyes, dropped his head back, and rocked his hips in and out, f*cking me hard, bouncing me on his lap with firm hands and bucking hips.

Perverse as it was, his words, what they might have implied, combined with the way he was working me, had me coming in a flash, gripping around him, wondering what the hell was wrong with me even as I clenched on his thick length and got off.

I was still catching my breath when he pulled me off his dick, setting me down on the ground.  On my knees.

He hadn’t finished.

He gripped my hair in both hands and dragged my face to his lap.  He was still hard and throbbing.  His engorged cock was slick and close enough to lick.  When his tip touched me lips, I couldn’t seem to help myself.  I opened up and started sucking him off like I’d been starving for it.

He didn’t last long like that.

He rasped out my name as his seed burned down my throat.

I was still licking his twitching length clean when he spoke.

“I know he spent the night.”

I moved away from him like he’d just caught fire.

My robe had been opened, but not removed, and I closed it and retied the belt with shaking hands.

For once it was my turn to pace.  I didn’t look at him for a long time, and when I finally did, I wished I hadn’t.

He was still sitting, his thick, spent length hanging crudely out of his pants, but I don’t even think he noticed it.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he was staring at me in a way I couldn’t stand.

He looked wounded and vengeful all at once.

It was several pounding heartbeats later that I found my voice.  And my indignation.  “And just how do you know that?  Did your spy girlfriend tell you that?”

He went still as stone.  “What are you talking about?”

My lip curled.  I could feel this getting ugly.  “You know.”