Hilariously Ever After Page 29

  His hands slipped from my cheeks, lower to my neck, my shoulders, tugging at my coat. Instinctively I lifted myself and he shifted his weight to accommodate the movement, his mouth capturing mine, making my head swim. I loved his mouth, loved how he kissed. I wanted to lose myself in him and he was making it easy for me to do so.

  Unwilling to break contact, together we worked to free me of my jacket. I heard him toss it to the floor and I climbed on his lap, straddling his legs and kicking off my untied tennis shoes. Duane’s fingers sought my skin, caressing my thighs, slipping into my panties to squeeze my bottom.

  I decided, just as soon as we finished kissing, I was going to demand an explanation. But first we would kiss, because my brain told me I needed it. My heart seemed to think so, too, because it warmed and expanded, making my chest feel airy and achy in the best way.

  My hips, however, seemed to think I needed more than just kissing and his caressing hands, because they rocked against his middle.

  Okay, that’s not quite right.

  I grinded against him. Multiple times.

  I did that.

  I’m not ashamed.

  The friction felt necessary.

  My grinding made him groan, which made me moan. His fingers dug into my hips, encouraging me, and mine fisted in his hair, like we were anchoring ourselves together. Like maybe, if we could just hold on, we could hold on to this moment, being wrapped in each other.

  The moment lasted. And it was glorious. But I needed more. A lot more. In fact, I needed everything. No more in between. I needed to know I wasn’t alone in risking everything.

  Given our historical pattern—my need followed by his retreat—I also needed to stop giving him all the say, all the power. If he couldn’t give me everything then I wanted nothing. I couldn’t keep bashing myself against a door he kept firmly closed. It hurt too much. Therefore, despite how glorious this kissing and grinding and touching business was, I pulled myself away, pushed against his chest and stumbled from his lap.

  “Now just…just wait a minute.” I held up my finger and backed away two steps. My legs were wobbly and I was still gathering my thoughts. Therefore, I didn’t get very far before he caught me, brought me back to the bed, and climbed on top. He lifted my night shirt until my chest was exposed, and then went to town biting and sucking and licking.

  “Hush,” he breathed against my skin. “Just for tonight, Jess. Just give me tonight.”

  Just for tonight? I couldn’t focus, I didn’t understand what he meant.

  Instead of deciphering Duane-code, I moaned mindlessly, grabbing his hair and keeping him in place. Goodness, I needed him. I needed this. I needed the comfort and reassurance that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. I’d grown accustomed to feeling as though a part of my heart was perpetually vacant—yet he had filled that empty hole, or I thought he had.

  Duane understood me. He wanted me. I wasn’t strange. We fit together. We fit perfectly. We were suited. And I loved him. I loved him so much.

  He was tugging at my panties so I lifted my hips, felt them slide down my legs. I shivered, not from cold, but needing his heat. My fingers left his hair and fumbled for the waistband of his jeans.

  Each time we were together and things turned passionate, each time I felt the promise of his skin, I also felt a maddening kind of urgency. It didn’t make sense. But there I was, grasping his pants and boxers, shoving them down with my hands and eventually my feet.

  Likewise, Duane pushed my nightshirt over my head, forcing me to lift my arms when all I wanted to do was grab him and hold on. I hadn’t had access to his body before, not really. I’d never seen his bottom as an adult. Nor his thighs or calves. I wanted to see them, touch them, spend quality time getting to know them and all their hopes and dreams.

  But I was trapped, my wrists held down and tangled in my silk shirt. Granted, I was sexy-trapped—unable to move as I would have liked because Duane’s hot, hard, naked body covered mine—but I was still trapped.

  “You are so beautiful, Jessica,” he whispered, his muscular thigh between my legs pressing against my center. Spirals of erotic heat twisted low in my belly, making me arch and whimper. Duane kissed his way down my body, biting and licking, like I was being savored. He was exploring me in much the same way I’d longed to explore him.

  But now I was teetering on mindless selfishness, needing him to keep working his magic, stiffening with delighted suspense as he kissed my hip, the front of my thigh, the inside of my thigh, and then…

  Hell and tarnation, I couldn’t stand it. He was breathing on me; his mouth and tongue so close, but no lollipop action. I wanted to scream. I felt him hovering and I lifted my head, determined to give him whatever encouragement he needed to make this happen, and found his sapphire blues looking back at me.

  As soon as I gave him my eyes, I saw the pink of his flat tongue lick his lips. Really, this man should have been employed by the CIA, because the sight was torture. I was so primed, my legs were shaking. Therefore I was about to either holler at him or beg—I wasn’t sure which—but before I could he lowered his mouth to my center and we both moaned.

  My head fell back and I sighed the big sigh, the sigh of thank you, Jesus!

  I didn’t think much about the fact I was thanking Jesus for my building orgasm, because—again—selfish mindlessness. It had me tilting and lifting my hips, rocking them against his mouth, chasing and cherishing all the prickles of sensation.

  When I came it felt like being tossed skyward; the feelings of belonging, the spikes of heat and rightness and desire and fulfilled longing coursing through my body.

  Then he was gone.

  Then I heard the very distinct sound of a condom wrapper ripping open.

  Then there was a pause.

  Then he was back.

  I opened my arms to him, wanting to cuddle and lose myself in his strong arms, and confused by his placement of the banana wrapper. My confusion was short-lived because he didn’t come to my arms, not exactly. He hovered above me, his sheathed erection rubbing against my sensitized flesh.

  I sucked in a shuddering breath, my eyes flying open, and I stared at my beautiful man. He was so…everything. So sweet and handsome and passionate. So wonderful and kind and…I was so desperately in love with everything about him.

  “I need you.” He kissed me, his hot mouth claiming mine, the hardness of his length separating me and nudging at my entrance. “Can I have you? Just for tonight.”

  “Yes! You can have me forever.” I nodded, my fingers digging into his torso. In this position, I might be able to fondle his bottom like I’d wanted. I wouldn’t be lost to selfish madness, because I’d already had my orgasm. I could use this lovely invasion as a chance to explore, show Duane how I cherished every inch of him.

  Yeah…I thought that for exactly two seconds.

  Because as soon as he pushed inside, the selfish madness returned, and my mouth opened with soundless wonder. He was moving in a particular way, his body high over mine, so that with every stroke I was feeling him like I’d felt his tongue. My body was hot and damp and so was his.

  “Oh…what are you doing to me?” I panted, bracing, feeling completely out of control.

  “I’m making love to you.” Duane’s eyes moved between mine, his soul completely bare, and I knew. I knew he loved me. He hadn’t said the words yet, but it didn’t matter. His eyes told me everything and the certainty was bone-deep.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you,” I chanted, holding on to him, hoping my saying the words would encourage him to open his heart and admit the truth.

  He didn’t. Instead he kissed me. The friction between us became a smooth glide and I moaned into his mouth, not recognizing the sound I made at all. I closed my eyes.

  It was at this point I realized I was teetering on the edge of my release, and I wanted desperately to share it with him. I wanted us to move together. I didn’t want to push. I wanted him to come with me in tandem, of his own free
will.

  I opened my eyes, found him watching me, and was nearly made breathless by the intensity of his focus, the force of his gaze.

  “Jessica, I…” he whispered, starting then stopping. It was enough.

  I moaned in response, higher pitched this time, and again not a sound I recognized as one I’d ever made before. Nonsense words and promises I didn’t know I was going to say tumbled from my lips.

  He didn’t respond, just continued his delectable conquest, spreading my legs wider and bringing my knees to my shoulders.

  “Duane. I need you, I love you so much, so much…”

  He cursed, tensed, growled in a way that sounded like a surrender, burying his face against my neck and biting my shoulder. I was tossed skyward again. This time he was with me.

  And we held on to each other, like the world was ending and beginning, long after our shared ecstasy was over.

  Chapter 22

  “The three saddest things are the ill wanting to be well, the poor wanting to be rich, and the constant traveler saying 'anywhere but here'.”

  E.E. Cummings

  ~Jessica~

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked, breaking our hour long silence of touching and petting and kissing.

  “Sure…” he said, his voice sounding drowsy and not at all sure.

  We were cuddled together in the bed, my back to his front. I faced the interior of the cabin, the fireplace directly in front of me. I was completely relaxed. Really, malleable was the right word for my present state, caught in that dreamy world of satisfied to the point of exhaustion, but too excited for sleep. Not yet. Again, I wanted to hold on to the moment.

  “Do you always have condoms in your wallet? Or only when you come to your fortress of solitude? Are there random wood-women who come to the cabin and service hillbillies?”

  I felt his tension ease, and he chuckled while nuzzling the back of my neck. “That’s three questions.”

  “Okay. Forget the last two.”

  “Yes. I always have condoms in my wallet.”

  “Hmm…”

  “What? What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

  “It’s just that, I never took you for an optimist.”

  His renewed laughter made me smile.

  He clarified while stroking my hip possessively beneath the covers. “I’m not. Billy does random wallet checks. And every year for Christmas he stuffs our stockings with condoms. I think he’d sterilize us all if he could.”

  Now I was laughing, and that meant we were laughing together.

  My laughter tapered and I spoke as I thought, “I really like your brothers.”

  Duane was quiet for a beat; his beard tickled my shoulder when he finally spoke. “Yeah. They’re okay.”

  I smiled at his affectionate and dismissive remark, letting the subject drop. I wasn’t ready to invite anyone else—not even via discussion—into our lovely slice of heaven pie. Not yet.

  The fire was burning low, just coals at this point, embers of red glowing in chalky black cinders. I loved how wood fires smelled, tart and smoky. They reminded me of dessert, s’mores and hot lemon curd baked in a pie iron. My daddy was my Brownie pack leader growing up; he’d taught me all the campfire dessert shortcuts.

  “How did you get here, Jess?”

  “Pardon?” I’d been lost to my thoughts, desserts and campfires. Now I’d associate wood fires with Duane. This thought made me happy.

  I felt him shift behind me, lean up on his elbow. “Did someone drive you?”

  “No. I drove. I have…well, I have a car now. It’s a long story.” I frowned, remembering I hadn’t spotted his parked car when I arrived. “By the way, where’s your car? Where’s the Road Runner?”

  Duane dithered, his body tensing behind me. At last he cleared his throat and said with a sigh, “I wrecked it.”

  I choked on nothing, my eyes bulging, certain I’d heard wrong. “You…you what?”

  “I wrecked it, last weekend at The Canyon.”

  I twisted in his arms so I could see his face, a rush of alarm making my muscles tense.

  I rested my palm on his cheek, needing to touch him, as my eyes moved between his. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  I wanted to search his body, see for myself. But then I reminded myself of the sex cartwheels we’d just finished. If he’d been injured then he could hardly have accomplished such a physically demanding activity.

  He didn’t look sad or mournful about the car, and his lack of reaction did not compute. “You loved that car.”

  His expression didn’t change, not really, but he shrugged. “It’s a good car.”

  “Why aren’t you more upset?”

  “It’s not a person, Jess. It’s a thing. Things can be fixed. Eventually, maybe, I’ll fix her up.”

  “But…that car is awesome. And you never lose.”

  “I wasn’t quite myself last weekend,” he mumbled distractedly, his attention dipping to my chest as his hand lifted to cup my breast. He touched me like he appreciated my texture, using his thumb to draw circles on my skin.

  “Then why would you risk it?” I ignored the pleasure radiating from where he enjoyed my body because I wanted to understand how Duane could be so dismissive of his badass car.

  “I only risk what I’m willing to live without,” he said, still with an air of distraction. He moved, guiding me so my back was against the mattress and he was above me again. Just before he bent his head to my chest he licked his lips. The wet, slick heat of his mouth closed over my nipple and he sucked, swirling his tongue in a circle.

  Despite my best efforts to remain focused, my breathing became erratic.

  “Duane,” I struggled to remain sensible. “Duane, that’s not real risk at all. It’s only real if you risk what you need.”

  “I need to be inside you again, Jessica,” he half whispered, half growled and I felt his need press into my inner thigh.

  “Okay…” I sighed, adding absentmindedly. “But you should know I’m still mad at you for not taking my call on Sunday.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve taken your call.” He nipped the underside of my breast.

  I squirmed, my eyes closing. “You have to promise me, I need you to promise you’ll never do that again.”

  I sensed him falter, his movements stilled, and several long seconds passed where the only audible sounds were our combined breathing and the crackle of the dying fire.

  His continued stillness prompted me to open my eyes and lift my head. He was still over me, his mouth parted like he was going to speak, but needed to think first on the words. Duane’s sumptuous eyes examined my face, searching. His expression was enough to give me pause, and I was about to withdraw, push him further for the needed promise.

  But then he said, “As long as we’re together, I’ll never ignore your call, I promise.”

  Something about the assurance felt off, too careful. I was groggy, therefore I replayed his words in my head three times before I caught the disclaimer.

  “No.” I shook my head, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to stay focused. “No, no disclaimers. Just a promise. You need to promise me you will never ignore me again. For the rest of our lives you will call me back, ’til we’re dead and buried.”

  He continued to stare at me, and as he stared I watched Duane war with himself. After a protracted minute, he rose to his knees, his eyes conducting a quick but heated sweep of my face, hair, body, and then he climbed off the bed.

  He paced the short distance to the fireplace, then the table. He halted there, his hands on his hips, giving me his glorious backside. I watched his broad shoulders rise and fall and propped myself up on my elbows, waiting. The longer I waited the heavier the sinking sensation twisted in my belly, giving me vertigo.

  “Duane?”

  Abruptly he turned and stalked back to the bed, careful not to touch me. He sat on the edge, grabbing his boxers from the floor, and pulled them on.
I watched him dress, at a complete loss as to what he was thinking.

  “What are you doing?”

  He gave me his decidedly stormy gaze. “You’re asking too much. I can’t promise that.”

  Again, I replayed his words in my head three times before I understood. When I did, I’m sure my expression mirrored the explosion of anger catching my brain on fire. I scrambled from the bed, taking the sheet with me, and stood over him as he yanked on his jeans.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You know why not.”

  “I don’t. I really don’t.” My hand fell against my thigh with an exasperated smack. “Sometimes you talk to me, and sometimes you don’t. You tell me you’ve been waiting for me, for five years, biding your time. You’re hell-bent on courting me, but heaven forbid I give you a blow job! We make this deal for thirteen and a half months, meanwhile you’re straddling the line. I’m all in and you’re half in, half out.”

  He stood from the bed, buttoning and zipping the fly of his jeans, and I lifted my chin to maintain eye contact. I decided he was too tall. And imposing. And unreachable.

  “You’re leaving, Jess. You’re not all in. You’re dipping your toes in the water until it’s time to go.”

  I felt that remark in my spine, between my shoulder blades like a knife.

  It took me a moment, but I finally managed—albeit more loudly than I’d intended—to respond, “That is complete bullshit, Duane, and you know it. When have I ever given you any reason to think I’m not completely invested?”

  “What I know is, when you leave, you can’t expect me to have friendly feelings about it. When you leave, you shouldn’t call me. Ever. Because I am not returning your calls. I won’t want to see or talk to you.”

  This time the pain was in the front and the back, my spine and my chest, and I’m pretty sure I flinched. His words felt like a blow, a slap across the face, especially after what we’d just shared. I knew tears were gathering in my eyes but I didn’t care.

  Duane studied my features only briefly before turning around and walking back to the table, like he couldn’t stand looking at me. I swallowed my emotion, but it continued to rise, making my scalp feel hot and my skin overly tight.