Somewhere around the time Molly had let Karl listen to that awful conversation with Rob and physically support her while she sparred with her ex-husband, her iron-clad independence had cracked, with predictable consequences. All her self-discipline had drained out, then promptly evaporated in the towering heat that kept rising between the two of them in his silent back room.
In its place, lust filled her to drowning.
Mere moments ago, Karl had stood between her legs, solid and strong and sheltering, eyes locked to hers, his cock pressed tightly against the spot where she ached most, and she could barely see, hardly breathe. All her most atavistic instincts had urged her to arch her back, cinch her legs to yank Karl tighter against her needy clit, and make herself come.
God, she wanted to comeso much.
The only thing she wanted more? An orgasm thatwasn’tself-induced, because the last several years hadn’t offered her many of those. Preferably, one coaxed out of her by the strong, sure, capable hands of the man she’d wanted for two entire decades. Or, alternatively, dragged from her very willing body by that man’s filthy mouth and talented tongue. Or even deep-dicked into glorious, climactic life by him, because she wasn’t freaking picky at this point.
Nevertheless, she’d let him go when he pulled free, because she wouldn’t force him into sexual intimacy or beg for what she wanted—and now the poor man was cowering against the wall.Apparently her excessive levels of horniness terrified even Karl fucking Dean, which she should probably consider a troubling revelation.
She closed her eyes. Gave herself a few seconds to steady her breathing and regain her vaunted self-mastery.
Karl didn’t say anything as she struggled, because of course he didn’t. But that was fine, because she didn’t feel like talking either. Just banging. Or, alternatively, doing some light shopping at key Harlot’s Bay businesses.
Several excellent vibrators—along with other useful items—resided in her bedside table back home. Because she’d come for Karl’s funeral, though, she hadn’t planned for coming in another, more pleasurable sense, and all her toys remained in California.
Good thing this town contained not one, but two adult stores. After her near miss just now, she intended to burn through some double-As tonight.
“Come here, Dearborn.”
That was Karl’s rumbly growl. Karl’s hard hands on her hips hauling her off the stool as her eyes flew open. Karl keeping her upright when she stumbled, Karl rotating them until he was walking her backward, away from the table.
He crowded her up against the cool concrete-block wall. Her body jolted at the slight impact, even as his hand cradled the back of her head, protecting her from injury.
She braced herself against his chest and regained her balance. Tipped her chin to stare up at him, befuddled and aroused and besieged by a million different emotions. Far too many to process in speech.
“What...” The word was barely audible, but it was the best she could currently do. “Karl, what are you...”
Then he kicked her legs apart, and her thoughts promptly disintegrated.
He pushed his thigh between hers and leaned into her. Propped himself against the wall with his free arm, his elbow near her shoulder, his right palm flat against the concrete.
“Want to make you come.” His open mouth, his prickly beard, dragged over her flushed cheek, and he licked the rim of her ear as her lips opened on a startled, needy gasp. “You good with that?”
He might as well have asked a woman wandering alone and delirious through Death Valley whether she was good with an icy bottle of sparkling lemonade.
“Oh, god, yes,” she breathed, and that was all he needed.
He pressed his thigh up and in and observed her reaction, her hitched breath, with a stare sharp and dark as volcanic rock. Readjusting his weight, he lowered his right arm from the wall and unfastened her jeans with quick, confident movements.
His grip on the zipper stilled. “Anything doesn’t feel good, anything you need I’m not giving you, you tell me. Got it?”
He waited for her nod. Then his fingers tangled with hers as they both shoved her jeans down over her ass. He simply watched, his own breathing labored, as she did the same to her soft cotton boy shorts—or as best she could with his thigh in the way.
They’d created a tangled, lumpy mess of fabric just below her hips, and the wall was hard and cold against her bare butt, and she didn’t give a shit. Didn’t try to slow things down or make anything about the moment more practical.
She gripped two handfuls of his tee for balance. Her half-lowered clothing bit into her legs as she tried—unsuccessfully—to spread them farther in invitation.
Within a heartbeat, his hard, broad hand wedged between her thighs and cupped her there. Squeezed carefully but firmly, until her head tipped back in pleasure, pressing tighter against his other palm.
Her eyes closed, and she relaxed into the wall. Let the concrete bear her weight and let the press of his body into hers keep her upright.
“That’s it, Dearborn.” His hot tongue swirled over her throat, his voice vibrated against her prickling flesh, and his fresh-bread smell dizzied her. “I’ll take care of you. Just hold on and trust me.”
Her legs were barely splayed wide enough for his hand to fit, but he managed. His warm, strong fingers slipped through her vulva, opening her to his confident touch, spreading her slickness wherever they leisurely roamed.
The pads of those agile fingers were rough from all his work, all his handwashing, and the unexpected friction against her swollen, sensitive skin sent a jolt of lightning up her spine. Her mouth opened in a silent moan, and her back arched in an attempt to shove harder against him, even though there was nowhere to go. They were already as close as two mostly clothed people could be.
