Page 58 of Anything But Lonely

And then she grinds over me hard enough to have my eyes rolling to the back of my head, and I’m not capable of stringing together more than, “Fuck.”

She does it again, and all I can do is look up at her, watching the way her eyes are hooded in pleasure, her hands coming to grab my wrists, using me as leverage as she moves over me.

“Seems to be doing just enough,” she breathes, still trying to tease me even as she chases her high. Her movements begin to slow, and I slide my hands down her body until they’re resting on her thighs.

I can’t help the way my fingers dig into the skin. This time, I don’t stop myself. The thought of marking her body—and how much I like it—comes as a shock to me, but I can’t linger on the thought for long.

Not when I’m watching the way her pussy grinds against my cock.

And when I think she’s content torturing me like this until the sun comes up, she reaches for the hem of my pants, yanking them down, my cock, heavy and aching, springing free just as she pulls her thong to the side, sitting up on her knees.

I hold my breath, feeling like I could come from just the thought of her sitting on my cock, but then her eyes widen, her lips parting.

“I don’t have a condom. And I don’t have sex without a condom.”

I exhale, relieved that she wasn’t having a realization that this is a mistake and we need to stop.

Because I think that might’ve actually killed me.

“I don’t have any,” I admit, “but I got a vasectomy a few months after my divorce was final,” I tell her, admitting the words I haven’t spoken aloud to anyone before. It’s just never been relevant, especially with no sexual partners in the last four years.

“Why?” she asks.

I look down between us, where she holds her underwear to the side with one hand and the waistband of my pants in the other.

“Do we really have to get into it now?” I ask. “When my dick is literally out, and you’re naked on top of me.”

“Just answer the question,” she pushes, and I’m not sure why she cares so much. Here I am thinking a vasectomy is pretty self-explanatory, but apparently not to Emerson.

“After Crew, I decided I didn’t want any more kids.”

“You don’t want more kids?” she parrots, like she’s trying to make sense of the words.

“Nope,” I say, bringing my hands to rest behind my head, figuring that I might as well enjoy the view if I’m going to be interrogated. “It’s just me and Crew.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me, like she needs a second to process the words before prompting, “And I’m assuming you’re clear?”

I nod my head.

“And there’s no chance I can get pregnant,” she says, more to herself than me. Her shoulders drop, and I feel her weight settle more on top of me, relief evident in her features.

“I can run out and grab condoms, just to be safe,” I offer. “I’m sure there’s a gas station or something open close by.”

She shakes her head, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Her hand wraps around my shaft, her hand moving up and down slowly as I take in a sharp inhale.

She leans down, pressing a long, deep kiss to my lips, and it’s safe to say I’m seeing stars, drunk on the taste of her—I don’t know how one night is going to be enough.

She strokes me, from root to tip as she lifts up on her knees again.

But before she sinks down, her hand freezes at the tip of my dick. “Um,” she says against my lips before sitting back up, and I’m about to explode from the anticipation. “What the fuck is this?”

I look down at where her fingers explore the silver barbell pierced through the skin.

“I’d argue it’s pretty obvious,” I offer, fighting the embarrassment of having this woman who is almost ten years younger than me find the frenum piercing I got when I was twenty-two and lost a bet.

“A vasectomy and a penis piercing, rockstar,” she starts, her exploratory fingers moving over the sensitive skin of my dick has my jaw clenched so tightly I’m surprised my molars aren’t cracking. “What else are you hiding from me?”