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“Fuck,” I groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
If she doesn’t stop that, I’m going to bust. Right here, right now, just like this.
I flip her over, climbing on top, fumbling with her pants as I try to pull them off. She doesn’t hesitate, stripping out of her clothes, flinging them across the room. I don’t bother getting naked, just freeing myself from the confines of my pants as I settle between her legs, between her thighs, right there.
Questions flow through my mind—so many questions, almost as many objections—until she whispers, “Make me feel good again, Jonathan.”
I’m inside her then, not a moment of second-guessing, pushing in slowly with a deep groan.
So tight. So wet. So goddamn beautiful.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, clinging to me.
I’m still dazed. Hell, maybe this is a dream. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not waking up from it. Slow, and deep, the way I know she always liked it, teasing to the point of agony.
It’s torture.
Ten minutes, maybe an hour—I don’t know. Pleasure rushes through me, my breathing haggard, parts of me brutally hurting, but I keep on going. Fucking her, making love—I’m not sure what this is, but her soft cries fill the room as her nails rake down my back, so I know she’s all in. Sweat forms along my brow, a sheen coating her body, her skin slick and glistening in the dim moonlight from the window. I taste it, as I kiss her neck, the salty tang on my tongue.
I bite, and lick, and suck. I’m probably leaving marks, but the harder my mouth works, the more she squirms.
When she comes, her back arches, her face contorting and mouth falling open in ecstasy. She lets out a strangled cry, almost like she’s choking, suffocating, before she dissolves into whimpers. Fuck, that sound does something to me…
I come, grunting, before stilling on top of her, trying to catch my breath, trying to clear my head. What the hell is happening? She’s trembling beneath me, and I’m worried she’s panicking. But when I pull back to look down at her, she smashes her lips to mine again, sending me reeling.
Five o’clock.
That’s what my phone says when I slip out of bed much later, finding it shoved in the pocket of the jeans I’d been wearing, the battery hovering down at ten percent. Notifications take up the screen, most of them messages from Cliff.
I can get those convention tickets. Why do you want them?
You remember they invited you, right?
You were supposed to be the headliner.
I know. I remember. I declined. Not that I didn’t want to do it, but Cliff didn’t think it wouldn’t be wise considering when the invitation came, my sobriety was still on shaky ground.
Still is, asshole.
I sigh as I stroll to the door, glancing back at the bed at her.
Kennedy.
My eyes skim along her naked back, following the curve of her spine. She’s curled up, cuddling a pillow, a flimsy white sheet draped over parts of her. She’s sleeping, lightly snoring—in and out all night long.
The world is lightening as sunrise nears. I leave the room, my bare feet quiet as I make my way downstairs, replying to Cliff. Forget about it.
His response is instant, of course, because he doesn’t sleep. You sure?
I type a quick ‘Yes’ before slipping the phone in the pocket of my sweats.
Heading for the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and crack it open when a voice chimes in behind me. “Have you lost your gosh dang mind?”
McKleski stands there in her nightgown and robe, clutching it closed and scowling at me.
“Uh, no.”
“Where are your clothes?”
I glance down at my bare chest. No shirt. “Just haven’t gotten dressed yet.”
“You should do that,” she grumbles, shuffling into the kitchen past me. “Might give an old lady a heart attack running around like that.”
I laugh, taking a sip of the water while she sets about making a pot of coffee. “I think, if I were to give you a heart attack, it would’ve happened that day at the park.”
“Nearly did,” she says. “Why do you think I called the police? All that squawking going on in my backyard.”
She cuts her eyes at me, giving me a knowing look. Yeah, she knew what we were up to that night, and I’m pretty sure she also knows what was happening in the wee hours of this morning.
“Figured you were just a cranky old bat,” I say. “Didn’t realize you had the hots for me.”
“Oh, don’t push it, Cunningham,” she says. “I’ll throw you out on your ass.”
“I know you will,” I say as I stroll back out of the kitchen.
“Put on some clothes!” she shouts at me. “Make sure your guest does the same. No hanky-panky in public areas!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble, even though she can’t hear me, making my way back upstairs to the bedroom. I reach for the door to go in when it flings open on its own, Kennedy appearing. She looks frenzied, hair a mess, clothes halfway on, and she loses her balance as she tries to slip on her shoes. “Oh, whoa… whoa… careful.”
