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Marcella picked the frame up. “Is this your friend? The one who died?”
“Becker. Yeah.” He went and took the frame from her, set it back where it belonged.
“You can see there how close you two were.”
“From a picture?”
“Sure. I’ve never seen you like that.”
“Like what?”
She turned and looked up at him. “Happy, I guess.”
Eight scoffed. “You’ve seen me happy.” He didn’t let shit get to him, so he’d always been happy enough. Not recently, but before this past year? Sure.
But Marcella shook her head. “No, I don’t think I have.”
Something in her gentle insistence gave Eight pause, and he thought about it. When he’d first met her, when they’d hooked up and had a great time together for a few weeks, he’d been happy then, right? Happy enough. Living the life he wanted.
But actually, back then, he’d still been waking up in a cold sweat a few times a week, thinking he was still in McAllister. He’d been living fast and hard, trying to burn the memories of that hellhole out of his head. How many times had he looked back on those days and thought of himself as ‘feral’?
That wasn’t happy. That was manic.
Had heeverbeen happy? Really?
What if he hadn’t? What if he’d been deluding himself all these years that he liked the way he lived?
Shit. This whole introspection kick he was on really sucked.
Looking hard at him, Marcella frowned and set her hand on his chest. “You okay?”
Eight shook all that off and smiled. “Sure. Just thinkin’ about Beck.”
Her frown didn’t smooth away, but her hand slid up and around his neck. “Okay.”
The best way to stop this conversation was to stop talking. Eight leaned down and kissed her.
Like always, the first move was all it took. One of the things he liked best about Marcella was she didn’t need—or, as far as he could tell, want—a lot of soft, lovey-dovey, kissy-kissy foreplay. He was shit at all that; there wasn’t a lovey-dovey bone in his body.
Foreplay he could do—he loved every aspect of fucking, so he was one-hundred-percent down with tit play, fingering, eating out, rimming, the whole deal. And he could do dirty talk. But playful and … what was the word, coy? No. He felt stupid even thinking about trying that shit.
He didn’t like teasing. It took him forever to get off as it was; he didn’t want any so-called ‘playfulness’ meant to prolong shit. What he seriously loved was getting the chick he was with to go off repeatedly before he was ready to blow himself. He wanted tofuck.
Marcella was down to fuck. As soon as sex was top of the agenda, she jumped in with both feet—and she liked it intense, just like he did.
Like now: as soon as he put his mouth over hers, as soon as their tongues met, she started yanking on his t-shirt, trying to get it off, and then they were both tearing at each other’s clothes and their own. No strip tease, no teasing at all, just getting naked as fast as they could.
They really did sync up great this way. She might wave that off as unimportant, but Eight didn’t. It was rare, in his experience, to be so attuned to the woman he was fucking, to know for sure she liked it the way he did.
When they were naked, he clasped her waist in both hands and lifted her up, carrying her to the bed that way and dropping her on it with a bounce. She settled in the middle and spread her legs, and Eight yanked a strip of condoms from the nightstand drawer.
As he put his right knee on the bed, meaning to lay on her and get to work, she sat up and wrapped her hands around his dick.
“I fucking love your cock,” she said and leaned forward to suck him into her mouth.
Getting head was the one way he could get off pretty fast. And right now, with so many wild, weirdly emotional thoughts and feelings swirling around in his head, all this new shit he was trying, this new person he wanted to be, whoever the fuck that was, the feel of Marcella’s soft, hot, talented mouth on him was like a cattle prod of lust. Blazing need charged through him, and fuck if he wasn’t already at the brink.
Eight had always had a lot of endurance where sex was concerned. Getting older hadn’t changed that—or softened his dick any. However, it did take him a little longer these days to get up a second time. He loved getting head, but he didn’t let it happen all that often, unless he was with a sweetbutt and not in the mood to care about getting her off.
