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We know each other so well and have fucked in every position imaginable that using touch and instinct alone, the head of my dick finds itself at her wet entrance. There’s been virtually no foreplay—at least not the physical kind. Our sparring and anger have done enough to get us worked up.
I flex my hips and Simone pushes downward, sinking onto my shaft with exquisite slowness. Air hisses through my teeth and I can’t concentrate on her mouth.
“Christ,” I groan, resting my cheek against hers. I shake my head slowly… a pathetic attempt to deny that I don’t want to do this.
Simone stills but wraps her arms around my neck, sliding her fingers into my hair. She puts her mouth near my ear and whispers, “Give it to me, Van. I promise I won’t throw it in your face later and you can go back to ignoring me if you want.”
I hesitate only a fraction of a second before I remember I already made peace with myself for this mistake. I punch my hips forward, slamming the rest of the way into her, and Simone lets out a cry of pleasure. My move is so forceful, the refrigerator shifts and I can hear the contents inside getting tossed about.
Wheeling around, I move for the table. It’s sturdy-looking enough and better yet, there’s nothing on top of it. I kick a chair out of the way and lay Simone on it, not once disrupting my place within her.
When her back is flat against the thick wooden surface, I pound away. It’s without finesse and there are no sweet, filthy words that I would normally give her. She wanted to be fucked and I want to fuck her.
That’s it.
CHAPTER 13
Simone
Van moves insidemy body, snarling rumbles of need coursing through him so hard I feel it vibrating into me. He pulls out and slams back in, banging the table into the wall. He hikes my right leg up over his hip for more leverage, driving into me over and over again.
I want him to kiss me but I’m afraid to demand it. I’m afraid to do anything to disrupt this man who is being reminded right at this moment why he can’t ever leave me.
He can’t give this up.
Driving his hips against me, he hits something that only Van has ever been able to reach. Oh, I’m sure it’s a physical thing but it’s mostly emotional. When Van loses control while inside me, it’s a primal claiming of my soul and that turns me on more than anything he could ever do. His moans and grunts telling me just how good—no, how perfect—I feel to him sends me into that free fall of ecstasy. An intense orgasm rips through me and it comes on so unexpectedly that I cry out my husband’s name. It sounds like a prayer of worship.
Van groans and thrusts into me faster.
My body is still shuddering through the last vestiges of my own release when I take note that my husband is on the verge of tipping. I know all the signs… how he holds his breath and all sounds of pleasure go utterly silent. It’s as if he’s bracing himself to get wrecked and I know he’s only seconds away from joining me—
“Fuck,” he roars, pulling out of me so fast, I don’t know what’s happening. Van leans over me, planting a palm beside my head on the table and uses his other hand to jack his cock. I stare wide-eyed with confusion as he curses through his release, jetting all over my stomach. Van’s face screws up and I’m not sure if it’s pleasure or pain I’m seeing.
“Fuck,” he huffs out, his favorite word to use that could mean any number of emotions. His hand twists on his cock, wringing out a few more drops of semen before falling away.
“Why did you pull out?” I ask with a frown as he straightens up, his chest rising and falling from the exertion of what we just did. Don’t get me wrong… my husband has marked me many times over the years, but this wasn’t that.
“Don’t want you to get pregnant,” he says flatly and once again I’m in the cold, dark world of Van Turner. His head drops, refusing to look me in the eye as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up.
Van turns to the kitchen sink to wash his hands while I lie like a useless lump, splayed out on the kitchen table. His semen puddled on my belly seems wrong and I realize, that was the most unsatisfying sex I believe I’ve ever had, despite the fact I got off. Those moments of pleasure that wracked my body just moments ago seem so very wrong.
I push up off the table and Van twists to look over his shoulder at me. I bend over to grab his T-shirt from the floor and wipe the fluid from my stomach. I drop it just as quickly and run out of the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs into the guest bathroom. I turn the shower on and when the water’s hot enough, I step in and wash myself clean. I put my face under the spray and let it take my tears down the drain. I’m despondent because the one thing I thought could still bond us seems broken too.
When I’m cried out, I wrap my hair in a towel, another around my body and cross the hall to the spare bedroom. I’ll pull on warm pajamas and go to bed. I don’t even have it in me to go sleep in the living room, just so I can have Van’s attention. In fact, I think I decidedly don’t want it tonight.
I pull up short, though, when I see Van sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting for me. His forearms are resting on his thighs and his head is hanging. It lifts when he hears me enter. “Are you okay?” he asks.
And God, does that make me so sad because I can hear so much love in his tone. It hurts the most to know he’s leaving this marriage while still loving me to the depths of his soul.
“Yeah… I’m fine.”Lie. “Just going to get dressed and go to bed.”
Turning for my suitcase, I expect him to leave, but instead he says, “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I know.” I know while sex felt good for him, it was a line he didn’t want to cross.
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” he says, punctuating the words so that I know he’s clarifying something to me.
I turn to face him, gripping my towel tight around me like it’s armor. I don’t even know what to say.
