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Afterward, they lay on their backs, two parallel lines. He turned his head so he could see her. “You okay?”
As she nodded, the waves of her hair brushed against the pillowcase. That was enough; he wouldn’t press. They had been intimate but only exchanged, what, ten words?
They must have dozed. As soon as he opened his eyes and looked at her, she took hold of him again.
Her hand felt so good around him. She sat up, sliding it up and down his length. And then she moved to straddle him.
It occurred to him that maybe he was still asleep and this was all a dream. A frigging wet and fantastic dream.
His thumbs caressed her hips.
She held the base of his cock and lowered herself onto him with a moan. Nope, not a dream.999, 998 . . .
* * *
She wasfull with him inside her, consumed with something beside the weight of desolation. It had become less paralyzing as the months wore on, but still it was always there, a thick fog that shrouded her, blurred her view, locked her in.
She and Harris were married for eighteen years, knew each other for more than twenty. Would learning to live without him mirror the time their lives were woven together? Would it take another two decades to stop missing him from deep in her bones?
How was she supposed to piece herself back together after such a large part of her life was gone?
She had never cheated. Not only because of the marriage vows they exchanged or their mutual promises to be faithful, but because she had been happy. She had no desire to sleep with anyone else.
But now, it felt like cheating, with another man’s hands on her hips, guiding her less-than-graceful forays along his cock.
Desire had hit her so hard tonight, a jarring blow to the gut. Maybe it was all the men, with their deep voices, their warmth, their masculinity, their life.
She would catch the scent of cologne, a glimpse of chest hair at the notch of a dress shirt, feel the rasp of five o’clock shadow across her cheek as they said hello and goodbye, and she had, inexplicably, felt herself heat from within, swollen and damp.
But a lot of the men had wives, and many of them had had ties to Harris.
Jonathan had neither. Better yet, he had a reputation.
The commitment-phobe who would have no illusions about this being any kind of relationship, who would no doubt be discreet after his scandal a couple of years ago.
She didn’t need to be the subject of gossip. You could be damn sure the same women who pat-patted her back tonight and urged her to get out more would be the first to whisper and tsk about how inappropriate it would be for the grieving widow to fuck someone else.
He was gone barely over a year. Can you believe it? Already, she has a boyfriend.
But let them live in her shoes. Let them lose what she lost. Then let them talk about appropriate.
What she did now shouldn’t matter to anyone—nothing really mattered even to her now—but still, who she fucked and when was her business.
But it wasn’t only discretion. Jonathan’s height and broad shoulders that narrowed toward his waist, the way his gray slacks fell over his ass, were extremely sexy. She didn’t remember him being so handsome on the set, but maybe she wasn’t paying attention.
But the most compelling things about him, the things that sent her outside to ask which of the remaining drivers had brought him, were the understanding in his eyes and the simple, blunt way he spoke to her in the kitchen.
He had not expected anything from her in response. He had not so much as looked at her when he spoke. He knew how to be with her and leave her alone at the same time. Gifts.
His words and, ironically, his distance, drove her to act, to turn the craving for a man’s body against hers tonight into reality.
Just this once.
And now his large hands were holding tight to her hips as she continued to ride him. His hair tickled her lips each time she came down on him. Her pussy was sore, each entry and withdrawal amplifying the burn and the sting and the ache.
To drown out the guilt, she focused hard on the pain, letting it converge with sensation instead. The throb made her movements faster, more furious, the burn spreading along her lips and inside her passage, tight with his thickness.
The heat and the pain swirled, feverish dancers winding into something else.
