contract in her need for release, and as I close in on my own release, hers tears through her and leaves her collapsed on the bed panting as I continue to push my cock in and out of her while my orgasm overcomes me and then fades.
I finally leave her body, collapsing beside her and stroking her back in slow circles. She looks to my eyes and watches me as my hands caress her pristine, smooth skin. I lean to her shoulder and kiss the soft, pale skin that covers her shoulder blade before returning to her side and pulling her body into my arms. She drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, thinking endlessly of her.
I’m alive again. I carried a weight of guilt I more often than not refused to acknowledge with every woman I indulged in for one night before turning them loose. I wanted nothing more from them than their bodies, and I made that fact clear. While they accepted this for their own reasons, I used them to satisfy my hunger for sex, but in that dark corner of my mind I pretended didn’t exist, I felt guilt. I was using them and denying my emotional needs.
But the girl beside me is different. God only knows why, but she is so compellingly different. I feel guilt with her as well, but for a completely different reason. My guilt with her is for sharing her bed but not a bed that belongs to us both; it’s for being in her home rather than a home that is ours together; and it’s for taking her body but not fully giving her my heart. Her whole being begs for more than meaningless, cold sex, and while she doesn’t ask for more than what I’ve given her, I want, for the first time in so many years, to give her more.
Chapter 11
When I wake, I’m alone, but he’s tinkering with something in the kitchen. I move from the bed and grab my clothes, tossing them on quickly before padding barefoot down the hall. Entering the kitchen, I find him half in and half out of the sink cupboard—must have found my leak. Not going to say that’s not embarrassing. Jordan is lying on his back, and as I clear my throat he slides forward to peer at me while leaning back on his elbows. He’s smirking.
“You realize using a pan to catch a leaky pipe is only effective if you intend to change the pan occasionally?” He’s still smirking, and I give him my best snarled lip.
He chuckles, shaking his head, and sits, slinging his arms across his knees, still holding the wrench he was working with in his grime-streaked hands. He’s wearing his charcoal-gray wool slacks and nothing else, sitting on my ugly, old, dirty kitchen floor. It’s a travesty really. I’m guessing the slacks alone are worth more than my kitchen.
“So what exactly is your point?” I feign ignorance with another screwed-up face.
He’s quick to respond, his amusement showing in his sarcastic smile. “Well since you asked. I got up thinking I’d make dinner… Then , I discovered there is literally no food in your fridge.” His turn to screw up his face in a sarcastic grimace that makes me laugh. “ Then , I found a frozen pizza in your freezer. Then ,” and yes, his “thens” are becoming quite exaggerated, “I found out your oven doesn’t work. Then , I cleaned up the cheese that fell off the frozen pizza, and then , you won’t believe what happened when I rinsed the washrag in the sink.” He pauses for effect as I shake my head in mock consternation. “Water started pouring from under the sink onto my feet. And now you find me here.” He’s smiling his beautiful seductive smile once again.
“Hmmm. That’s…”
“I’m not finished.” He cuts me off, laying on the exaggeration full force. “I’m now starving, and not just starving, but starving for pizza. I’ve decided your landlord should be arrested for allowing you to live like this, and I’m starving. Starving. Pizza starving.” Enunciating each word. He’s having fun. Mr. Serious, or is it Mr. Sexy-Serious, is really quite funny when he wants to be. “I’m glad you’re dressed.
I finally leave her body, collapsing beside her and stroking her back in slow circles. She looks to my eyes and watches me as my hands caress her pristine, smooth skin. I lean to her shoulder and kiss the soft, pale skin that covers her shoulder blade before returning to her side and pulling her body into my arms. She drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, thinking endlessly of her.
I’m alive again. I carried a weight of guilt I more often than not refused to acknowledge with every woman I indulged in for one night before turning them loose. I wanted nothing more from them than their bodies, and I made that fact clear. While they accepted this for their own reasons, I used them to satisfy my hunger for sex, but in that dark corner of my mind I pretended didn’t exist, I felt guilt. I was using them and denying my emotional needs.
But the girl beside me is different. God only knows why, but she is so compellingly different. I feel guilt with her as well, but for a completely different reason. My guilt with her is for sharing her bed but not a bed that belongs to us both; it’s for being in her home rather than a home that is ours together; and it’s for taking her body but not fully giving her my heart. Her whole being begs for more than meaningless, cold sex, and while she doesn’t ask for more than what I’ve given her, I want, for the first time in so many years, to give her more.
Chapter 11
When I wake, I’m alone, but he’s tinkering with something in the kitchen. I move from the bed and grab my clothes, tossing them on quickly before padding barefoot down the hall. Entering the kitchen, I find him half in and half out of the sink cupboard—must have found my leak. Not going to say that’s not embarrassing. Jordan is lying on his back, and as I clear my throat he slides forward to peer at me while leaning back on his elbows. He’s smirking.
“You realize using a pan to catch a leaky pipe is only effective if you intend to change the pan occasionally?” He’s still smirking, and I give him my best snarled lip.
He chuckles, shaking his head, and sits, slinging his arms across his knees, still holding the wrench he was working with in his grime-streaked hands. He’s wearing his charcoal-gray wool slacks and nothing else, sitting on my ugly, old, dirty kitchen floor. It’s a travesty really. I’m guessing the slacks alone are worth more than my kitchen.
“So what exactly is your point?” I feign ignorance with another screwed-up face.
He’s quick to respond, his amusement showing in his sarcastic smile. “Well since you asked. I got up thinking I’d make dinner… Then , I discovered there is literally no food in your fridge.” His turn to screw up his face in a sarcastic grimace that makes me laugh. “ Then , I found a frozen pizza in your freezer. Then ,” and yes, his “thens” are becoming quite exaggerated, “I found out your oven doesn’t work. Then , I cleaned up the cheese that fell off the frozen pizza, and then , you won’t believe what happened when I rinsed the washrag in the sink.” He pauses for effect as I shake my head in mock consternation. “Water started pouring from under the sink onto my feet. And now you find me here.” He’s smiling his beautiful seductive smile once again.
“Hmmm. That’s…”
“I’m not finished.” He cuts me off, laying on the exaggeration full force. “I’m now starving, and not just starving, but starving for pizza. I’ve decided your landlord should be arrested for allowing you to live like this, and I’m starving. Starving. Pizza starving.” Enunciating each word. He’s having fun. Mr. Serious, or is it Mr. Sexy-Serious, is really quite funny when he wants to be. “I’m glad you’re dressed.
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