The condom. Of course. He reached to kiss me on the lips—a friendly sort of gesture, for which I was glad—as I untangled myself from him. I crawled onto the bed, leaving the shoes behind, and slid the stockings off. I resisted the temptation to ask him what he’d like to do next, in case he suggested we watch MTV or say he wanted to sleep. I was pretty much wide-awake and I wanted him again.
“Was that okay?” he asked, settling onto the bed next to me.
“Better than okay.” I wondered how experienced he was.
“Cool.” He grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. No, I’m not.” He touched my breast, making small circles around the nipple, and gave a small sound of satisfaction as it stiffened and darkened. “You’re gorgeous. Sexy. I can’t believe I’m here with you.”
His cock stirred. I reached down and took him in my hand, squeezing gently. I sat up and ran my hands over him, exploring his planes and surfaces. He twitched away as I kissed his nipple, then settled back, sighing. I kissed his belly and thighs, deliberately ignoring his erection, while he stroked my breasts and shoulders.
“Tell me what you want,” he said after we’d kissed awhile.
I reached for another condom.
“Don’t you want more foreplay?” he said earnestly, as though I wasn’t conforming to some textbook of female erotic behavior.
“Sometimes I like hours of it. Right now I want to be fucked.”
“Okay!” He took the condom and rolled it onto himself, then pushed me onto my back, eager to show me what he could do. And for an exercise in stamina, it wasn’t bad, lots of nice sweaty thrusting and flexing and groaning from both of us.
“Have you come yet?” he asked after a while.
“I don’t come like this.” I rubbed my foot up and down his back.
“Shit. Why didn’t you say?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it. I am.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“But I …” His hips were moving again. “I want you to …”
“Jason, just shut up and fuck me, okay?”
He stopped, shocked, and then grinned. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
I was a bit worried about his lack of vocabulary for a couple of seconds before he started fucking me in earnest, and hurtled to a climax before collapsing on top of me.
“That was … that was great,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “What would you like me to do now?”
My mind wandered off onto some stuff I’d read somewhere about dominatrices who made their submissives do the laundry or clean the bathroom, but it seemed like a waste of good manpower. I had this gorgeous, unstoppable young male in my bed, all puppy eyes and eagerness, willing to do whatever I wanted, and—
“Jason, I hope you don’t feel I’m using you.”
He looked up from my nipples—very enterprising, while I was thinking of a reply, he had taken the initiative to start kissing his way down my body. “No. I like you. I think you’re …”
Oh, please don’t say I’m hot again. It’s flattering but—
“You’re nice. Like, when we had those third graders tour the station and you showed them around. You were really cool with them. They liked you.”
“Oh. Thanks. I like you, too. And that—oh, that’s nice.” Perhaps everyone’s vocabulary shrank when the sex was good enough. Jason lapped and nibbled at my thighs and my clit, and I came to his supple, energetic tongue, surprised, pleased, thrashing around.
“I’m hard again,” he said, almost apologetically. I wasn’t aware he’d deflated at any point, and I had a feeling I’d come across the used condom in the bed pretty soon.
“Then let’s do something about it.” I handed him a condom and watched him roll it on, kneeling above me. “And I’ll go on top.”
“Will you come like that?”
“Almost definitely.” It was sweet how concerned he was with my orgasms, when I, or any other woman, could out-orgasm him, or any other man, until the cows came home.
And I did. Or at least, until the arrival, not of any cows, but of my new tenant.
“I guess this is it,” Patrick said.
Elise leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’ve been so great about it all.”
“Hey, stop it. Next thing you’ll be inviting me back in and then we’ll start all over again.”
“You’re right.” She stepped out of his arms and he felt as though he were ripping up inside. It was a definite physical sensation, a weird tingle down his arms, adrenaline maybe, or a heart attack. He waited. Was he about to drop dead on his soon-to-be ex-wife’s—or rather, his own—doorstep?
Damn, she’d get his life insurance. The merry widow.
“Yeah. Okay.” He took his glasses off and pinched his nose, hard, to force the tears back. “I couldn’t find the drill. It’s somewhere in the house. It doesn’t matter. I’ll buy another. You need to have one.”
“Do I?”
In Elise’s world there was always someone with a drill, always someone to look after her and protect her and do things for her. Him, her father, her brothers, even Patrick’s friends—God, if he thought any of his friends were screwing her or wanted to screw her, or coming around with their big drills at the ready, he’d kill them, but they’d be insane not to want to screw her….
“Patrick, just go, please.” She looked waiflike and frail, clinging to the front door. She was as tough as old boots.
“I changed the furnace filter.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
He nodded and trudged to the truck he’d rented for the move.
He drove round the corner, parked and cried for a good two minutes. Well, he thought, blowing his nose, at least he hadn’t cried in front of her.
She hadn’t cried in front of him, either. Shit, he should have torn the house apart and found the damned drill. He’d always despised couples who got into deathly, expensive fights over household items when they divorced, televisions or favorite bits of furniture, but now he understood that irrationality. He couldn’t even bear to think what it would be like if the disputed property were a pet or a kid, but this marriage had none of the above, a thought that did not cheer him particularly.
He put his glasses back on and shoved the truck into Drive, stomping his left foot on the floor in the way he always did driving an automatic, and drove to his new apartment.
He rang the doorbell several times and eventually Jo opened the door. She wore sweats and pink slippers and her hair was on end. She looked sleepy and mussed and sexy. (Yeah, and ten minutes ago he’d been crying over another woman.)
“Sorry I woke you up,” he said.
“No, it’s fine. Come on in.”
He didn’t want to come in the house, but he did to be polite, and she gave him a set of keys.
“I’ll move the pickup,” she said.
Funny,