I shook my head.
Then I had at him with my mouth then, when I knew he was close because his hands holding back my hair so he could watch became fists, I released him and positioned myself over him. Wrapping my hand around his cock, I guided it inside and then I rode him, one hand in the bed for leverage, one at his chest for contact. Both of his hands were at my hips, coaxing, encouraging.
“You don’t hurry, Vi, I’m takin’ over,” he warned, his deep voice hoarse.
“No you aren’t, this is my turn.”
“Your turn’s gonna come with my fingers or my mouth not my cock, you don’t hurry.”
I wanted it from his cock so I rode him harder and he groaned.
“Christ, buddy, that ain’t helpin’.”
I leaned down and kissed him, still moving, Joe slid a hand between us and pressed a finger hard against my clit then that finger rolled.
I came instantly, moaning his name into his mouth.
“Thank Christ,” he groaned back and then his hips surged up and he came too.
I collapsed on top of him and both his arms wrapped around me, one going to my hair, pulling it away from my face then tangling in it and staying there.
“You gotta go home, baby,” he told me but he kept me locked in his arms.
“In a minute.”
“Vi, the girls.”
“They sleep late in the summer. Sometimes Keira sleeps until eleven.”
His arms gave me a squeeze. “Honey, the neighbors.”
I blinked and my eyes with a view to his neck saw nothing.
He’d never called me “honey”.
I pulled myself together and whispered, “Joe, baby, in a minute.”
His arms gave me another squeeze and he muttered, “Not me who gives a shit.”
I couldn’t help it, I grinned.
Then I thought I was lying with Joe in his bed in the house where his son died, his father died and his ex-junkie-wife had committed criminally negligent involuntary manslaughter.
How he could be here, I didn’t know, I couldn’t imagine.
But I hated him there. He should sell that house. Why he didn’t and then never came back, I had no clue.
Then I wondered what I was doing there.
But I knew. Stupid me, coming home last night after a great night with Mike, great, the best, dumping my purse, going to my room, slipping off my shoes and lying on top of my covers, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Mike then my mind shifted against my will and I started thinking of Joe over here, in this house, this goddamned house, filled with memories of tragedy, and he was all alone.
I couldn’t fix him, I knew it, but here I was trying to do it.
Joe’s hand sifted through my hair then his fingertips came to my hairline and did it again, holding it back as he twisted his neck so his mouth could get to my ear.
“You’re stayin’, buddy, got a mind to eat you,” he murmured.
I shivered.
He never quit but I didn’t mind, not at all, I was freaking addicted to it.
I lifted my head but Joe’s hand didn’t leave my hair.
“I should go back,” I said, not moving.
“Yeah,” Joe replied, “you should.”
I still didn’t move. Neither did Joe.
“Vi,” he called.
“What?” I asked.
Slowly, he smiled.
Then he rolled me to my back.
After awhile, I didn’t know why I was always whining to be on top.
Being on my back was just fine.
*
I slid out of Joe’s bed and pulled on his tee.
“Buddy, you keep stealin’ my tees, I won’t have any left.”
I nabbed my undies and stepped into them, my head up looking at him as I did.
“You gave me the first,” I reminded him.
“You stole the next two,” he returned.
“I only stole one.”
“You’re wearin’ number two.”
I couldn’t believe he was keeping track.
“I’ll send Keira and Kate to the mall to buy you new ones.”
“Christ, don’t do that. Fuck knows what they’ll come back with.”
I gathered my clothes, tucked them in my arm and looked at him in bed, scarred belly and pectoral on display, but then so was his chest. It was nice, all of it, very nice, even though the sheet was pulled up to his waist. If it wasn’t then the view would have been nicer.
“They take direction,” I told him.
“When I was at the mall with you, Keira picked a bunch of shit for me. One of the shirts had fuckin’ flowers on it.”
A little giggle escaped me at the idea of Joe wearing a shirt with flowers on it.
“And it was pink,” Joe finished and a much bigger, louder giggle burst out of me.
“You’d look good in pink,” I told him when I stopped giggling.
“Lucky you’re outta arm’s reach, buddy, or I’d smack your ass.”
I grinned at him then I blurted, “It’s Sunday.”
“So?”
“Sunday’s pancake day.”
His face closed down and he muttered, “Buddy.”
“Offer’s on the table, Joe. That’s all I’m sayin’,” I told him quickly, got close, put a hand in the bed and touched my mouth to his but when I pulled slightly away, I finished, “and I make fucking good pancakes.”