“You saw me get into a fight at the bar the other night. Why didn’t that upset you like this?”
“I think because it wasn’t…it wasn’t a relationship. It…it didn’t feel personal.”
I am wrestling with the need to hunt this bastard down. Not just for hurting Graham. But for hurting Abby through her friend.
"Will he go back to him?"
Because that is the most likely result. At least in heterosexual relationships. No matter how committed someone is to leaving, they tend to go back. More than once. It takes years of trying to break free from a bad relationship.
I don't know if it's the same in the gay community or not.
But I know it will hurt her if he does.
"I don't know," she whispers. "He's my best friend. And I hate this."
I pull her close, tucking her head against my chest and simply holding her. The alcohol is numbing my reactions. I should be angrier. More pissed.
And I am.
At that moment, there is something more important I need to focus on.
Abby.
I slide my hands over her back. Soothing, gentle strokes. My fingertips barely skimming the softness of her back. Tracing the edge of her bra. Teasing and light, I can feel the transition my touch evokes in her.
And the stillness where my own response to her need should be.
I reach behind her, flicking open her bra and inching it over her shoulders. Her nipples are deep russet pearls against her skin. She's so f*ck
ing beautiful, she hurts my eyes.
I can’t look away as I lean in, watching her reaction as I take her in my mouth. A tiny nip of my teeth against her sensitive flesh. It tightens beneath the wet slide of my tongue.
Her eyes are heavy and dark. Liquid gold. I bite down gently, cupping the soft swell of her breast as I taste her. Her lips part, and she arches a little bit in silent offering.
I trace the edge of her other nipple with my fingertip as I torment the first. Her skin glistens where I've touched her with my tongue, my teeth.
She threads her fingers into my hair, dragging her nails along my scalp. She spreads her thighs further, pressing her hot core against me. Instantly, my hand is on her, stroking her where she is swollen and moist and hot. Beneath her panties, my fingers find her. Swollen, so swollen. I drag the fabric down in a single movement.
She's so f*ck
ing wet.
I don't ask for permission. I am lost in the purity of her response. In the need to make her forget everything but my mouth, my fingers, my touch.
My name.
I slide my finger from the top of her swollen clit down the seam of her body and lower, to the tight, forbidden knot below where she is welcoming and open for me. She tenses but doesn't pull away.
Trust.
Again, I slide my finger over her body. Down. Against her tight, secret place. Until she relaxes. I flick my tongue where she is swollen and she nearly flies apart against my lips.
I suckle her, sliding one finger deep inside her wet heat. Stroke after slow stroke, I feel her relax and tighten, a sensual erotic dance.
I want her to forget her own name. Slowly, so slowly, my fingers inside her, I press my thumb against that secret, tight spot. Her eyes fly open and her cry is a thing of beauty.
But I don't stop now. Gentle, circling pressure, stroking her body with my fingers, my tongue.
But it is my thumb in that secret space that does her in. I press against her. Not seeking entry. Just a gentle, erotic slide against her most sensitive flesh.
And then she is coming apart. Beneath my finger, my lips, she shatters, her thighs gripping my shoulders. Pulling me closer and pushing me away all at once. Her breath ragged and torn from her lungs.
My heart swells in my chest as I finally relent and pull her against me. Skin to cotton. Heart to heart.
And beneath my own heart is a tiny seed of hope that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance I could get my life back. That it could be my cock inside her when she comes. That I could feel her body surround me and wrap me in the pleasure of her touch.
But for now, feeling the glow of her orgasm spreading over her like a warm sunset, I am content.
And her pleasure is enough.
Chapter 19
Josh
I like her apartment. I like lying with her in the tiny space and feeling the world fall away. It's nothing like mine. It's a tiny loft with little hints of Abby scattered around it. I smile when she turns on the light and she catches me watching her.
I smile, thinking of the pile of laundry on the small couch a few feet away. "Laundry day?"
She makes a wry grin. "Had no choice. Ran out of panties."
My throat goes dry at her words. I slip my hands over her lush hips. I love her curves.
I hope she's strong enough for me and all my bullshit.
But I'm not going there. Not yet.
I lean in and press my lips to the base of her throat where her pulse is scattered. "That's a hell of a visual," I whisper.