Page 73 of Those Two Words

“Oh, Patrick. I’m so close. Fuck. There. There,” she calls out. And when I pull one of her nipples into my mouth, she explodes. The feel of her pussy fluttering around me and the cries that fill my truck have me hurtling toward my own orgasm. I only have a few seconds before I’m following closely behind.

Her hand slaps against the back window, fingers streaking through the foggy glass as she loses herself in her orgasm. Before it ends, I flip us, her back now pressed against the bench. I continue to pump into her as she rides out the last of the waves, back arched, chanting my name like a prayer only I answer to.

The only name she will ever chant again.

That possessive thought and the feel of her still clamped around me is my undoing. My mouth falls to her neck, biting down on the soft skin as I spill inside of her.

I collapse on top of her, both of us breathless and covered in sweat. She rakes her nails over my spine, causing me to shiver as I soften inside of her. I’m light-headed, weak at the sight of her as I raise my head.

I know I’m crushing her, but she doesn’t seem to care, and I don’t want to move. My face falls to her neck as I breathe her. What have I done in this life to deserve her like this again?

Never has anything felt so fucking perfect.

Being with her again has me feeling whole. Wanted. But I’m also worried. Worried that I’ll get addicted to the taste and touch of her, only for it to be snatched away from me again. I don’t think she’d leave willingly this time, but the intrusive thought still haunts me.

“I think my legs are broken,” she sighs. “Maybe next time we won’t be as desperate to fuck.”

The way she says fuck has my cock hardening again. “I don’t know, because that was something else and I’m already thinking about when I can be inside of you again. Also, say fuck again?” I beg, with a thrust of my hips.

She slaps my chest with a giggle and pushes me off her. We groan when I slide out of her, but the view in front of me has every carnal urge in me rising to the surface. I watch in apt fascination as my cum drips out of her onto dark brown leather under her ass. Knowing I’ve had her raw makes me want to push it back inside her where it belongs, needing to mark her as mine in every way possible.

I shake those thoughts away and pull my eyes away from the temptation between her legs.

“You better get changed before I’m inside of you sooner than you think,” I warn, but she only finds it funny because she grinds her pussy against the underside of my cock, the feel of the lace rubbing against the sensitive skin has me seeing stars.

“Johanna,” I warn.

“Ugh, fine,” she says. I rise up on my knees as she sits up. She lets out a satisfied sigh, and much to my disappointment, collects her clothes that have been discarded throughout the truck.

We dress in silence, the only evidence left of what we did is our messy hair and the condensation on the windows. Her satisfaction mirrors my own when we share a look across the bench. The moment we just shared together is something I never imagined I would have with her again and I’m already greedy for more.

It’s outrageous that I ever thought I was over Johanna. I’m the biggest fool to think I could fight this, because I’m falling harder than before. I’m gluttonous for her attention, her touch, her smiles. Her love. I look at her, sitting in my truck like it’s where she’s always belonged, the corners of her lips pulled upward toward her still-hazy eyes.

I’ve never been more grateful to fall so hard as I have for her.

thirty

JOHANNA

“I know you’re my big sister and all, but you totally got railed, didn’t you?” Harriet observes casually.

Wine sprays from my mouth and I slap a hand over it to stop it from shooting across the bar. Her unfiltered question wasn’t exactly quiet, either, considering we’re in a restaurant full of people.

“Actually, don’t respond to that.” She circles my face with her finger. “Because this says it all. Johanna, you dirty dawg.”

There’s no point in trying to convince Harriet, because she can see right through me.

“I’m not talking about it here,” I hiss, twirling my finger above my head to remind her where we are—which happens to be Our Place on a Tuesday night, and during the dinner rush no less.

We’re perched at the end of the driftwood bar, which gives us the best spot for people-watching, and a great view of Patrick’s ass from where he’s working behind the bar.

Her head pops into my line of sight, obstructing my view, and she quirks a brow at me. “Look at that blush. I’ll have to give Patrick my congratulations on holding off this long before getting his pickle we?—”

I slap my hand over her mouth now, checking that Patrick didn’t hear her. “Will you behave, you little nuisance? God, you’re as bad as Booth.”

After our afternoon at the lighthouse, Patrick dropped me off outside my apartment right as the youngest Sadler brother was walking out of Just Brew It. I have a pretty good poker face, but when Booth pointed out that my sweater was inside out and that I had a hickey forming on my neck, I knew we’d been caught. He patted us both on the shoulder and congratulated us. But not before telling us public indecency is a crime.

“Please can we change the subject,” I beg. “How was your weekend?”

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