Page 71 of The Caretaker
“Noon,” he moaned, shoving at my shoulders when I kissed him savagely. “I can’t breathe.” I swatted his hands away, kissing him for a few seconds longer before allowing him the oxygen he needed.
He looked used and abused. My marks covered one side of his throat, his cum covered his chest, and my cum trickled from his asshole. There was so much I still wanted to do with him—dotohim—and I didn’t know where to start first.
I licked his body clean, swallowing down as much of our cum as possible. He peered down his chest at me, eyes going wide at the sight of my reinvigorated erection.
“I told you. No sleep tonight.” I hauled him off the floor, then tossed him over my shoulder, grabbing the lube from the bed as I made my way down from the attic. I’d intended to carry him to the living room. Intended to take him on the couch I loved. We never made it there. We were fucking again as soon as we reached the bottom landing.
Solace was just as fevered as me, lowering his chest to the hallway floor, his ass high in the air as I fell to my knees behind him.
I pulled his ass cheeks apart, shoving my cock into him, loving the squelching sounds that came from me hurtling like a battering ram through his sticky, wet hole.
Solace whined at the back of his throat, the sound delicate and pretty. I flattened one foot on the floor for more leverage as I cursed and thrust into him non-stop.
He chanted my name as I began dreaming up what to do to him next. We had nine months of lost time to make up for, and I planned on reclaiming every second of it.
Noon
Now
“I’VE SLEPT ONthis couch before,” I said, skimming my hands over Solace’s body, getting reacquainted with him. Dawn approached, and we hadn’t slept a wink yet. The couch pillows littering the floor and the overturned armchairs hinted at how we’d made use of our time since the truth had come out last night. I hadn’t been kind in my handling of him. I’d needed to release my pent-up pain and lust and love, and I’d taken everything out on him, the true object of my affection. His body had bloomed for me every time, confirming that the edge of brutality imposed was not only welcomed but needed by him too.
“You remember that?” he asked from the crook of my arm.
“No,” I answered around a sigh. “But it doesn’t feel like the first time. A lot of things about this place, about you, don’t feel new. I’d thought I was going crazy half the time, or that the familiarity wasn’t specifically about you or this farm, but that maybe it all reminded me of something else. I thought that “something else” was what I couldn’t remember. If that makes sense.”
“Makes perfect sense,” he replied, then frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I lied to you, that I made you feel worse—”
“Shh,” I said, quieting his guilty rant. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You were right. Had you told me from the start, I would have pushed you away. I’m glad I had the chance to get to know you again first. To fall for you again on my own. You needed that. If I never remember our time together, at least you can be sure that what I feel for you now is real.”
Solace nodded. “I can tell you everything you want to know. Maybe it’ll help bring some of the fuzziness of your younger years into focus. I can share the stories you once shared with me.”
“They tried that. Leland and Deb. It never worked.”
“Yeah, but you’re not angry now. And maybe your mind will be more receptive to it if it came from me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “We could try.”
He slung his arm around me, kissing the scar tissue over my right pectoral. He’d found and kissed every scar I’d obtained in the accident. Solace cuddled closer. “And yes, you’ve slept on this couch before. We had a lot of sex on it. And we’ve danced to ‘Tears in Heaven’ too many times to count. We danced until doing so no longer made me sad.”
I raised my gaze to the mantel, to the photo of Gavin holding the vinyl record. The record that had pulled such a visceral reaction from me. “And the clearing? Why do I need to walk there every morning?”
“We made love there too.”
“Where haven’t we made love?” I grinned down at him.
“In the canopy bed I had customized to fit at least three of you,” he joked. “Most of this house, actually. It was still a work in progress at the time.”
I hummed thoughtfully, watching the sun rise beyond the glass wall as I imagined everything he’d said, then letting it go when my imagination didn’t spark an actual memory.
“Your last name…” I started, knowing I didn’t need to say more.
“Cunningham,” he replied, as if he’d known this conversation was coming.
“Is that Patrick’s too?”
“It is. Outside of getting the divorce finalized, I didn’t have the mental capacity to do anything else. I was too preoccupied with losing you.”
“That changes now,” I said, my voice clear that it wasn’t a request. Solace’s answering smile said he approved of my reaction.
