Page 50 of Roads Behind Us
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Dunno.”
But I did know. If I had sex with her, I already knew I could fall in love with her, at the very least with the way she made me feel. And if I loved her and lost her?
She watched my face, and she seemed to accept that I couldn’t tell her my reasons. She slid down my body carefully and then moved so that her legs straddled my good one. I spread for her, moving my cast out of the way. My leg didn’t hurt much anymore; it was just a heavy, useless weight.
Bea’s hand lingered on my thigh. She trailed her fingers higher and dipped them below my waistband, swirling them through the coarse hair there, and when she lowered the front of my sweats with one hand and grasped my dick in her other, I moaned so loudly, I worried I’d woken the rest of the house.
Bea smiled softly, pumping gently, and I watched as she scooted lower, leaned down, and opened her mouth.
Her small tits brushed over my leg, nipples hard and begging for my attention, but the warm, wet suction of her mouth around my cock felt like Christmas and the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve all in one second and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It felt like freedom, and it released something inside me. Adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream.
“Stop,” I said.
She froze, and my cock fell from her lips. She sat up, wiping the side of her mouth with the pads of two fingers. “Too much?”
I shook my head against my pillow. “Fuck me, Bea. I want you. I’m ready.”
“No, Bax. You just said you weren’t ready.”
“I was wrong. You showed me that. I am ready.” I was the head of my family. The owner of a goddamn business for Christ’s sake, and the father of a teenager. If I couldn’t handle getting my rocks off with a beautiful woman, it didn’t bode well for the rest of my life.
Grabbing the forgotten condom on the bed, I ripped open the package and rolled it over my steel-hard erection. When it was in place, she licked her lips, rolled them, and scooted forward on her knees.
“Are you sure?” she asked, slipping her leggings down one leg, and she pulled some yoga move, stretching back while she leaned on her other leg.
“Yes.”
She pulled at the other leg of her pants, her opposite hand planted on my shoulder for stability, and then the tight leggings disappeared, but I had no clue where they’d gone because she centered her body over mine, descended slowly, and took my body inside hers.
I cried.
All that silent bravado leaked from the sides of my eyes as I realized how much I’d missed connecting with another person this closely. I cried because of what I was leaving behind by being with a woman who wasn’t Candy. I cried because, finally, I had moved on and it felt fucking monumental.
I felt free from the sadness and the despair, from the guilt and desperate hope that I’d ever feel this way again.
Bea had just released me from the belief that I never would.
She brushed my tears away with tender fingertips, and she rolled her hips, taking me deeper inside her body. Desire and euphoria rushed through me. I wanted to flip her. I wanted to take her and fuck her and give her everything I never thought I’d have to give again.
I couldn’t, so I held it all inside and let her set the pace.
For a woman who acted so tough, she was light and soft and perfect, and she handled my roiling emotions with care. She lifted my hand and placed it over her breast, and when she reached for my other hand, I didn’t need her guidance to know she wanted me to hold her while she gave me what I so desperately needed.
Every movement and action she took showed that she was doing this for me. This was all about me and letting me use her to get over my dead wife, but I hadn’t forgotten that she had things she needed to get over too. A shitty marriage, the life she’d been mourning with her family, and her home.
“Kiss me,” I said. “Take me and let me take you too. We both got no place else to be.”
A soft moan was her only response, but her own sadness flashed across her face. She leaned down and took my mouth with hers, and she watched me as she placed kisses on my lips and cheeks and my nose as she rode me slowly.
My hands slid to her hips, and I grasped them tightly, holding on for the ride. She rose above me, reveling in the way I made her feel, and fuck if I wasn’t proud of that. I was just happy to find myself capable of causing her to feel pleasure at all. If she’d been in my bedroom a year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to.
Shit, a year ago, I couldn’t even jack off without intense guilt about feeling pleasure when the person I’d loved practically my whole life couldn’t anymore.
But I wasn’t feeling guilty now.
And I didn’t feel lost anymore, like I was stuck between home and a strange place I’d never been.
