After Hours (16 page)

“Where is he now?”

“Last I knew, he was living in Cleveland. Some kind of menial, warehouse-type job.
He was never abusive or a criminal or anything, just . . . I dunno. Irresponsible.
Like it didn’t register that he had a family unless he got it in his head that he
was going to suddenly turn up and be Superdad, like a TV father. He showed up on Christmas
once, with bikes for both of us. Amber was about eight and he got her a tricycle.
I was thirteen and mine was pink, with streamers. He was clueless. We were just some
project he’d pick up when it suited him, then he’d lose interest again.”

“Ouch.”

“Amber got a bike out of it, at least. A pink one with streamers.” I smiled dryly.

“I’d say woe is us, but I don’t know anybody who had a great childhood.”

“I’ve known a few, but they all had other problems.”

“Amen.”

We were quiet for a couple of minutes, finishing our breakfasts. Kelly had to help
with mine, polishing off my bacon and eggs. Without a word, we carried our plates
to the sink and he rinsed them. He took my hand in his damp one and led me silently
down the hall, back to his bedroom.

I lay across the rumpled covers, resting my head on my hands, flexing my feet. Kelly
stripped down to his shorts, then joined me with his fingers laced atop his belly.
After a minute he shifted, propping himself on his elbow to stare down at me.

“Yes?”

He brushed stray strands of hair from my face and without a word, he moved to his
knees between my legs, gently pushing my thighs open. I saw recognition in his eyes
as my skirt slipped up and my bare pussy greeted him. All the laziness left his expression,
intensity hardening his features and voice.

“Get me ready.”

I touched his neck with one hand and clasped his already-stiffening cock in the other
through his shorts. He shoved them down, clearly in no mood for waiting. He pumped
his hips, fucking my hand, and with a dozen thrusts he was hard and thick, and my
awareness had sunk low in my body, heat building between my thighs. He knocked my
hand aside, wrestling his shorts the rest of the way off. My lips parted. His naked
body was fascinating in the daylight. I memorized it, proud to know the secrets that
lay behind Kelly’s drab gray Larkhaven uniform and stony professional persona.

I peeled away my shirt and got my bra off as he leaned over to grab a condom from
the side table and sheathed himself. Then all at once, my impatient lover froze, cock
in hand. His gaze softened, wandering up and down my body.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just lemme look at you a minute.” He seemed caught between two sets of emotions,
hesitance playing tug-of-war with his usual greediness. He looked at me like we’d
never met before, like he was trying to figure out what this woman was doing on his
bed.

The moment passed and his roaming gaze steeled. He braced himself on one arm and guided
his crown to my lips.

As he drove inside, everything was different. I wasn’t wet yet, and his cock felt
pleasantly intrusive with only the condom’s lube to ease the way. I welcomed the pressure,
a contrast to the accessibility I sensed, staring into his eyes.

He was still taking what he wanted, but what he wanted felt more tender than yesterday,
more personal. His wrists pressed tight to my ribs, arms locked, thrusts deep and
slow. His eyes were steady, but softer. Sadder, or something. Something that passed
for vulnerable in Kelly’s impassive emotional repertoire.

His body was as powerful as ever, looking as strong and exciting and cut as it did
in my fantasies. He owned me in smooth, explicit strokes. But it was the noises he
made that had me aching. The tight grunt each time his hips met mine. There was helplessness
in that plaintive sound. Something that said,
Let me in,
a plea trying to pass for an order. I hugged my legs to his waist and welcomed him
to take what he needed.

He didn’t say or do anything to address my pleasure, and for some reason, it was incredibly
hot. This strong, greedy man needed to come—needed me. A peevish voice said I should
feel overlooked, but all I felt was wanted.

And I knew implicitly that I could touch myself if I felt like it, no permission needed,
come when I was ready. But excited as I was, I simply wanted to watch him. I might
never again have a chance to see him this way.

Powerful and rough . . . and needy. Always a contradiction.

He found the rhythm he craved, taking me with swift, rough thrusts and grunting in
time. Still, he didn’t offer to get me off. He must’ve felt as I did that this was
somehow about him. Maybe it was just another facet to his role for these two days,
a more subtle flavor of selfish. No games or threats, just him using my body to take
what he wanted, when and how he wanted it.

I stroked his soft, short hair. I rubbed the nape of his neck, his shoulders and back
and arms, admiring the man who’d given me the best sex of my life. The most intense
and unsustainable sex I’d likely ever have. I relished the temporariness of it. It
made every stroke and thrust and kiss more forbidden and fleeting, knowing all of
this would be nothing more than memories in a few hours’ time. I might never feel
this again, but I could go forth knowing that once upon a time, I’d had mind-blowing,
wild-animal sex with a huge, cut, bruised-up beast of a man. I could move on, knowing
beyond the shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t missing out on anything.

Kelly moaned. “Fuck. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

I held his shoulders. “Good.”

“Oh. Fuck.” The climax seemed to have crept up on him, as though he weren’t ready
for the sex to be done, but helpless to stop it. His body slammed into mine for a
dozen frantic strokes, then every muscle locked, cock pushed as deep as it could go.
Four times he clenched, each punctuated with a groan, then I felt his weight on me
as his body softened.

He shoved his arms under my back, pressing his face against my throat. He took a long,
ragged inhalation and let it out in a sigh. I grazed my fingertips up and down his
back, secretly savoring the moment.

I assumed the sex and the early hour would leave him soft, in both cock and demeanor,
but as the haze lifted, I saw mean Kelly shining in his eyes. He left the bed and
stripped the condom, never dropping my gaze. I gasped as he grabbed my ankles and
pulled me across the bed, until my butt was at the mattress’s edge. He dropped to
his knees between my legs, pushing them wider. I propped myself up on straight arms.

Everything felt intensely real, in that instant. The morning light slipping through
the blinds was warm, draping his shoulders in golden stripes, illuminating the dust
motes drifting in the air.

He slid his fingers over my mound and fisted the hair there, rough enough to pull
a little yelp from my lungs. He held me as he might steady my head while his cock
owned my mouth, the gesture echoing all that aggression while promising precisely
the opposite act. With his other thumb and finger he spread my lips, and he breathed
me in.

“You ever been fucked by a man’s mouth?”

The way he said it, I knew he wasn’t talking about any kind of oral I’d experienced.
I’d been teased and spoiled and serviced by guys’ mouths, but no, I hadn’t been fucked.

“No.”

“Good.”

His tongue delved deep, firm and wet and filthy. My legs bucked. His stubble rasped
my most tender flesh as his nose brushed my clit. Another lap, and another, savoring
before he penetrated again. His thumb slid up and down my outer lips, doubling the
sensations. I felt wet and vital, as ripe and slippery as a mango and decadent as
a steak, and Kelly feasted. He clutched my curls tight and I wished I could return
the gesture, if his hair were longer. Instead I drew my nails along his scalp, and
he replied with a soft scrape of his teeth over my clit. I moaned, as shocked as I
was aroused.

His fingers abandoned their teasing. He made a spearhead of them and eased it inside
me, freeing his mouth. I could feel his wedding band each time it glanced my lips.

“Think about my cock,” he ordered.

I shut my eyes. I conjured every thick, pulsing inch he’d fed me the night before,
and imagined that was what filled me now. He’d feel even better. Deeper, harsher,
and his face would be above mine, eyes staring me down. Or maybe I wouldn’t be allowed
to see his face at all, just hear his primal groans and grunts behind me, as he took
me on my hands and knees. He suckled my clit and suddenly I didn’t care how it happened.
My very life depended on our fucking again. Soon. And hard. The position didn’t matter.
All that mattered was his body pounding into mine. Rough sex, rough hands, rough voice.
Rough Kelly, taking what he wanted.

His fingers were making me crazy, a hot, dirty reminder of the thing that felt even
better than this. “I need your cock.”

His mouth left me. “Do you then?”

“Please.”

And he was on his feet, grasping my ankles and hauling my legs back onto the bed.

As he climbed between my knees, he was hard again, like he’d never come. A condom
materialized from the bedside table, and he looked me dead in the eyes as he rolled
it down his cock.

He moved to my side, sitting up with his arms braced behind him. “Straddle me.”

I got one leg over and he did the rest, jerking me down, entering me hard with a sharp
pang.

“Oh fuck.” I grabbed the headboard, rushing to keep up with the motions his hands
were demanding.

“Ride me. Hard.”

“Jesus, hang on.”

He eased up enough for me to find my way, negotiate the angles, get a rhythm going.
When his bossy pulls resumed, I welcomed them. He could tell me what he wanted, beg
for it with his hands, but for once I was in control of the sex. How deep, how fast.

“Yeah.” He shut his eyes, leaning back. “Fuck me.”

I slowed nearly to a halt. “Say please.”

His lips quirked, eyes opening. “Please.”

“That’s better. And fuck you how, exactly?”

“Rough. And fast.”

“We’ll see.”

Those bullying hands forced my motions for a few thrusts, long enough that I couldn’t
care about teasing him anymore. What he wanted felt too good. When he stopped dictating,
I kept up the rhythm and intensity he’d established.

“Yeah. Fuck me.” His eyes were half-closed, lips and nose pink, expression drunken.

Charged by the moment, I held his face, cupped his ears and dug my thumbs into his
cheeks, drawing his lips back just enough to expose a glimmer of teeth. I raked my
nails over his scalp and felt him vibrate with a deep, low moan.

“Rough?” I asked, filled with dark mischief.

He nodded. “Yeah. Rough as you can handle.”

And I hit him. Slapped him with an open palm right across his face and jerked his
head sideways.

I didn’t even know what made me do it, if it was anger or lust or blind impulse. But
it felt good. He blinked for a second, gray eyes bleary.

He reached behind to clasp the headboard with both hands, gripping so tight a vein
stood out along his triceps. “Again. Harder.”

My slap landed with a noise like a sound effect and left a pink mark rising beside
his mouth.

“Good. Now fuck me.”

I did. I fucked him so fast and rough it felt like we were fighting, like my hips
were possessed by a demon, like my life depended on it. He kneaded my ass, spanked
me, spurred my motions with harsh pulls and growled commands—
faster, harder, use my fucking cock.

I adjusted my thighs so my clit rubbed his base each time I eased my hips back. The
fight-fucking was hot, but the contact was breathtaking. I was nearing the edge within
seconds, the feedback loop of friction and conflict and the sight of Kelly’s body
and face speeding to a blur as the pleasure boiled up inside me.

“Fuck, you feel good.” I started laughing before I got all the words out, drunk on
the sex.

Had I even ever had sex before Kelly? Like I’d thought I’d gone swimming, splashing
in the bathtub, but now here I was dropped in the middle of the fucking ocean. I wrapped
my arms around his neck, ignoring his hands’ orders. My clit was calling the shots,
and I ground against him in tight, honed motions, doing exactly what the pleasure
demanded. I cupped Kelly’s head and let him hear every ugly noise the feeling squeezed
from my lungs, every whimper and moan and grunt. His fingertips whispered up and down
my back, hips tensing in time with my rhythm.

“Good. Use me.”

“Jesus, Kelly. Keep talking.”

He put his lips to my ear. “Ride my cock. Wreck yourself. Feel how fucking hard you
make me, and remember it every goddamn time we pass each other on the ward.”

“Kel.”

“Think about this every night before you go to sleep, and imagine me doing the same.
Wishing to hell my hand felt even half as good as your cunt.”

That did it. Of all the dangerous thoughts, that one tipped me—the idea that Kelly
might
miss me,
after our sweat dried and Saturday dawned.

My body turned frantic, a writhing knot of legs and arms and fingers whose only purpose
was to master Kelly.

“Good. Good. Come on that cock, girl.”

“Fuck.” I was dizzy from wanting. The pleasure was a hook inside me, linked to some
chain winching tighter, tighter, tighter. Then—

“Yes. Good.” Kelly’s voice somewhere, above me or below, inside me. I was trembling,
moaning, quaking in his lap and pawing at his arms. I came like an exorcism, the harshest,
most violent, barbed pleasure drawn through me and ripped back out, until I was crumpled
against his chest, shaking.

He was stroking my hair, kissing my ear. If not for the thrumming pulse of his cock
inside me, he’d have felt impossibly tender.

“Good,” he whispered, and cupped my head.

I let myself stay that way, panting, my chest slippery against his.

“Whoa,” I finally mumbled.

I felt a laugh I couldn’t hear and smiled, unseen.