After the End (10 page)

“Bed,” he managed, throaty and low, the rumble of his voice setting off fireworks. “Yes? Quinn, babe, do you want to go to bed with me?”

I met his eyes, seeing the want there, knowing mine mirrored the same.

There was no Aaron here. No fire red, no deep forest green. When I reached out, it was Brady under my hand; when I kissed, it was only him I tasted on my tongue. Nodding, I slid off his lap and held out my hand. Brady took it, watching me, worry there until I drew him close.

“Bed,” I agreed in a rumble, eyes sliding shut as Brady teased his lips along my throat, as he dropped to his knees to press hungry, sucking kisses to my chest, my stomach, down to bump his chin against my belt.

We stumbled backward together, him with playful pushes, and I laughed as I sprawled back across his bed. Brady lost no time in undoing my belt, mouthing my cock through my jeans as he worked the zipper down. My eyes rolled back and I hissed in a breath, stunned as arousal slammed through me.

I hadn’t been turned on since Aaron, since before the end. The idea of doing this alone seemed like a betrayal of sorts. Even now, the thought rose and I shoved it away, refusing to acknowledge the sour guilt that rounded out every jolt of pleasure. Aaron was gone. He was gone and Brady was here, Brady was kissing my hips, my thighs, slipping my jeans off of me and tossing them away. Not Aaron. And I wouldn’t think about the differences.

Then again, it was hard to think about
anything
when Brady ghosted his tongue down the length of me. I cried out softly, arching my hips, panting little breaths.

“You’re gorgeous,” he told me, moving up my body to kiss me again. “God, Quinn, you’re so beautiful.”

I met his gaze, touching his cheek and sliding my fingers up to explore the arc of it. “I wish I could paint you,” I murmured and he smiled. I meant it. If I had paints right then to capture the way his hair fell across his forehead, golden waves framing expressive eyes, a jaw strong enough to hold every kiss, every murmured word, lips that drew me to them again and again, the way he moved with such elegance, how his skin shone, dappled with sun, I would have stopped everything. I would have drowned myself in his beauty, over and over, until my hands bled with the colors of him.

Laughing, soft and sweet, Brady sprawled between my legs. He spent time kissing my thighs, the dents of my hips, wicked tongue chasing sighs and moans from me. Restless, I ran my hands along his arms, through his hair, anywhere I could reach him. As he lowered those intoxicating lips down to purse around my cock, his fingers found mine and we clasped them together as I groaned his name to the heavens.

Slowly he dragged his mouth up to the tip, teasing against my slit until I was sure I’d come apart from wanting. Down, then, again, Brady’s eyes sparking in satisfaction as he watched me, my legs akimbo around him, his lips cherry bright against the flushed length of my dick. He swallowed around me, pressure and beautiful friction dragging me up. The heat of him, the wet tightness of his mouth, was like touching God, too much glory and too much pleasure, almost painful in how much I needed him. How I wanted more.

“Please,” I begged as he moved on me, as he ducked down again, twisting his tongue and sending my toes curling. “God, Brady, you’re perfect. Just like that,
please
.”

And God, did he. Like all he’d wanted to do, like what he’d been
born
to do, was take me deeper, was suck and twist and stroke until I was incoherent. It’d been so long, and it was like Brady knew that. Not just the number of days, but the length of them, the weary aloneness of them he was now attempting to remedy, every second, one touch at a time.

When I came, it was with a panted warning, my heels digging into the mattress as if to spread myself further for him, like in those last moments I was nothing except my pleasure, insensate to anything except Brady. It hit me like a wave, white shocking ecstasy, spinning me up until I was so tight I couldn’t breathe, until every movement of Brady’s mouth was like brilliant torment.

Sagging back down, heaving in breaths around stunned moans, I reached out for him. For Brady, for the only person who was there for me to touch. I reached for him and found him and drew him up to me. We kissed, words lost inside of it, my arms and legs wrapping around him until we were all but one.

“Hey,” he whispered and I smiled, rubbing our noses together gently, resting my forehead against his.

“Hey,” I returned, trying, still, not to think. To simply
exist
there, with him, in rumpled sheets and soft skin.

I turned us, straddling him, considering all that beautifully bared skin. There was a faint trail of freckles down his side and I followed them with my tongue, experimentally scraping my teeth along his skin. I was rewarded with a shiver and a moan, and I smiled to myself, repeating the movement until the skin was pink under my attentions, until Brady was reduced to begging little whimpers.

His body wasn’t what I was expecting. In the haze of need, in the soft space under sheets, between kisses, my mind was reaching out for what I’d known, what didn’t exist any longer. So I hesitated, I fumbled, but in the end Brady’s skin was sweet, the noises he was making drove heat right through me, and I managed to get his pants off with a murmur of appreciation.

It was definitely a sight worthy of driving any other thoughts out of my head. Brady was thick and long, the soft nestle of deep golden curls between his legs mirroring the messy waves on his head. He watched me as I touched, as I explored, as I bowed my head to taste him with soft flicks of my tongue.

“Quinn.” His hand moved along my shoulder, strong fingers slipping along my skin, restless and needy. Brady was hot and full on my tongue, velvet smooth, and I moaned around him. Christ, it’d been so long, and I’d truly forgotten how
much
I liked doing this.

Sinking down until I couldn’t take him any deeper, I wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock, stroking him as I feathered my tongue along the underside of it. My cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to Brady’s face.
God
, he was beautiful. A jolt of pounding need hit me, twisting around my gut and sinking straight south. I had no idea I could get hard again this fast, not anymore, but Brady’s legs were wrapping around me, hitched up over my shoulders, little moans and pleas getting lost in every breath, and how could I
not
?

For the first time since losing Aaron, I
felt
. Like everywhere Brady was touching me was suddenly, gloriously alive, like my mouth and my lips and tongue were
everything
, because that was how I was connected to him.

Vaguely, so absorbed in him, in touching and tasting him, I barely noticed anything else, I realized Brady was moving. He had reached down to grasp my hip, my leg, manhandling me until I was sprawled out beside him, until he could turn on his side and me on mine. His mouth closed on me again and I had to pull back to gasp, loudly, lips wet and blushed and already hungry for more of him. Even that brief separation seemed too painful.

The taste of him, salty sour sweet in my mouth was heady and addicting. He smelled masculine, like sweat and heat and need, like citrus and sex. I buried my face between his legs, begging him for something concrete—more than words, because Aaron and I had had words, beautiful words, pretty words exchanged, but in the end the words had faded away. I wanted to touch him and know he was
there
, because Aaron had always been there when I could touch him. Until he wasn’t anymore. But if I touched Brady, if he touched me, if we tasted and took and gave until we were undone, then he was
there
. Then so was I.

My name tumbled from Brady’s lips as he jerked around me, as I felt him tighten and thrust in my mouth. I followed, exhausted and exhilarated and coming for him. For the way he moved and sounded and smelled, for how he tasted on my tongue. For the way he said my name.

Chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, we lay there in a tangle of limbs. Brady moved first, rolling over to collapse again half on top of me, face buried in my neck. “That was incredible,” he murmured, kissing my collarbone, lips sweet against my throat. “
You
are fucking incredible, sweetheart.”

“It was good,” I said softly, sounding more than a little stunned. I stared up at the ceiling, wondering at the tingling in my toes, my fingers, at the way my body had melted into him.

“Did you think it wouldn’t be?” Brady teased me, propping his head up on one hand. My eyes tracked to him, to that lovely face, and my fingertips lightly touched his lips, his cheeks, the crinkle in his forehead. Pieces of the whole I was beginning to learn.

His hand swept idly along my side and I took a slow breath, feeling it with every part of me. “I didn’t know if it could be anymore,” I admitted.

Brady’s expression softened and he leaned down to kiss me slowly. We lay there for a long time, Brady curled up against me, head on my shoulder.

It really had been wonderful.

And Aaron hadn’t been there at all.

B
RADY
was asleep. I was watching his ceiling fan move in lazy, wobbly circles above us, my hand half-tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. He was passed out on me, arm slung around my waist, breath rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. We’d kissed and touched and held each other until Brady’s eyes had grown heavy, until, in the warm afternoon sun, he’d stretched out and dropped off to sleep. I, however, was left staring blankly, counting fan rotations and lost in the maze of my own mind.

I’d just slept with a man who wasn’t Aaron.

Never in a hundred years would I have thought about cheating. It wasn’t in my makeup; it wasn’t something I thought I could live with. So I wasn’t sure if this was what everyone felt like, after, if this was a normal thing, to have your stomach in sick knots, to have that oily roll under your skin, undulating in aching guilt.

Yes, I knew Aaron was dead. Yes, I knew it was impossible to cheat on someone who wasn’t there any longer. But I’d had sex with someone who wasn’t
him
, and even though I knew all of that, it didn’t seem to matter.

I’d had sex with Brady.

And it had been
good
.

God, I thought I was going to be sick.

Carefully, I eased myself out from under Brady. He rolled over, arm reaching out to lightly touch me. An adorable little smile slipped across his lips as he breathed out a sigh, soothing back into sleep. I watched him for a few moments before getting out of bed and finding my pants. I buttoned my shirt with shaking fingers, and I didn’t bother to tie my shoes. Grabbing my hanging bag with the tux inside, I closed his door as silently as I could and made my way out into the street.

The taxi ride passed in a total blur. Before I knew it, I was home, again, going room to room in the stillness. Winston padded behind me, tail swishing as we chased shadows, as I looked everywhere for something that didn’t exist.

The apartment was empty. Of course it was. Aaron had never been here; this was the life I’d forged without him. Why, then, could I feel his ghost everywhere? Why did he linger, silent and steady, just out of the corner of my eye? It was like all that emptiness, all that
stillness
, coalesced into the memory of him. Aaron was there, except it wasn’t him at all. No booming laugh jolted my heart back to beating; no strong arms soothed away the chill. It was me and a cat and nothing else at all.

I wound up in the bedroom, one of Aaron’s old cardigans wrapped around me. The sleeves were too long, the buttons hanging by threads, but I buried myself in it. Only the slightest hint of Aaron’s scent remained and I struggled to capture it, to remember what it felt like to be surrounded by him, vivid, alive, brilliant.

Winston at my feet, the faded sweater engulfing me, I sat in my empty room without him.

I’d slept with Brady. Maybe that was forgivable. Maybe that was what I was supposed to be doing.
Moving on
, Tracy kept calling it.

I just hadn’t expected to like it so much. To
feel
so much.

So I sat, missing the scent of Aaron, catching traces of Brady’s cologne on my shirt.

Tears running down my face, I sat.

Someone other than Aaron had touched me. Had made me shudder and sigh and moan. I’d felt all those things with
someone else
, and even though I kept telling myself it was all right, it was normal, it was
healthy
, even, I still felt like I’d betrayed him.

I’d wanted Brady.

How could I want anyone but Aaron? I loved him. He was the man I was supposed to spend my life with; he was the beginning and the end; he was every moment in between. We’d promised each other faithfulness and caring, and now he was gone and I wanted someone else.

Even then, choking on my sobs, head buried in the soft fabric of Aaron’s cardigan, I wanted Brady. And that scared me to death.

I fumbled for my phone, jabbing at the screen until I heard the sound of Tracy’s phone ringing. She answered me with a smile in her voice, the soft noise of voices in the background clueing me in that I might have caught her at work.

Normally, I’d apologize, offer to try back at a better time. All I could do then, though, was shudder in a breath and tell her, voice breaking around every word, “He’s really dead.”

There was a beat, the sound of a door closing, and the background noises hushed. “Quinn? Honey, what’s wrong?”

“He’s really gone, Trace. Aaron isn’t here.”

There was so much worry in her voice, every word deliberate, feeling her way over ice that was already cracking under her feet. “I know, Quinn. He’s been gone for two years. What happened? Talk to me, sweetie.”

Heaving in short, stuttered breaths, I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs. “Brady and I… I cheated on Aaron. I slept with Brady and I wanted to and it was really good, and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t be able to, not with anyone else. But I could, and he’s not here, he’s not
anywhere
, and oh, God, Trace, he’s really gone, isn’t he?”