Except that she had just torn open a condom wrapper and rolled it down his dick without even a slight hesitation. Except that she had just settled with complete confidence on his lap and guided him into the wet, hot center of her body with a strong and steady hand.“Oh, dear God,” he whispered, closing his eyes as she lowered herself, taking him deeper.
He reached out, grasping her hips, wanting to slow her down, wanting to draw out the moment, but she took his hands in hers and brought them to her breasts, squeezing his hands in her own.“Just touch me, Michael,” she moaned, rocking against him. She moaned again as he pinched her nipples gently between his fingers, and she threw her head back and cried out when he gave an experimental twist.“Again,” she cried, grinding harder against him.“Just like that… do it again.”
Michael waited until she brought her face down again to look at him, giving another slow, gentle pinch. Her eyelids fluttered, but she maintained the contact as she moved against him, sliding up and down along the length of him. He throbbed inside her, responding to the vibrations of her inner muscles, and his blood was coursing through him so fast it was almost as if he could hear it. She took him again, all the way to the base, and he groaned, still staring into her eyes. She was panting, her hands braced flat on his chest as she rose above him again, and he glanced down to watch her body swallow his.
When Michael rolled her beneath him and she hit the bed, her hair flew out around her shoulders, but she laughed, bringing her legs up to circle his waist.“Couldn’t take that sight, huh?”
Michael laughed, too, looking down at her as he braced himself on his knees. He took her hips and dragged her up, watched her legs fall open, watched as he buried himself inside her.“No, I wanted to keep watching,” he whispered. Still thrusting with aching slowness, he flicked his thumb against her clit, drawing a throaty moan from her that sang all the way through his body. He did it again, listened to her moan, felt his balls draw up tight against his body, watched himself disappear inside her again. And again.
“Look at me,” she whispered, and he did; he watched himself slide out of her, saw the shine of her juices covering him, watched her body arch as he filled her again. He watched her breasts bounce, watched her reach to squeeze them. He watched her bite her lower lip, moaning as he quickened his pace.
But he watched her eyes, too, watched the pupils dilate as she neared orgasm. Every sense in his body was heightened by the intimacy of the eye contact, strengthened by the sight of her face as she panted under him. Her breathing came faster as she tightened around him, but she didn’t look away; she kept her eyes on his as her mouth popped open, a moan slipping between her lips.“Michael,” she whispered again, and finally, Renee closed her eyes.
Still watching, Michael saw her body arch in pleasure, saw the flash of her teeth as she bit her lip. Looking down, he watched their bodies coming together, watched her wetness spread to his skin as he slammed into her, harder now, his skin tingling as her body tightened in an iron grip around him. He could see the impressions his fingers were leaving on her hips, but couldn’t seem to make his hands relax.
And then he was lost, spinning into oblivion, shudders running through him with his release.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was several moments later when he came back to himself and regained the ability to string words together. Pushing himself up on his hands, he looked down at Renee and smiled.“You’re okay?”
She looked up at him, one hand coming up to stroke his cheek.“I’m okay,” she answered. She wriggled slightly, adjusting her position in the bed, and Michael moved to the side to give her space.
“You’re not sorry?” He left her on her back and turned away to sit up on the edge of her bed, carefully removing and tying off the used condom.
Renee waited quietly until he had stretched out beside her again, her hand resting gently on his lower back, moving down his hip as he lay down. Turning to face him, she snuggled against his chest and sighed.“No, I’m not sorry at all, Michael. The whole time you’ve been here, you've asked me if I’m okay, if I wanted this. If I was ready, if I was sure. Why are you asking me if I’m sorry? I’m not sorry.”
Relief flooded through him and he settled a hand on her hip, pulling her closer. The words made him happy, but his fear was still there, a shadow at the edge of his joy. She could still change her mind, could still walk away from him; but she was his best friend and they shared almost everything with each other. He had to tell her.“I found a letter,” he said.“A few days ago. In my house.”
“What kind of letter? From who?”
Her fingertips were stroking him all over, tiny pinpricks of deliciousness that moved absentmindedly from his collarbone to his stomach and back again. She looked into his eyes, the haze of pleasure fading from her face, the softness of contentment left behind. "It was from Nicolette– I found it in the attic," Michael answered quietly. "In her room. She used to use it as sort of a studio or something. She liked to read up there, in the window seat.”
"Oh." Her hands stilled and her eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity as she watched his face. "What did she say? I mean, did she explain things? Why she was leaving?"
They slipped back into their friendship easily, almost as if they were in their usual spots in his living room and not curled up naked together for the first time in the middle of her bed. But they were naked together, and Michael stroked her hip absentmindedly as he relayedthe content of Nicolette's letter. She made small sounds of sympathy as he told her how relieved he had been to read it. ''Not that she said she was infertile," he explained, shivering as Renee's palm passed lightly over his nipple. "And definitely not that she thought it would matter to me, because it wouldn’t have. But because–" He broke off with a nervous sigh. He sounded like a high school girl. But Renee had always understood him, and he needed to believe that she would understand him now, too. "I had thought we were happy, you know? I had thought she was happy with me. But then if she was, she wouldn't have left me, right?"
"I guess that's not how she saw it. If she left you out of love… even if it hurt you, I don’t think that’s what she meant to do."
Michael watched their fingers weave together, felt himself hardening against her again, and smiled. "I guess not,” he said.
“And I doubt she meant the letter to sit there so long unread.”
Michael laughed, dipping his face to kiss Renee’s forehead.“No, I don’t think she did either. But I couldn’t go inthere for the longest time, and then when I could, I’d just open the door and stand there, and then shut the door again. I finally went in there to try and clean it out. It’s the last of her in the house, so…”
Looking up at him, she tilted her head, her hair rustling against the pillows, and Michael brought a hand up to cup her breast. It was strange, this unexpected intimate comfort between them; he had almost expected sex with her to be awkward, but it hadn’t been. He felt like his hands were made to touch her, like her body was perfectly made to fit against his. No, it was anything but awkward, and if the warmth radiating from the apex of her thighs was any indication of her feelings, she felt the same. The hardened nipple jutting into his palm seemed to agree, too; he rubbed a thumb over it, listening to her quiet gasp of pleasure.
Her fingers were busy too, stroking slowly up and down his side. "Do you miss being married, Michael?"
Her eyelashes fluttered against his bare shoulder as she kissed her way along his collarbone, and Michael turned onto his back, slipping his arm around her to pull her against his chest. The silken feel of her hair spilling over his arm delighted him, and his heart leaped in his chest as Renee casually eased her knee between his. "To her?” he asked, turning his head to bury his nose in her hair. "Or in general?"
She shrugged, her cheek moving against his chest as she moved. Michael felt her stomach fill against his side as she took a deep breath, felt the rush of air against his skin as she exhaled. "Both?" She asked the question in a barely audible whi
sper, and Michael pulled away slightly in surprise at the hint of insecurity in her tone. He waited until she lifted her head to meet his gaze; she lifted an eyebrow curiously and shrugged again, lowering her head to kiss his chest. "You don’t have to answer. I was just wondering."
"Liar." Michael laughed as Renee brought her hand up to slap his chest playfully. "Alright, alright. I'll go along with it. Do I miss being married to Nicolette? No. I loved her, but she left and there’s nothing I can do about that. But do I miss being married? Yeah, I do. Every damned day."
Satisfied, Renee rolled on top of him, stretching the length of her body out along his. Folding her arms, she stacked her hands on his chest and propped her chin on her hands, mimicking his earlier pose. "What do you miss most?” she asked. "About being married, I mean."
He looked down, meeting her eyes. She was all softness and subtle sensuality in the glow of the television, her body heat warming him as they lay together. "I miss knowing that when I came home, someone was waiting to see me. Having someone there, I guess,” he said. His throat had tightened; he cleared it and went on. "I miss the way it felt. To be married. It feels... different. Now, I mean. Wishing for something you don’t have isn’t the same as knowing exactly what you’re missing." He sighed, unable to explain.
"No, I get it. Cass kind of said the same thing, actually," Renee murmured. She glanced over to the TV, still frozen in the middle of the movie she'd been watching when he arrived.“Do you think you’ll ever want to marry again?"
"I don't know," he answered, following her eyes. "Maybe I will, maybe not. I meant it when I married Nicolette; I meant every word with all my heart, Renee. We even wrote our own vows. But it's weird, you know? And I've been with other women since Nicolette–" he tightened his arms around her waist to hold her as she stiffened,“– but sometimes I feel almost ... unfaithful to her."
"Even though she left?" Renee moved again, slightly, the motion bringing their hips more firmly together.
"Yeah, even though she left." Michael lifted one hand leaving the other resting in the center of her back as he scraped his palm down the rough stubble of his cheek, searching for the right words. "Maybe it would have been easier if she had– I don't know. It sounds awful but, if she had died… it'd be a different kind of grief, maybe.” Shaking his head at the inadequacy of the words, he slipped his fingers into Renee’s hair, gathering it into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She waited patiently for him to go on, her eyes searching his face, and finally he said,“That’s not really how I mean it, but I don't know how to describe it. It feels wrong to say something like that about her; obviously I don’t want her to die, and I don't want to cheapen what it would feel like to lose someone that way. But I thought for a long time that maybe I don't have whatever it takes to get over it. And at least if she had died, I could have known she didn’t leave me by choice. It’s a different sort of grief when you’ve been… discarded."
"Maybe you just needed more time to let it heal. People grieve in different ways, Michael." Her eyes widened with awareness as his hands slipped down and then back up her sides, allowing his thumbs to stroke the sides of her breasts. He moved his hips, thrusting a growing erection against her stomach, and she arched her eyebrows in question. "Even now?" she asked in surprise.”During this conversation?"
"There's a naked woman that I respect and care very much about, hot and ready right here in my arms," he said simply, smiling up at her. "One that also respects and obviously cares for me. And I’m a man, Renee. I missed that about marriage, too."
"I see," she said quietly, opening her thighs and dropping her knees to the bed on either side of his hips.
"Well, there’s nothing like that feeling," Michael breathed, closing his eyes against the wave of sensation as she sat up, still straddling his thighs. "We might be dogs most of the time, but even men appreciate what it’s like to be with someone who just knows who they are."
Reaching over to pull another condom from the bedside drawer, Renee watched his face. "Everyone wants that, Michael."
Sucking in a breath as she rolled the condom down the rigid length of his erection, Michael took her hips in his hands and lifted her body. She anticipated his intentions and tightened her grip, guiding him home as Michael lowered her. "I haven’t had that in a long time," he hissed, thrusting upward, feeling her stretch around him as he filled her.
“Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong place,” she answered, her body coming down to cover his.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The next two weeks went by in a blur of long conversations and the kind of sex Michael hadn’t realized he’d been craving until he had it with Renee. They talked through movies, through dinners, through sex. They spent evenings together after one or the other of them finished the workday, and Michael was surprised at how much he loved waking up tangled in her hair. It was almost too easy, how perfectly they fit together.
That’s what he was thinking, walking through the mall with her hand in his, a smile on his face that he hadn’t even realized was there until suddenly it wasn’t. Renee felt him stiffen, her hand pulled back as he froze in place, and she turned to look up at him.“Michael? Michael, what’s wrong?” She squeezed his fingers, her eyebrows pulled together as she searched his face.
“Nicolette,” he whispered, dragging his eyes away from the unmistakably pregnant silhouette of his ex-wife. She had just stepped out of the maternity shop three doors down, a short dress swirling around her knees, blonde hair spilling down her back. A small blond boy held her hand, and Michael wanted nothing more than to turn and run. He could feel Renee watching him, knew that she was curious and worried, knew that he should explain, but he couldn’t. Every word he wanted to say was a lump in his throat, every possible feeling swirling through him at once. His heart had leapt with joy at the sight of her, forgetting for just a second that she was no longer his wife; his stomach had remembered though, and had twisted in shock in his belly as he took in the giant curve of the unborn child inside her.“That’s Nicolette,” he whispered again.
Renee dropped his hand and slipped her arm around his back, steering him to the edge of the hallway.“Are you sure? I thought you said she told you that she couldn’t–“
“She did tell me that she couldn’t,” he answered. His voice didn’t sound like his voice anymore, it was stiff and low, hoarse with shock.“I guess maybe she wasn’t completely honest.”
She looked up then, and their eyes met across the hallway as she led the little boy who looked alarmingly like her to the carousel just outside the maternity shop. Unable to look away, he simplywatched helplessly as she changed course, the spark of happiness fading from her eyes as she approached him.“Hello, Michael,” she said.
Beside her, the little boy looked up, bits of blond hair falling into his eyes as he tipped a toddler-large head back on his skinny neck.“Who‘dis, Mommy? He’s big, just like my grandpa!”
Nicolette looked down at her son, looked back at Michael, and then dropped to one knee beside the boy. A silver ring with a small pink stone sparkled on her right ring finger as she opened her purse and took out a quarter, folding his little fingers around it before he could drop it.“You know how to work the carousel, right, baby?” At his nod, she took him by the shoulders and turned him, giving him a little swat on the bottom to get him moving.“Go on then, and you can ride while I talk to my friend. And then we’ll get lunch, alright?” Distracted, the boy took his quarter and ran to the carousel, feeding the coin into the slot and quickly climbing onto a carnival-painted seahorse. Nicolette smiled encouragingly as the boy fastened the safety buckle around his waist, and then she sighed and turned back to Michael.
He felt Renee’s hand squeezing lightly at the back of his shirt, whether in worry, anger, or support, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he tightened his arm around her shoulders, too, glad to have her there with him.“I guess congratulations are in order,” he said.
She looked down, one hand g
liding smoothly over the curve of her belly, and Michael watched in amazement as the roundness seemed to ripple and then grow still again.“Yes,” she answered smiling softly.“I guess they are.”
“You know,” he said, angry at her easy attitude.“I just found your letter a few weeks ago. The one you left in the attic.”
“Oh.” Her mouth was a perfect circle of surprise, slicked over with peach lipstick. She lowered her face, pursing her lips briefly as she gathered her thoughts.“The one where I told you about–“
“Yeah. Clearly, what you said in that letter wasn’t entirely true, Nic.” Renee squeezed his shirt again, tugging in warning, and Michael took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn’t seem to stop looking from her to her son, over and over again. The boy could walk well, run easily, talk almost clearly. How old was he? Two? Three? He couldn’t be older than that… could he possibly be… Michael’s?
“No, I guess it wasn’t,” Nicolette said.“I mean, it was, but…” She sighed, following his eyes to her son, still safely buckled onto the carousel seahorse.“Look, Michael, it was true. I couldn’t give you the family you wanted, so… I didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t ... um…” She seemed to have chosen that moment to truly notice Renee at Michael’s side, and her voice trailed away. Closing her eyes, she sighed again, and Michael wanted to reach out when he saw her straighten her shoulders. When she looked up at him again, her eyes sparkled with a film of tears.“My son is adopted,” she explained.“And this?” She stroked her hands over her belly again.“This is… sort of a miracle. Michael, I was told this could never happen for me… and I wanted you to be able to move on. I’m glad you did.”
More Than Friends (Kingsley #4) Page 18