Right Kind of Wrong

by Sara Rider

  He was ready to explode too soon, before she’d come again. Clenching his jaw, he licked the pad of this thumb and pressed it to her clit, circling and rubbing until her perfect rhythm faltered. She dropped her cast to his chest, holding herself up with her other hand. The angle squeezed his cock more tightly. His orgasm came swiftly, consuming him in a thunderous rage.

  Even as pleasure steamrolled him, he kept working her clit until she shuddered and collapsed on top of him a few moments later. They lay there for a long time in the silence of the winter night, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together and his hand gliding up and down her back, like he could keep her there forever.

  Was that what he really wanted? He’d never done casual sex before. It wasn’t in his nature. Somehow, that label didn’t feel right. But he didn’t know how she felt about it, aside from the sated purr vibrating through her body every time his fingers trailed to the curve of her ass.

  She rolled off him and cuddled into his side. “Not bad for two people who haven’t had sex in years.”

  “Years for you, too?”

  “Twenty-six months, more or less. But I wasn’t counting.”

  He stiffened. She rolled her eyes. “What? Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who buys into the double-standard—”

  “Not that.” He sat up and reached for the torn condom wrapper that he’d tossed on top of her floral duvet, searching for the expiration date, then let out an exhalation of relief. “It’s good for another couple weeks, but you might want to throw the rest out.”

  “Or replace them.”

  She said it as casually as if she’d talked about buying a new toothbrush. He didn’t know if he was supposed to read into it or not, and subtext had never come easy to him, so he did the only thing he could think of. He got up and went to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he finished, he found her standing at the door, her naked body illuminated by the dim lamplight.

  “Stay?”

  He hesitated. He should leave before things got more complicated. Before promises he couldn’t keep were made.

  But the raw hope painted on her face crumbled his good intentions. “Yeah, sure.”

  Julia fell asleep next to Fergus, their bodies curled up together like two people who’ve been starved for touch for too long. But when she woke, he was gone.

  Carefully, she lumbered to her feet, hurting in more places than she could count. Her thighs burned from overuse, but the ache between them was delicious.

  It was the ache in her heart that hurt the worst. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she thought he’d stick around for a little while, not take off like she was a bad secret he wanted to bury in the past. Then again, maybe that was for the best. This thing with Fergus had hit her like a snowstorm in summer, upending her understanding of all things sacred in the world. The sun rose in the east, the tide ebbed and flowed with the moon, and she and Fergus hated each other.

  Sure, she’d always had an attraction to him and the sex was amazing, but she’d expected as much. Passion was inevitable when you combined intense lust with equally intense dislike. She hadn’t expected it to feel so intimate. He’d been sweet and cautious and so attuned to her every need. And kind and thoughtful. She just hadn’t let herself admit it until now.

  She wasn’t prepared for what that meant. He was the kind of man she could fall in love with if she wasn’t careful.

  She shook her head and walked to the bathroom. It was definitely a good thing he left.

  The sound of the shower turning off made her pause. She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even realized it was running. The nerves in her body surged at the realization it was him in the shower, still here. Still naked. Her nipples tightened and damp heat pooled between her legs, but her heart stutter-stepped in her chest, begging her to retreat.

  The door opened. He stood there with only a pink towel draped around his hips, slung low enough to reveal the dark thatch of hair trailing below his navel. God, he was beautiful. Last night, she’d been so eager for him that she hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the broad muscles lining his shoulders and his arms, the sharp V of the muscles below his waist, and the unshaven hair on his chest. His eyes raked down her body before meeting hers, and she became suddenly all too aware of her own nudity. Her hips that always felt a little too wide for the rest of her body. The roundness of her belly. The spiderweb of blue veins that was so visible beneath her pale skin whenever she was cold. She crossed her broken arm in front of her chest like it was a shield.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she repeated.

  An uncomfortable silence crept between them. “I hope you don’t mind I showered,” he finally said.

  “No, that’s fine.” God, this was awkward. She reached for a towel hanging off a rack just inside the bathroom, despite the fact he’d seen every inch of her last night. She struggled to wrap it around herself with one hand before giving up and holding it in front of her chest.

  He made a face that fell somewhere between a wince and a scowl. “This is weird.”

  She let out her breath. “Yeah.”

  His jaw ticced as he brushed his damp hair off his face. “This isn’t right.”

  Her stomach clenched. Couldn’t he wait a little longer to declare his regret? Like, until after they were fully dressed and far away from each other?

  He crossed the distance between them and slid his hand behind her neck, pulling her into a languorous, tender kiss that expelled every worry from her mind.

  “That’s better,” he said, dropping his forehead to hers.

  More than better. She melted into him, inhaling deeply. The scent of gardenias filled her nose. “You smell like me.”

  A laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her skin. “You smell like stale beer.”

  “Oh hell. I forgot about that.” She pulled back, but he wrapped his huge arms around her, locking her against him. It was so unexpected, she stiffened, but then the feeling of warmth and security broke past her defenses. She buried her face against his chest and groaned. He was so tall, his chin rested on top of her head.

  “We can fix that. Give me a minute to run the bath.”

  “You’re going to wash my hair?”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  She tilted her head up to look at him, dubious. “I don’t trust anyone who’s never had long hair with a tendency to tangle from just a gust of wind.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Something dark and mysterious that reminded her she still didn’t know him all that well. But as quickly as it came, it was gone. “Your choice is to trust me or go about your days smelling like stout and…”

  “Sex?” she said wryly.

  “Exactly.”

  She bit her lip. She was desperate to feel clean again, but this felt even more intimate than last night.

  He let her go and turned on the faucet of her small bathtub. “How about this—you have a bath by yourself, and I’ll stick around in case you decide you need help.”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  When the tub was full, he stepped out of the bathroom and let her step in. Her legs were shaky and unsteady as she climbed into the tub thanks to the workout they’d gotten last night, but she managed without asking him for help. The water was the perfect temperature—just hot enough to redden her skin but not enough to burn. Not for the first time, she wished she had a proper soaking tub instead of the cheapest, most utilitarian rectangle of enameled steel from the seventies, but it was better than nothing. She slid down as deep as she could go, leaning back to soak the strands of her hair. It wasn’t easy. She angled herself awkwardly to immerse her head and nearly slipped her cast into the water when she tried to pull back up.

  She tucked the shampoo bottle between her neck and chest to squeeze some onto her hand. The bottle spurted onto her stomach before slipping out from her grasp and into the water.

  She groaned. “I think I need help.”

  Fergus didn’t gloat
when he came back into the bathroom with his jeans on but his shirt nowhere to be found. He kept silent as he sat on the edge of the tub and cupped water into his hand, pouring it over her hair. He took the shampoo bottle and squeezed some into his hand. The press of his fingers into her scalp as he lathered the shampoo was so delicious, she let go of her annoyance at the entire situation and let herself relax and enjoy it.

  She didn’t even realize she was purring with pleasure until he chuckled quietly.

  “You think this is funny,” she said, “but the joke’s on you—I’m going to insist you come over every day for the rest of my life and do this.”

  “I think I could handle that.” One of his hands slid down to her breast, pinching her nipple. She whimpered, hit with a new wave of desire. To her dismay, he immediately went back to washing her hair.

  He rinsed out the shampoo with cups of water from his hand, taking care not to get any in her eyes. He worked conditioner into her hair next and carefully untangled her locks with a wide-toothed comb. He was so gentle, working from the ends up to the roots, that she had no doubt he’d done this before.

  “Thank you,” she said when he rinsed the last of the conditioner out. “That was very nice of you.”

  “We’re not done yet,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned close to her ear, voice deep and rumbling. “I wasn’t doing this as a favor. I plan on extracting a payment.” He slid his hand up her inner thigh.

  She dropped her head back as his fingers slipped through her folds. His hands were so big, but there was a tenderness about him. He touched her with a combination of possession and reverence she’d never experienced before. There was no way to resist him. Not when he slid his fingers inside her like that.

  She couldn’t hold back a cry of pleasure as his fingers pumped inside her. His thumb landed on her clit, pressing and circling until all she could feel was pleasure. Erotic, consuming pleasure. But it was the way he looked at her that sent her over the edge—like she was a priceless work of art revealed for only him.

  She fell apart with a desperate cry. He kept his hand pressed against her core until the ripples of her orgasm finally abated. When it was finally over, he slid his hand up her belly, glided over her every curve like he would never get enough of her.

  “Want to go back to bed?”

  “Just the opposite,” she said huskily. “Normally I require a strong cup of coffee to wake up in the morning, but this did the trick.”

  He offered his arm as she climbed out of the tub, then wrapped a towel around her.

  “Glad to be of service.”

  “Is that was this was? A service?” Regret seeped into her stomach before the words were out of her mouth.

  He walked back to her bedroom, grabbing his shirt off the ground and pulling it over his head, taking the time to straighten the gray cotton over his stomach before he responded. “No. This wasn’t a pity fuck, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” She followed him into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. Why did she have to sabotage every good thing in her life? Why couldn’t she just enjoy things for what they were?

  He sat next to her and pulled on one of his socks. “Sorry, I know you didn’t. The truth is, I don’t know what this was. Or what it is.”

  “I don’t either,” she admitted. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  He grunted.

  She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a yes or a no, or an I refuse to acknowledge the question kind of an answer, so she asked anyway. “Why did you wait seven years? Why so long?”

  He pulled on his other sock. “I’m not a casual kind of a guy. I’m not in a place where I’m ready for a relationship. I wasn’t prepared to get involved with anyone in that way.” If she weren’t so acutely aware of his body in that moment she might not have noticed the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke.

  “But you did with me.”

  “Because you made me forget all my reasons for not wanting to.”

  Her heart seized with something she couldn’t describe. Hope. Fear. Some strange mixture of both. “Do you regret it?”

  He turned to her and took her face in his hands. They were warm against her skin and she melted into him. “I don’t know how I feel about any of this, or how I’m going to feel about it tomorrow, but I don’t regret you. Never you.”

  The intensity in his eyes was so strong, it took her breath away. “So what do we do now?”

  “What do you think?”

  She laughed mirthlessly. Normally, she’d be glad to have the ball in her court, but for once she didn’t know what the right answer was. She’d never believed that sex needed to be part of a serious relationship, but the older she got, the less interested she was in casual sex, especially after her last few attempts at online dating had matched her with men who were looking to strip off her pants before they even knew her name. She barely knew Fergus, though. She had no idea if she wanted anything more. Hell, she didn’t know if he did either.

  His hands slipped away. He stood up and retrieved his sweater from the ground and pulled it over his head. “I know it’s bad timing, but I have to go to work. Do you need anything before I go?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Besides, it’s probably a good thing if we take a little time apart now.”

  He smiled, but nothing about it was real. “Call me if you need anything.” He kissed her lightly and then he was gone.

  Julia spent a few more long minutes getting dressed before heading to the kitchen, telling herself it was a good thing he’d left with no plans to see each other again. A little distance was what they needed to bring some clarity.

  The sharp, earthy aroma of coffee filled her nose when she stepped through her bedroom door to the joint kitchen and living space. Fergus had made her a pot before he left.

  When she went to fill the mug he’d set on the counter for her, she saw that wasn’t all he’d left her. One of her myriad notebooks she left lying around in every corner of her apartment was open on the counter, with a sketch of her inside. She was sleeping on her side, wild hair cascading around her.

  Her heart squeezed in her chest. She was lying to herself. A little distance wasn’t going to help anything.

  10

  Fergus had just helped a patron print out Beverly Jenkins’s entire backlist when a picture of a hedgehog popped up on his phone. Beneath the image of the admittedly kind of cute creature was a threatening note: She’s cuddly when she’s drunk.

  He typed back a quick text to Nicole. Still better than a date.

  It’s not better than sleeping next to a warm body on a cold night.

  Normally, he would have typed back a joke about how a man of his size slept a lot better on his own, but he hesitated. He never lied to Nicole. Not when she asked him what he thought when she’d gotten bangs on a whim that one time. Not when she’d asked him if he wanted a divorce. So why did he want to lie like a coward now?

  It hadn’t even been four hours since he’d spent the night in Julia’s too tiny, too dainty queen bed, woken up every few minutes when she burrowed her freezing cold toes between his thighs, like a ground squirrel looking for warmth. They’d both smelled of stale beer and sweat, and yet he’d never had a better sleep. The thought of going home to his California King bed felt cold and lonely.

  How did you know you were ready to move on?

  Three little dots hovered at the bottom of his messaging app for a long time, disappearing and reappearing every few seconds. Finally, the answer came.

  When I realized my loneliness was teaching Emily that self-sacrifice was more important than happiness.

  He leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Was that what he was teaching Emily? All he’d ever wanted was for her to know she was number one in his life, even if they were miles apart. It hadn’t been an easy decision to let Nicole move across the continent three years ago and ther
e had been a few fights about it, but she’d had an opportunity at major research hospital that she couldn’t pass up. In the end, he wanted Emily to see her mom being a powerful, successful woman, because he wanted the same thing for her when she grew up. It was the same reason he was okay when Nicole told him she wanted to start dating again. He wanted Emily to see that it was possible for a woman to have it all.

  But it was different for him. He was a man, and there was no shortage of examples of fathers acting in their own self-interests, not caring what impact it had on their kids.

  And yet, all his thoughts and good intentions faded into the background like white noise when he thought about Julia.

  She’d opened up to him last night. She’d trusted him and asked for help, when he knew that didn’t come easy to her. Was he brave enough to do the same?

  Another text popped up on his screen. Emily wants you to be happy, too.

  “Hey, neighbor!”

  Fergus, who’d just walked up his front steps, turned to see Ian waving at him from his own porch. Despite the chilly, late February weather, Ian was dressed in cargo shorts and sandals.

  “You know most people take down their Christmas lights in January, right?” Then again, Fergus supposed it was better late than never. Ian’s lights were a gaudy, discordant bundle of flashing greens and reds strung up with no particular aesthetic rationale.

  “I’m not taking them down. I’m putting more up!” Ian hauled himself onto the porch railing, wobbling precariously as he balanced a long string of lights on his shoulder.

  “Shit.” Fergus stuffed his keys back in his pocket and jogged over to Ian before the man impaled himself on his rhododendron bush. “Give me those lights before you kill yourself.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Fergus helped Ian festoon every inch of his front porch pillars with blinking purple LEDs, all the while questioning his life choices. When it was done, he and Ian stepped out onto the lawn and admired their work.