“I need a haircut,” she murmurs as she tries to flatten some of the fly-aways with the palm of her hand.
“Don’t get one on my account. I love your curls.”
“I’ll straighten them out a little later today, after I wake up.”
“I love your hair.” Seriously, if she didn’t have her curls, I’m not sure she would be Abigail. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much,” she replies, her mouth so close to my chest that I can feel the heat of her breath. “My skin doesn’t hurt anymore. And my throat’s not hurting.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering there longer than I should with my lips pressed against her skin. “Good.”
“Sorry I violated you in your sleep,” she says. She wraps her arm around my waist, hugging me tightly. Her hand slips into the back waistband of my shorts and stays there, just hanging out.
“Are you grabbing my ass while you apologize for grabbing my dick?”
“I did not grab your dick,” she says, but she giggles.
At this very moment, the head of my dick is pressing toward her, trying to slide past that waistband. “It’s my story. I can tell it however I want.”
She leans up on one elbow. “Can I ask you something?” She stares at me, watching my face.
“You can ask me anything.” And I mean it. She can ask me anything.
“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
I choke on my own spit all of a sudden. I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “You went straight for it, huh?”
“Did I offend you?” Her brow furrows with worry as she sits up on her bottom and looks down at me. “I didn’t mean to. It’s not really any of my business. I never should have asked.” She waves her hands in front of herself like she’s frantically trying to stop me from answering, all of a sudden. “Forget I asked.”
I grin, completely charmed by her reaction. Her cheeks are bright pink, and her eyes are wide open as they dart around, looking everywhere but at me. And I know, in that pure moment of chaos, that I am head over heels for this woman. I am gone. So far gone that I’ll never get back.
I grab her hands so she’ll stop flapping them. “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind.”
“I really don’t even want to know,” she rushes to say. Then her voice gets quieter, and she says, “It was just in my head and then it came out of my mouth and I’m so sorry.”
I grin again. “It’s okay.” I was being honest when I said I didn’t mind. “I don’t mind. I promise.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself so I can spit out the answer. “It’s been since before jail. So, more than five years.” I scratch my nose, suddenly uncomfortable with my answer. I don’t know why.
“That long,” she says, her voice solemn. She nods slowly. “That’s a long time.” She gets a little wrinkle on her forehead. “So, when you got out, you didn’t go looking for…you know…you didn’t want to go find…someone…?”
“Someone to fuck?”
“Or do…other stuff…” She lets her voice trail off.
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t go looking for sex.” That was honestly the last thing on my mind. I had a lot of guilt, and a lot of anxiety about coming home, finding a job, and getting back to my son. There was no room for physical needs during any part of my days since I got out. “It really wasn’t a priority.
“Don’t you like sex?” Her brow does that wrinkly thing even more.
“I…well…sure, I like sex just fine.” In fact, I love sex. I just didn’t have it at the forefront of my brain. “Do you like sex?” I suddenly ask. If she’s going to pelt me with stupid questions, I can at least volley them back.
Her nose bunches up this time. “I like it fine.”
“Just fine?” I watch her face.
She shrugs. “Yeah, just fine.”
Suddenly, I grab her and roll her onto her back, landing on top of her with my weight braced on my elbows. “Abigail Marshall, if you feel so meh about sex, it’s because no one you’ve had sex with has done it right.”
I slip my knee between her thighs and push her legs apart, and then settle into the space. The heat from between her legs warms the front of my boxers, and I push the heavy weight of my dick toward her hot core. She freezes.
“You’ve barely even kissed me before now,” she says, suddenly breathless.
“Do you want to be kissed?” I press my lips to the tip of her nose. She scrunches her face up.
“Yes, I do,” she whispers. She holds on to my upper arms, her fingers digging into my skin all of a sudden.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” I saw with a chuckle.
“I don’t really care,” she replies. “Do you?”
“Nope.”
And I kiss her. I try for a tentative meeting of lips, but Abigail opens her mouth and her tongue touches mine, and I nearly lose all control. My dick, which was threatening to push past the waistband of my boxers, now does so, and I can feel the ridges of the elastic and feel the satiny softness of her panties against the tender skin.
Her tongue is not tentative. She kisses like she does everything else. She kisses me like she wants me, and when she rocks her hips, my dick moves against her panties and I have to lift my head, panting, trying to hold back an orgasm. She hasn’t even touched me yet. I’ve barely touched her. And I’m already on the brink.
Fuck, I’m fucking this up.
“It has been five very long years,” I say as I bury my face against her neck and try to hold still.
“I…um…I’m not quite ready…” Her voice is tentative.
“I’m not either.” I lift my head to stare into her eyes. “But I really want to get ready. With you. You want to get ready with me?”
She lays her hand over her eyes, her palm pressing against them. “I need a few days.”
“Oh, are you…?” I leave the question hanging there. I assume she’s on her period.
“No, nothing like that. I just need a few days.” She hides her face against the side of my arm.
“I didn’t plan for this morning to go like this,” I admit. “But then you had to go and tell me that you just sorta kinda maybe a little tiny bit like sex, and it made me wonder why no one has ever made you scream and cry out and swear you see God. Have you ever seen God during sex, Abigail?” I bite back the chuckle that is brewing inside me.
She shakes her head and chews on her lower lip. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen God during sex, no.” She looks so disappointed that it makes me laugh, and that chuckle finally leaks out. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny,” she replies, her voice petulant. She shoves me. “You can get off me now.” But a stupid smile breaks across her face too.
I roll off her, and then immediately pull her so that she’s on top of me. She doesn’t protest as I arrange her legs on each side of my hips.
“Sex should be a religious experience, Abigail,” I say. I brush back the hair that’s falling in her face so I can stare into her eyes.
“You make it sound like so much more than it is,” she says, as she looks up at me with her chin against my chest. She’s poking me with it, but I don’t want to move her. I want her to stay exactly where she is.
“When we get to do it, it’ll be amazing.” I pull her up so I can kiss her quickly, and then she falls back against my chest.
“I like sex,” she says. “But the seeing God part…I think you’re lying about that.”
“Challenge accepted,” I say. I squeeze her in a hug.
“You had better deliver.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” I rock my hips beneath her, and she sighs against my chest. “So why all the questions about sex?”
“I was just curious.” Her eyes dart around, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable.
“Everybody whacks off in jail. You can hear them,” I admit.
“You can hear them?” She sits up so that she’s looking down at me. She points toward my lap. “Doing that?”
I shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Did you do that?” Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline.
I look directly into her eyes. “When I needed to.”
“Oh,” she suddenly says, like this conversation is suddenly clear. “So, it’s not like you did totally without physical pleasure.”
I shake my head. “Coming and physical pleasure are not the same thing.”
“What’s the difference? In your opinion?”
I motion toward her, indicating how she’s sitting on me. “This is physical pleasure. Last night, when you were wrapped around me, that was physical pleasure. Kissing you.” I grin at her. “That was physical pleasure.” I shrug again. “Coming by yourself is just coming. Different kind of thing.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
I have to gather my thoughts so I can explain it. “Sex builds closeness. It builds bonds. Or at least it can.”
She stares down at me, clearly astounded. “So you’re telling me you’ve never had sex without trying to bond.” She slaps my chest lightly. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not saying that,” I reply, my words nearly choked by laughter. “When I was in college, I definitely had some non-bonding sex.” I take her hand and press it against my heart. “But with you, I couldn’t imagine making love to you and not feeling even closer to you than I do right now.”
She rocks her head from side to side. “Well, I am sitting on your dick.” She grins. She looks down. “I think he likes me,” she whispers dramatically. “He came out to see me and everything.”
“Sorry about that. He has a mind of his own.” I reach down to adjust myself, but this time she grabs my hand. She lies down on my chest.
“I like the way he thinks.”
Suddenly, there’s a ruckus by the front door, and Wilbur, who had previously been wandering around, struts into the bedroom and flies onto the bed, landing next to us. He sits down, his neck extended, looking angry as he starts to squawk at us.
“Seriously, Wilbur? I’m going to eat you for dinner.”
He squawks back and then stares at me.
“You want me to let him out?”
“Well, somebody is going to have to.”
She rolls off me and stands up. Her t-shirt falls down around her hips. She was wearing pajama pants last night. I remember that much. “Where are your pants?”
“I got hot during the night,” she says.
She walks to the front door on bare feet, opens it, and I hear Wilbur as he waddles out the door, his webbed feet making little smacking sounds. She comes back, and she stares down at me. She grins. “I’m going to hold you to that promise of a religious experience,” she says.
“Well, I did promise.”
She goes into the bathroom, and I press my dick down, trying to will him to back off a little. I’ve never wanted to fuck anybody so much in my life. But I also want her to feel as crazy about me as I feel about her, and I can’t be sure she’s there yet.
“I think I’ve passed the like stage!” I suddenly yell out.
She cracks the door open and looks out at me. “What?”
“You remember I told you I’m in like? And you told me you’re in like?”
She nods. “I remember,” she says softly.
“Well, I’m past the like stage,” I admit.
“Good.” She grins. “Because I am too.” She shuts the door, and I flop my arms out to the sides and stare up at the ceiling.
She is everything I never knew I wanted. And more.
28
Abigail
I close the bathroom door and sag heavily against it. I never expected my innocent question to lead to all that, what just happened on the bed. Could I even call my question innocent? It was more like nosy. It was me sticking my big nose in where it didn’t belong. But I want to figure out everything about him. I want to know everything, all at once. I want to figure out what makes him tick. And more specifically, I want to know what turns him on.
Honestly, the media, movies, and TV paint people who get out of prison as sex-starved maniacs. But Ethan has never pushed for sex. He’s never gone even a step too far. In fact, if I had to explain it, I’d say he never goes far enough.
Truth is, sex has never really been a big deal for me. It’s a means to an end. It’s a way to make harmony within a marriage, and it’s a way to ease stress. Sure, it’s nice, but I’ve never experienced the earth-shattering, soul-stealing pleasure that my friends talk about when we all get together. I’ve never had that, but something tells me that I could potentially have it with Ethan, and I want it. I want him.
When I get out of the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and apply a curl-taming product to my hair. My phone rings in the other room. I look down to make sure the towel has me covered, and then rush out. I find Ethan holding my ringing phone as he walks toward the bathroom door. He stops short when he sees that I’m in nothing but a towel.
“Can you see who it is?” I ask as I grab my robe from the back of the bedroom door.
He looks down at the screen. “Camille?”
A grin spreads across my face. I motion for him to pass me the phone as I pull the towel out from under my robe and tie it shut. He places the phone in my hand, his gaze so hot it nearly scorches me.
“Camille!” I say excitedly after swiping the screen to accept the call.
“Girl, you had better be glad you answered,” she says.
“Everything okay?”
“Well, I heard a rumor that you’re shacked up with some lumberjack-looking dude who raises attack ducks.” She pauses a beat. Then she says, “And I just want to know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Is it true?”
I roll my eyes where Ethan can see me. I cover the mouthpiece and whisper to him, “My best friend from back home.”
“Did she just call me a lumberjack-looking dude?” he asks.
I shrug. “I think so.”
But he’s not offended. Instead, he grins at me.
“He is not a lumberjack-looking dude, Camille,” I protest.
“Aha!” she cries. “So there is a dude.” She squeals, and I can imagine her kicking her feet.
I watch him as he steps into a pair of work jeans, pulls them up over his hips and buttons them. “There most certainly is a dude,” I reply. I lick my lips, and Ethan rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning.
“Wait!” she cries. “Is he there now?”
“Yep.” I let my eyes drag up and down his body. “He’s standing in front of me with nothing on but a pair of work jeans. And he is so pretty…”
“Tell me more.” She sounds almost giddy with excitement.
“He has a twelve-pack.”
“You mean six-pack?” she replies.
“Nope. I mean twelve-pack. He has muscles on top of muscles.”
“I am not a piece of meat,” he growls at me.
“But the best thing about him is his eyes,” I continue, and I’m surprised when I hear my own voice going soft. “And the way he looks at me? That just does it for me.”
He blushes a little, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
“When did you meet him?”
“Believe it or not, I met him when we were both thirteen. He was my best friend. Then we lost touch, I met Charles, and Ethan got married too.”
“Oh, dear Lord. Please tell me you’re not seeing a married man.”
If I were, she’d drive up here just to kick my ass, and I’m well aware of that.
“No, his wife died in a tragic accident a little over five years ago.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and puts his socks on, but I can tell that I have all his attention.
“And get this, Camille,” I say. I stare directly into his eyes as I say it, and I don’t look away. “I think I’m falling in love with him. I know it’s quick, but when I’m with him, it just feels so right. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
“Girl, I think you got it bad.”
&nb
sp; I nod. “I do got it bad.”
“How does he feel about you? Is he feeling the same way?”
“I don’t know how he feels.”
He nods. “He feels the same,” he whispers.
“I think we might be on the exact same page. Or at least I hope we are.” I let out a heavy sigh. I’ve never been this honest with anyone. And I’m not referring to my conversation with Camille.
“Okay, I need to see it to believe it. He sounds too good to be true.”
“Well, come on down. You and Rachel should come down this weekend. Stay the whole weekend. It’ll be fun.”
I hear her talking over her shoulder to her wife, Rachel, whom I also adore.
“But,” I say, breaking into her conversation with Rachel, which I’m hearing on the periphery, “if either of you decides to try to steal him from me, it’s on. That’s all I’m saying.”
“If I liked dick, you might have something to worry about. Since I don’t, I think you’re safe. Besides, some women are better than that old Sandra.” She snarls the last three words.
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Finally, Ethan pulls on a t-shirt, and all that manly skin is covered up. “So, are you guys coming?”
“I think we can manage it. Let me text you in a little while and I’ll let you know for sure.”
“Sounds good.”
“Abigail,” she says quietly, “I am really happy for you.” I hear sniffles.
“I swear, Camille, if you make me cry…”
“Okay, okay!” I imagine her waving her hand in front of her face. “I’ll stop. I’m going to talk to Rachel and try to make some plans, but as of right now, I’m pretty sure it’s a tentative yes, we can come. If you’re sure you want company. Do I get to meet that man of yours? Please tell me I can meet that man of yours!”
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 19