by Julie Kriss
“No talking,” he said, and kissed me.
Finally. Finally. His mouth was deep and hungry on mine. I felt pure pleasure spread through my body and I leaned into him, grabbing his jacket. I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of black sleep shorts, and I realized belatedly that I could have done better.
I pulled away from the kiss and unzipped his jacket. “I should have worn—”
“Forget it,” Jason said. “It’s coming off.” He pulled my shirt up and off, and I pushed his jacket down over his shoulders, dropping it on the floor. He was wearing a black t-shirt underneath. I could smell him, the hot scent of his skin, and I was greedy and impatient for him, my bare breasts against the soft fabric of his shirt.
“Take me to the bed,” I said, kissing up the side of his neck, along the skin of his jaw, dragging my teeth over his stubble.
He lifted me without a word and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, my nipples pressed against him. I kissed him, my hands in his hair, while he ran one hand up my bare back, his other hand gripping my ass. Every part of us moved together in perfect sync, just as it always had. We fit.
He carried me to the bedroom and dropped me lightly on the bed, leaning over me, kissing me again. I pulled back to shuck off the sleep shorts while he kicked off his shoes. He’d barely gotten them off before I climbed onto him and pushed him down on the bed, kissing him again.
“Fuck,” he said when he came up for air. He pulled off his t-shirt and threw it away, and I bent to his chest, kissing and licking every delicious ridge of his skin. “Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he said, tangling his fingers in my hair. “Don’t ever fucking stop.”
“How many showers have you had in the last three weeks?” I asked, my mouth against his skin.
I felt him laugh. “A lot,” he said. “I’m the cleanest guy ever right now.” He groaned as I dragged the flat of my tongue across his nipple.
I kissed my way down his stomach—oh, those ridges of hair I loved so much—and licked down his happy trail to where it disappeared in his waistband. I unbuckled his belt and unfastened his jeans, sliding my hand inside.
He let out a breath and his hips pulsed up, against my hand. I rubbed him through his boxers—he was big and hard and ready. I kissed his stomach again as I hooked my hands in the waist of his jeans and boxers and slid them down. Then I bent and licked his cock, slow and savoring, from base to tip, taking in the taste of him. “God, you are so sexy,” I said.
His voice was hoarse. “Megan, you’re fucking killing me.”
I smiled and licked him again, swirling my tongue over the tip. This was like before—it was so easy and so fucking hot to have sex with Jason—but it was different. I was wildly turned on, but I was so happy to have him here, in my bed. To be touching him. I wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he. He was mine.
I slid my mouth over him, taking him deep, and his hips flexed up again. He loved this; I loved it. We would be doing this lots of times. I swirled my tongue over him inside my mouth, then took him deep again. I squeezed him lightly with my hand while I licked the head, then pumped downward and cupped his balls while I took him in my mouth again. He matched my rhythm, his hips moving, his hand twisted lightly in my hair. I was straddling his legs, and I could feel the cool fabric of his jeans against my skin—we hadn’t even managed to get his pants all the way off.
I popped him out of my mouth and kissed my way up his stomach again, his chest, his neck. I’d never explored Jason’s body slowly like this, and it made me crazy. I needed him inside me.
He ran his hands down my back, cupped my ass, his fingers lightly brushing me. He could feel how soaked I was. His heart was pounding beneath my hand. “I’m on the pill,” I told him, “and I’m clean. I got tested after my last boyfriend.”
“I’m clean, too,” he said softly. “They test us in the Marines.” His hands slid to my hips, moving me. “Come here.”
We both held our breath as I slid onto him, my body stretching to take him. The friction was delicious, hot and wet and perfect. I took all of him, rolling my hips against him, greedy, and he inhaled a breath as he felt it. He pulled me down to him and kissed me hard, opening my mouth, pressing inside me as I felt his cock. It was pure bliss. I rolled my hips again and started to move.
We moved faster, both of us in sync, our bodies in perfect timing. It was impatient—we were both impatient—but it wasn’t rushed. He was inside me, so perfect inside me, and I rocked on him, harder and then harder again. We stopped talking, except for the words we breathed—yes—more—oh God—like that—against each other’s skin. He propped one elbow beneath him and gripped my ass with the other hand and I rode him, his hips moving with mine, hard and dirty and raw.
And then the pressure broke inside of me and I came hard, squeezing his hips, crying out, my mind nothing but blank pleasure. He thrust up hard into me and came, and I felt everything, the way his body went still, the heat deep inside of me, the pure connection. We were both panting as we came down, and he dropped back on the bed as I leaned forward and lay against his chest, my forehead tucked into the crook of his neck, sweat slicking between us.
“I love you,” I said.
He went still for a second, and then I felt him laugh. “Well, part of me, anyway,” he said.
“Stop it.” I raised my head and looked at him. His dark eyes were wary. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. I love all of you.” I brushed my hand over his jaw and kissed his stubbled cheek. “You don’t have to say it back. That isn’t why I said it. I love you. I just wanted you to know.”
He was quiet, and I got up and walked to the bathroom to clean up. I looked at myself in the mirror: I was flushed, wild. I felt different. It was a strong thing, I realized, to love someone. To be in love without hiding it from yourself.
It was fine that he hadn’t said it back. I’d surprised him. He might say it a week from now, a month from now. I’d wait.
Jason was worth waiting for.
When I came back to bed, I saw that he’d pulled the rest of his clothes off. He was sitting up, naked, his knees up, his arms locked over them. He watched me come toward him, then took my hand and pushed me gently down onto the bed, swinging his big body over mine, kneeling over my hips.
“Okay,” he said. When he loomed over me he was all I could see, and I drank in the sight of him. He bent down and kissed me lightly, then trailed his kisses under my chin, my jaw. “Let’s do this right and get some things straight. You’re my girlfriend.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
He kissed my neck. “Family dinners, the movies, dates, whatever, that whole thing. Got it?”
“Yes,” I said as he trailed down to my breasts.
“I’m not perfect,” he continued, his breath against my skin. “I forget important shit. I’m a guy, and I have a guy’s filthy habits.”
“Like jerking off in the shower,” I said, running my hands through his hair.
“About that,” he said. “I’m going to need a lot of sex from my girlfriend. Like, a lot.”
He lightly kissed my nipple, and I shivered, from both the contact and the words my girlfriend. “Yes,” I said, looking down at the flex of his shoulders as he held himself over me. “Definitely.”
“A lot,” he said again, digging his teeth gently into the skin on the underside of my breast. “All the time. Disgusting stuff.”
That made me laugh, but it came out shaky because the sensation was so sharp. “I don’t think you can be disgusting,” I managed to observe.
He didn’t even pause. “You would be amazed at how disgusting I can be,” he said, moving a hand between my legs and brushing my pussy. I was already ready for him again. “You’re going to find out, though.”
With his hand there, I couldn’t even protest. “I’m all yours,” I said.
“Also part of the agreement,” Jason said. His fingers pressed me a little harder, and I felt a pulse where he touched me. “You are mi
ne. All mine. Every part of you.” He moved up again, brushing his lips over the top of my breast, up my breastbone. “And I’m all yours. My body loves you. My brain loves you. My heart loves you. All of it loves you, Megan.” When I was too overcome to say anything, he lifted his head, his dark eyes staring into mine. “You didn’t think I’d say it back, did you?”
“Come here,” I said through my closed throat.
He leaned up and kissed me.
It was just that easy.
A week later, I got my test results. I sat in Dr. Pfeiffer’s office, my palms sweating, as he explained them to me. I tried not to shake.
When he had finished, I nodded. I asked questions. He answered them. And then he let me go.
When I walked out the door, the first person I saw was Jason, in the waiting room, waiting for me.
I started to cry. “I’m fine,” I told him as the tears came down my face. “Everything is normal. I’m fine.”
My vision was a blur, so I barely saw him coming toward me. But I knew he was there. I knew he always would be.
And when I reached out, he caught me.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Jason
It was after midnight when I got home. The October air was chill, and I zipped my coat all the way up my neck as I hurried across the parking lot of our building. I kept it zipped, my hat pulled down on my head, as I climbed the stairs.
The apartment was dark and silent. Megan was asleep. I untied my boots as quietly as I could, not letting them thump on the floor—that always woke her up—and pulling off my hat and coat. Our place was warm and familiar, and suddenly I was so tired I could barely put my coat on its hook.
I ran a hand through my hair and moved as softly as I could in my socks to the fridge. The front of the fridge had a calendar of the month stuck to it, covered in both of our handwriting: when she was working, when I was working, appointments, birthdays. There wasn’t a blank day. Between Megan’s styling jobs and my shifts, which were on a rotation, we sometimes had weeks where we crossed paths, catching a few hours together here and there. I pulled the apple juice bottle from the fridge and contemplated the calendar as I drank a glass.
We were going to Dean and Holly’s on Saturday, I saw. That hadn’t been written on there this morning. I shook my head. Dean had married my sister five months ago, just a small ceremony at City Hall, with his adopted mother and brother, and my mother, and Megan and me. Megan had sobbed through the whole thing, almost as much as my mother had. It had been a waterworks. They’re just so happy together, she’d said as she pressed Kleenex to her eyes. And they were. I’d never seen two people happier than Dean and Holly were. Unless it was Megan and me.
I checked the rest of the calendar, looking for a window of time. Megan wasn’t working tomorrow, but I was. I had Sunday off, but she didn’t. She worked freelance, and she took shifts when the work was instead of doing a nine-to-five. As for me, between my EMT shifts and my paramedic classes, I was usually so turned around I had a hard time remembering what day it was.
I texted one of my coworkers—luckily he was up—and asked to trade shifts with him. We went back and forth with my phone on silent so Megan wouldn’t wake up. He took my shift tomorrow, and I took his Sunday shift. He was glad to do the trade to get Sunday off. I picked up the pen on the side of the fridge and made the change to the calendar.
There. Now we had a whole day together, her and me. Alone.
I had plans. They consisted of keeping her in bed all morning, then making a late brunch. Then maybe some lazy shopping. Then back to bed. Dinner. Repeat.
I missed my girlfriend.
I put the pen back and my glass in the sink and moved quietly to the bedroom. My eyes were adjusted to the dark, and I could see that Megan was lying on top of the covers, curled up on her side, facing away from me. She was wearing one of my gray t-shirts and a pair of black panties, her dark hair tumbled over the pillow. When I walked into the room she stretched and turned my way. “You’re home,” she said sleepily.
“Shit,” I said. “I was trying to be quiet.”
She smiled. She was turned so that her shoulders twisted toward me but her hips twisted away, a pose that made her breasts press nicely against my shirt. “Nope,” she said. “It’s like there’s an elk in the apartment.”
“I’m not an elk,” I said. I crawled onto the bed fully clothed and wrapped my arm around her waist, curling myself around her and laying my head between her breasts. She was warm and soft and sexy and Megan. I felt my whole existence realign itself, all of the meaningless shit falling away, the way I always felt when I was with her, when I was touching her.
I felt her hands move gently in my hair. “Rough shift?” she asked.
“The usual,” I said. Bloody. Some shifts were bloody, but that was the job. I squeezed her tighter.
She lay quiet for a minute, letting the tension fall off me as she stroked my hair. “My hero,” she said.
“We went over this,” I said into her breasts.
“I know,” she said. “It’s just a job, so you’re not a hero. Except you are.”
“I worked on your birthday,” I pointed out. I wasn’t Perfect Jason anymore, if I ever had been. “And you had to take Holly as your date to that swanky fashion party you got invited to.”
“Holly liked all the dresses at the party,” Megan said calmly, moving her hands down to the back of my neck. “She had a blast. And you took me out the day after my birthday instead.”
“I didn’t get you a present.”
“I don’t care.” Her touch on the back of my neck was making my dick wake up. I wondered if she knew. “It doesn’t matter. You matter. I love you. That’s why I’m marrying you.”
I moved my cheek, sliding it along her breast through the fabric of her shirt. “You haven’t changed your mind? You still can, you know.”
“Since I’m not a fucking idiot,” she said calmly, “then no.”
That made me snort. I’d proposed to her last month—taken her for a walk through a local trail to a high lookout point, then surprised her with the ring I’d bought. She’d said yes, which was a relief, because there was no fucking way I was ever going to be with anyone else, and any other guy who thought he was going to marry her was going to find his nuts in a sack. So it really was the only option.
“You can’t change your mind either,” Megan said. “I know exactly how to make you hurt, Jason Carsleigh. Maximum physical pain.”
I pushed her shirt up. “Fuck, you’re making me horny, woman,” I said, kissing her stomach, sliding my hands over her breasts. “Black panties are my kryptonite.”
“You are my kryptonite,” she said, and she slid the panties off.
I pulled my clothes off and dropped them in a heap on the floor. I licked every line of her body, her stomach and the curve of her hip, the dip of her spine, the soft, firm flesh of her ass. I pulled her knees up and curled up behind her, spooning her, and she rolled back into me just right, and I slid into her while she gave a little moan.
I went slow at first, savoring it, feeling the pull on my dick and the slick wetness of her. I pulled her dark curls back and kissed her neck, her shoulder, talked dirty to her. “God, I love to fuck you,” I said. “I could die doing this. I could just fuck you and not stop.”
“Harder,” she said. “Fuck me harder, Jason.”
I pressed her forward and changed the angle and pounded into her harder, deep powerful thrusts that pinned her to the bed as she gasped in pleasure. “God,” she said. “Oh, God.” I slowed down and pulled her thighs apart and, still inside her, I rubbed my fingers over her, slick and wet. She twisted the sheets in her hands. “God, oh God.”
“I fucking love it when you come on me,” I said, moving inside her again as I rubbed her. “It makes me want to do anything for you. It makes me fucking insane.”
“Jason.”
“Do it,” I said. “Do it.”
She twisted against m
e, crying out, coming on me. I rode her through it, feeling the squeeze of it, fucking her hard, and then I came too, sweat beading on my chest and my forehead. It was always like this with us. Always.
I curled up behind her again, spooning her, holding her tight, smelling her skin. I kissed her shoulder. “Do you think there’s a baby yet?” I asked into the quiet of our breathing.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t feel any different.”
She’d gone off the pill two weeks ago. We’d agreed. It had only been two weeks, but still.
We weren’t even married yet, but we’d decided to start on this part. Because when had Megan and I done anything in order?
“I like this part about having kids,” I said. “The making part.”
I felt her laugh. “I think we can safely say this is the easy part.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I’m worn out. I have to fuck you all the time.”
“You were doing that anyway.”
“True,” I admitted, “but now it’s like an Olympic sport.”
She rolled back and looked up at me. “Okay, fine, Jason Carsleigh,” she said. “You win a gold medal at baby-making.”
“Thank you,” I said, which made us both laugh.
Maybe she wasn’t pregnant yet. Maybe she was. Maybe I’d get her pregnant tomorrow. Or the day after that.
Whatever happened, whenever it was, it was going to be good.
That much, I already knew.
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