“And now?” She already heard the ‘but’ coming.
“But now, I guess I’m kinda ashamed that I’m a grown-ass man still sleeping in the same bed I had as a teenager. I barely fit in the damn thing diagonally.” My laugh is sardonic and hard. I never really considered that I live at home because I never considered bringing anyone here. It’s home, but it’s mostly just a place to crash between days working. The few women I’ve been with have been at their place so I could make an exit when I needed to. I never wanted to bring anyone here but Allyson, and now that I have the chance, I don’t want to.
I want her, I just don’t want her to see me that way. How stuck I’ve been, how meaningless it’s all been.
She’s thoughtful for a moment. “You said before that it’s a bit bachelor pad-like. Are there posters of half-naked women on the walls or anything like that? I didn’t see any when we FaceTimed, but maybe you were choosing your angles?” She dips her chin, but I saw that grin.
I scoop her up into my arms. “Are you giving me shit, woman? I’m being all honest with you about some embarrassing stuff and you tease me about it?” I’m teasing her back, glad she’s not mad at my reluctance.
Her head falls back. “Just take me in the barn, for fuck’s sake. Like old times.”
It’s the best idea I’ve heard since Shay pulled away, and I damn near run for the barn. Inside, I turn on the bare minimum of lights so the sleeping animals aren’t disturbed, giving the barn a soft glow. I let Allyson slide down my body until her feet hit the floor, but I keep her tight against me, dancing her back toward the ladder. “Hay loft. Now.”
We’ve been here before, but this feels new and different. I like it.
Allyson smiles, just the corners of her mouth tilting up a bit, and then bolts for the ladder. I give chase, her laughter bright in the quiet. From a stall, I hear a rustling and shush her. “Don’t wake up the goats or they’ll start bleating for food and never shut up. Hungry little monsters.”
“You talking about them or us?”
“Tou-fucking-ché. Up.” I gesture at the ladder with my chin and she starts to climb. I stay below her, enjoying the view and sampling it by popping the right globe of her ass with a quick smack. It bounces back nicely, making climbing the ladder a bit more difficult as my cock thickens in my jeans.
“Oh!” Al exclaims at the spank, but when she looks down at me, ready to give me hell, I can see the heat in her eyes. “Don’t make me fall!”
She’s joking, but I’m dead-serious as I answer truthfully, meaning so much more than her footing on the ladder. “That’s the plan, Al.”
That shuts her right up and she turns back around, hustling the rest of the way up. I follow, and once in the hayloft, I search her expression. There’s a longing there, but uncertainty too. She blinks, and the view to the depths of her mind clouds over with lust. I want all of her, even those scary thoughts, but I’ll let her hide a bit longer.
I’m getting to her, more and more, bit by bit. And she’s getting to me too. Just like I want. I want to weave myself into her and never let go.
“Come here.” She hooks her finger, bidding me closer, and I stalk toward her, trapping her in the back corner by a stack of bales.
“Whatcha gonna do now that you got me where ya want me?” It’s a dare and we both know it. I’m also giving her a chance to lead for a minute because we both know that once we’re naked, things will change.
But if she wants to talk instead, I’m down for that. I want every bit of her—mind, body, and soul. And I’ll get them all in due time.
Her eyes drift off, taking in the hayloft like it’s a new space even though nothing much has changed since the last time she was up here, and then they return to me. She used the pause to devise a plan. I can see it in the subtle flicker in her baby blues.
She ducks past me, expecting me to grab her again, but I’m intrigued and want to let this play out to see what she’s got in mind. She stands on her tippy toes, reaching into a small crate screwed into the wooden wall, and pulls out an old quilt.
It’s not the same one from ten years ago. That one gave in to the passage of time and the effects of the elements years ago. But there’s always a new one to take the last one’s place. She smiles, fingering it lightly. “It’s soft.”
I grunt, never having noticed one way or another. She flicks her wrist, letting the blanket bubble in the air before floating to the floor, and then sits down on it looking prim and proper. Suddenly, I want this quilt to be soft as butterfly wings because she’s going to need the contrast of the soft cocoon with how I want to fuck her. Rough, dirty, hard . . . till she’s begging to stop coming on my cock.
I drop down next to her, knowing she can see all that in my eyes. I don’t even try to hide it from her. I want her to not only know but to want it too. To want me too.
I’ll have her love me again by filling her sweet pussy, writing my name on her silken walls with my cum, and working my way into her heart with as much patience as she needs. I’ve waited ten years. I can wait a little longer. But not to fuck her, not to make love to her.
I’m not sure where to start. I want to do everything, touch her everywhere all at once. But I begin with a kiss. Such a simple word for a decidedly not-simple thing. I taste her, sipping at her lips until she opens willingly for me, her lips parting on a sigh.
It’s my entry point. I shove my tongue into her mouth, cupping her jaw and trailing down to gently squeeze at her neck, not hurting but letting her know that playtime’s over as she falls back to the blanket, spreading out like a goddess. Her moan of agreement is dark and heady. “Take your clothes off, Al. Show me those pretty tits and that gorgeous pussy.”
She rips her shirt and bra off first, and I can’t wait. I dive for her, sucking one and then the other into my mouth, my tongue tracing circles on her skin. One of her hands pulls my hair, holding me to her, and the other works feverishly between us on the button of her jeans. Impatient for more, I help her by ripping her pants and panties down her legs as she toes off her shoes.
She’s blissfully naked, bare before me, and I’m fully dressed. It’s symbolically the exact opposite of our emotions. She’ll give me her body freely, but she’s cautious with her heart. I’ll give her everything I am, yet I’m still in my clothes, a barrier between us. It’s for her benefit, though, because I need to lick her, and if I strip, I’m going to slam into her without a proper taste.
Pushing her knees open, I can see the slick shine of her arousal coating her lips. I lie down between her thighs, settling in to eat her out until she’s begging for my cock. I lap at her, teasing us both for a moment before devouring her.
I can feel her legs trembling, her thighs trying to close around my ears and her hips bucking even as she tries to stay still. I wrap my arms under her thighs, locking my fingers together over her belly like I’m prone at her altar. But I’m no good boy praying for mercy or forgiveness right now. No, I’m the filthy fucker who already possesses Allyson. She just needs a little reminding of that fact. A reminder I’m more than happy to give her.
I use the strength in my forearms to force her to my mouth and hold her immobile. “I’m gonna lick you, suck you, fuck you with my tongue until you come for me, baby.” The words are sweet purrs against her soft lips.
“Yes . . .” she sighs out, hunger in the bit of growl beneath the breath.
I do as promised, knowing exactly what will get her to the edge quickly, but then I back off to let the orgasm slip away. She whines and I do it again. And again.
By the third time she’s teetering on that knife-sharp edge, she’s begging as she scratches at my arms. She’s not trying to get free. She’s using me for leverage to shove her pussy to my mouth. “Make me come, Bruce. Please.”
I love that demanding tone, the backbone when she tells me what she wants so clearly. I suck her clit into my mouth, battering it with my tongue in rhythm with the suction. Her pussy drenches me as she cries out my name, and w
hile a part of me celebrates my name on her lips, I don’t lose focus as I coax her through the orgasm and tease her with the promise of another.
“Damn it, Allyson. I need to fuck you now.” I sound like a monster, my voice gone even deeper and barely even forming human words. I yank at my clothes, focusing on my jeans as she pulls at my shirt. As soon as my cock is free, I slam into her.
Home. Bliss. Heaven.
She is all those to me and more. She is mine, and just as importantly, I’m hers. I always have been.
She cries out at the sharp invasion, her walls clamping down on me tightly at the shock. But I talk her through it, crashing into her to punctuate every word. “Too tight, God, you feel too good. Relax, baby, or you’re gonna make me come already.”
Her walls relax for a moment, a fresh gush of her juices letting me know that she’s okay as she digs her nails into my back and squeezes my hips with her knees, pulling me against her even as she takes me deeper.
Soon, she starts fucking me back. It’s a match to a stick of dynamite, and we explode in a mass of writhing need. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s wild. It’s everything.
Even in the chaos of fucking like animals, there’s more to it. An undercurrent flows through us, surrounding us. This is more than we had when we were young, more than I dreamed I’d ever have now, with Allyson or anyone. Even when we’re rough and filthy, it’s with love.
I love her. I know I do, and I always have.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, dying to be spoken into existence—shouted from rooftops and whispered in her ear, roared into the night and murmured on her skin—but not like this. I don’t want her to think I said it because we’re in the middle of having sex, and there’s still a real chance she’ll freak out on me, so I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw so hard I can feel the strain in the muscles of my neck.
“Come with me, please,” I beg her. I’m not ashamed of it. I want her to come on my cock, squeeze me with her velvet sugar walls as she coats me with cum at the same time I paint my name inside her with mine.
Her breath hitches, and I’m done for. I fly and fall all at the same time—into her, into bliss, into black nothingness. I fight to keep my eyes open even as they want to roll back in my head, closing in pleasure. But I need to see her, know that this is real and that she is mine. I can’t say the three words I want to yet, but with my dark eyes locked on her bright blue ones, I grunt out one word. “Allyson.”
It’s just her name, but there’s a deeper meaning and she knows it.
This is us. Only her and me.
I don’t know what happened with her ex, nor do I need to, to know that she didn’t have this with him. And I certainly haven’t felt anything remotely resembling how I feel for her.
I love her.
Chapter 26
Allyson
“Move! Move! Move! Clock’s a’ticking, mister!” I might as well be trying to hurry up a snail, or a sloth, with epic slow-mo skills.
“I am!” Cooper says back weakly. But he’s not moving. He’s got his head propped against his hand and the milk dribbling from his spoon back into his cereal bowl. He’s taking so long to eat that the cereal is probably mushy and soggy.
“First day of school! So exciting!” I’m trying here. I might as well be Mary Poppins mixed with Dora the Explorer with all the energy and singing I’m giving this boy.
He’s fine, really, ready for the next grade and in class with Liam, but it’s so early for him and he’s tired even though I bumped his bedtime back super early last night. Why does elementary school start at 7:30, anyway? I don’t even have to be at work that early.
“Checklist . . . hair brushed? Face and hands washed? Teeth brushed? Dressed to the shoes? Lunch in your backpack?” Cooper nods along with my questions, used to our morning routine even if it’s a little earlier than usual. “Okay, hop up and let’s do your first day of school picture by the front door.”
He gets up, and I sweep his bowl into the sink, filling it with water, which makes the soggy colorful circles float and bounce crazily. I’ll wash it later, I promise myself.
Cooper stands by the door, a fake smile on his mouth and his eyes looking vaguely similar to the vacant zombie gaze he had at the campout a few days ago. I clap and smile, so proud of how big he’s gotten even if he’s a grumpasaurus right now.
I hold my phone up, praying for an actual, real smile. “Knock, knock.”
Cooper rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Mom.”
“Knock. Knock.” I try again, finger at the ready.
“Who’s there?”
“Gladys.”
“That’s an old lady name. Do people even name their kids Gladys anymore? Glaaaaadiiiiiis.” He draws the name out, making it sound even weirder than the repetition.
I lift one brow, working my mom ‘check yourself’ look.
“Fine. Gladys who?”
“Aren’t you Gladys the first day of school?” I grin stupidly big at the bad joke and giggle a bit.
Cooper rolls his eyes again. That’s really getting to be a bad habit I’ll have to watch, but when I bounce my shoulders up and down a bit, playing the goofball a bit more, he caves and laughs.
Click. Click. And a burst of shots just to be sure I got both the smile and open eyes.
“Gotcha!” I give him a finger-gun point, though only with one hand since I’m still holding my phone. It’s still new and I’m a little overprotective. “Now let’s get you on the bus or I’m going to tell another joke.”
“No!” he cries, running to grab his backpack.
Mission accomplished. He’s in a better mood, awake and moving, and if I know my son, he’ll get some decent mileage in sharing the ‘lame joke my mom told this morning’.
* * *
Practice tonight is a scrimmage with another team. It’s the first time my utter lack of football knowledge really sinks in.
I mean, I know I don’t have much of a clue, but I’ve been reading up a little on my too-short lunch breaks and Cooper talks football pretty non-stop, so I thought I’d do okay. Practices have been good, at least.
But from the coin toss, there are rules and plays I’m clueless about. At first, I think the kids are just running around like feral cats chasing a laser light and they’re as confused as I am. But slowly, patterns emerge and I can see the kids’ eyes on one another.
They’re actually playing, and they know what they’re doing. Luckily, we have Bruce, and he’s a natural, both with the football aspect and with the boys too. He has really whipped them into a team and it shows. There’s no showboating or ball hogging, and they’re actually holding their positions and running the plays we’ve been practicing.
I’m a little in awe of the whole thing if I’m honest. I’m a lot in awe of Bruce.
I glance over at him, standing right beside me with his full attention locked on the field. He’s watching every step, reading every kid out there and guiding them from the sideline in a way that makes them hear the direction and act accordingly. There’s no yelling, no insults, no anger, just a good man doing a good thing.
He has no idea how much I appreciate that and even less of an idea of how special he truly is.
After a long line of high-fives from both teams and a coach handshake, we circle up for the team cheer.
“All right, guys, next meeting is our first game. We’re ready. You’ve worked so hard for this, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re already winners because we’re a team. We’re the Wildcats. The game is just a chance to pull together even more and maybe show off a bit.” Bruce smirks at the boys, and they start flexing their little boy biceps like the Incredible Hulk. Bruce joins in, his muscles popping out in a way that makes my entire body flush.
And that’s before I start imagining his sexy body with no clothes on, muscles rippling as he holds himself above me. And okay, I know this is a weird one, but my favorite thing about Bruce’s muscles is when he wraps his arms around me and puts his chin on my h
ead. It makes me feel safe and protected, my smaller body cocooned by his much larger one. I swear I could suffocate against his chest and die a happy woman.
His eyes jump over to me, checking to make sure I’m watching and gauging my reaction. I almost look away quickly, embarrassed at being busted so obviously, but instead, I stick my tongue out at him and join in with their ‘gun show’. Granted, my stick arms aren’t all that strong compared to Bruce’s, but my biceps are bigger than several of the boys’.
That’s not really a rousing endorsement of your muscle-y goodness.
Even my inner monologue is in a good mood today, teasing me with a healthy dose of silliness.
After the team cheer and a quick conversational recap of the first game expectations with the parents, we head home. Well, to mine and Cooper’s house.
But it does feel more like our home as we sit down and have dinner. I listen dreamily as Bruce and Cooper replay practice, move by move and play by play. It all washes over me, buoying me like fizzy champagne.
I’m going to tell him tonight.
I love him, but also that I need his patience because while I’m swimming pretty well right now, drowning in him seems pretty possible too. I think he’d like that, though, and honestly, I might too.
The thought rolls in my head all evening, and when I come back down the hall from tucking Cooper in, the house is empty. It doesn’t even occur to me that Bruce left because I know he wouldn’t. My trust is that deep with him.
I look on the back porch to find him sipping on a beer, a second one with rivers running down the bottle sitting at his feet. He got one for me too, I think with a smile.
I open the door slowly so it doesn’t creak in the dark evening. Bruce doesn’t so much as move a muscle, eyes focused on the moon far out on the horizon. But he’s aware of my every move, every expression, every thought. He’s always attuned to me that way, and while not as skilled at it as he is, I can read him well enough to know that he’s preparing for something. His shields are fortified, his walls ready for war.
Rough Love Page 26
