Broken Read online

  “Oh, God, Sadie. I want to come inside you so bad….”

  Lovers’ talk is inelegant, but it worked for me. I’d lost track of how many times I’d climaxed by then; after the first two my body had simply hummed with constant, unending pleasure without diminishing. I pushed against him, our bodies arching and shifting so he could plunge inside me deeper still. Faster, we fucked, and harder. The small pain as he hit my cervix only made the pleasure more intense. His hand closed over my cunt from the front, no longer targeting my clit.

  I came and didn’t stop long enough to count the spasms. Joe thrust faster. The wet sound of my ass slapping his stomach became incredibly erotic as I imagined the slickness of my cunt coating his erection, of how hot and wet I was for him. Of how it must feel to be buried inside me, how my body caressed his cock and held it. My body embraced him, each thrust pulling another groan from me, groans he answered with whispered commentary about how much he loved this.

  Fucking me. How good I tasted, how soft I felt, how delicious I smelled. Joe spoke the story of us as he fucked me, and I lost myself not only in the delights of our bodies but in the tale he spun so well.

  He moaned my name when he finished, thrusting so hard inside me it thumped the headboard against the wall. Muscles in his stomach leaped against my ass. The hand cupped between my legs moved, his fingers finding my clit again and pinching it gently up and down.

  I couldn’t even make a sound, so breathless with pleasure had he left me. My final orgasm didn’t wash over me in waves. It reared up and slapped me hard enough to make me see stars. It left me shaking and light-headed.

  Then his arms were around me, our bodies still linked even though he was softening inside me. His face nuzzled into the softness at the nape of my neck and he held me tight and tighter.

  I caught my breath, blinking into darkness. I couldn’t move, boneless in the aftermath of such glorious sex. I was aware of the tangled sheets around us and the dampness beneath, but I couldn’t make myself move.

  I waited for Joe to let go of me, but I fell asleep before he did.

  I woke to sunlight and Joe still tangled up with me. His deep breathing said he wasn’t yet awake, and I was careful not to disturb him as I extricated myself and hobbled to the bathroom.

  Had I run a marathon? My body felt like it. Stepping under the steaming water, I winced as I rinsed myself and discovered a myriad of stings. I was raw and bruised, aching.

  I waited for the guilt to hit me when I looked at my reflection while brushing my teeth. I waited for it while I threw on a robe and slippers and pulled my wet hair into a knot on the top of my head. By the time I headed downstairs to make some breakfast, I was ready to tell guilt to go fuck itself, when and if it ever bothered to show.

  The smell of pancakes must have drawn him out of bed, because Joe appeared as I was setting the table. He’d showered and wrapped a towel around his waist. In the bright morning sunlight he was every bit as beautiful as I’d known he’d be.

  He came up behind me to kiss the back of my neck. His hands slid into the gap of my robe and found my breasts. I let him touch me, my nipples getting tight under his touch, but after a moment he stopped and pulled away.

  “This smells good.”

  “Sit down. Help yourself.”

  I’d made coffee, too, and poured us both mugs to sip while we ate. He made appreciative noises about the pancakes, but put his fork down after a few bites.

  We looked at each other.

  “Last night,” he said quietly. “Are you sorry about it?”

  “No. Are you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  I sipped my coffee, watching him. He had spent the night. He had kissed my mouth. But none of that meant anything, in the end. Did it?

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked suddenly, leaning forward.

  “Do you want to go?”

  After a moment in which he wouldn’t look at me, he shook his head.

  “Joe,” I said gently, and waited until he gave me his gaze before I finished. “I think it might be better if you did.”

  His mouth tightened.

  “I’m not ready for this to be anything more than what it was.”

  “What was it, Sadie?” He sounded angry, but he looked…sad.

  I didn’t have an answer for him, at least not one I came up with fast enough to suit. Joe crossed his arms and frowned.

  “What should I do?” he asked. “Pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “Maybe that would be best.”

  “For who?”

  “For both of us.”

  He got up. The towel slipped lower, revealing a bit of hair I had to turn my eyes from. He scowled, looking fierce.

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Fine.” It took effort to keep my voice calm. “Yes. For me. It would be best for me if you left.”

  He came around the table like he meant to reach for me. I didn’t realize until he did how I’d react. I pushed my chair back so abruptly it screeched along the linoleum like someone stepping on a cat. He withdrew. We squared off.

  “Why?” he asked finally, gesturing between us.

  “Because my husband just died, Joe, and I’m not in a good place to start anything new!”

  His scowl deepened, lines bracketing his mouth. “This isn’t new.”

  I took my plate to the garbage to scrape it clean and put it in the dishwasher. I felt him behind me, but he didn’t touch me this time.

  “I’m sorry, Joe.”

  “You’re not really asking me to go.”

  I kept my back to him as I went to the sink to wash the mixing bowl and griddle. “This is absurd.”

  “Why?” From behind me, his tone had gone deep. “Why is it absurd?”

  “Because it is!”

  “That’s not an answer!”

  I turned. “I don’t have a better one, okay?”

  We faced each other across the small expanse of my kitchen. In all the months of imagining, I’d never imagined him here. Joe wasn’t a part of this life, this reality. At least, he hadn’t been meant to be. Things were different now.

  It terrified me.

  “You can’t possibly think we’re ever going to be together.” When his only answer was a solemn look, I babbled on. “Because that’s just messed up, Joe. That’s really messed up. There are so many things wrong with that scenario, I can’t even begin to list them.”

  “Try me.”

  I shook my head, vehement. “No. No, I don’t want—”

  “Sadie.” Joe put his arms around me from behind again. His chin fit just right into the curve of my shoulder. His breath was warm on my face. “I know you better than you think I do.”

  I wanted to push him away, but he didn’t seem to want to go. I wished he were dressed. It seemed unfair to have this conversation with him when he had only the protection of a towel and I wore a robe, in such an intimate reminder of the night before.

  “I’m sorry, Joe. I can’t do this with you. Not now.”

  “Because of your husband?”

  I turned in his embrace to meet his eyes. “No. Because of me.”

  He let me go and stepped back. “Last night,” he said finally, with the dignity of man whose back is straight only because it hurt less than slouching. “You said you wanted this. Whatever it is.”

  “How many stories have you told me?” My voice was hoarse.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  He frowned. “It shouldn’t.”

  “I wish it didn’t,” I said. “But it does. For years I’ve listened to your stories. Now, here I am, inside one. Right where I wanted to be all along. And I’m not sure what to do.”

  Joe sighed and put the heel of his hand to one eye, as if his head hurt. Then he took it away to give me his full gaze. “You are not just another story to me.”

  I drew in a soft, hitching breath. “I wish I could believe that.”

  “But you can’t.”