Loving Cara(50)

“You didn’t have to cook.” He pulls me into a tight hug and kisses my cheek and then slants his mouth over mine, kissing me slowly and thoroughly.

“I know, but I like to cook.” I pull back and pat his cheek lightly. “Have a seat.”

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks, then sips his coffee.

“I’m good. I think my ears are finally recovered from the fireworks last night.” I laugh and pass him the bacon.

“Zack and Seth seemed to be good this morning.” Josh’s tone is light, but I know he’s relieved.

“They did.” I nod and take a bite of my eggs. “I hope the worst is over.”

“He’s twelve. We haven’t seen the worst yet.”

“You know what I mean.” I laugh and shake my head at him.

“This is delicious.” His happy brown eyes meet mine as he takes a bite of his bacon. “I’m discovering all kinds of hidden talents.”

“I wasn’t hiding my cooking talents,” I respond wryly.

“I was referring to your dancing-while-cooking talents.” He grins widely.

“I need music to cook. It’s a requirement.”

“I’ll remember that.”

I take my last bite and lean back in the chair, full and happy.

“When will your house be done?” he asks without looking at me, finishing up his meal.

“The day after tomorrow.” The thought of moving back home, of not being next to him every night, is like a knife to the chest, but I know it’s too soon to suggest that we live together, and Josh hasn’t said anything about my staying.

“I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have it done.”

“Mmm,” I murmur noncommittally. “You’ll probably be happy to have your house back to yourself.”

He grows quiet and sits across the table from me, staring down at his plate, his hands fisted on the table.

“Josh?”

“Are you finished?” he asks quietly, his voice in direct opposition to his body language.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He stands, scoops me out of my chair, and heads straight to his bedroom.

“Aren’t we supposed to wait thirty minutes after eating before we can do this?” I ask with a laugh, and bury my face in his neck as he carries me through the house.

“I think we’ll be fine. I need you.”

He kisses my temple gently and sets me on my feet at the edge of the bed.

“No kitchen sex today?”

“Maybe later. For now, I want you here, in my bed.”

His eyes are intense as he steps to me and runs his knuckles down my cheek. I settle my hands on his hips, looping my middle fingers through his belt loops and brushing my thumbs on the warm, smooth skin beneath his T-shirt.

“I love the way you touch me,” he whispers, and leans in to kiss my forehead, so gently that I can barely feel it. His lips move down to my cheeks, my nose, and finally settle over my own. His hands grip the hem of my shirt, and he lifts it over my head, making me back away for just a moment, and then his lips are on mine again.

He unfastens my denim shorts and lets them fall around my ankles.

“Fuck me, you’re not wearing underwear.” His wide eyes catch mine and I grin smugly.

“Nope.”

“That’s fucking hot.”

“I’m glad you approve.” I make quick work of his own jeans and shirt, anxious to feel his skin under my hands.

When his jeans and shorts slide down his hips, his erection springs free, and I immediately sit at the edge of the bed, wrap my hands around the length, and suck the tip into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and plunges his fingers into my hair, not pushing himself into me, but needing to have his hands on me.

I lick the length of him, down to the small patch of dark hair at the base, and then back up again, tracing the thick vein that runs up the underside of his beautiful cock.

“I love your cock,” I murmur, and look up at him as I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip, and sink down until I feel him at the back of my throat.

He growls as his head falls back and his hands clench in my hair. Now he does begin to guide me up and down on his length in a steady, even rhythm. I cup his ass in my hands, reveling in the clench of the muscles as he thrusts into my mouth.

I sink down again, and this time when the tip is in the back of my throat, I swallow, massaging the tip of his cock.

“Son of a bitch!” He grips my hair roughly and pulls me off him, bends down to wrap an arm around my waist, and scoots me effortlessly back onto the bed.

“I wanted to make you come,” I pout, batting my eyelashes at him playfully.

“I don’t want to come in your mouth.” He shakes his head and covers me with his body. “I want to come in your pussy.”