Remember that.
Now think about how good he must have looked to make me forget how pissed I was.
“If you don’t like the color, we can go down and pick out another one,” he said, now only one inch from me. I could feel the heat from his body begin to penetrate mine. Penetrate? Yes, please.
But wait, he can’t just buy me a car!
“Yeah, you can’t just, just buy me a, ummm,” I breathed, my words getting fuzzy as he leaned into me. There was so much tension in my body I was starting to vibrate like a tuning fork.
“Yes, I can just buy you a car. It’s a gift—get over it,” he replied, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t understand why I was giving him shit about this. And at that very moment, I couldn’t tell you why either.
I’d never gone this long without having sex with Simon, not when he was in town. It was starting to get to me. And he smelled so good!
“But a car, Simon? I . . . uh . . . what is that cologne?”
“It’s polyurethane.”
“They should bottle that shit,” I breathed, my voice going husky.
“It comes in a can.”
“It’s really working for you,” I moaned as he dipped his head down and dragged his tongue right up my neck.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, burying one hand in my hair.
“Did you do this on purpose? This whole handyman fantasy? The tool belt? The abs? The—holy fuck.” I gasped when he took my hand and pressed it against his . . . drill bit.
“You came home early,” he explained, thrusting into my hand. “I like early.”
“Lucky me.” I sighed and dropped my head back against the wall. He took this to be a green light, because within seconds my shirt was ripped, my skirt was pushed up, and he’d wrapped my legs around his tool belt. “I liked that shirt,” I protested.
“You really care?” he asked, slipping his fingers underneath the lace of my panties. Slippery already, and he moaned at the first touch.
“Not really.” I marveled at his strength; I always had. The idea of being actually wall banged always seemed impossible to me. Until Simon. He was strong without being beefcake. And he could carry my body around like I weighed next to nothing, when that wasn’t the case at all.
“How much do you care about these?” he asked, tugging on the waistband.
“One guess.” I smirked.
Off.
And then we were off.
We were half naked on the stairs, where he made me walk in front of him. We were lying on the floor, half in and half out of the bedroom. We were on the window seat, highlighted against the bay window.
We were hanging off the edge of the blow-up bed when a particularly powerful thrust made the bed blow up and poof to bits all around us.
And when I rose above him, sliding him inside deep and thick and heavy and oh so deep, my orgasm rocketed through me, bursting behind my eyelids and tingling through my skin, and every single part of me cried out as he grinned from underneath me, saying, “There’s my sweet girl.”
I exploded again and again, our bodies soaked with sweat and gleaming as I rode him hard and fast, his voice now bellowing his own release. I slumped down across him, panting heavily. He lifted his face to mine, kissed me deeply, and before he coaxed my head back down into the nook, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Don’t ever shut me out again like that, you hear me?”
He knew.
I kissed him back. “I promise.”
He was still wearing the tool belt.
• • •
An hour later we were in the kitchen, heating up yet another microwave dinner. The avocado appliances had been removed, but the new ones not yet delivered. So every meal was prepared in the microwave, then usually eaten on a tarp-covered box.
“Potpie or Salisbury steak?”
“Salisbury steak? Is this 1979?” I asked as he held up two boxes.
“Don’t mock the steak, this is the best! My mom used to make these the nights I had soccer practice. Dad complained, but he secretly loved these frozen dinners,” he said, plugging in the microwave. It moved daily.
“Potpie for me, then. I don’t want to come between you and your steak,” I replied, pouring a glass of wine into a plastic cup. I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, thinking how much more freely he mentioned his mom and dad and his childhood these days. That reunion had really changed things. He’d finally created a Facebook account, and was in touch with the apostles almost daily.
Though I’d released a lot of tension upstairs only a short while ago, I could feel it beginning to creep back in.
“So, something a little epic happened at work today,” I offered, examining my toes.