Jason

When Delilah mentions she’ll remind me what she can do with her tongue, I admit, my mind recalls the best blow jobs I’ve ever received, all courtesy of her.

Lying in the truck bed under a star-filled sky.

In the cab while driving across county lines after winning a Friday night game.

Once behind the DQ.

So many times in my room, and maybe more in hers.

Our parents never knew how bad we were back in those days. Although it was always so good for us.

What I didn’t expect was her tongue sliding up my neck and taking my earlobe into her mouth. When her tongue grazes over it and she sucks—holy damn. She has me hard as a rock and ready to fuck. “I can’t take much more of this torture, baby.”

Straddling my lap, naked I might add, she smiles at me. “Is the foreplay too much?”

“No. It’s done its job as you can tell.” Taking her by the hips, I flip her next to me and maneuver over her. Her legs part enough for my body to slide into place. “As for you, are you wet for me, Delilah?”

Sweet pink lips form a little O as the shock of my question infiltrates the fine features of her face. I say, “Don’t tell me you don’t like a little dirty talk.”

Her cheeks match those sweet lips, and she says, “I don’t know.”

While running two of my fingers on the inside of her thigh my gaze rises back to hers. “I want to relearn everything about you and this magnificent body.” I drag my fingers along the side of her lower lips, teasing. When her eyes close, I run the tips of my fingers through her slickness. She’s ready for me. “You are so incredibly sexy.”

Our bodies begin a slow dance, coming together and moving apart. My emotions are too wrapped up to pretend this doesn’t mean way more than I’ve let on. It does. Being with her does. From the pink bedroom to that look in her eyes, I believe this means more to her too. Pulling back, I touch the tips of my fingers to my tongue as she watches then say, “Tastes like honey, honeysuckle.”

“Kiss me, Jason. Kiss me.”

I lower my body on the bed and place my hand on her stomach while her eyes go wide. “My pleasure.” Licking through her wetness, I savor her, memories flooding my mind and my taste buds. She was always so fucking delectable. Her hips begin to wiggle, and I hear her moan. My hair is tugged, but when I stop to look up, her bottom lip is bitten and her eyes are closed.

Fucking stunning.

I make love to her with my mouth, the sounds of our pleasure the only sounds in the room. When she comes, she comes hard, pulling my hair and calling my name as if I’m the one she prays to. I can’t take anymore. I’m about to explode. I’ve almost humped this mattress I’m so horny. I come up, sliding my body along hers as I lift myself. Holding myself in a pushup position above her, I realize I forgot a condom . . . in my jeans . . . which are in the truck. “Shit.”

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

I’m embarrassed I’m so unprepared. Talk about killing a mood. “I left the condom in my jeans.”

“In the truck?”

“Yeah.”

I start to get up, but she stops me by reaching up and holding me by the shoulders. “I have something. Right there in the nightstand.”

I don’t care how stupid my smile looks at the moment. I reach over and open the drawer. With condoms in hand, I drop them on the bed. “Tell me these aren’t the same ones from back in the day.”

She laughs. “No. Newer condoms.”

“How new?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows. I really like her being prepared.

She slinks down on the bed a bit and covers her face with her hands. Speaking between her fingers, she says, “This afternoon.”

“Oh no. You don’t get to hide your eyes.” I take her wrists and move them to the side with little resistance. I see her vibrant blues, her carefree smile, and when she giggles I add, “You bought condoms because you were hoping to get lucky.”

“Was not. I just figured—”

Pinning her wrists above her head, I say, “Admit it. Tell me how much you were hoping to have me naked and in your bed tonight.” When she laughs and rolls her eyes, I push for more. “Come on. Admit it, Delilah. Tell me how much you wanted or hoped to have sex with me.”

“I guess enough to drive to Cleverton for condoms.”

“You didn’t buy these at Smally’s?”

“Nope. You win, Jason. I drove thirty minutes out of my way just to score some condoms without judgment or gossip getting around town.”

“I may not blush like you do, but I’m flattered nonetheless.”

“So much talking. How about we get to the main attraction?”

I kiss her cheek. “Wow, you get feisty when you get some action.”

“I’m all warmed up, baby.”

Baby. I sure like the sound of that. “Are you now?”

“I am. So ready for more.”

More. I’ll have her begging for more all right. I slide a condom over my erection and hold it proudly. Women aren’t impressed with large dicks. They’re impressed by how they’re used, so I don’t need to wave it around to brag. I just need to make her feel every hard inch, filling her not just for my pleasure, but hers. I position myself back between her legs and press the tip against her sweet abyss.

My nerves from earlier are buried under the desire I feel for her. “More,” I mumble, her heat engulfing me as I slide inside. “Fuck.” I want to say it’s sex, the blissfulness of having it again, but that would be a lie. It’s her—wet, tight, angling, moaning. Fuck. Delilah’s heaving chest with perky tits on top, her tongue sliding over her lips, her back arching. Fuck. “You feel so fucking amazing.”

Her nails drag over my shoulders and then her fingers lace behind my neck, pulling me to her. “Kiss me.”

I do.

I kiss her and thrust—tongues and other parts of my body going deep, claiming her in ways I haven’t in years. Our breaths are exchanged, one lifeline sustained by the other. When her hands find my ass, she squeezes. “Faster.”

Harder.

All of her.

I want her next orgasm and the one after that.

I want to hear my name coming out like a curse word and to mess up that pretty hair.

I want to see her eyes wild with lust, insatiable desire for me.

I want to fuck her again—faster, harder—and make love after that—slower, feeling every damn slow movement together.

My forehead drops to the mattress next to hers, and I thrust and feel, savor, and devour the heat that has ignited a fire down deep. “I’m gonna c—”

“Come,” she urges, her body writhing beneath mine in search of her own orgasm.

Like a wave rushing through me, I come, my body and soul dragged under with her when she calls my name like it’s a sin she’s just confessed.

My lips part and air enters my lungs, filling my chest. The blackness disperses and the small room with a little lamp shining next to the bed comes into focus. Swallowing is rough, my throat dry, but my body feels free from the confines that had shackled me for days, months, even years, and I find peace.

Soft touches and little kisses cover me, and I open my tired eyes to find hers as bright as before, and her face more beautiful in its sated state. “Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she breathes, my weight causing her more trouble than she admits.

I smile and roll to the side. “Sorry about that.”

“I liked it. I liked feeling your weight holding me down.”

Peeking at her, I rest my arm across the top of my head. “Why do you need to be held down?”

“Feeling this good, this light, surely, I’d float away.”

It’s interesting how such a simple shared emotion makes me feel lighter. Or maybe it’s her. The lightness, this peace, is something I’ve craved above all other things the last few years. “C’mere.” I encourage her over on top of me. When she’s settled, her body relaxed and her head resting on my chest, I add, “I feel the same.”

I can’t see her pretty face, but I can feel the smile that graces it, and I can hear it in her voice when she says, “That stunt you pulled this morning, stopping traffic and making demands you had no right to make . . . I’m glad you did.”

Fuck yeah. My smile could probably rival hers. “I am too.”

Her fingers run through the light hair on my chest. “I know I don’t have a right to ask more of you, but I’d like you to stay the night. No pressure, but if you want.”

I kiss the top of her strawberry-golden locks. “I have no intention of leaving tonight.”

She rests her chin on my chest and looks at me with a smile that lights up the room brighter than the small lamp ever could. “What intentions do you have?”

Repeating her words from earlier, I say, “So much talking. How tired are you?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“To show you exactly what my intentions are.” I move her to the side of me and kiss her until those little mewls begin again, signaling the start of the second round.

* * *

The smell of bacon and eggs rouses me. I reach over to find the bed empty beside me, much to my dismay. I love a hardy breakfast after a night of hot sex, but I’d rather have Delilah waking me up. Maybe with her mouth on me or with my mouth on her.

Fuck.

I’m hard.

I rub over my hard cock, attempting to get him to go down, but I’m not sure that’s possible with her scent all around me. Turning my head, I close my eyes, the faint scent of oranges covering her pillow. I could rub one out quickly in the bathroom, Delilah none the wiser, but I’m not ashamed I’m hard. I’m horny because I’m here with her.

Flipping the sheets off, I get up to find my clothes I’d left in the truck during the rain yesterday, clean, dry, and laid out at the end of the mattress. I pull on my underwear, still warm from the dryer. She’s good, too good. Hopefully she washed them because she wanted to and not because she felt obligated. That bullshit about women being barefoot and pregnant and waiting on a man hand and foot doesn’t fly with me. I can hire a maid. I don’t need my wife to serve me.

My hand stills with my jeans halfway up.

Wife?

Where the fuck did that come from?

I pull them up and head to the bathroom. The word wife didn’t kill my erection like I’d have thought, but my mind is spinning over the words, letting it rumble around, trying to find where it fits. I take a piss and wash my hands, but when I look into the mirror I see myself in a light I thought I had lost touch with a long time ago. Maybe I can be who I used to be. I wasn’t so bad back then. A little heartbroken. A lot ego-shattered. Losing your girl to your best friend wasn’t something I could control back then, but it’s nothing I should be ashamed of now.

We may not have wanted to talk last night, but we’ll need to soon. I splash my face with cool water and pat it dry. When I finish in the bathroom, I head downstairs. Passing through the living room, I follow the sounds from the kitchen and find Delilah scrambling eggs.

Her back is to me, which gives me a second to take her in. Her hair is up in a messy bun on top of her head, the delicate lines of her neck visible. She’s in a black tank top that shows off the curve from her waist to hips, and leads my gaze lower to her ass—round enough to fill out that pair of cutoff shorts that her daddy would never approve of. Me? They’ve got my stamp of approval. Bare legs and feet anchor her to a mat with an ugly teapot design. With a hand planted on her side, she tilts her hips as if she’s lost patience for how long it’s taking to cook the eggs.

I ease up behind her. Sliding my hands around her waist, I kiss the back of her exposed neck. Her body tenses at first and then quickly relaxes. She leans her head back on my shoulder then kisses my neck. “Good morning,” I say, sliding my hands over the top of the tank and taking two handfuls of her breasts.

The spatula is discarded and she spins in my arms, weaving hers around my neck. “Good morning.”

Reaching around her, I turn off the stove and move the pan to a cold burner before pressing her ass against the counter next to it. “You smell amazing.”

“That’s the bacon.”

“No. It’s you.”

“I haven’t showered. I’m still dirty from last night.”

With my lips against her neck, I hum. “Yeah, dirty. So dirty. I’m so hungry. For you. Want to come back to the bedroom with me?” Lifting her, my eyes meet hers. “Or we could test out that kitchen table like we used to joke about.”

Laughter fills the kitchen and she languidly looks into my eyes, something more than lust filling the centers. Like . . . love? The word wife comes back to bounce around the space in my heart I’ve left vacant since Delilah left me.

“My parents used to have a cup of coffee every morning together at that table and eat a meal every night. They said it was the only time they were guaranteed together with the busyness of their lives.”

“So that’s a yes to the table?” I tease.

“That’s a—”

“What the hell?” Her response is cut short when the screen door opens and a man’s voice booms. “Jason Koster’s truck is out front.”