He didn’t see how he would ever be over it. The clutch of her pussy on his cock, the eagerness of her mouth. And that virgin ass he’d claimed as his, and his alone.
One night, he came home after a particularly long day filled with irritating meetings and the kind of bad mood that even the thought of his Jenny couldn’t alleviate. That was what he thought, anyway, as he came in and saw her curled up in the chair in his bedroom, a book in her lap and her gaze on the sea outside.
And she made his heart flip around inside his chest, but today that made his temper kick in.
Because the longer she stayed, the easier it was to forget that this was only temporary. Dylan couldn’t let himself get used to the lift he got when he walked in his house to find her there, because soon enough there would be nothing there but memories. For all the talk they’d had aboutproper fucking, he knew full well who it was who was getting well and truly fucked here.
“You don’t look happy,” she observed, quietly.
“I don’t want to talk,” he told her, his voice a low growl. “I want to fuck.”
Jenny stared at him a moment, but she didn’t snap back at him. Instead, she stood. And as he watched, peeled off the long-sleeved shirt and flowy pants she wore. Then, still holding his gaze, she walked over to the bed with all her natural elegance, and sat there on the foot of it.
Like the bloody queen.
That only made him angrier. Dylan stalked toward her, that raging thing in him a drumbeat against his ribs. When he got to the foot of the bed, he reached out and hauled her toward him. He tipped her back so that her legs were in the air, her head was back on the bed and he could pull her hips to the edge.
He reached down, yanked the zipper of his jeans open, and his cock was already hard. Ready. Because his cock was always hard and ready when Jenny was around. That was the problem.
And she was already wet for him. Because she was always wet for him, and that was one more thing that wouldn’t matter when she left him.
Dylan slammed into her with no foreplay and no kind words, just her hips high and her legs splayed open.
She screamed with that same bright joy that lanced through him, arching up off the bed. He gripped her hips and hammered into her, because she was coming already. She was coming over and over, her pussy milking him, hot and tight.
And when she opened her eyes, her gaze was steady. Adoring.
Dylan reminded himself that was a lie, too. Or it wouldn’t last anyway, so it amounted to the same thing.
He pulled out and flipped her over, so she was bent there over the bed. And he didn’t have to look at those beautiful brown eyes so filled with emotion and pretend he didn’t know what he saw there.
Dylan slammed back into her from behind. He watched her dig her fists into the bedclothes as he pounded into her, their bodies making a delirious sort of slapping sound every time he sank himself to the root.
And he could feel it every time she constricted around him, shuddering and shuddering. He went harder. Deeper.
And when he came, he yelled her name the way he always did. He let himself fall down over her back, fully clothed except for his cock. And because she couldn’t see him, or what might be written all over his face, he buried his head in her neck.
Dylan tried to breathe. He’d spent all these years fucking other women and pretending they were her. He’d made a hobby out of it. But now he knew better.
Now heknew.
And he didn’t see how he was going to go fooling his cock into thinking that anyone else was her. That anything else was this.
His breath sawed in and out of him. Everything hurt, and not from exertion. Jenny’s lips were parted as she did her own bit of panting, and her eyelashes were dark against her cheeks. He would remember this, too. It would haunt him.
Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes, and then she smiled over her shoulder, intimate and soft. Dylan pulled out and turned her over, lifting her up so he could get his mouth on hers.
And he kissed her, haunted already while she was still right here, until they were both a little dizzy. Then they both lay there, breathless again, as the ocean crashed around outside and absolutely nothing changed between them.
Because it never would. Why couldn’t he hold on to that the way he should?
“You’re going to have to go soon,” he said, because not saying it was no longer doing the trick. “Have you sorted out your plane ticket yet?”
He turned his head to look at her, stretched out beside him, and there was something stark and awful on her face. But she looked away before he could look too closely. And Dylan didn’t like the fact that she was hiding something from him, or that she was feeling something she didn’t want to share.
He wouldn’t wish the hurt in him on anyone, especially not Jenny.
But he couldn’t say he hated the idea, either.