Maybe Next Time - Christina C. Jones Page 0,2

that, and then declared it beneath him… well… life was too short.

What he was unwilling to do, another man certainly would.

I was pissed off too.

And since he was here, I channeled that anger into getting Denver out of his shirt, not giving a shit about the future condition of his buttons as I snatched the two sides apart. He didn’t care either–his tongue was too deep in my mouth, hands too full of my ass, fingers too busy tugging my panties aside for access.

I gave his belt, his pants, the same treatment–ruined buckles, zippers, whatever, not my damn problem. I just wanted him free from his boxers, and I got that, gripping him in my hands for barely a moment before he’d lifted me from the floor, hiking my legs around his waist.

My skirt rode up over my ass, bunching around my waist as he entered me, unexpectedly foreign and deliciously familiar all at once. I clamped my lips together, trying not to gasp as he pushed deeper, stretching my pussy to accommodate him for the first time in months.

“Fuck, Kensa,” he murmured against my lips when he was finally, completely buried in me. I clenched around him, making him curse again before he fisted a handful of my hair, tugging my head back so I was looking at him. “You need me to remind you whose pussy this is?”

I wanted to respond to that.

Wanted so badly to antagonize him, but I couldn’t.

Before I could even open my mouth to give back a response, he’d started moving–deep, steady, insistent strokes that snatched my breath away, keeping me from formulating anything coherent. Except, of course, the involuntary chorus of “yes, Yes, YES,” that spilled from my lips because it felt so good to have my husband inside me I just couldn’t help it.

That praise was damn near compulsory, and certainly well-deserved, as much as I wished I could simply take his dick in silence instead of moaning, keening, crying my pleasure as I clawed into his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

The refrigerator was uncomfortably cold against my back, the shelves creaking to complain about our weight against them, some discordant chime alerting us from somewhere within that the door had been left open. I held on to those distractions, trying my best not to lose my mind as Denver tried his best to achieve the exact opposite result.

“Go on and cum, sweetheart,” he growled in my ear, then nipped me there before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Fuck you,” I gritted through my teeth, trying my best not to do exactly that.

He responded by fucking me harder.

Deeper.

Faster.

And then, it was completely out of my hands, my pussy reflexively clenching and contracting around him, milking him as I came.

So, so hard.

I tried to be quiet.

I really, really did, because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

I couldn’t help it though.

It was too good not to scream, and moan, and dig my nails into his biceps as he slammed into me, his hips pumping as he emptied inside me.

I’d… needed that.

Badly.

But of course, I’d never admit it to him.

As soon as he’d let my feet back onto the ground, I pushed away from him, putting some distance between us.

“This changes nothing,” I told him, then promptly stumbled, since the feeling in my legs hadn’t completely come back yet. I refused his help, catching myself on the edge of the counter for balance as I stood up straight.

“Kensa…”

“No,” I said, holding up a hand as I carefully started toward my room again, bypassing the mess of shoes and cell phones in the hall. “Just get out. And sign the damn papers.”

Two

I woke up in a daze.

Head pounding, sore between my thighs, back aching, and completely past the time I should still be in bed, if the light streaming in through the window was any indication.

I dragged myself up, suddenly conscious of the persistent blaring of my alarm. My mind first went to where I’d dropped everything last night, out in the hall.

I never had gone back out to pick anything up, opting for the comfort of my bed after a hot shower. Quickly though, I realized the sound was actually coming from my bedside.

Where both phones were perched on their respective chargers.

But… I definitely hadn’t gone back for it myself.

I could only assume that Denver had been the one to do it. Denver who was not supposed to be in the condo at all. We’d made a silent agreement, and it wasn’t