Page 40 of Notorious

Only now he’s here in person, and sober.

Johnny looks me up and down, and his expression tells me that he wants me as much as I want him. He stretches his arms over his head, making the ladder on his belly pop. “Shower felt good, yeah.” A drop of water trickles down his forehead and across his high cheekbone. His eyes heat, and he bites his lower lip.

“Jesus fuck,” I whisper. Before I know what I’m doing, I take a step forward and crush my mouth to his, wrapping my arms around his waist. He stiffens and inhales sharply.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling back but gently running my teeth along his lower lip. Against his skin, I say, “I should’ve asked first.”

“Darlin’, shut up,” Johnny says. And then he takes over the kiss. I don’t know if you’ve ever been kissed by a 6′6″ cowboy, but they really take over. He tilts up my jaw and keeps one hand under my chin, the other on the back of my neck. The move’s possessive. He’s claiming me.

I love it.

And my mind races to say You’re not special. He does this for a living. He’s like this with everyone.

I can’t help but love that he’s this way with me, though. I can’t help but be swept away by this kiss. His minty tongue’s in my mouth. His hot body’s against mine. My hands are reaching around him and clenching on the smooth skin of his back, not sure if I should do more. He takes a step forward, and I take a step back, and there’s no doubt he’s the one running this show now.

We’ve kissed before—just last night—but that was drunken, and this is not. That was out of my mind, and this is … just wanting. My dick’s hardening against his thigh, and I rut into him, almost without my volition.

“Can we have sex?” I blurt, when we break apart again.

Johnny traces a finger down my throat. “That could be arranged.”

Excitement surges through every inch of my body … except for a small, still-rational part that reminds me why Johnny’s here at all. I force myself to try to think. “With how you’ve been feeling … are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“I don’t need to be feeling good to have sex,” he says.

Cold water douses my desire. “Yeah. That’s … that’s a no.”

Johnny groans. “Normally I’d be all over getting together with someone as handsome as you. Now I’m so screwed up that I can’t even give you a good time.”

“That’s okay,” I tell him, taking a small step back. “I didn’t bring you here for sex. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have gone there.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He kisses me again, but it’s a plea. “You’re so sweet, and I do want you, even if I’m depressed or whatever it is. Just, if you don’t mind, maybe not tonight. When I fuck you, it should be ’cause we’re both into it.”

“I can wait,” I say. I don’t want to acknowledge how much of a thrill his “when” sends through me.

“It could even be in the morning. I dunno. That okay?”

“Of course.” I’m half-hard, but that’s not the end of the world. “Can I ask a question that’s none of my business?”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Yeah, okay. Fair. So … depression affects libido, right? Which makes me wonder, why would you think you might be more up for sex in the morning?” I don’t want to be negative with him, but his depression isn’t going to just go away overnight.

Johnny stares at his feet. “It’s not like I understand what’s going on inside my head, but I’ve got good days and not so good and then some downright terrible ones—and it’s not necessarily whole days, either. Sometimes I’m fine, and sometimes I can’t move. Sometimes things give me pleasure, and sometimes they plain don’t. I can’t always come, but touching still feels good—usually, at least. I can’t explain it better than that.”

“Makes sense. Would you do me a favor, though? I can’t see inside your head. Can you keep me informed—as best you can—about how you’re feeling?”

“I’ll try.” He looks at the bed. “Do you want me to put something on to sleep in? I usually don’t, but I can.”

I want to moan. Because I’ve seen him naked. I desire him. But I’m not gonna be a creep. “I want you to be comfortable,” I say, meaning it.

Johnny hangs up his towel and comes back to the bedroom, all naked and glorious, his dick huge and mouthwatering. But then he looks at the bag of new clothes and opens a package of boxers. “Maybe I’ll just wear these.”

I sigh, but I understand. “Whatever you feel best in. It’s been a very long day. And you’ve got that appointment tomorrow.”

Johnny looks at me, resigned. I can tell he doesn’t want to go, but he can’t muster the energy to argue with me—or he knows he shouldn’t argue, even though the idea of therapy terrifies him. Either way, it breaks my heart. What’s this man like when his brain isn’t beating him down?

“It’s fine, precious,” he says, and he climbs into my bed.

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