Page 76 of My Favorite Lost Cause
It’s so good. If it was possible for me to come again, I’d have done so by now. My muscles tighten as if it’s going to happen anyway.
“I’m going to come so hard, Maren,” he groans. “Are you going to take all of it for me?”
I whimper in response, nodding, my back bowing off the bed. The friction is so much, so intense, as if every nerveending I possess is lining the eight or so inches he’s currently hitting.
“That’s right, you gorgeous fucking girl,” he says, hips pistoning. He presses his thumb to my lower lip, holding my mouth open so I can’t stifle my noises. “Come for me again.”
And I do, just as he’s commanded, only dimly aware of his groan, of the way he slams himself inside me as he explodes.
“Fuck,” he hisses against my ear, with a few final, jagged pulses. We kiss again, sloppy and heedless, and then his head falls, burrowing into my neck as we both catch our breath, his body settling into mine.
It’s another minute before I grow aware of the dogs’ quiet snores, the cacophony of crickets and cicadas and water lapping against the shore outside. The moon is full, casting a golden path across the room. And then I realize that I, Maren Fischer—who can barely comeonce—just came three times in a row.
“Charlie?” I whisper, running my hand over the back of his head. “I guess I like it after all.”
He laughs. “You’ll like it even more in about ten minutes.”
He removes the condom, ties it off and throws it into the trash can, then lies down and pulls me into his warm chest, which smells like soap and sweat and him.
Our breathing quiets. I watch the rise and fall of his ribs beneath my hand.
“I was worried I’d never see you again after that stunt at the airport,” he says quietly.
“Thatstuntis the reason I’m here,” I reply, pressing my lips to his chest.
“Then I wish I’d pulled it a decade ago.” He rolls me to my back and takes me in for a long moment before his mouth lowers, a kiss to say what our words cannot.
This thing will be conducted without a single promise or reassurance or look at the future. I’m not going to tell him I lovehim and he’s not going to say it back to me, because that exchange would weigh too heavily on us over the decades ahead, when we’re sitting at a family dinner, married to other people.
It’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’m going to keep right on doing it for as long as I possibly can.
33
MAREN
It’s for the best that the house is full of people and that Charlie is expected to work. Because otherwise, little would be getting accomplished.
I’m sleep-deprived, my body feels like one long bruise—and I just want more, which is not something I’d have said of anyone I was with in the past. He can’t even cross my line of vision without my brain stuttering. It’s far less about his loveliness—though, God, there’s that as well—and more about the way he watches my face, about the things he says. “I’m going to fuck that swollen little mouth of yours so hard the second this house is empty,”he promised over breakfast this morning. It’s about his jaw falling open just before he comes, as if the pleasure is so intense, he’s forgotten everything else.
Is it different because it’s Charlie or is it different because he’s the one guy I know I can’t keep? There’s no winning him over, nothing to be done but enjoy these few moments I’m being given.
And how many more of them will I even get?
He’s due in San Antonio soon. And the second he decides he’s had enough of this, that’s what he’ll use as an excuse and Iwon’t be able to complain. I’ve always known the day would come, right?
I’m in the hallway repairing the plaster, thinking about all of this, when he and Elijah pass me on their way outside. His gaze catches mine and my unhappy thoughts vanish. Instantly, I’m falling down a rabbit hole of things I want him to try, things I want him to do again, and wondering how long it will be until all these contractors are out of the house.
Charlie
If you keep looking at me like that, the crew’s going to get a show.
I have NO IDEA what you’re referring to.
Meet me in your cottage in two minutes and I’ll explain it to you.
I can’t drop my trowel fast enough. I head toward the cottage, trying to keep a normal pace just in case Charlie’s watching—I refuse to look eager. And the moment I open the door, I discover he’s already inside, already pulling me against him, his mouth on mine.
“We’re out of condoms,” I warn as he pulls my T-shirt off.
