Page 80 of Freak
But when he stepped back and caught her hand, she held back. “But you should eat first. You’re supposed to eat often, small meals, and I’ve got lentil and butternut squash soup on the stove. And grilled chicken breasts and pumpernickel.”
He’d eaten lunch between appointments at the hospital and not since, so Abigail’s magnificent cooking was a temptation, sure. She was right, as well, that part of getting his digestion back in fighting trim was to give it things to work on, but right now, Abgail’s magnificent body in his hands was a far more powerful need.
“Can you keep it warm? Or we could heat it back up later? You know I love your cooking, and that meal sounds amazing, but it can wait. Abs, I need you. I want to get you under menow. That’s what I can’t wait for.”
She gazed at him with those magical eyes, sparkling with the same avid need he felt, but also soft with her tender care. Then she smiled. “Give me a sec to set it all aside, so we can enjoy it later.”
“I’ll help.” He took her hand again and led her into her kitchen.
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~oOo~
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They’d been sleepingtogether every night since she’d brought him home from the hospital, and they’d moved up to her larger, more comfortable bed as soon as he could manage the stairs well enough not to worry her. As much as he’d loved the way Abigail had cared for him, he was not sorry to close the door on that sickroom.
Her bedroom was different now from the night he’d first seen it; he’d moved in a little, and his presence showed just about everywhere—one of his shirts hanging over the back of her rocker, a few pairs of his shoes and boots lined up along the baseboard beside the closet, his charging pad on the nightstand, atop a short stack of the latest issues of magazines he subscribed to (he was a physical media guy):American Rider,Popular Mechanics, andSports Illustrated. She’d collected them from the post office for him, along with a bunch of junk and a bill or two.
He'd asked the Horde to check in on the Kittyland under his deck, so he could rest easy that Tom and his crew were taken care of as winter bumbled toward them. Zaxx had volunteered, then foisted the task off on his sister at some point. Now Zelda was already attached to the cats and had asked if Mel minded if she stayed at the cabin while she was taking care of them. Mel didn’t mind at all, of course.
As he drew Abigail in and closed her matched set of cats out of the room, it hit Mel that he really had moved in. He felt at home here in a way he never had before, not even in the home he’d built with his own hands. He was comfortable there, even content, but the life he’d made himself beside the pond paled in comparison to what he had now.
When they’d first come together, they’d worried—Abigail had worried aloud—about how two people of their age, with established lives and habits, could build a shared life. Now Mel saw how obvious it was: nothing about Abigail’s life had to change. He loved the way she lived, he loved this house, this room, the way this woman was soaked into every surface.
All she’d need to do was make a little room. And she already had.
For a moment, he thought to say all that aloud, right now. Then she turned to him and pulled her fluffy blue sweater up over her head and tossed it to the rocker.
They could talk later.
Not content to stand back and watch the show this time, Mel went to her, picked her up, and laid her on the bed. Then he kicked his sneakers off and lay down with her, diving in to kiss the shit out of her while he undid the buttons of her brown corduroy dress, which conveniently buttoned all the way down the front.
She grabbed at his clothes, too, though much less effectively. When he had her dress open and her bra loose and out of his way, Mel pushed back onto his knees and got rid of his shirt and t-shirt, tossing them away and diving back in to get his mouth and hands all over her.
Jesus, this woman waseverything. Despite the light cast of shyness in her sexuality, her uncertainty about what to do and how to do it, she wasn’t hesitant at all. She fumbled until she figured it out, or—so damn sexy—she asked him to show her. And she trusted him completely. Whatever he told her to do, whether he was answering a question or taking charge, she did it.
Mel wasn’t a control freak, he didn’t think, and he wasn’t a dom, like it was a kink. But there were situations where he wanted to be in charge. At work, for instance. And in bed. At work, he didn’t fully trust work he hadn’t done himself. And in bed? He’d tried to lie back and let women do their thing occasionally in his life, and it could be fun, sure, but he could never get fully into it unless he was making the decisions. It was like a part of him switched off somehow. Sex was better, and he was better at it, when he was in charge.
Whether it was her own inexperience, or her giving nature, or simply her preference, Abigail had handed him the reins without a second thought.
He finished getting her clothes off while he took a full tour of her glorious body, kissing, licking, nipping, petting his way all the way to her toes, flicking his tongue over that cute little heart-shaped birthmark before he stood and stripped his jeans, Jockeys, and socks off. His belly cramped testily when he stood tall again, but after a quick brush over the still-red scar, like the Joker’s grin under his ribcage, he ignored it.
Abigail, sprawled naked and gorgeous across an heirloom quilt, noticed the gesture, however, and frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay for this?”
“Positive. Now roll over.”
Her frown deepened. “Onto my ...?”
He nodded. “Trust me, babe.”
She rolled over, turning her head to the side so she could meet his eyes.
Seeing her like that, waiting for him, so soft and pure and perfect, her dark curls cascading wildly over the pillows, Mel took a beat to marvel that she was his.
Really his. With a ring on her finger, promising forever.
He returned to the bed and stretched out on top of her, straddling her hips so he could put most of his weight on his knees. He let his raging hard cock rest on her ass, and she tightened her glutes to catch hold of him. Acting on ancient instinct, Mel rocked his hips, moving himself back and forth between her cheeks. This wasn’t what he’d been planning, he’d meant—he still meant—to love on her for a good long while before lifting her hips and sinking in deep, butholy shit, this felt good.
