down. “Are you bleeding?”
His hooded eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged. He was famished. No way he’d slept with someone else these last two weeks. He was on the same sex drought I was.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not bleeding.”
He lowered his face between my legs and gripped my hips, pulling me to his mouth. I gasped. His tongue went to work, and my hands flew to his hair.
Oh my fucking God…
He’d never done this before—I was usually spotting. And holy shit—he was an oral virtuoso. I don’t know what he was doing down there, but it was obvious I was in the hands of a professional. Fuck, is he good at everything?
My knees started to shake. I moaned, and like he knew I was about to lose it, he came up and lowered himself over me. “I don’t have a condom.”
Nooooooo! “What? Why? Where are they?”
His mouth descended my neck, kissing me roughly. “At your house, where I leave them,” he said huskily.
I’m the only person he’s sleeping with? I mean, I know he said his dates didn’t usually…
My favorite plaything pressed against my stomach, teasing me, and I lost my train of thought.
Fuck it. “No condom—I don’t care,” I gasped. “You’re the only one I’m sleeping with too.”
He jerked up and looked at me, his shallow breath rolling over my face. He studied me for a second, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to mine and slid into me.
There was something deeper about the sex this time, more emotional, desperate. Both of us were frantic, like we’d thought we were never going to see each other again, and the lack of a condom, the absence of that barrier, elevated everything, made us hungrier.
Neither of us were going to make it very long. There was no way.
His forceful thrusts launched me into spasms within seconds. My moaning pushed him over the edge and he poured inside of me, growling and gasping.
He collapsed and we clutched each other, catching our breath, his forehead to mine in a light sheen of sweat. It took me a solid minute to muster the ability to speak. “I thought you were sick,” I breathed. “Faker.”
His chuckle rumbled against my breasts. “All part of my ploy to get you to come over.”
I laughed and he squeezed his arms against my sides and smiled down on me, kissing me softly, his heart beating against my chest.
I love you, Josh. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could keep you.
With a twinge of dread, I wondered how I would live without these moments when it all came to an end. I’d have to enjoy every second of the next week and a half with him. Absorb it, store it up.
And then hope it was enough to last a lifetime.
* * *
We’d been in his bed for hours. We never did that at my house. There were always too many excuses I could come up with for why we had to go back to friends-only mode. Emails to check, deliveries to sign for, orders to work on. And once we left the bed, my rules dictated that the affection had to stop. But here, we had nothing to do but stay between the sheets. Josh didn’t have a sofa or a TV, so we hung out under the covers, and technically, according to my own rules, that meant that kissing and affection were okay.
I was enjoying the loophole. I needed every second of it.
Josh didn’t seem to object either. We’d been having sex all day. After our quickie, we’d had a long, slow marathon, full of deep kissing and gentle rocking, followed by a giggling and playful romp with Josh tickling me mercilessly before he took me from behind. After we wore each other out, we’d lain there, our legs tangled together, talking about everything we did over the last two weeks. He told me about the strike team and how much he liked being in the woods and not running medical calls. How beautiful Sequoia National Park had been and how much I would have liked a band that played in a bar they went to in their off-hours.
I told him all about the wedding errands I’d been on with Sloan and dropping off a large order at Dale’s mansion and how Stuntman had bit the FedEx guy again.
He didn’t bring up calling me from Vegas, thank God. He probably didn’t remember.
He ran a knuckle along my cheek.