Craving Absolution
Page 32
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Even though it was my choice to stay away, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out of their little group.
I’d made plans to go garage-saling with Gram, and we wanted to hit all the good ones early. There was a science to it that Gram had mastered before I was born, and she’d been slowly letting me in on the secrets over the past couple of years. I think she was afraid that if she told me everything at once, I’d start going without her. She hadn’t realized yet that I didn’t really need any secondhand tablecloths or clothes hangers—spending time with her was the draw.
If you were looking for the good stuff, you always went as early as you could on the first morning the garage sales were open, usually Friday. It was imperative to get there before the hordes descended and all that was left were some mismatched McDonald’s collector glasses and an old recliner that smelled like buffalo ass. On the flip side of that, if you just wanted the really cheap stuff, you’d go Sunday afternoon when the sale was ending and the seller just wanted the shit out of their driveway. They’d be selling their stuff for a dollar or less, just so they wouldn’t have to haul it away. Sometimes we went crazy and showed up on both days.
I finished getting ready—it was a 1950s housewife kind of day—and was packing up my purse when Cody walked in the front door. I knew immediately that something was wrong. When he closed the door behind him, he locked the dead bolt with more force than was necessary, then pulled on the doorknob as if checking to make sure that the lock was in place. His broad shoulders were tight and his body was jittery as he turned to face me.
“Hey, handsome,” I called quietly. “Thought you had to go to the club this morning?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stomped toward me, the usual grace in his movements completely absent. I wondered if I should call Gram and ask her to come over—he was acting really strange—but before I could even finish the thought, he was in my space and lifting me up. I wrapped myself around him, wondering what the hell was going on, but stayed silent as he shuddered against me.
“You going to work?” he asked into my neck.
“No, I was going to run errands with Gram,” I answered, running my fingers around to scratch the back of his neck softly.
“Grab your phone and text her, Ladybug. No errands for a while,” he ordered.
“What’s going on, Cody?” I whispered, my stomach churning at the emotion in his voice.
“Text Gram,” he repeated.
I leaned down to the back of the couch where I’d left my phone, and sent a quick text to Gram letting her know I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, and that Cody said we shouldn’t be running errands for a while. I didn’t understand what that meant, but Gram must have, because all she did was text back “OK,” which was actually pretty damn good since she usually couldn’t remember how to reply. As soon as I was done, Cody snatched the phone out of my hands and tossed it.
He pulled back his head and smashed his mouth onto mine before the phone had even landed on the couch. I jerked as he bit my lower lip and sucked it into his mouth hard, letting go of my ass to slide under my dress, his hands desperate and wild on my skin.
It didn’t take long before his desperation was feeding mine; it seemed as if every time he put his hands on my skin lately, I was ready for him. Like some kind of Pavlov response, I’d been trained by months of incredible sex, so the instant he touched me, my body started winding up.
I never understood the whole “panty-ripping” thing in romance novels; it seemed like that would leave freaking fabric burns on your hips, but maybe I was just wearing the wrong kind of underwear. The thought flashed through my mind as Cody reached between my legs to rub over the crotch of my underwear, but before I could debate the merits of flimsy underwear, he’d pushed it to the side and thrust his fingers inside me.
“Hold on, baby,” he whispered huskily as my back made contact with a hard surface. It must have been a wall, but I wasn’t sure which one since my eyes had closed and my head had fallen to his shoulder as his fingers pumped in and out. He fumbled with the button on his jeans, and his fingers halted.
“Don’t stop!” I murmured frantically.
“I’m not. I’m not,” he mumbled before pressing his mouth against my shoulder and biting down. He must have gotten his pants undone and pushed out of the way, because before I could complain again, I felt him against me. “Guide me in, Farrah.”
I lifted my head, our gazes meeting from only inches away, and I swallowed hard. His eyes were red and watery, and his jaw was tight as he stared at me, waiting for me to follow his direction. He looked at me like I could save him, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Normally I didn’t walk away from emotions, I ran, so for a split second I thought about making a smart remark, just to break the tension.
But for the first time ever, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think of a word to say because I knew I had go against all my instincts and comfort him. I had no other choice; there was no other choice. I tentatively leaned forward so our noses were touching, then rubbed mine up the side of his as I reached down to move his cock so we were lined up. Before I could move my hand back around his neck, he slammed inside me.
There was no finesse to his movements, no thoughtful glances to see how I was doing, or lingering touches to make sure I was climbing with him. He was oblivious, grinding and thrusting and holding me close as his breath stuttered shakily in and out. He felt good inside me, really good, but I knew I wouldn’t orgasm. I needed more than I was getting to find release, but surprisingly, I didn’t care that he’d forgotten. In some perverse way I was glad that I wasn’t going to orgasm, because this time wasn’t for me. For some reason, he needed me to hold him—to get as close as we possibly could—and I’d never refuse him that if I could help it.
I’d made plans to go garage-saling with Gram, and we wanted to hit all the good ones early. There was a science to it that Gram had mastered before I was born, and she’d been slowly letting me in on the secrets over the past couple of years. I think she was afraid that if she told me everything at once, I’d start going without her. She hadn’t realized yet that I didn’t really need any secondhand tablecloths or clothes hangers—spending time with her was the draw.
If you were looking for the good stuff, you always went as early as you could on the first morning the garage sales were open, usually Friday. It was imperative to get there before the hordes descended and all that was left were some mismatched McDonald’s collector glasses and an old recliner that smelled like buffalo ass. On the flip side of that, if you just wanted the really cheap stuff, you’d go Sunday afternoon when the sale was ending and the seller just wanted the shit out of their driveway. They’d be selling their stuff for a dollar or less, just so they wouldn’t have to haul it away. Sometimes we went crazy and showed up on both days.
I finished getting ready—it was a 1950s housewife kind of day—and was packing up my purse when Cody walked in the front door. I knew immediately that something was wrong. When he closed the door behind him, he locked the dead bolt with more force than was necessary, then pulled on the doorknob as if checking to make sure that the lock was in place. His broad shoulders were tight and his body was jittery as he turned to face me.
“Hey, handsome,” I called quietly. “Thought you had to go to the club this morning?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stomped toward me, the usual grace in his movements completely absent. I wondered if I should call Gram and ask her to come over—he was acting really strange—but before I could even finish the thought, he was in my space and lifting me up. I wrapped myself around him, wondering what the hell was going on, but stayed silent as he shuddered against me.
“You going to work?” he asked into my neck.
“No, I was going to run errands with Gram,” I answered, running my fingers around to scratch the back of his neck softly.
“Grab your phone and text her, Ladybug. No errands for a while,” he ordered.
“What’s going on, Cody?” I whispered, my stomach churning at the emotion in his voice.
“Text Gram,” he repeated.
I leaned down to the back of the couch where I’d left my phone, and sent a quick text to Gram letting her know I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, and that Cody said we shouldn’t be running errands for a while. I didn’t understand what that meant, but Gram must have, because all she did was text back “OK,” which was actually pretty damn good since she usually couldn’t remember how to reply. As soon as I was done, Cody snatched the phone out of my hands and tossed it.
He pulled back his head and smashed his mouth onto mine before the phone had even landed on the couch. I jerked as he bit my lower lip and sucked it into his mouth hard, letting go of my ass to slide under my dress, his hands desperate and wild on my skin.
It didn’t take long before his desperation was feeding mine; it seemed as if every time he put his hands on my skin lately, I was ready for him. Like some kind of Pavlov response, I’d been trained by months of incredible sex, so the instant he touched me, my body started winding up.
I never understood the whole “panty-ripping” thing in romance novels; it seemed like that would leave freaking fabric burns on your hips, but maybe I was just wearing the wrong kind of underwear. The thought flashed through my mind as Cody reached between my legs to rub over the crotch of my underwear, but before I could debate the merits of flimsy underwear, he’d pushed it to the side and thrust his fingers inside me.
“Hold on, baby,” he whispered huskily as my back made contact with a hard surface. It must have been a wall, but I wasn’t sure which one since my eyes had closed and my head had fallen to his shoulder as his fingers pumped in and out. He fumbled with the button on his jeans, and his fingers halted.
“Don’t stop!” I murmured frantically.
“I’m not. I’m not,” he mumbled before pressing his mouth against my shoulder and biting down. He must have gotten his pants undone and pushed out of the way, because before I could complain again, I felt him against me. “Guide me in, Farrah.”
I lifted my head, our gazes meeting from only inches away, and I swallowed hard. His eyes were red and watery, and his jaw was tight as he stared at me, waiting for me to follow his direction. He looked at me like I could save him, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Normally I didn’t walk away from emotions, I ran, so for a split second I thought about making a smart remark, just to break the tension.
But for the first time ever, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think of a word to say because I knew I had go against all my instincts and comfort him. I had no other choice; there was no other choice. I tentatively leaned forward so our noses were touching, then rubbed mine up the side of his as I reached down to move his cock so we were lined up. Before I could move my hand back around his neck, he slammed inside me.
There was no finesse to his movements, no thoughtful glances to see how I was doing, or lingering touches to make sure I was climbing with him. He was oblivious, grinding and thrusting and holding me close as his breath stuttered shakily in and out. He felt good inside me, really good, but I knew I wouldn’t orgasm. I needed more than I was getting to find release, but surprisingly, I didn’t care that he’d forgotten. In some perverse way I was glad that I wasn’t going to orgasm, because this time wasn’t for me. For some reason, he needed me to hold him—to get as close as we possibly could—and I’d never refuse him that if I could help it.
