How About No
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As Wade started to move me up and down, my eyes drifted closed, and I remembered exactly why he was so much better.
He filled me so completely—so utterly full—that at times I was sure that I would find it hard to walk after we were through. But during the actual act of sex? I could care less what I’d feel like afterward because Wade could do things to my body that I never even dreamed of.
Like when he pushed me back slightly, causing my hands to either go to his knees that were steady behind me, or fall backward.
I deposited both of my hands right on his shoulders and squeezed, changing the angle he was entering me, and I saw stars.
That was my spot.
For some reason, when I was on top and in this exact same position, things always went quickly.
I knew just as well as he knew that he hadn’t had anybody since me. Meaning he was likely just as close if not closer than I was.
He always used to say that being inside of me was like being inside a hot, wet silken fist that hugged him like a leather glove made for him.
I had always agreed, because when he was inside of me, I felt like if he were any bigger, I just might burst at the seams.
“Fuck me,” he growled, his face a mixture of pain and pleasure.
It was then I realized that all the rocking and jerking of my hips and thighs were likely forcing him to move when he was hurt.
But when I went to move off, he stopped me with a forceful touch of his hand on my breast, urging me to keep moving on top of him. “No, don’t.”
I didn’t stop.
I was so freakin’ close that I couldn’t stop.
“Goddamn, faster,” he urged, helping me move.
The swing we were in was shimmying and shaking, swaying almost violently with our movements.
My knees hurt where they were digging into the wooden slats, and I was fairly sure I had a splinter somewhere on my shin.
But, as he continued to pump into me, I no longer cared.
I cried out as a tidal wave of pleasure slammed into me.
My pussy clenched around him as I started to come.
Things got very wet very quickly, and I had a second to realize that I shouldn’t be that wet when another orgasm slammed into me.
I’d never, not ever, been a multiple-orgasm person.
But as he fucked me hard and followed me over the edge, I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t continue to be.
The man was good—and I’d missed him.
God, how I’d missed him.
I leaned forward until my body was pressed against his chest, and felt his cock continue to jerk inside of me.
I also made sure to shift my weight to the side so that as little of my weight as possible was on his bad side.
Soon the only thing that was moving was the swing as he swayed lazily, and I wondered then and there what the hell I was going to do now.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
I felt him swallow against my forehead. “Leg hurts like a bitch now that I’m not focused on coming,” he admitted. “But goddamn, did I need that.”
I laughed and started to move, ignoring the way that my knees ached and my shin stung.
It was only when I was standing that I realized he was really wet.
“Uhhhh,” I looked at him, horrified.
He grinned. “Didn’t know that you were such a juicy comer before, but now that I know…we’ll have to continue to play with that.”
I felt my face flush as he stood. “Now let’s go see if we can get cleaned up before my parents get back with our steaks and wonder why we’re flushed and panting.”
You know what’s worse than the first day of school? Being out of school and realizing that you have to work and pay bills and shit.
-Landry to Wade
That night, I slept in Wade’s bed.
After staying up late, talking and drinking with his parents, and genuinely having one of the best nights of my life, I wasn’t going to say no to sleeping with him again.
Honestly, the word “no” hadn’t even crossed my mind as we mutually got ready for bed.
And now, in the light of morning, I was wondering what in the hell I was going to do when we got home.
Regardless of whether or not we really were still married, we still had a lot to work out. We were still exactly where we were before we’d found out that we were still tied irrevocably together.
But, the thought of doing anything—signing divorce papers all over again—was abhorrent to me.
It’d literally taken me getting drunk the night before the bone marrow extraction surgery—I was also semi-hoping that if I had an alcohol content in my blood, they’d refuse to do surgery, which, by the way, didn’t stop them at all—to get those papers signed.
I honestly didn’t think that I could sign them again.
I’d felt raw and broken for months after I’d signed them—after he’d signed them—and if I was being honest, still did.
Something had lifted off my chest yesterday when I’d heard his uncle’s words.
The control that I’d thought I wielded was taken from me, and I’d never felt more alive.
Then again, it could be the hot hunk of a man sleeping next to me.
I rolled slightly so that I was facing him and stared at the man that made my heart pound just by being near him.
He was still very much asleep. How could I tell? He was snoring through his slightly open mouth.
His breaths were steady and even, and he’d likely stay that way for the next hour or two seeing as it was still ungodly early. I woke up like clockwork at four-thirty in the morning due to having to be at the daycare at six to open it.
I was honestly surprised that my phone hadn’t started to ring. It was unusual for things to actually go the way they were supposed to with my employees.
I just hoped the reason I hadn’t gotten a phone call yet was because everything was running smoothly and not because they were all on their death beds and unable to get to work.
Feeling the protest of my bladder reminds me that it wasn’t happy with me and all the beer I’d had the night before, I pushed carefully from the bed and headed to the bathroom.
I only turned the light on once I had the door quietly closed.
When my eyes finally adjusted, I did my business and went to the sink to wash my hands, only to be stopped by the multiple pill bottles that lined the edge of the sink.
I scanned each bottle, studying the labels, and felt my heart start to pound again.
That day that he was hurt was the scariest day of my life, and that wasn’t because I’d been shot myself. It was because my worst nightmare had come true, and Wade had been shot in the line of duty.
He was alive now, but there was never a promise or guarantee when it came to a police officer’s life. There was always the possibility that he’d strap that Kevlar vest on himself, and have a paramedic slice it off of him as they worked tirelessly over his battered body.
I shivered and pushed the bottles farther to the side, making sure not to get them wet as I washed my hands and face, followed shortly by brushing my teeth with the toothbrush I hadn’t been aware of getting out on my own last night.
Fresh and clean once again, I turned off the light and walked back out into the main room of the pool house.
With the eerie blue glow coming in through the glass windows of the room, I could make out Wade’s sleeping form in the bed.
He’d changed positions while I’d been gone. Now he was on his back, his good leg cocked up and leaning to the side. His arms were up over his chest, fingers crossed, and he was snoring softly once again, only this time his mouth was wide open.
I felt a smile reach my face, and I contemplated getting back into bed with him.
But something he’d said last night as we were walking inside—about how he hadn’t been sleeping all that well since he’d been shot—forced me not to.
I wanted him to get all the sleep he could get.
Not only was it better to help him in general, but it would help him heal faster—or so I’d heard.
Tiptoeing to the door, I opened it and disappeared outside, closing it just as quietly behind me.
I was unsurprised to see Porter sitting outside drinking a cup of coffee. He was sitting in a lawn chair with the morning newspaper in his hands, reading by the light that the kitchen LED lights cast through the glass.