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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Josie

I can’t tell him.

T he room is quiet, not a sound from my landlord upstairs. Ken stands before me right inside my bedroom, his gaze slow and careful, his movements deliberate. We’re both still fully dressed. I don’t know what I expected when we agreed outside to let the night play out as nights sometimes do, but walking to my bedroom, not even holding hands was not it.

Still, no first time is perfect. And, I tell myself, it’s nice to not feel rushed. If I had alcohol I’d offer him some. He might be shy about things like this. Just because he’s a big guy with a body women would line up to sample, doesn’t mean he’d led that lifestyle.

Oh my God, I hope I haven’t slept with more people than he has. I made sure I can still count them on one hand. Well, after tonight I won’t be able to... hopefully. The way he’s just standing there looking at me has me questioning if he’s questioning if we should do this. I’ve never had that happen before.

Something in him snaps and he closes the distance between us. His hands cup my shoulders gently. His lips are warm and searching. It’s a nice kiss.

A good one.

But not great.

I expected a raging fire... this is more like the warmth from a candle. I lean into it, open my mouth to him and he deepens the kiss. I’m not complaining. He’s a good kisser. Not sloppy. Not rushed. Thorough. But it feels like he’s holding back.

If he’s not sure, we don’t have to do this. It’s not like we signed a contract or something. The vibe is off, but I’m not stopping him. Why?

I don’t want to be alone tonight.

And this—maybe it won’t be mind-blowing, but it might take the edge off the ache in me.

He strips me down like I’m something fragile he’s unwrapping, kissing my neck as he does. I love when a man does that. He’s taking his time. Maybe he’s the type who has to work his way up to being ready. Not every man comes out of the gate fully ready to go. I’m definitely attracted to him, so I’m willing to work with whatever he’s able to bring.

He takes his time and kisses my shoulders, my breasts, slowly fanning the desire within me. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.

When he steps back to remove his own clothing, I get a little impatient. Like, holy hell, are you having trouble with that button? Do you want help with it?

Speaking of help, I ask, “Did you bring a condom?”

“I did,” he answers with the sweetest, almost apologetic smile.

I hold back a nervous laugh. No need to apologize, dude, I’m over here begging you to lay some of that tough guy loving on me. Just... hurry it up.

When the last of his clothing falls away, and my gaze begins to drop I gasp at the number of scars that crisscross his body. Well, no wonder he’s shy. “Can I ask what happened?”

He tenses. “Car accident.”

I lightly trace one that looks like it cut deep. “This almost looks like a knife wound.”

He takes my hand in his and brings it lower to where his cock is full, ready, and large enough to make me forget about his scars. My hand closes around his shaft, pumping him gently as his mouth closes over mine again.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me then lowers me onto the bed with practiced ease, covering my body with his. His kisses are deep but measured, his touches intentional, slow. His fingers dance down to my clit with a skill I’m grateful for. I really like him. I want this to be amazing.

Breathtaking.

Good enough to be the start of something.

I sigh, arching into him, spreading my legs wider and silently urging him into something deeper, rougher, hungrier—but he maintains the same steady rhythm. I shift beneath him, restless.

This is the kind of sex a sweet woman would have. This is what I moved away from. I’m not fragile. I don’t need to be handled this gently. I moan. I writhe. I buck against his hand.

He rolls a finger inside me, priming me, and I’ll admit, it’s been so long I’m pre-primed. Let’s go. Get that condom on. Let’s do this.

I don’t say that, though. I just wish it really, really hard.

When he enters me it’s missionary style and he’s big enough that it’s good. Predictably good. And he does all the right moves to bring me to climax before he gives himself over to his own orgasm.

I did come. So, there’s that.

But I don’t feel wrecked.

At no time did the voice in my head stop narrating, and that’s... disappointing.

He rolls to the side, disposes of his condom, and wraps his arms around me. When he kisses my forehead, I’m full-on hating myself for not seeing this for the good thing it is. He’s a great guy. More than easy to look at. Funny. Attentive. Smart. This can be good enough, right?

Our legs are tangled beneath the sheets, his arm lazily draped over my waist. I cuddle closer and close my eyes.

“Josie,” Ken says in that deep, gravelly voice of his.

“Yes?” I respond without opening my eyes. Is he considering a round two? I could rally for one.

His voice drops into something low and coaxing, “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

He runs a hand up my back in a warm and comforting caress. “I feel like you’re holding back, though. Thinking about things you don’t feel you can share with me.”

Oh, no. Was I obvious? I didn’t fake the orgasm. Oh, shit. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. “I’m not.”

He traces the side of my face then tips my chin upward so my eyes are forced to meet his. “You can tell me anything.”

I swallow hard. “People say that, but they never mean it.”

“Oh,” his hand tightens on my chin ever so slightly. “So you are holding something back? What is it?”

I can’t do it. I can’t tell him. No man would handle that well. And it would be unfair. Many things, especially in the bedroom, are better left unsaid. I once accidentally farted and my partner at the time was kind enough to pretend he didn’t notice. That’s the sort of kindness you pay forward. “Ken, you’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

He lies back, tucking an arm beneath his head. “Honesty is the only way two people can move forward together. I thought...” He looks down then meets my gaze again. “I know we got to this place quicker than we should have, but I need you to know that I value honesty above everything else. If I’m asking you if there’s something you’re holding back, I’d rather you say there is and that you don’t want to talk about it, than lie to me.”

Never, not once in my entire life has anyone accused me of lying. “I’m not,” I stammer, then stop, because I have been lying to him, but just to be kind. “Okay, I am. A little. But not about anything that matters.”

“Are you sure? Because anything you feel strongly enough to deny when I ask about it seems like something you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about. And, especially after what we just did, holding things back now will just build a wall between us. Whatever it is, whatever you’re doing, you can trust me with your secret.”

He’s right. And I don’t want to build a wall. I want to build a bridge. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

He goes up onto one elbow. “I’m sure.”

“I was expecting it to be different.”

“What?”

I wave a hand in the general direction of his dick. “You. This. What we just did. I am by far not a freak in the bedroom. I don’t even use toys, but I guess... maybe because you’re a big guy... I was hoping for...”

His lips part and he shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Instantly, I begin to backtrack. “Not that it was bad. It wasn’t. It was really nice. Like a good backrub.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What were you hoping for?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” I smack my forehead a few times. “I knew I shouldn’t, but you said that thing about walls, and I like you.”

“But it wasn’t good.”

I suck in a breath. “It was nice.”

“Like a backrub,” he growls.

Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort. I scramble to sit up, tripping over my words. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it! I did! You were so... focused. And sweet. And very, very thorough.”

His jaw tightens.

I panic. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

His lips press into a thin line.

Oh God. Oh no. If he starts to cry, I’m going to bawl right along with him and we can commiserate on what an asshole I am. “Forget what I said. You were amazing.”

He sits up, and there is a look in his eyes I can’t interpret. It’s not tears, though. More like a tiger holding back just before a pounce. “So, you wish it had been rougher.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Please let me die now.”

There’s a pause. A long, stretching silence. Then—the bed moves. His hand wraps around my wrist, peeling my hands from my face. I peek up at him. He’s studying me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

“I’ll give you more,” he says, voice lower now. Rougher.

I swallow hard. “I—”

His lips curve into something dark and knowing. He shifts to the edge of the bed and stands, then grabs one of my ankles and hauls me toward him. I would protest, but there’s a look in his eyes that wasn’t there before and... I like it.

He’s down on his knees, whipping my legs over his shoulders and without hesitation claims my sex with his mouth. And when I say claims, I mean he devours. He’s not gentle this time. I’m a meal to him.

His strong hands hold me in place, position me where he wants me. Even if I wanted to get away, and I don’t, I couldn’t. His tongue plunges inside me, swirls, claims. Then his fingers. Those lightly teasing fingers from before are now bold and demanding. They plunge inside me, commandeering my most elusive spot, and work it and me into a mindless frenzy. And just when I think I might come, he stops and plunders me with his tongue again.

I grip the sheets on either side of him, begging for more, begging him to use his fingers again. But he doesn’t. He stands and brings me up to a seated position in front of him. “Fuck me with your mouth, Josie. Take me in. Take me all in.”

He buries his hands in my hair and thrusts his cock into my mouth. I take it eagerly, enjoying how close to losing control he gets when I bring my hand up beneath his balls and take him even deeper. I bring out every trick I know, but technique gives way to raw need. I can’t get enough of him. I want all of him. Every last inch. On me. In me. Over me. Whatever.

I feel him getting closer and closer to coming. But before he does, he pulls out of my mouth. One moment, I’m catching my breath—the next, my back is against the wall, Ken’s mouth on mine, his hands pinning mine above my head.

And then, his free hand skims down, down, down—until his fingers curl lightly around my throat.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

He’s not squeezing. Not applying pressure. Just holding.

Waiting.

I let out a shaky breath, tilting my chin slightly—and the moment I do, something shifts in him.

He was waiting to see if I liked it.

And now he knows I do.

His grip tightens—just slightly, just enough. My stomach flips at the silent promise in his touch. His mouth moves to my ear. “Is this what you wanted?” Heat shoots through me so fast I can’t breathe. “Because it’s what I fucking did.”

I whimper.

Ken growls, releases my hands, and lifts me by my ass so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He enters me with one powerful thrust. I come and fracture into a thousand pieces, but he doesn’t stop. He pounds into me relentlessly, decadently. I’m powerless to stop him and helplessly, wantonly so glad I can’t.

Just before he comes, his hand tightens a little more around my throat and he says, “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I whisper.

He thrusts deeper. “I don’t share what’s mine, Josie. Are you mine?”

“Oh, God, yes,” I say, my will bending beneath the weight of my hunger.

Instead of taking his pleasure then, he releases my throat, uses both hands beneath my ass to hold me, and takes me so thoroughly, so primal, that when I come for the third time tears run down my cheeks.

And it is everything I moved away from home to find.