From This Day Foward: Switched at Marriage Part 4 (7 page)

"This part is easy." I hooked my legs around him and positioned myself beneath him, with the tip of his dick at my opening. "Go ahead and thrust."

He made the attempt. And missed. The horrified look on his face was so sweetly naïve. I grabbed him and positioned him properly, arching up to meet until his tip slid in.

"Thrust," I whispered again as I wrapped my legs around his back. "Thrust. Thrust.
Thrust
." I was like an oarsman counting strokes and keeping the rhythm. "Deeper!" I threw my head back.

With each thrust, he grunted.

"Deeper," I cooed. His slow, steady, controlled pace was driving me to the edge. "Deeper. That's it. A few more thrusts. All the way in." I squeezed him to me with my legs, digging my heels into his rock-hard back. Pulling the hard length of him into me.

He grunted and moaned until the full length of him was inside.

"Now rock." I rocked my hips against him. "Harder. You can go harder. I won't break." I gasped.

Our rhythm wasn't exactly perfect. But it wasn't awkward in that way it can be with a new lover.

"This is the most natural thing in the world, Jus." I cupped his head and stroked his hair. "Don't overthink it. Let yourself go."

"Are you ready?" he whispered into my neck. "I want you to be ready."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm ready."

"Thank God. I can't hang on any longer." He rocked into me and finally let go, losing himself in the rutting rhythm of sex. Raw, primal sex.

Again. And again. I arched against him and gasped as the waves of a climax crashed over me. Exquisite waves of pleasure that curled my toes and took my breath away. A virgin had given me the climax of my life.

He called out my name and grunted.

When it was over, he stared at me in wonder. A sheen of sweat covered us both.

"That was…" He rested over me, taking the weight off me, still inside. "There are no words. Do I have to come out?"

"I'm in no hurry." I smiled up at him. "Eventually, you'll slide out, whether you want to or not."

"I know that much." His grin deepened.

"So? How does it feel to have lost your virginity?" I stroked his beard. "I'm so proud of myself. I've made a real man out of you." I laughed softly.

"How soon can we do it again?" He nuzzled my neck.

"I guess that answers my question." I sighed dramatically. "I've created a monster."

"Well?" He was staring at me with the most eager expression I'd ever seen.

I sighed. But to my surprise, I wanted it again probably as much as he did. "As soon as you're hard again."

His face lit up. "That won't take long."

K
ayla

Traditionally, when you bring a piece of wedding cake home from the reception, you're supposed to put it beneath your pillow. Then you'll dream about your future groom. So the wives' tale goes. I suppose that doesn't work when you're the bride. Or, at least, it's not politically correct to be dreaming about your second husband on your wedding night to the first. But what about when you're just pretending to be the bride? And the cake wasn't beneath your pillow, but on the counter in the kitchen?

After another three rounds of sex, I fell asleep in Justin's arms before he could suggest a fourth. Without getting up to put a piece of cake beneath my pillow. I was sure that wasn't what Britt intended it for anyway. But it was pointless to put it in the freezer to eat on our first anniversary. Yeah, eating your wedding cake at your divorce was just too sarcastic.

I slept more soundly than I had in years. And dreamed of Justin. But he was old, with a long gray beard like Rip Van Winkle. Or Father Time. And, really, in the way dreams can be, he didn't look like Justin. But I knew it was him. There was a cake with golden flowers. And all of our friends, who looked old, too. My mind's eye had aged them all so that they were recognizable.

When I woke, Justin's young, strong arm was tucked around me protectively, possessively. In that first moment of wakefulness, I thought it was just a relic from the dream. The weight of it had to be that of my own arm. Yes, that had to be it.

Startled, I stopped just short of throwing it off me and screaming. I even hoped, for a minute, that it was my own arm that had fallen asleep. Ever done that? Woken up with your hand asleep on yourself, screamed, and picked it up to toss off and run away, then realize it was part of yourself?

But no, it was his. I was disoriented, still partly in that dream and what was supposed to have been our fiftieth wedding anniversary. Damn that Morgan for implanting that thought in me. I was disoriented. It took me a sec to realize we were in my room. In my bed.

The sun shone brightly, creeping through the curtains. And my head pounded. Too much champagne. I felt Justin's rhythmic breathing against my neck, and thought,
What have I done?

Deflowering a virgin—is it deflowering when you take a guy's virginity? Why wasn't there an equivalent word? Someone should put that on one of those IQ tests to get into Mensa. You know, like what is the opposite of hibernation? On the surface, you would think it is to be awake, of course. You have to be smart enough to know it was estivation, to sleep during the high heat of summer rather than the cold of winter.

Anyway, I suddenly understood what guys find so exciting about virgins. Initiating them into the world of sex was exciting. So why did
I
feel sore like a virgin? Like I'd been the one who'd been touched for the first time? Who knew Jus would have so much enthusiasm for the act?

Then again, he may have been naïve and inexperienced, but he
was
a guy. So I probably should have expected as much.

And why did I get a sappy look on my face when I thought about last night? And feel a little trill in my heart? Who knew that a man so attentive and eager to please could be such a turn-on? And make an experienced lover like Eric look like a hack in the sack?

Crap. This was exactly what I was afraid of from the very first—the implications of the morning after. When I couldn't walk away. For a whole year. And I'd even been dumb enough to do it at my place.

While I lay there waking, I tried to analyze how I felt. I didn't regret having sex with my husband. It had been an experience I'd never forget. I even felt a tiny bubble of happiness. The sex had been fantastic. Jus was a quick learner, even in bed. Chalk one up for intelligent guys. I just hoped he didn't expect too much because of this. Read too much. Because, while I was developing a real affection for him, I still wasn't willing to commit to anything like a real for-life kind of marriage. Not saying he wanted one, either.

Maybe I was worrying over nothing. Maybe he saw it for what it was—a decoy-wife-with-benefits situation. Kind of like a friend with benefits, but a bit more committed. Obviously.

My head pounded. As gently as I could, I slid out from beneath his arm, pulled a robe on, and slipped out to the kitchen. I needed my proven hangover cure breakfast—coconut water to rebalance the electrolytes, and burnt toast. Yum, right? Back in college, Seth and Zach, my favorite houseboys and good friends, used to burn my toast for me on Sunday mornings.

And two pain relievers to knock back the headache. I had the pain relievers. And a couple of bottles of coconut water I'd left in the fridge. But I was fresh out of bread. I'd tossed it all out when I'd moved in with Jus. I didn't even have any in the freezer. I'd been too efficient cleaning things out. Crap.

I was standing at the counter, wondering if a burnt toaster pastry would do the trick. According to my nursing school friend in college, it was the burnt char that actually absorbed the alcohol and did the trick. Like the activated charcoal they gave poisoning victims at the emergency room. I wasn't sure, though, that I could stomach burnt toaster pastry. There was something so much more innocuous about burnt toast.

And besides, all I had was frosted strawberry flavor. I knew you could burn them. I'd accidentally done it before. But I'd never eaten one afterward.

I grabbed a kitchen towel, ready to fan the smoke away from the smoke alarm. And was staring at the toaster, turning the dial up full, with a foil toaster pastry packet in my hand when—

"Morning, beautiful."

I jumped like I'd been caught with another lover.

Jus lounged in the entrance to the kitchen in his boxers, his face fresh and dewy from sleep. His hair rumpled. And his shirt off. His arm up, perched against the wall to show off his bulging bicep. "You look guilty. What did I catch you in the middle of?"

His question was innocuous. The expression on his face was
not
. He looked like the bluebird of happiness had landed on his shoulder. Sly and knowing, as if the whole world could see he was now initiated into the world of the sexually active. And everyone should congratulate him now that he was part of the club. Way too expectant and joyous.

"You caught me red-handed about to charbroil a toaster pastry until it smokes." I sighed. "I suppose the smell would have woken you, if not the fire alarm going off." I waved the towel at him. "Which is why I'm armed with this."

He frowned, puzzled. "Why?"

I shrugged. "To swoosh the smoke away from the fire alarm so it doesn't go off."

"Let me clarify—what did that toaster pastry ever do to you? If you're worried I'm going to suddenly insist you start cooking, you can relax. Magda's job is safe."

I laughed and explained about hangover cures and how I had nothing for breakfast in the apartment. Except for the toaster pastry.

"And yet you want to immolate the one edible thing you have?" He looked and sounded so totally adorable.

I really was losing my head and common sense. I grabbed the last bottle of coconut water and handed it to him. "This will help."

"Who says I have a hangover?"

His eyes
did
look bright, and he seemed entirely too perky. And happy. Bright. Radiant.
Intimate
.

Crap.
My body was responding to the way he looked at me. I was intimately tight and clenching. My breasts were budding. I pulled my robe up tight around my neck, suddenly acting like a nun or something. "Jus, about last night…we need to talk."

It didn't take Dex's expertise with micro expressions to read Justin's face. If you want to send a guy into a panic and induce buzz kill, utter the words
we need to talk
. He regained control quickly. But not before disappointment and hurt flashed across his face. His jaw set.

And then I thought,
Crap. I can't do this to him. I can't hurt him. And I don't want to.
I wanted him again.

My kitchen was so small it only took two steps to reach him. I put my arms around his neck and smiled up at him. "You can't go around making me so sore that
I
walk like a virgin every morning." I cupped his face. "You were good last night, Jus. Especially for a virgin."

His eyes lit up and his face became radiant. "You wouldn't be interested in another round?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You're incorrigible! And you need to work on your pick-up line. I believe I mentioned being sore."

His gaze held mine, intent and full of desire. "Sorry. I don't read social cues well." His grin let me know he was joking.

He read them well enough.

"You know how you can cure a hangover by having another glass of alcohol in the morning? I've heard it's similar with sex. If you're sore, you need to do it again. And again. You'll feel better."

"Firstly, that is
so
a myth about curing a hangover with more alcohol. And second, you're full of it. But you're cute when you beg." I grabbed his hand and seized my opportunity to make myself clear while he was in the vulnerable, panting-for-sex position and thinking with his dick. "But we only have fifty-one weeks left together. We may as well make the most of them."

I pulled him toward the bedroom. And as I'd guessed, he didn't resist.

After, when we were lying next to each other, trying to catch our breath, he grinned at me again. "Sex is messy. They never show that in the movies."

I laughed. "I know. No one ever reaches for the towel." I grinned at him. "You've obviously never seen that chart about how many calories you use during sex, broken down by activity. Reaching for the towel, ten calories." I took a deep breath. "I'm famished."

"Do people really say famished anymore?" he teased.

"I just did."

He rubbed my arm. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Great idea!" I sat up. "Let me take a quick shower first."

He sat up, too, with that glint in his eyes.

I shook my head. "Alone. Shower sex is an advanced technique. We'll save it for another lesson."

He should have look dejected that I'd turned him down. Instead, his smile was radiant. He was so damned pleased with himself. "I'll hold you to it."

J
ustin

I couldn't stop staring at Kay. Smiling at Kay. Thinking about her. Thinking about having sex with her again. And again.

Her hair was finger-tousled and air-dried because her blow dryer was at my place. Practically no makeup. She'd used what she had in her purse. Which, to be honest, was practically a full makeup counter.

She wore a tank top, flip-flops, and pair of old shorts from college with the university logo on them. All her best stuff was at the penthouse. She was a little embarrassed. I was madly in love and too happy to think she looked anything other than hot.

I wore one of her old oversized college T-shirts the mascot had tossed to her at a football game.

"I used to wear this as a sleep shirt," she'd said when she tossed it to me. "This is a first for me, too. I've never given a guy a shacker shirt before." She laughed and clapped her hands, delighted. "I'm so going to love watching you do the Sunday morning walk of shame dressed in
my
clothes!"

She was a terrible tease, referring to college hookups like that.

I looked upward and shook my head, but I couldn't stop grinning. "You can't give your husband a shacker shirt. By definition, we didn't shack. We're married."

She laughed again. I loved her laugh. It made my whole day.

"Are we married? Really?" She gave me a pointed look and handed me a pair of men's black athletic shorts she dug out of one of her drawers. They might have been a pair Eric had left behind. I didn't ask. I didn't care.

"Yes, we are." I slipped on a pair of flip-flops she claimed her dad had forgotten at her place.

I hummed as we rode the elevator down to the lobby of her building, playing
Name That Tune
with Kay.

She shook her head and looked at me like I amused her. I'd take amused. For now.

"You have a nice humming voice." She sounded surprised.

When we reached the lobby, the light in the manager's office was on. The door stood open. I pulled Kay toward it.

She resisted. "What are you doing?"

I tugged her along. "Meeting the famous Carl," I whispered in her ear. "As you said, we need him on our side."

"It's Sunday. He won't be in."

I pointed. "His door's open."

"I hadn't noticed."

"You're hopeless," I said.

A big guy sat behind a desk, cursing at a computer screen.

Kay punched me playfully in the arm. I looked at her and mouthed,
What did I do?

She called out to him, "Carl! What are you doing working on Sunday?"

He looked up, startled. "Kayla!" He stood and came forward to give her an exuberant hug. "I had a little work to catch up on." He looked me over with a critical eye. "This must be the new hubby."

I was grinning ear to ear. So damned happy I dared anyone to burst my bubble. As I stuck my hand out for a shake, he winked at me.

"You caught a good one." He slapped me on the back. "I protect all my tenants. You'd better treat her well." His tone was joking. But there was an edge to it, a hint of a threat. He, of all people, had something over on us.

"I intend to."

"Good." He gave me a thumbs-up.

I nodded toward his computer. "Having computer problems?"

"That damn thing is acting up." He explained the trouble.

I knew what the problem was. I could fix it in a matter of minutes. "Mind if I take a look? I'm pretty good with computers."

"I don't want to trouble you," he said. But his protest was feeble.

"No trouble at all." I took a seat in his chair and, in five computer strokes, fixed it. "There you go. We use this program, too. It's touchy. But I think you'll be okay now."

Carl thanked me. "You have to bring him around more often, Kayla. I could use a guy with his skills."

Kay looped her arm through mine. "Yes, he's brilliant with computers, isn't he?" She beamed at me.