“Impressive,” I said, grinding against his length and tilting my head back to feel the tickle of his beard on my neck. “For an old man, you have excellent stamina.”
Abruptly, he pulled back and stood with me still in his arms. “Old man?” Then he was off, striding back to the bedroom. “I’ll show you what this old man can do.”
Chapter 11Chloe
Iwas hot. Sweating really. Too uncomfortable to sleep any longer.
I opened my eyes and studied the exquisite beam stretching overhead and the large windows letting in the blinding morning sunlight.
Squinting, I continued my exploration and quickly realized why I was sweating.
Gus.
Naked.
Draped over me like a big lumberjack blanket.
I lifted my head slightly. Yup. He wasn’t the only naked one here.
Eyes closed again, I relished the delicious memories of last night.
Sex.
Hot sex.
Dirty and urgent and hurried.
Yet tender too.
We’d been up for most of the night. I’d insult him, and then he’d make me come. We’d hydrate and repeat the cycle. At one point, we were raiding the fridge for more cheese, and I told him his oral technique needed work, so he ate me out on the kitchen counter.
I’d made a huge mistake, getting high on his lumberjack pheromones and abandoning all my good sense.
He’d made me come with his hands, his tongue, and the monster in his pants.
Heat crept up my chest and neck at that last thought. It was bigger than I remembered. And he knew exactly how to use it.
I studied his face. He was more relaxed than I’d seen him since our days together all those years ago. The hard lines were smooth, making him look years younger. His head was on my chest, his mouth inches from my nipple, which was hardening from his proximity alone. The dark lashes, the unkempt hair, and the scraggly beard. It was all so Gus.
And this house.
Jesus, if I hadn’t been attracted to him before, coming here would have been enough to do it. This place was beautiful and thoughtful, and listening to him tell the story of building it over seven years cemented my admiration for him.
His dedication, his focus.
All night, he turned that focus on me.
The man was methodical and thorough in his work, but it was nothing compared to the focus he brought to my pleasure.
He shifted and rolled, exposing his chest. I studied the ink on his shoulders, tracing the lines with my eyes.
As I moved to the designs on his chest, my heart lurched.
Oh shit.
A dragonfly.
Right over his heart. Thin, delicate wings spread up toward his collarbone. I hadn’t noticed in the dim light last night. It blended in with the other ink and chest hair, but it was clear as day in the bright morning light. And right below it, in tiny script, were numbers. 11.11.04.
Oh my God. It was our wedding date. Fuck. My fingertips began to tingle, and a lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I was suffocating.
How dare he? How dare he mark his body forever with a relationship he so carelessly tossed away? Last night’s haze lifted, and as I studied him again, I saw him for who he really was. The kind of man who could pledge forever one minute, and in the next, turn on the person he was supposed to care about most.
My stomach roiled. I was an idiot. How could I have fallen for this all over again?
“You gonna stare at me all morning, Dragonfly?” he asked, turning to give me a sleepy smile.
My shoulders tensed in response to his deep, raspy voice. What had I been thinking? I’d let him lull me into some kind of lumberjack sex haze, and now, in clear daylight, I saw this for what it really was.
A backslide.
An emotionally dangerous hookup.
With my ex-husband.
The man who’d broken me, body and soul. And I’d let him in again.
