Chapter 16 Grudge
GRUDGE
As long as I never open the bathroom door, I can pretend that this is where we should have been all along.
Because with my hands on her face, with the tight pull across my shoulders as I bend to kiss her, I see the future we should have had.
She meets me like she always did, with flash and fire.
And it’s impossible to stop.
I lift her into my arms, and she wraps her legs around me as I push her back to the wall, making sure I slide my hand behind her head, so it doesn’t slam too hard.
“Zach,” she murmurs against my lips.
The breathy whisper I missed.
Pressing my body hard against her to hold her in place, I slide my hands beneath her ass until she’s grinding against my cock. Her tongue fights with mine.
I can’t make love to her.
Not today.
Not now.
Not ever.
But this, a furious coupling, I can do.
Without emotions involved, I might be able to survive it.
One of the things I always loved about sex with Lucy was how ready for it she always was, how quickly she’d get wet for me. She told me, once, it was because she had a fast accelerator and slow brakes. That she could get aroused quickly, and pretty much nothing would shake that state.
Because of my size, I would often use lube to ensure I never hurt her too badly, but I don’t have any with me, and I want her to feel this.
I slide a palm over her ribs until I cup her breast.
Always thought she had the prettiest fucking tits. All high and round with a deep rose nipple.
“Please,” Lucy says.
Carefully, I reach between us and undo my buckle, button and zipper. It’s not a hardship to hold her while I drop both my jeans and boxer briefs over my hips.
“Spit,” I say, offering her my fingers, and she does as I ask. I add my own and smear it over my head.
“You gonna take all of me?” I say with a grunt as I line up against her already dripping pussy.
She glances up at me. “Always.”
I look down between us. Not because I need to see my cock to lead it into a woman’s pussy, but because I can’t take the honesty written all over her face.
And I don’t want to know why she’s got such deep feelings about this, seeing as she’s the one who walked out on the two of us.
I glide my head over her clit, getting it wet in her juices, teasing her for a little longer.
Just the sight of its thickness near that tight slit of hers brings me a step closer to coming. Pre-cum leaks out of my tip.
When I ease the head in, both of us groan. She’s tighter and hotter than I remembered.
“Fuck, Luce,” I say as my cock throbs from the delicious agony of it.
Her lips stretch around me, and I remember when we first started having sex, I worried I was going to tear her. But somehow, like now, we make it work.
The temptation to thrust deep inside her, to make her cry out as I do, throbs hard at my temples, but I ease back, withdraw a little before pushing in deeper.
Over the years, I’ve thought many times about what I’d do the next time I saw her. Sometimes, I simply yelled, told her to go fuck herself. Sometimes, I laid her down on soft white bedding and made love to her so deeply, it broke my heart.
But never did I think I’d fuck her standing up in a small bathroom, five feet away from a toilet.
Yet, it doesn’t matter.
Because it’s her and me.
And perhaps the fact it’s less than perfect makes it…perfect.
I inch into her, and if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if she was able to take me.
Lucy wraps her arms around my neck and holds me close until our lips collide again. Desperate for more of me, she squeezes her thighs to rise and lower over me, like, despite the tightness, she wants it, now.
And I’d hate to be the one to disappoint. I coil my hips and meet her, thrusting deep inside.
“Zach,” she cries, her voice cracking as she says my name.
My lips hover against her, breathing in her air. Our eyes, both wide, hold each other’s gaze.
The air is charged, heavy. We’re just two people, fucking in a bathroom, and yet, it feels like the most important thing in the world.
I pull out of her, leaving just my head inside, then push back in. Slow and steady strokes until she’s taking my full length.
The rhythm is controlled. Focused. Each thrust drawing a stuttered breath from Lucy’s lungs.
She clings to me like she needs an anchor. Like I’m the only thing holding her in place.
Her forehead presses to mine, damp with sweat. Her lips part, and her eyes burn for me. She never could hide from me during sex. Her body moves with mine like she never forgot our choreography, even after all these years apart.
I have so many questions, but, right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to do anything to burst the bubble we’re currently in.
The universe is giving me a second chance to commit her body to memory, and right now, our hips are speaking louder than words.
We’re fire and friction and memory and ache, in one undeniable mess.
Her pussy grips me tight. And from the way she’s trembling in my arms, I can tell she’s close.
I drive deep, but reduce how far I withdraw. She always came hardest when she could grind right up against the base of my cock.
“Let go, Bug,” I whisper, catching her gasp on my tongue. “I’ve got you.”
Her body arches, and her muscles clench around me like a fist as she comes, tearing at the last threads of my own control.
Her cries are soft, broken, incoherent, and buried against my neck.
I drive hard, grunting as my own release surges through me. I brace a hand against the wall, the other beneath her ass, keeping her exactly where I want her as I pump into her.
The world spins. I suck in air.
For a moment, there’s no sound beyond the thudding of our hearts.
I struggle to place myself in the now, when I’m so wrapped up in the then.
But it can’t last.
Lucy shifts against my shoulder. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispers.
“Neither did I,” I admit. But I don’t regret it. Not even for a second.
I slowly ease out of her and set her down gently, keeping one hand on her hip as she finds her feet. She’s flushed and damp, her hair messy.
Still the most beautiful woman I ever saw.
Without cleaning myself up, I tug up my boxer briefs and jeans, and buckle my belt.
She doesn’t fight me when I lead her to the bathtub.
Steam curls off the water, and I check the temperature before helping her in.
She sinks slowly, her breath hitching as the heat envelops her.
Her shoulders sag with relief. I grab a towel and fold it over the cold edge of the porcelain tub for her to lean back on.
As heat flushes her skin pink, her eyes flutter shut.
I kneel beside the tub, brushing damp hair off her cheek. “You hit your head earlier, Luce. Just soak, but no falling asleep on me.”
The terms of our truce were vague, beyond me caring for her while she might have a concussion. The questions I want to ask her rattle around in my brain. But the answers might mean these are the last few hours I get to spend with her. Call it self-protection, but I don’t want to hear them, yet.
Before I can think too hard about what comes next, there’s a sharp knock at the front door. I sigh and drag my hand over my face before tugging my jeans up. Still half undone, I walk barefoot to the door and swing it open.
Catfish stands there, grinning like a wolf, holding Lucy’s phone between two fingers. “The screen’s got a small crack, but you can still turn it on.”
“Thanks, brother,” I say, but I feel the blood rush from my head to my feet. I didn’t use protection. Her ex cheated on her and could be carrying anything, and I have no idea if she’s on the pill.
But then, my head is filled with a picture of Lucy pregnant while holding the hands of a little toddler with hair like hers and eyes like mine.
My family.
“Fuck,” I say, dragging my hand through my hair.
“You okay?” Catfish asks.
“No. Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for getting this to me.”
Catfish crosses his arms across his chest. “You call Greer to come take a look at her?”
“Not yet.” Because I was too busy fucking her instead of caring for her. “Just wanted to get her settled, first.”
Catfish glances down at my bare feet and partially done up jeans. “Yeah. I can see what kept you busy. I’ll let you get back to your…trauma bonding… or whatever the fuck this is. Stay hydrated.”
And with a grin, he walks back down to the bakery.
I close the door and pull out my phone to call Greer, who advises me on concussion protocol. So far, Lucy has none of the symptoms, but Greer tells me I should pay attention to it changing over the next twenty-four hours.
When I make my way back to the bathroom, I feel…nervous. I open the door and crouch next to the tub.
“Catfish found it,” I say, holding the phone to her face, and as I expected, it unlocks her phone.
She blinks before swallowing. “Thanks. But what are you doing?”
I add my number to her phone under my real name. Zach. It feels like forever since I had need to write it. Then, I send myself a quick message from it, so I have her number.
When I show her, her brows lift.
“You just stole your way back into my life,” she murmurs.
I lean forward and brush a kiss to her forehead. “Only into your phone.”
I don’t know why I felt the need to correct her. To bind the two of us up in limits.
“I don’t deserve you,” she says quietly, her voice filled with regret.
I don’t press. Not now.
I just sit down on the floor, watching the steam rise, letting the silence thicken around us. Because this—whatever it is—is treacherous for us both.