Chapter 5
Two Tired People Sharing Comfort
JOHANNA
The best night’s rest I’ve had in months ends with waking to Corin spooned around me.
His feet hook underneath mine, keeping my toes warm.
His head curves around the back of my neck, nose brushing my skin and leaving cedar scent marks as he breathes.
A strong arm drapes across my front, fingers entwined with mine against my belly while his erection presses in from the other side.
Just the usual early morning arousal. I’ve been in this position before—many times when we slept in a puppy pile, in fact.
It never mattered whether the pile included only me and Max or us with his daughters, or the few times packs from my family visited and we wound up all sardined together on the floor of the living room for an inside campout.
No matter how we started the night, I always woke next to Corin.
Either back to back, with him facing away from the rest of us—or him spooned around me, and me around Max.
Before, to the extent I thought about it at all, I figured Corin’s subconscious considered me the safest choice.
Apart from being cousins, Max would’ve jumped and treated us all to a scene if he found himself the middle spoon and got prodded by a hard-on.
He was very particular about who could touch him where and when.
Even me.
Now, it’s only Corin and me, and we wind up in the same arrangement: cuddled, comfortably, as closely linked as the fingers interlaced over my stomach. Thin layers of fabric separate all but our feet, head, and hands.
Pale light lines the top and sides of the curtains. The bottom sways as warm air pours from the furnace thrumming below.
There’s no place we have to be. Nothing we have to do. The girls will be over for our usual Sunday brunch, all of them studying at schools within an easy travel circumference, but that’s not for hours, and our tradition is to all cook together or order in.
No Max leaping out of bed with a brilliant idea that he has to explain right now, or trying to sneak out of bed without disturbing us and failing, both of which happened often.
Just two tired people sharing the comfort and warmth of a good bed.
Two bodies aligned almost as close as can be.
For the first time since Max’s diagnosis, prickles of arousal seep into my body.
A line of heat rolls down my back. Rivulets spread across my back and around to my front.
My breasts plump, nipples tightening. The muscles between my legs flex and tense.
Closing my eyes, I choose to enjoy the luxury of arousal coursing through my body in low waves.
There’s no build, just the pleasure of the edge, of seeing how long I can maintain tension without letting it rise too close to orgasm, of knowing that down the road, when I do let myself go, the peak will be all the higher for having been so long denied.
This is how I’ve lived the last thirty years loving a man who, much as he loved me, had no interest in sex outside of his heats.
Getting up to face the day is over-rated. I’d rather stay warm in Corin’s arms.