His hand is up my shirt before I even have a chance to say hi. “Get in here.”
“Hi yourself,” I laugh.
“Too many clothes.” He fumbles with the buttons, then flat out curses as he tries to navigate my cufflinks. I take them out myself, because I’m wearing the ones my grandfather gave me when I finished university, and I’d hate to lose one.
Finally, though, I’m naked.
Brady’s mouth on my cock is the thing I’ve been needing all day. Wet and slick. Determined. No. Confident. He doesn’t flinch when I put my hand on the back of his neck to hold him in place, and my orgasm boils out with a force that makes my knees shake.
He grins up at me, white smear on his lip. “Nice to see you.”
I’m still gasping, but suddenly I’m unsure of what happens next.
Should I go? If I’m only here for sex, does that mean our time together is done already?
He somehow knows what I’m thinking, because he rises to his feet and presses his lips against mine. I can taste myself on his tongue, faint and salty.
“Don’t think you can leave yet,” he says. His clothes are rough on my too sensitive skin. “We’re just getting started.”
At my age, a second orgasm so close to the first one seems unlikely, and yet, less than a half hour later, I’m whining his name while my knees clench against his sides and my heels dig into the small of his back. My cock throbs as he thrusts into me.
“Yeah. Yeah, you want that,” he chants while a drop of sweat drips off his nose and onto my chest.
The second time, we come together. He spreads himself over my body as his hips rock and spasm and he fills the condom. His groan is a deep, primitive thing, and the sound fills me with pride at the thought he wants me as much as I want him. I’d forgotten this feeling, the heady rush of need and power.
He slides out of me, and my whole body goes limp. I lie, naked and so blissfully done with everything, while he scoots off the bed and disappears up the hall to the bathroom, where I hear running water for a moment before he returns. He pulls a pair of lavender briefs off the floor, slips them on, and then flops himself down next to me with a contented sigh.
“Why didn’t we do this sooner? I’ve been working with you for more than a year,” he says as he drums a quick rhythm on his chest.
“I was married.”
His smile fades, and I’m sorry for that, but he did ask.
“Divorced?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I lift my head to stare at him. “Good?” The divorce is the most disruptive thing to ever happen to me.
He shrugs. “I mean, better than if he died.” He lifts his head too, so we’re eye to eye. “It was a guy, right?”
I lie back down, uneasy at the confrontation in his gaze. “Yeah. Dominic and I were together for almost seventeen years.”
Brady laughs and arches an eyebrow. “Should I tell you what I was doing seventeen years ago?”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Christ, I can’t picture him then, not while we’re naked. Still a boy, like my boys.
He chuckles as he stretches, sighing contentedly. “But still, better to be divorced than him being crushed to death in a tragic garbage truck accident or something, right?”
I’d never thought about it in so many words, but I guess he has a point. “Sure.”
He keeps talking. “Divorce isn’t so bad. My parents split up when I was ten. Best thing that ever happened to the three of us.”
I laugh bitterly. “You can’t mean that.”
“Of course I can.” He rolls, pillowing his head on his elbow. Brady’s dark eyes are bright, and nothing about his face says he’s making fun of me. “My mom was a flower child born in the wrong decade. She wanted to talk about auras and energy healing and silent meditation retreats. My dad has a chemistry degree and teaches junior high with the authority of a drill sergeant. I don’t even know what they saw in each other in the first place. Mom must have been amazing in the sack in her youth. All that tantra.”
