I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper, and felt him shudder. His fingers tightened in my hair, his other hand gripping the shower wall for balance, and I looked up at him through my lashes, watching as his face twisted with pleasure and need.
He was beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Open. Every line of pleasure written across his features, every breath ragged and desperate.
I’d never felt this before—this desire to give without expecting anything in return. This satisfaction in watching someone else come undone. This generosity that had nothing to do with obligation and everything to do with want.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, his hips starting to move, careful and controlled even now. “Trudy, I’m gonna come. Gonna fill that mouth.”
I didn’t pull back. Didn’t stop. Just took him deeper, my hands gripping his thighs, eager and demanding, and felt the moment he lost control completely.
He came with a shout that echoed off the tile, his whole body going rigid, his hand fisting in my hair as he pulsed into my mouth. “Fuck, yes. That’s it. Take it all, baby. Take every fucking drop.” I took everything he gave me, swallowing, not pulling away until he was spent and trembling.
When I finally released him and looked up, his eyes were glazed, his chest heaving. He reached down and pulled me to my feet, his hands framing my face, and kissed me with a desperation that made my knees weak.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he muttered against my lips.
I smiled, feeling something warm and satisfied settle in my chest. “I thought you said you were going to be the life of me.”
“Yeah, well.” He kissed me again, softer this time. “Turns out it goes both ways.”
We finished showering in comfortable silence, his hands gentle as he washed my hair, mine careful as I soaped his back. And when we finally stepped out, wrapping ourselves in towels, I realized something had shifted.
This wasn’t just sex. Wasn’t just attraction or chemistry or scratching an itch.
This was intimacy. Real, raw, terrifying intimacy.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t running from it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trudy
The morning air was cool against my face as I walked toward the bakery, and I couldn’t stop smiling like an absolute fool.
Sixty-eight years old, and I was practically skipping down the sidewalk like a teenager after her first kiss. If anyone saw me, they’d think I’d lost my mind.
Maybe I had.
I didn’t care.
The sun was just starting to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold, and everything felt brighter somehow. Sharper. Like someone had turned up the saturation on the whole world overnight.
Stephen had kissed me goodbye at my front door not twenty minutes ago, his hand cupping the back of my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw in that way that made my knees weak. “See you soon, darlin’,” he’d rumbled, and I’d actually giggled. Giggled. Like some lovesick schoolgirl.
God help me.
I unlocked the bakery door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. The familiar scent of flour and sugar greeted me, but even that felt different today. Better. Like everything had been dipped in honey and possibility.
Twenty-five years with Terry had been good. Comfortable. We’d built a nice life together, raised Judith, settled into routines that felt safe and predictable. I’d loved him, and he’d loved me, and it had been... fine. More than fine, really. Just quiet. Steady. The kind of love that didn’t set your heart on fire or make you forget your own name.
And Harold? Well, Harold had been zealous; I’d give him that. He made me feel wanted again after years of widowhood. But even that had felt like trying on someone else’s clothes—nice enough, but never quite the right fit.
But Stephen?
Stephen was like being struck by lightning while riding a motorcycle through a thunderstorm. Completely insane. Absolutely terrifying. And so exhilarating I couldn’t catch my breath.
He touched me like he owned me, and the crazy part was, I liked it. Loved it, even. That possessive hand on my lower back, the way he pulled me close in public without hesitation, the crass, vulgar things he whispered in my ear that should have scandalized me but instead made me want to drag him into the nearest closet.
I’m an old woman, for crying out loud. I should not be having these thoughts before sunrise.
