Forever in Blue Jeans (15 page)

As he waited for it to brew, he wandered out to the living room. He stopped in front of the picture on the wall that he'd had the most trouble. At first glance, the pictures were just shy of porn. With a closer, more studied look, they were as they were meant and intended to be. They were art. Erotic art. The ink work was exquisite, and with Blue's fully curved body, unblemished and natural, she was a perfect canvas.

It was seeing the male hands on her that had set Cort off more than any of the other exposures. She was his. Her body belonged to him. No matter how irrational that thought was, no matter how incorrect his mind said it was, his heart and gut couldn't stop feeling that way. Her large breasts, the curves of her hips, her pretty nipples, her delicious ass, her smooth, wet sex...it was all his. The hands of other men touching her pissed him off, and he couldn't see beyond the green haze of jealousy.

But he couldn't deny how amazing the images were, how detailed the ink work was against her skin. He couldn't deny how everything they'd done to make her nothing less than a walking piece of expressionist art made her that much more desirable and decadent and precious. She was her own woman, and he admired her for it. He just had to come to grips with all the other shit going on in his head about her.

The hands that touched her in the photos were as inked as her back. Seeing the vivid colors on their hands as their palms covered her breasts, her belly, her pussy, and his mind might reject how incredibly hot it was, but his body couldn't. His dick filled, the longer he stood and stared at her naked form. Her face wasn't visible, only her hair, some of which curled over her shoulders and along the outline of her breasts, but he knew it was her, would know her body anywhere, even in the dark and blind.

He resisted the urge to touch himself. He refused to jack his cock while staring at another man's hands covering his woman. He was open minded, he had his kinks and desires, but sharing her with other men or seeing other men touch her wasn't one of them. No, he preferred to be the only one allowed that privilege. He didn't even mind others looking; he kind of liked that. He'd told Blue he didn't take his clothes off in public, but that didn't mean she couldn't.

And just like that, he was ready to blow and unable to stop his fist from wrapping around his aroused length. Thinking of her buck assed naked, men and women both coveting her, wanting her, and her belonging only to him.

He was the biggest goddamn contradiction.

He gripped himself, fingers tight around his shaft, moving up over the head, then back down again to the base. He felt good, and dirty, like he was violating something, but he couldn't imagine what beyond that he was looking at her one way and imagining her with him another way.

His thumb and forefinger formed a vise-like circle over the sensitive crown, and he squeezed, forcing himself to feel everything until he hissed from the pressure. He resumed his stroking, harder, faster now, wanting the ejaculate that filled his balls to come out. What he wouldn't give for her mouth to be there, to receive his cum on her tongue again.

He needed her. He needed her so bad, and the more he kept telling himself that he didn't want to need her, didn't want to want her, the more he recognized the thoughts for the lie they were.

Cort knew there had to be a way to make things work. There had to be a way for him to get over the feeling of betrayal she left deep down in his gut. He— Warm wet heat closed over his cock, stalling his thoughts and the movement of his hand. He looked down to find Blue, her mouth wrapped around him, sucking at the tip, licking at the vein below, drawing more of him in until his hand dropped to the top of her head. He sank his fingers into her curls and bent his knees.

"Hands behind your back." He grunted the words much like a caveman might have or at least someone beyond coherent thought, beyond grunting and crude language, orders uttered. He didn't care about finesse or sweetness. He didn't care about comfort or pleasure, at least not hers, not in that moment. He just wanted to come.

Whatever it was about her and sex that drove him to that edge of insanity, that pulled him to that dark place of rude and hurt and anger... He hated it but couldn't stop it. Not yet.

Using her hair as the lever, Cort drew her forward and fucked her mouth. He surged between her teeth, over her tongue, straight to the back of her throat. He tugged her off, let her gasp for breath, then pulled her forward over his dick again, repeating the pattern until she got the hang of what he wanted.

At any given moment, she could have shoved away from him; his hold in her hair wasn't so tight that she couldn't have gotten away if she'd tried. He wasn't going to force something she didn't want. He didn't own her, but dear God, he wanted to. He wanted to tie her to the bed so she could never think of leaving him in the middle of the night again. He wanted to tie her to the bed so he could touch her, lick her, fuck her any time he wanted.

He couldn't do that, not against her will, but sometimes, over the years, he'd dreamed about it, dreamed about being with her again, about having her like this, naked and on her knees, at his mercy.

And all while his head was spinning with things he wanted to do to her, he kept steadily fucking between her lips, glancing the head of his cock against the back of her throat, retreating, then filling her again. It was when he looked down, looked away from the images on the wall that had spurred him on to this bout of frustrated and angered arousal that he found her eyes focused up at him.

Glassy, beautiful, dark rum-colored eyes full of unshed tears and hunger so keen he might have lost his balance had he not had hold of her hair. Her arms were still behind her back, and she was there with him, letting him use her for his own lust, his own purpose, his own need.

Damn, he was screwed.

Contra-fucking-diction.

He pressed her face to his body, felt his cock begin the slide into her throat. She gagged, and he let up a little but only just. When he pressed her face close again, her throat accepted, and she swallowed against the head.

Shit.
"Again."

She swallowed. She breathed out her nose, and he felt it tickle the dark curls of his groin.

Behind her back he could see her hands wrapped around the opposite wrist, the nails digging into her skin. She was taking this from him, for him and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of feelings coursing through him.

And because he never saw her move her arms from where he'd told her to keep them, he never saw her slide one around his right hip, and he definitely never saw her slide the other one under his balls to tease the tightly stretched strip of sensitive skin behind them.

No, he never saw her move, but dear God, he felt it. He wanted to lash out at her for touching him, yell that what was happening between them at that moment had nothing to do with connecting and sharing, but then she pushed a finger between the sweat slicked cheeks of his ass to probe at his hole. If she pressed against it… If she…

She did.

She pressed her finger inside him, slowly. He grunted at the penetration and squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut. The more he drove into her throat, the deeper her finger forced itself into the tightness that was his ass.

Cort shuddered. It had been five years since anyone had invaded him, five years since Blue had done it, and it had been five years that he'd been craving the sensation again.

When he pulled out of her mouth, she mirrored the move by pulling her finger from him.

When he crammed his cock back between her lips, she crammed her finger back inside him, deeper this time, deep enough that he lost it.

This was his kink. This was his secret desire and turn on, but only with her. He couldn't explain why, didn't want to try and understand. Only Blue…

Cum traveled up his cock and slid down her throat where she worked it as though she were drinking from a straw. His shaft jerked with each spurt, and each time a fresh wave came, she tightened her lips to hold him through it.

He was left drained and tired, but his ass was still squeezing her finger, and he was far from sated.

When he loosened his grip on her hair, Blue extracted him from her throat and proceeded to lick him clean of the remnants of his orgasm while she slowly, even more slowly than when she'd entered him, removed her finger from his ass. She blinked up at him as she sat back on her haunches. Expectation stared at him, and that hunger from before was still front and center in her gaze.

What in the hell was he doing? What in the hell was he
going
to do?

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to bend her backward and nuzzle at her breasts. He wanted to be as selfless and giving to her as she'd been just now to him.

Instead, he simply regarded her for a long drawn out moment before taking one, two, three steps back. "My coffee is getting cold," he muttered. He spun away from her and walked into to the kitchen as calmly as he could. He wanted to stomp. He wanted to run. He wanted to get far away from her, but that wasn't happening. Hoping she would stay where she was, or retreat to the bedroom wasn't going to happen either. He heard her feet behind him in what sounded very close to a female stomp.

He'd grin at the thought of how much trouble he was in with her, but he knew better. He might be a callous asshole at present, but deep down, he wasn't one. He knew it without having to turn around and see her face she was likely to be pissed. She had every right to be, and she had every right to rip him a new one, even though his current one was thanking him for allowing it some playtime.

They stood in the kitchen with him facing the counter and it wasn't lost on him how they'd been in the reverse position just hours ago. From the currents flowing between them, she was standing directly behind him, staring a hold into his back. He forced himself not to straighten, not to flex his shoulders. When she didn't lay into him as he was expecting within a few minutes, he chanced a look at her.

Naked, her hands on her hips, her right foot tapping, and an unreadable message in her pretty eyes, Cort wondered what was going on. She sighed and muttered something he couldn't understand beyond the words you, and ass, and can't stay mad.

More clearly, she asked, "Did you make enough for me too?"

Okay, well he wasn't expecting that. "I..." He glanced at the French press on the counter, then back at her. "Yeah. There's enough."

"Good."

She did a pretty good imitation of him as she spun around and walked away, calm on the outside save for the anger radiating off her. He should be trying to explain about the living room episode. He should be trying to explain everything, but damn if he could. The corset tattoo moved with her body, and he was caught, his thoughts suspended as he watched her. "Blue, we need to talk." The words slipped from his mouth before he even realized they were on his tongue.

"Do we? Do we need to have another conversation about Neil and how I'm not sleeping with him? Or is it about us? Or not us? Are you even sure we need to talk? I thought we just needed to fuck, to have angry sex. Or is that what you need to do? Have angry sex with me until you...I don't know until what. I'm so confused. One minute you act like you want me, the next minute you act like you want anything
but
me."

He nodded and was proud of the fact that he didn't wince at the chill in her voice. She also, toward the end, had sounded deflated, defeated. He didn't want that. He didn't want her to give up. "I know."

"You know? Well good for you because I don't seem to. Explain it to me, Cort. Explain to me what you know." She sat down heavily in a chair at the kitchen table, her breasts bouncing, swaying and again, he was caught, momentarily unable to form a single, solid thought..

He debated suggesting clothes for the both of them, but if she was good with their mutual nudity, then so was he. He pulled a couple of cups from the cabinet, grabbed the press, and took both to the table before taking the cream from the fridge and picking up the sugar bowl, all the while very aware of her eyes following him. He set them on the table as well, pulled out a chair, and moved it in front of her, remembering at the last second they needed spoons to stir with. He got those and sat down.

It was his turn to sigh. He never, ever thought to have this conversation with anyone, her included, but Blue deserved the truth, deserved to know that she wasn't the reason, only the excuse. If he wanted any kind of relationship with her, he had to open up.

God, he felt sick. He busied his hands by pushing the plunger down on the coffee press and pouring equal amounts into the cups. He took a deep breath and let the words pour out, not quite as smooth as the coffee had.

"Her name was Alicia. We met our junior year in college when I was playing baseball. Her boyfriend at the time was one of my teammates. She and I spent a few months trying to ignore each other because we both felt something, but eventually she broke up with him. He didn't care and didn't hold a grudge. She and I were inseparable from that moment on, and after graduation, we moved in together."

"Were you in love with her?"

Blue never took her eyes off him and he fought the urge to shift against the wood seat of the chair. Neither had touched the coffee since he'd poured it. "Yes, I was in love with her."

"Was she in love with you?"

He'd known the question was coming, but hearing it and actually having to form the answer made the knots in his stomach twist tighter. She'd asked it softly, almost hesitantly, and it was the first time he' really allowed himself to believe she was as vulnerable in all this between them as he was. She had feelings for him the same as he had for her and listening to the tale about the woman that first broke his heart had to be as hard to hear as it was for him to tell.