Page 60 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
He strokes his hand up and down my chest, idly plucking at my chest hair. “I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
It’s not that my sexual history is a huge secret, and it’s maybe fair for him to know my status, but he didn’t ask me before we fucked and now that horse has left the barn, so to speak. And he did wear a condom. “I don’t fucking know. I mean, I can’t really?—”
“Count them?”
Okay, really? I wriggle out from under his arm and turn over to glare at him. “What kind of a slut do you think I am?”
His eyes are liquid in the faint light from the window and his damn kissable mouth forms a little O of surprise. “I didn’t mean…”
“To imply that I fuck around indiscriminately? You belong to a faith that views sex as something only heterosexual married people get to have, and only after they’re married. Anything else is a sin. Including, by the way, what we just did. And what we did the other night. Not to mention what we did fifteen years ago.”
His eyelids shutter and he bites down on his lower lip. “I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental about your past relationships.”
I sigh. What the fuck am I doing messing around with a mostly straight Catholic man? Will I be able to look back on this week with fondness? As a nice memory of a fun couple of days of hot sex with a hot man who just happens to be my daughter’s stepfather? Or will the torch I’ve been secretly carrying for my best friend’s widower finally burn the memories I have of both of them to ash?
“It’s fine, Jason. If you really want to know, yes, I can’t give you a specific number. Not because I can’t count them all, but because I just haven’t kept track like that.”
I drag a hand over my face. “I’ve been in a couple longer-term relationships, there’s been some friends-with-benefits situations, and I can usually get laid whenever I feel like it, which, honestly, hasn’t been all that often lately. I was on PrEP for a while, but stopped taking it because anonymous hookups aren’t the thrill they used to be when I was younger. I still use condoms. Any other questions?”
I don’t mean to sound so sharp, and I feel a stab of guilt when Jason sits up and wraps his arms around his knees. I stretch a hand out and touch his lower back with the tips of my fingers. “Sorry, man,” I say.
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” he says. “I’m the one who asked insensitive questions.”
“It’s fine, really, Jason. I shouldn’t have overreacted. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Almost anything, anyway.
“I was just thinking…” he starts. I wait for him to finish, gliding my fingertips along his skin. My eyes get heavy while he mulls over whatever he’s trying to say. It’s been a long day, and between the emotional upheavals of my confrontations with Adrienne and Kelsey, not to mention getting off harder than I think I ever have, I’m suddenly bushed.
When the bed shifts as Jason turns around to face me, I blink my eyes blearily open. “Hmm?”
“Never mind,” he says with a half smile. “You’re right. We should get some shut-eye before the big day tomorrow.”
He kisses me, slow and deep, like we have all the time in the world.
We don't. But I kiss him back anyway, and try not to think about how much I'm going to miss this.
He lies down behind me and drapes his arm over me again. “‘Night, Jay,” I yawn, shimmying back against his warm body.
“Good night, Schmickie,” he says.
Twenty-Nine
Jason
I wake to the sound of the shower running and Victor singing. Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups, of all things, and it makes me smile because he has such a romantic, tender heart. He has a pleasant voice, if untrained, and he’s more of a tenor, so I harmonize on the thirds but drop down an octave.
His eyes light up when I peer around the shower curtain and he motions me to step in with him. The water is nice and hot and Victor belts the song out with gusto while he soaps me up.
And feels me up, with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a waggle of his eyebrows.
When we finish the song, it’s my turn. I swing him around so his back is to the shower wall and pin him there with a hand around his throat. I keep my hand loose, so his breath isn’t cut off in any way, and he could get out of my hold easily, but he doesn’t try. “Okay?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he whispers back. His cock thinks this is a-okay, for sure. It hardened more or less as soon as I joined him in the shower, but it’s poking me in the thigh right now.
There are canisters for shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bolted to the shower wall. I pump a glop of body wash into my hand and grasp his cock. A few strokes and Victor’s mouth falls open, breathing hard.
“Give us a hand here,” I say and tip my head toward the body wash canister. I step closer to him and line our cocks up together.
