Page 71 of Back for Seconds

I couldn’t find the breath to reply as his fingers found the sensitive, soft skin of my inner thighs, gently coaxing me open for him. He palmed my thigh and brought my foot up onto the couch beside him. I was putty, infinitely movable in Joey’s hands.

I nodded, a small noise of acknowledgment in my throat. “So badly.”

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he slipped his fingers under the fabric between my thighs. “I’m yours, June,” he said softly.

The muscles in his chest and biceps flexed as he found the perfect rhythm—one that had me trembling against his strong hold, digging my fingernails into his shoulders for support. Joey’s touch was firm but persistent, steadily moving me closer and closer until something broke loose inside me and pleasure tore through my body in a sudden, swift orgasmic wave.

“Please,” I begged in a whisper, covering his neck and forehead in kisses. “Let me taste you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice quiet. “You want to?”

I nodded, and we scrambled to switch positions, both of us fumbling with his belt and zipper until finally, after all the days and hours of almost painful anticipation, the heavy ridge of his erection was in front of me. I brought my mouth to the flat, taut planes of his stomach, drinking in the work of art that was his body. Sculpted and the most perfect shade of olive, freckled lightly with a smattering of deep-brown birthmarks.

I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the heat of his body, teasing at the elastic band of his boxers while running my mouth up and down the tight fabric clinging to his thick length of him, drunk on the groans of pleasure escaping his lips.

From Joey’s lips.

From the man who seemed so composed, so purposeful, so entirely thoughtful.

I pulled at his waistband, sliding his boxers down over his hips.

“You don’t…” he protested softly, his thumb running back and forth over my cheek.

I shook my head. “This is what I want.”

His breath hitched as the last piece of fabric separating him from me fell away. He wound a hand into my hair, head falling back as a ragged breath hitched in his chest.

Just as I was about to make contact, he abruptly pulled his hips away.

I sat back, stunned.

“J-June, I have to tell you something…” His eyes connected with mine, the muscular curvature of his chest rising and falling rapidly between us.

He looked scared.

“What is it? Are you ok?”

“Uh.” His fingers flexed in my hair as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “I-it’s just… It’s been a really long time since I’ve had sex.”

“Really?” I tried to keep my voice even, keep the excitement from cresting in my words. I fixed my eyes on his, like he wasn’t more than half naked, erection west of my mouth.

The weight of the shame I carried around my dead bedroom had crushed me harder than the devastation of our actual divorce. I’d only had the courage to tell Mimi, open-minded and understanding as she always was, and even she had struggled to mask the shock and pity in her expression as she soaked in my secret—Brian and I hadn’t had sex for an entire year before we’d divorced. “How long?”

Joey pushed his hands through his hair, smoothing his curls away from his face, blowing out a breath. Then, with great reverence, he said, “Six months.”

The elastic of his boxers slipped out of my hands, snapping backward onto his skin.

Joey let out a hiss of pain at the same moment I flopped sideways on his couch, buried my face in a pillow, and screamed.

Chapter 22 Joey

A half naked woman screaming on my couch. An interesting—terrifying—turn of events.

“What the hell—” I rearranged my junk, pulled my jeans back up, and hurried to her side. “June, are you ok?”

She’d screamed only briefly and now was letting out a series of quiet sobs. “June?” I lowered myself to a squat in front of her, curling my finger around her exposed shoulder. I even gave her a little shake. “June. Baby, please. Talk to me.”

“Six…months?” She turned, slowly peeling her face away from the throw pillow, to look at me.