Page 47 of Bean

He slapped his hand over his mouth.

“With your eighty-two-year-old neighbor watching,” I finished.

“Tell me that’s not a true story,” he said from behind his fingers.

I groaned and dropped my head back. “It was our second anniversary. Needless to say, Gio didn’t get laid that night.”

Bean made a soft noise, and the next thing I knew, he’d thrown his leg over my thighs and was straddling me. He tipped his head down, forehead pressing against mine, and I took him by the hips. He was half-hard, and so was I, but what was bigger in that moment was how he made me feel.

I hadn’t expected that reaction, but I wasn’t mad about it.“Hey,” I said softly, gripping him tighter.

My heart hammered against my ribs as he leaned in to kiss me. “I’m allowed to do this, right?” he asked when he pulled back.

My lips tasted like his. “Any time, gorgeous.”

He flushed and bit his lower lip, staring into my eyes. “Did he make you feel bad about it?”

“Mm?”

“Pooping in the bushes.”

I laughed and shrugged. “Yeah, he did. He told all our friends about it, people at his office, and a bartender once when we were out to dinner. It was one of a long list of things that made me realize our marriage to him was not what it was to me. But I have no regrets.”

“Why not?” Bean frowned, and I wanted to kiss that expression off his face.

Cupping his cheek, I ran my thumb over his freckled cheek. “Because everything I went through led me to this moment right here. With you. And right now, I can’t think of a better place to be.”

“Oh,” he breathed out softly. He looked uncertain, and I knew I was going too far, so I pulled back.

“Now, what’s the first thing on that list? Let’s see what we can take care of tonight.”

He leaned to the side, biting his lip again, then straightened and looked down at me. “Frotting? Um, coming from frotting, I mean.”

I thrust my hips against his, making him gasp and then moan. It had been years since I’d done that. More than I wanted to count. But right now, it was the only thing I wanted. Digging my fingers into his hips, I began to guide him in a slow rhythm.

“That’s definitely something we can do. And I really think you’re going to like it.”

“Yeah?”

I grinned up at him, sharp and maybe a little needy. I shifted my hips so our cocks aligned, then guided him in another roll of his hips. “Yeah, baby. I definitely do.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BEAN

Frotting was fun. More than I had expected, actually. When Creek had first mentioned it, I hadn’t seen the appeal. What was arousing about coming in your pants? It had sounded messy and juvenile—not that I’d ever come in my pants as a teenager.

Holy mackerel, no. I was way too scared of my mother discovering the evidence. She’d found stains in my bed sheets a few times, which had led to an hour-long sermon from my father about the dangers of masturbation. Now, there was a word I’d never wanted to hear out of his mouth. That hour had felt like a day, no kidding.

But then Jarek had rolled on top of me and looked straight at me as he’d rutted against me. My eyes had crossed, then rolled back, and I may have made some embarrassingly loud sounds. Finally—because that man knew how to drive me insane—I had exploded, and son of a nutcracker, that really had been the best thing ever.

Still messy, but Jarek had thrown my underwear in the washing machine, lending me a pair of his. So now I was parading around—his words—in his underwear, showing off my body. Also, his words.

Somehow, he truly adored me, including my body, and I had no clue how that had happened. Sure, I wasn’t ugly. I knew that much. And I was still in excellent physical shape, but I also had scars from the blast, and I wasn’t all that special. He seemed to feel differently, and who was I to rob him of his illusions? Even if they weren’t based on any facts.

“The dryer needs about forty-five minutes,” Jarek said. He’d just thrown the laundry from the washer into the dryer.

I checked the time, then winced. That was pretty damn late to still be driving home.