No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

“Stop,” I begged him, tugging gently, wanting us together in my bed so I could hold him after. This too was a surprise because never before had having someone in my arms when the fucking was over even crossed my mind. “I want you on the bed. Please, Em.”

He eased back, and I gasped at the loss.

“Where’s your lube?” he croaked out as he rose in front of me, still completely dressed as I stood there bare from the waist down.

“In the drawer in the bathroom,” I managed to get out. “There are condoms in there too.”

The way he suddenly focused on me, squinting, was a surprise. “Why would we need those?” He asked sharply, and I felt the air change in the room. “I know what your status is; it’s in your records from Torus.”

I could only stand there and stare at him.

“I’m the father of two small children who lost their mother; I would never be so reckless as to have unprotected sex with someone I didn’t know and trust.”

“Of course not, but you don’t know who I’ve been with.”

“Has there been anyone since you’ve been here?” His tone held a trace of anger.

“No,” I snapped, almost angry myself because I couldn’t see anyone but Emery Dodd. “Absolutely not.”

“Well I haven’t been with anyone since Andrea,” he informed me. “But even so, I was tested before Lydia and I were engaged.”

“You and Lydia never––”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Why not?”

“We were going to wait until after we were married.”

“How come?” I pried, needing to know, my hand slipping to his cheek, my voice coming out silky, soothing so he’d answer and not bristle. “Tell me.”

“Because we hoped the marriage would at least have that,” he replied with a huff, sounding defeated.

“Heat and desire,” I whispered, my thumb sliding over that lush bottom lip of his. “You hoped you two would at least enjoy fucking since you weren’t in love.”

“Yes,” he gritted out, the confession ugly.

“And because you needed that to be a possibility, you held off.”

Quick tip of his head told me I was correct before his lips parted around my thumb, and his tongue traced over my skin.

“You must not have wanted her, if you could wait.”

He sucked my thumb into his mouth.

“I could be wrong,” I teased him, breathless, “but I feel like me, you want.”

“There’s no question,” he rumbled out, and the sound of him, gravelly, ragged, made my cock swell almost painfully. “But so we’re clear, we don’t need protection.”

“No, we don’t,” I agreed, loving how his eyes ate me up, his desire palpable.

“Step out of this,” he demanded, kneeling to help me untangle my feet from my sweats, and then as he stood, he dragged my sleep shirt up over my head before taking my hand to pull me after him to the bed.

“There have been other men?” I said faintly, wanting to know and, at the same time, not.

“Yes,” he said, letting go of my hand. He darted into the en suite connected to my bedroom, then emerged moments later with my tube of lubricant. I hadn’t moved, unsure whether to get in the bed, because usually I was the guy going for the lube. After a second, I realized that again, like earlier, his gaze dragged over me, from head to toe, missing nothing, I was self-conscious, but when I tried to get into bed, he stopped me, moving fast to take my face in his hands.

“I never thought I’d get to see all of you, even though it’s all I’ve wanted since you stepped foot in my house.”

“You have?” I wanted that so badly it was too hard not to sound hopeful, my breath hitching with the heat I saw in his dark eyes.

“Oh, yes,” he husked, yanking off his jacket and making quick work of his waistcoat, dropping them onto the floor, uncaring, as he toed off his wingtips and began struggling with his dress shirt.

“Lemme help you,” I soothed him, stepping in close so I could smell the soap on his skin and the trace of aftershave, a citrusy bergamot mix that I already associated with him.

His hands went to his belt and zipper as I chuckled, because it was hard to work open buttons while he was contorting in an effort to take off his jeans and underwear.

“Tell me about the others.”

He shoved me back, toppling me over onto the bed, and I watched, splayed out under him, as he drew the still halfway-buttoned shirt up over his head, and let it join the rest of his clothes on the hardwood floor.

“I had two boyfriends and one girlfriend in college before I met Andrea,” he informed me, shucking down his jeans and then sitting on the edge of the bed to pull them off. His boxer briefs were last, because he left his socks on. “I knew she was the one.” He sighed, smiling sadly. “The same way I know about you.”