Stone Cold

I reach for his belt, work his zipper, and wrap my palm around his cock. I pump his length before taking his throbbing heat between my lips.

With his hand in my hair, he releases a guttural groan as I swallow his length again and again. A few minutes later, he releases—sending hot spurts down the back of my throat. I swallow in one go and wipe the corners of my mouth.

Pulling me into his lap, he buries his face in the bend of my neck before wrapping me tight in his arms. He doesn’t say anything. There’s an unspoken understanding flickering between us, the kind of thing that would only be ruined with words.

This is our story.

And for the first time, we’re on the same page.

His steady hands circle my waist before exploring my curves. I kiss his stubbled jaw, working my way to his ear then down his neck. I want to taste and memorize every part of him. I want to catalog it until it no longer feels surreal.

I rock against him, beckoning his hardness to come to life again.

Tossing my head back, I empty the thoughts from my head along with the never-ending list of questions. He’s clearly not in the mood to talk tonight, and I’m more than happy to be the release he needs.

He’s my release, too.

Life is long. And hard. And confusing. And unpredictable. But right here, with him, everything feels like it’s finally beginning to make sense.

We take it to the bedroom, and for the hour that follows, we lose ourselves in unapologetic carnal enchantment.

Lying in his arms when we’re done, I spot his gaze travel to the scar that runs down my left thigh.

“Does it bother you?” I ask. “Seeing that? Does it make you think of Jude?”

He traces his fingertip along its hard ridges. “It bothers me that this happened to you.”

“I’m over it, really. Nothing I can do about it now.” I capture his hand in mine and interlace my fingers with his. “It’s not going anywhere.”

He swallows a hard breath. “Yeah.”

“Does he know?” I ask. “Does he know we’ve been spending time together?”

“No.” His jaw flexes and he stares up at the ceiling. “He’s not in a good place right now.”

“I see.”

“I’ll tell him,” he adds. “When the time is right.”

I believe Stone, yet the smallest part of me hopes he isn’t stringing me along. I don’t think he’s the type to do that, but then again, I didn’t think Jason was going to be the type to exploit me after a whirlwind marriage.

There was a time it felt real with him too.

Stone rolls to his side, facing me, and he takes my cheek in his hand. “I don’t want you to worry okay? Whatever happens, it’s my problem, not yours.”

I nod, and he seals his promise with a kiss before sitting up.

“I have court in the morning or I’d stay,” he says.

I wrap my naked body in my sheets and watch him get dressed in the dark.

He kisses me once more before he leaves, and I wait for the click of the door before tiptoeing to the living room to watch him out the window.

Thirty seconds later, he’s stepping onto the front stoop and making his way down the sidewalk. As soon as he does, Ida and Domino emerge from the house next door. Domino rears up, wagging his tail and pulling on his leash, attempting to drag Ida closer to Stone.

I watch as Stone gives her a disarming wave before lowering himself to Domino’s level and scratching behind his ears.

I can’t make out what they’re saying from up here, but it appears he’s introducing himself. Ida claps her hands on her cheeks when she puts it all together—at least I’m assuming that’s what’s happening. The next thing I know, she’s wrapping him in a hug.

I laugh to myself, watching their cute little exchange.

I have to admit, the softer side of Stone is throwing me for a loop—and I’m loving every minute of it.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Stone

* * *

Paul is watching sports highlights in the den when I get home. Meanwhile, Jude’s Amalfi Blue Range Rover is missing in action.

“Where’s Jude?” I ask.

“He went home.” Paul’s glassy eyes are glued to the TV, like they’ve been fixed there for hours. “Stassi said he could come home, I guess.”

I jut my chin out and take a seat on the leather sofa. “That’s good.”

“Damn right it is. I think we might have finally gotten through that thick skull of his.” Paul reaches for the remote on the table beside him, muting the TV. “You’re a good influence on him, you know that? You’ve always helped him keep that head of his a little straighter on his shoulders. Without you around, who knows how he would’ve turned out.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I say. “You might’ve had a little something to do with it too …”