Free Divine Solace: 8 by Joey W. Hill Page B

were drawn tight, a powerful male animal bringing himself to
climax.
    “I don’t…do this…without permission.”
    “You can this time. Please.” Her voice was quiet, hoarse.
    A quick jerk of his head, an acknowledgment, and then his
balls drew up, his cock jumping in his hand as ropes of come started to spill
forth, painting his abdomen, his chest. His face reflected that rictus that
happened during such a moment, and she drank it all in, her palms damp, body
locked by the dresser, every nerve ending aware of the touch of the air, his
harsh grunts, his musky odor filling the room.
    Finally, all that was left were her shallow breaths, his
deep ones. As he settled down, she pushed herself into motion. Going into the
hallway bathroom, she dampened a washcloth and brought it and a dry hand towel
to the corner of the bed. She put them there, neatly folded, within his reach.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “Gen…” He was trying to see her in the dark. He started to
lift his upper body. Fearing he was going to reach for her hand, she backed
toward the door. She couldn’t bear to be touched. Not right now.
    “Thank you,” she said again. “Good night.”
    She fled back to her room, closing the door behind her. If
she left it open, he might come to her. He wouldn’t initiate sex, not unless
she’d given a clear invitation, but in this instance, him curling around her to
give her comfort or just hold her would be even worse. Far, far worse.
    She crawled back into her bed, holding the pillow hard to
her chest with both arms, willing the throbbing between her legs to subside,
hoping the ache in her throat and heart could do the same.
    She was happy with her life. But deep in her heart,
in the place she’d allowed Noah to be tonight, she had an unbearable longing to
share it with someone.
    * * * * *
    Because it had taken her so long to fall asleep, it took
longer to rise. What woke her was the smell of breakfast tea and frying eggs,
potatoes and onions. He must have brought some coffee with him, because she
smelled that as well.
    Out of deference to vanity, she brushed her teeth and washed
her face, pulled her hair back in a tail and added a touch of makeup before she
came out of her room, even though she was wearing a pair of paint-stained jeans
and a man’s T-shirt in size small. Unlike what she’d worn at Tea Leaves
yesterday, this shirt was a worn, thin cloth that clung, with a deep V-neck
that showed off quite a bit of cleavage. She hadn’t bought the shirt for those
reasons, but because of its softness and usefulness for dirty house projects.
However, when his gaze slid over her, she wasn’t unhappy with her choice.
    He’d made her a breakfast casserole topped with fresh
tomatoes from her potted plant. A glance out the French doors showed he’d moved
the tiles she’d stored in the back shed onto the patio and set up the Skil saw,
along with grout and other tools.
    “I’m late,” she said.
    Turning from the stove, he smiled and slid the casserole
into a bowl he had waiting for it. “Breakfast is a better wakeup call than an
alarm clock. I’m glad you grabbed some extra sleep.”
    She hadn’t been sure what kind of awkwardness to expect, but
obviously any felt was all on her side. He wore his jeans and a community
college T-shirt with a sailboat printed on it.
    “I get it now. You really have outgrown the Goth thing. You
just wear the jewelry so the kids you teach think you’re cool.”
    He snorted, poured them both a glass of juice and held out
her chair. She slid into it, trying not to think about how that same maneuver
had gone last night. Taking a seat across from her, he nudged salt and ketchup
her way. “My students range from eighteen to fifty, so there’s no way I can
convince all of them I’m cool. I gave up. Hope you don’t mind that I started
setting up.”
    “Not at all. Did you sleep?”
    “Quite well.” His eyes caressed her in a way that made her
flush. “Though I wish I could have