Craving Absolution
Page 33
His hips started to slow, and he groaned low in his throat as he pulled me away from the wall. My hands had been soothingly running over his shaved head as he pounded away, but I paused when he came to a complete stop. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me into the bedroom, still planted deep inside me, and unzipped the back of my dress with one hand.
“I’m sorry, Ladybug,” he crooned as he lay me on the bed, pulling out to strip my dress over my head. He ran his hands from my shoulders to my hips, then with a sigh, he rested his forehead on my sternum.
“That’s okay,” I reassured him, leaning up on my elbows to watch him nuzzle my belly. “What’s going on, Cody?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing my hand down the side of his face.
“Just some shit with the club,” he replied, his face losing its vulnerability as he leaned up and flipped me onto my belly. “On your knees, Ladybug.”
We’d done pretty much everything we could do in bed, and I trusted him implicitly with my body, but something felt off. I couldn’t see his face anymore, and it scared me that he seemed to be hiding it as his body covered mine and he pushed inside me, hard. I yelled out in surprise and dropped to my forearms when I was suddenly supporting all of his weight. His chest was heavy on my back as one of his hands found where we connected, then rubbed quickly at my clit as his other arm wrapped around my chest, his fingers reaching for my breast.
He rode me hard, more aggressive than he’d ever been. I’d have normally been frustrated as hell because I’d never been able to orgasm in that position, but before long, my hips were pushing back into his and I was coming. It went on for what felt like forever, his thrusts fueling the fire until I thought I’d pass out.
When his fingers finally stopped their movement, I collapsed. My hands slid forward until my chest was taking my weight, and I barely had enough strength to push my face to the side so I could breathe. His arm was trapped beneath me, but he yanked it out as he leaned back, and then both his hands were on my hips, pulling me into him. I watched the wall blearily as he pumped a few more times, feeling satisfied and spent.
It would have been the best sex we’d ever had, but after he came with a shout and all was silent, he rested his head on my back and I felt something warm and wet run down my spine.
With a small kiss between my shoulder blades, he left me on the bed. My body felt boneless but my mind was churning as I rolled to my side and flipped the quilt over me.
Was that a good-bye fuck? Had he finally decided to leave? No, no, things had been fine that morning, hadn’t they? It must just be something with the club that was bothering him, like he’d said. But why wasn’t he telling me what was going on? Something big was obviously happening if he was that upset, but I couldn’t figure out what it could be.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally pulled my awesomely sore body from the bed and stretched my limbs. I found my towel from this morning hanging over my footboard and cleaned up, and then shuddering, I rolled the towel into a ball and set it in the corner. I didn’t want to accidently use it again thinking it was clean.
Without bothering to put underwear back on, I grabbed a summer dress off the floor and took a quick sniff. Yep, it was clean. I needed to be dressed if I was going to figure out Cody’s shit; I only wished he wasn’t in the bathroom so I could touch up my makeup and hair. I’d feel so much more comfortable if my armor were in place.
I was sitting on the bed cross-legged when he finally came back in the room.
“I’m heading out on a run, Ladybug,” he told me as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “You still got that box of shit I asked you to store for me?”
“No,” I replied slowly. “I threw it out a couple of minutes ago when I realized you were going to keep telling me nothing was wrong.”
“Babe.” He shook his head. “I’m gonna be out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I wanted to see you before I left.”
“Is ‘see you’ a euphemism for rough sex? Because I’ve been using that phrase all wrong if it is.”
He froze, a look of horror on his face as his gaze ran up and down my body. “I hurt you, Farrah?”
“No, you didn’t hurt me!” I shot back, frustrated as hell that he wouldn’t tell me anything. “It was fine! I came, you came, then you cried! Everything is just hunky-fucking-dory!”
His worried face turned cold, and I knew then that I should have kept my mouth shut. “I wasn’t crying.”
The Cody glaring at me wasn’t anyone I’d ever met before. Even when we were fighting or I was trying to kick him out of my house, he’d never used that tone of voice with me. Like I was beneath him. Like I was nothing. All of a sudden it was clear why he fit in so well with my biological father’s club, and I hated it.
“It must have been sweat,” I whispered back, my nose stinging with unshed tears. “Your box is in the back of my closet.”
He pulled his plastic storage container out of the closet and stuffed collared shirts, jeans, and a fucking hipster cardigan into one of my duffel bags. I almost opened my mouth to ask what the hell he was doing when he packed a pair of lace-up Vans sneakers, but the scowl on his face stopped me. I could feel myself beginning to shake as he put the box away again, considerably lighter than when he’d pulled it out.
“I’ll be back next week,” he told me, then kissed me quickly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm briskly. “You cold? Put a sweater on.”
“I’m sorry, Ladybug,” he crooned as he lay me on the bed, pulling out to strip my dress over my head. He ran his hands from my shoulders to my hips, then with a sigh, he rested his forehead on my sternum.
“That’s okay,” I reassured him, leaning up on my elbows to watch him nuzzle my belly. “What’s going on, Cody?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing my hand down the side of his face.
“Just some shit with the club,” he replied, his face losing its vulnerability as he leaned up and flipped me onto my belly. “On your knees, Ladybug.”
We’d done pretty much everything we could do in bed, and I trusted him implicitly with my body, but something felt off. I couldn’t see his face anymore, and it scared me that he seemed to be hiding it as his body covered mine and he pushed inside me, hard. I yelled out in surprise and dropped to my forearms when I was suddenly supporting all of his weight. His chest was heavy on my back as one of his hands found where we connected, then rubbed quickly at my clit as his other arm wrapped around my chest, his fingers reaching for my breast.
He rode me hard, more aggressive than he’d ever been. I’d have normally been frustrated as hell because I’d never been able to orgasm in that position, but before long, my hips were pushing back into his and I was coming. It went on for what felt like forever, his thrusts fueling the fire until I thought I’d pass out.
When his fingers finally stopped their movement, I collapsed. My hands slid forward until my chest was taking my weight, and I barely had enough strength to push my face to the side so I could breathe. His arm was trapped beneath me, but he yanked it out as he leaned back, and then both his hands were on my hips, pulling me into him. I watched the wall blearily as he pumped a few more times, feeling satisfied and spent.
It would have been the best sex we’d ever had, but after he came with a shout and all was silent, he rested his head on my back and I felt something warm and wet run down my spine.
With a small kiss between my shoulder blades, he left me on the bed. My body felt boneless but my mind was churning as I rolled to my side and flipped the quilt over me.
Was that a good-bye fuck? Had he finally decided to leave? No, no, things had been fine that morning, hadn’t they? It must just be something with the club that was bothering him, like he’d said. But why wasn’t he telling me what was going on? Something big was obviously happening if he was that upset, but I couldn’t figure out what it could be.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally pulled my awesomely sore body from the bed and stretched my limbs. I found my towel from this morning hanging over my footboard and cleaned up, and then shuddering, I rolled the towel into a ball and set it in the corner. I didn’t want to accidently use it again thinking it was clean.
Without bothering to put underwear back on, I grabbed a summer dress off the floor and took a quick sniff. Yep, it was clean. I needed to be dressed if I was going to figure out Cody’s shit; I only wished he wasn’t in the bathroom so I could touch up my makeup and hair. I’d feel so much more comfortable if my armor were in place.
I was sitting on the bed cross-legged when he finally came back in the room.
“I’m heading out on a run, Ladybug,” he told me as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “You still got that box of shit I asked you to store for me?”
“No,” I replied slowly. “I threw it out a couple of minutes ago when I realized you were going to keep telling me nothing was wrong.”
“Babe.” He shook his head. “I’m gonna be out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I wanted to see you before I left.”
“Is ‘see you’ a euphemism for rough sex? Because I’ve been using that phrase all wrong if it is.”
He froze, a look of horror on his face as his gaze ran up and down my body. “I hurt you, Farrah?”
“No, you didn’t hurt me!” I shot back, frustrated as hell that he wouldn’t tell me anything. “It was fine! I came, you came, then you cried! Everything is just hunky-fucking-dory!”
His worried face turned cold, and I knew then that I should have kept my mouth shut. “I wasn’t crying.”
The Cody glaring at me wasn’t anyone I’d ever met before. Even when we were fighting or I was trying to kick him out of my house, he’d never used that tone of voice with me. Like I was beneath him. Like I was nothing. All of a sudden it was clear why he fit in so well with my biological father’s club, and I hated it.
“It must have been sweat,” I whispered back, my nose stinging with unshed tears. “Your box is in the back of my closet.”
He pulled his plastic storage container out of the closet and stuffed collared shirts, jeans, and a fucking hipster cardigan into one of my duffel bags. I almost opened my mouth to ask what the hell he was doing when he packed a pair of lace-up Vans sneakers, but the scowl on his face stopped me. I could feel myself beginning to shake as he put the box away again, considerably lighter than when he’d pulled it out.
“I’ll be back next week,” he told me, then kissed me quickly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm briskly. “You cold? Put a sweater on.”
