My Dad's Best Friend Moved Into My Spare Room After His Divorce, and the Promise He Made My Father Lasted Four Days novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: L. East Window

The house had a floor, a roof and nothing in between.

Ed had framed it himself on a corner lot in Benson.

Two stories of raw pine studs stood up in the dark.

He parked the truck on the grass, clipped a work light to a joist and flooded the ground floor yellow.

The plywood subfloor was swept clean.

At the back, where the kitchen would go, a mattress lay on four stacked pallets with a gray wool blanket tucked tight across it.

I stood in the middle of the future living room in my boots, with no walls to tell me where to look.

"This is yours," I said.

"Mine. Mine and the bank's."

"You built it all yourself?"

"Every stud. I started in April."

"That's the first time I've heard you say it like you're proud."

He looked at me across the room.

The light from the lamp threw half his face into shadow.

"I'm proud of it," he said. "I wanted you to see it before I touched you again."

"That's sweet."

"It isn't."

He crossed the plywood, and my back met a stud so fast the wood knocked against my shoulder blades.

His mouth came down on mine.

There was nothing polite in it this time.

He kissed me.

One hand was fisted in my hair and the other flat on the stud beside my head.

I got my fingers into his shirt and hung on.

"Boots," I managed.

"Leave them."

"Ed, my..."

He hooked his hands under my thighs and lifted me, and my legs locked around his waist.

I was pinned.

The raw pine bit through my shirt.

His hips pressed me flat, and I felt how hard he already was, a thick bar through his jeans, grinding against exactly the right place.

"God, I want you," I whispered.

"I know."

"Take me."

He pulled the shirt over my head and threw it into the dark.

My bra went the same way.

Cool air touched my skin and then his mouth did, hot and wet on my throat and my collarbone and the swell of my breast.

His teeth closed on my nipple just hard enough that I yelped.

"Quiet," he said.

"Why? We're on a corner."

"Because I want everybody in Benson to hear you and I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"You're not."

"No."

He tore at my jeans, got one boot free and one leg out, and left the denim hanging off the other ankle.

I pulled his zipper down myself.

He was hot and heavy in my hand, already slick at the tip.

I stroked him twice before he caught my wrist and pinned it to the stud over my head.

"Not yet," he said.

"Now."

"Say please."

"Ed, please, I need you in me, I need it now."

He lifted me again.

He held me against the wood with one forearm under my thigh.

I felt the head of him find me, blunt and burning, and sink in an inch.

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