8. Dev

Iwas warm and cozy, and it took me a minute to figure out it was because I was being cuddled. Hard.

Ward had wrapped himself around me at one point, becoming the big spoon to my little one, and…well, I couldn't complain about it. Hot silver fox holding me? Yeah, I might not be the smartest guy out there, but I wasn't a fool. Also, I liked him. Call me crazy, but Ward Sullivan was a likable man underneath all the gruff bluster. So if he wanted to cuddle me, even fast asleep, I wasn't going to say no.

And then his hips flexed, and things got so much better. Or maybe worse.

My dick, already halfway woody, went full tree-state in my pajama pants. It had been so long since I'd been in bed with anyone. Last night, it had been easy enough to ignore the fact that we were sharing a bed—he'd been exhausted from the shock he'd had earlier in the day, and driving hours in the snow had taken more out of me than I'd thought. So we'd both passed out without truly acknowledging or angsting over the fact we were in bed together.

But now…

Dammit. I had to wake him up. "Ward." My voice was barely there, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Ward."

"Yeah." His was as morning-gruff as mine, but clear. His arms didn't release me, and while his hips paused, he didn't move them back, either.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted. There was vulnerability in his voice, more than I'd ever heard from him, even during his panic attack yesterday. He leaned his forehead against my neck. "I don't fucking know. I just…"

I reached back, threading my hand through the short hair on the back of his head. "It's okay. Go for it."

"I—" He swallowed, and I felt the motion through his chest pressed into my back. "You sure?"

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my butt against the hardness in between his legs. "Use me."

"Christ. Dev."

Like my words had removed a barrier, he started humping me for real. One arm snaked beneath me to grip my shoulder from below, holding me against him as he took me at my word and used me. I arched my neck, and he took the unintended invitation, latching his mouth onto the muscle at my shoulder. A suck. Then a bite. I groaned. He grunted, holding me tighter, his hips moving faster.

God, this would be so much better without pants. Then he'd be able to slot his dick between my thighs. Or, better yet, no pants with him on top of me. Front or back, didn't matter. I longed to feel his weight pressing me into the mattress. Maybe he would hold me down as he took his pleasure, not caring about my own. Was there anything hotter than driving a man to the brink of selfishness as he chased his orgasm?

No. No, there wasn't.

Oh. Except maybe when he snuck a hand into your pants to grab your dick.

I rutted into his palm, not caring that the grip wasn't quite perfect. Not tight enough, a bit too rough without lube. But fuck it, I didn't care. It wasn't my hand, and it had been too long since I'd experienced anyone else's touch. Electricity radiated through me, lighting up every nerve, and I panted.

"You gonna come?" Ward's voice rumbled in my ear.

"Soon. Yeah. Little—little tighter."

He obliged, and I found the perfect rhythm between his dick and his hand. He sucked on my neck again, his hips rolling faster, then murmured, "Fuck," as he froze, pressed hard against me, his body shuddering with his release.

That was all it took. My orgasm roared through me with the intensity of a summer storm—powerful but so needed.. Ward stroked me through it until my aftershocks died away, then he rolled to his back with a huff. I tried not to feel the cold he left in his wake, but it was hard not to—both physically and emotionally. I flipped to my other side to look at him.

He wiped his hand on his T-shirt, his eyes on the ceiling instead of looking at me. His jaw was tight beneath his morning scruff. Even in the dim light sneaking through the curtains, I could pick out silver in his otherwise dark stubble.

"I didn't intend…" He trailed off with a muttered curse.

For some reason, his clear awkwardness made me feel anything but. I propped myself up on one arm. "It was only sex, Ward."

"Only sex," he echoed with a huff. "Yeah."

"You needed it, and I was willing." I smiled. "Very willing, in case it wasn't clear. And I'll be honest, I needed it too. It's been awhile."

Finally he looked at me. "How long is ‘awhile'?"

I frowned, thinking. "About a month?"

"A month." He closed his eyes. "Right."

"You?"

He looked at the ceiling again, and I could see the reluctance to say anything cross his face. But for some reason, he actually answered. "Five years."

I jolted up to a sitting position. "Five years? No fucking way."

"Ever since—" He broke off, but he didn't need to finish. Ever since whatever had stolen his Firefox powers from him had happened. "So…yeah."

"Huh. Well. I'm happy to have ended your drought." My smile was back, because how could it not be? Firefox, my favorite hero, and Ward Sullivan, my grumpy partner, had given me an excellent orgasm, and I'd given him his first in five freaking years. "You want the shower first?"

He looked at me again, a frown tugging at his brows. I waited for him to answer my question, but when he spoke, he had something else on his mind. "It—that—it was only sex."

"Isn't that what I said?" I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Look, it was good sex, no doubt about it, but I'm not going to catch feelings or anything, man."

"Okay. Good."

I patted his arm. "I'll grab the shower first, then. You lay here and think deep thoughts."

He breathed out a laugh. "Asshole."

"No, that's you. Damn, was the sex that good that it made you forget that?" Grinning, I got out of bed, not even caring how my release was getting cold and sticky in my pants. Because yeah, the sex had been that good. "Next time, we're getting naked."

"Next time?" he echoed weakly.

I closed the bathroom door on his very loud thinking.

We grabbed breakfast to go from the diner and got back on the road less than an hour later. The gray clouds that had blanketed the sky yesterday were mostly gone, leaving only wisps stretching across the lightening sky as we headed east. Traffic was almost nonexistent, the roads were clear, and it was shaping up to be a much better day for driving.

I definitely felt better than I had in days, and yes, that was the sex talking. I'm not sure how Ward felt about it—he was being his usual surly self, his eyes trained on the scenery passing us by at highway speeds. Hallie was napping in the backseat, being a typical teenager who thought "morning" started no earlier than 10 a.m.

As much as I wanted to share my good mood with Ward and tease him about what we'd done, I had our passenger to consider. Also, I was pretty sure he wouldn't take the teasing well. So instead, I opted for nonsensical small talk.

"Favorite band?" When he didn't reply, I said, "Hey, you. Ward. Firefox."

Thatgot his attention. "What?" he growled.

"Favorite band?"

He frowned. "Why?"

I chuckled. "Why not? We've got hours on this drive, so we might as well spend it—"

"Quietly," he suggested.

"—wisely," I countered. "Getting to know each other."

"Why?"

Okay, I knew he didn't mean that question to cut, but it did, a little. "Why not?" I asked again, keeping my eyes on the road. "Have you got so many friends in your life you can't add another?"

In my peripheral vision, I could see him looking at me, his brows furrowed. For about a minute, I thought he was going to turn his head to look out the window again, without answering, but finally, he said, "I hate questions like that."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because my brain goes blank. Like I've never listened to music before."

"Ah, yeah. My friend Nadine is like that too. She's a huge movie fan—like, all movies, all genres, she'll watch anything. But ask her for her fave, and she's like, ‘Movies? What are those?'"

I was rewarded with a twitch of his lips. "Exactly."

"Okay, so let's start out easy. Favorite genre?" Before he could answer, I said, "No, wait. Let me guess."

Another twitch of his lips. "All right. Go for it."

I made a show of eying him up and down, as though his clothes gave me some clue about his musical tastes. They didn't, but I wasn't going to pass up an excuse to look at him openly. The man was fine. He'd shed his parka, dropping it into the Raptor's backseat, revealing the V-neck forest-green thin-knit sweater he'd pulled on over a plain white T-shirt. I was tempted to reach out verify if the sweater was as soft as it looked, but so far, I'd resisted. His legs were clad in medium-wash jeans—not too fancy, but not too casual, either. He hadn't bothered shaving this morning, so the silvery stubble I'd spotted in bed was still there, untouched.

It looked good on him.

"Eighties hair metal," I declared, turning my eyes reluctantly back to the road.

He huffed out a startled half-laugh. "How fuckin' old do you think I am?"

"Isn't it a law that all Gen X have to appreciate eighties hair metal?"

"Fuck you." But there was laughter in his voice. "I'm an Elder Millennial."

"Oh, that sounds so much better than Gen X." I laughed. "C'mon, you can't tell me you never listened to M?tley Crüe."

"I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Whitesnake?"

He said nothing.

"Def Leppard? Twisted Sister? Bon Jovi?"

"Bon Jovi was hair metal?"

I shrugged. "He had hair, anyway."

"You seem to know way more about hair metal than I do, Mr. Millennial."

"My poor Spotify playlist is so confused all of the time," I admitted with a laugh. "But back to your favorite genre. For real this time." I squinted one eye, like I was thinking hard. "Nineties alternative."

He grunted, and I knew I'd hit the mark.

"And," I continued, "I'm gonna say your favorite band is…Nine Inch Nails."

He grunted again. "Trent Reznor."

"Enough said." I held out a fist for him to bump, and miracle of miracles, he did.

"Your turn."

I smiled smugly. "Sure. But you won't guess it."

It was his turn to squint at me. "Taylor Swift."

"No shade to the Swifties out there, but no. I like her stuff, but she's not my fave."

"Hm. Then I'm gonna say…EDM."

"Look at you, being all fancy with your acronyms." I chuckled. "But nope. Try again."

"Dua Lipa?"

"Again, good, but nope."

"It's probably some Canadian band I've never heard of, right?"

"So many great Canadian bands, and they're all up there. Like the Tragically Hip. Our Lady Peace. Arcade Fire. Death from Above. Great Big Sea. Alanis Morrisette. Drake, even. The Weeknd." I shot him a glance. "I could go on. But none of them are my favorite."

He made a noise of frustration. "Give me a hint."

"Shrek."

"What the— Shrek's a movie, not a band."

I smirked. "You are correct, good sir. But it does have a soundtrack."

Frowning, he pulled out his phone and typed away. His frown deepened as he read the screen, but then his head popped up to regard me, surprise written all over his handsome face. "Smash Mouth?"

"The one and only."

"Oh my god. How could I not have guessed that? It makes so much sense."

"You think?"

"Sure. You and Smash Mouth are both obnoxiously upbeat."

I laughed. "Shut up."

"And unrelentingly sunshiney."

"But you like me anyway."

He was quiet for a moment, and my smile and humor faded. Had I pushed him too far? I mean, I was pretty sure he didn't hate me—he didn't strike me as the sort to have any kind of hate sex—but like was a strong word…

"Yeah," he said softly, surprising me. "Yeah, I do."

I took those simple words for the gift they were.