Read Of Being Yours[another way 2] for Free Online Page B

as threads of come spurted out of me between us, and he grunted, unashamed of the noise he was making as he released deep inside me.
    I collapsed forward into his arms, panting against his neck and laughing breathlessly.
    “Fucking hell, Will,” I said, still struggling for breath.
    He laughed and held me close, causing the come on his stomach to squelch against mine. “Are you okay, baby?”
    “If I ever see women’s underwear on our bed again, I’m screaming ‘Red’ or ‘divorce’.”
    Will stood, laughing with me now, and kept an arm around me until he was sure I could stand unaided.
    “Don’t try and tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
    “Oh, I did,” I said. “But I will never, ever do it again.”
    “You said that about me fisting you.”
    “Oh, yeah,” I laughed. “Once a year on my birthday or yours. I’m a real pro.”
    “You love it.”
    “I do.”
    We held hands as we descended, naked, to the bathroom.
    “I must say, it’s an awful shame,” Will said as he turned the water on for the shower.
    “What is?”
    “The knowledge that I won’t ever get a repeat performance.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Oh really.”
    He winked as he pulled me into the shower with him and into his arms. “Yeah. You make such a pretty girl.”
     
     
    T HE morning dance around each other was a delicate choreography. Will usually got out of bed before me, rising with the alarm clock and letting me snooze while he showered, then pulling me physically from the sheets to make sure I got to work on time.
    He dressed from his closet full of beautiful well-cut suits; I still insisted that he looked good in gray, and he indulged me from time to time by wearing a full three-piece charcoal pinstripe set with a waistcoat—his torso was slim enough that it looked good on his frame.
    My job was more laid-back, and I generally wore smart jeans and a shirt, a knitted sweater over the top if it was cold or if I was going to be in the bowels of the museum, where it never got fully warm even in the summer. Will hated that my side of the closet was full of what he termed “hipster” shirts and jeans that cost almost as much as one of his suits. I maintained that he was just jealous that I got to wear jeans to work.
    I took less time in the shower than he did—I always had—so there was usually coffee and toast or a bagel waiting for me by the time I got down to the kitchen. I preferred to be rushed in the morning than hang around for ages watching TV or whatever; I grabbed my travel mug and a triangle of toast, exchanged quick, buttery kisses with Will, threw my leather messenger bag over my shoulder, and rushed out the door.
    I had upgraded my old truck to something a bit flashier and a lot sportier. In literal terms that meant a black VW Golf GTI that nipped around the city and was pretty hot when we took it up to the mountains for a weekend of snowboarding too.
    By the time I started working at the museum, Will and I were pretty much all the way out of the closet, and it was nice to be able to introduce him as my partner right from the offset. I only had one awkward moment when running into someone I’d vaguely known in my first year of college; she was a friend of a friend of Adele’s and had been slightly outspoken in her opinion of our breakup. Fortunately for me she only worked a few days a week in HR and I rarely had to deal with her.
    Before I worked for the museum, when I first started subbing for Will, I had worked in a shabby old bookstore in downtown Seattle. My new career was a million miles away from that. However much I’d loved my job there—and I really had loved it—it never gave me a chance to explore my talents and push myself. I still went back there, though, rather than pick up a book at the supermarket or in one of the big chain stores.
    The problem with taking big strides forward in all areas of my life was that I inevitably left people behind. We’d lost contact with friends and old colleagues over