by Cherrie Lynn
By then she was reaching for him, wordless and bewitching, and he slipped on a condom from his nightstand before crawling over her body, leaving a trail of kisses up her belly and over her breasts. The fine sheen of sweat on her skin lent a saltiness to her inherent sweetness. How could he ever think he could let her go back to New Orleans for good, never taste her again, never absorb the delectable vibrations of her body again? Two nights with her, and he was hers in a way he had never been anyone else’s.
They groaned into each other’s mouths as he pushed into her, her grip on his dick almost more than he could stand but nothing he could escape from. She wriggled her legs wider for him, and he caught one over each of his arms while she gasped at the new depths he reached in her. “Are you okay?”
“More than,” she murmured back, lacing her fingers behind his neck as he began to move into her, his nerve endings on fire.
He attacked her neck with kisses. “Can’t get enough of you. Never. Never will.” She made no reply save for a whimper, meeting him in the steady, rolling rhythm he set. Slow, to build the ache. “I want you begging, Savannah. Fucking begging me to come. If it takes all night, I’ve got it. If you have to miss your flight, I don’t care. Even if it has to be the last time, I don’t want you to ever forget.”
“No,” she said urgently, staring him in the eyes with heartbreaking desperation, “not the last time. It won’t be.”
She said that now, and he hoped to God she meant it. “Okay,” he murmured, catching her lips in a kiss. “It won’t be.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Only then did she relax, going molten around him. He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with all the hunger she made him feel, body and soul, drinking her cries, driving her for miles across his bed. As soon as her body clued him in to her impending climax, he pulled out amid her almost violent protests to tease her, soothe her back down to baseline with kisses and caresses.
“I hate you,” she giggled.
“Still haven’t found that last heart,” he reminded her, nibbling at her hip bone.
“No!” Laughing, she twisted away from him and rolled out of his reach. He followed, crawling on all fours across the bed until he had her pinned beneath him again, immobile with her wrists bound in his fists and pressed to the mattress. She tested his grip and, seemingly satisfied that she couldn’t break it, softened beneath him. “What, I can’t play anymore?” he asked.
“You lost,” she informed him smartly.
“I didn’t realize last night was my only chance, or I might have tried harder.”
“Too bad you didn’t ask for the rules before you played the game.”
“Oh yeah?” he growled, kneeing her thighs farther apart. “I seem to recall you have some begging to do.”
“Never.” But her expression smoothed out in pleasure as he slid the underside of his cock over her clit and then deep into her pussy, her eyes nearly closing. He dropped his head to kiss her nipples, one and then the other. “Oh, God. Mike.”
“I know,” he rasped. “Fuck, I know.” She sheathed him like she was made for him, and if he wasn’t careful, he would be the one begging. “Let’s run away.” He dragged his mouth in a circle around her areola. “Find a deserted tropical island. We won’t have to explain ourselves to anyone; no one will ever find us. I’ll build us shelter, you can wear grass skirts and sand dollars. I’ll drink rainwater from your belly button.” To demonstrate, he moved down and circled the little dip of her navel with his tongue, his cock slipping from her body as he did so. “I’ll eat mango slices from between your legs.”
“Jesus,” she groaned as he rained kisses down her stomach and to her clit. “You’re selling me on this idea.”
“That’s my intention.” Slipping his forearms under her hips, he laced his hands over her stomach and held her captive to his mouth, determined to not lose this particular game. She would beg him if he had to stay here all night.
Her hands went to his head, clenching at what hair she could grip. He would grow it out if only for the promise of feeling her pull it in ecstasy. With lips and tongue and teeth, he worshiped her, feasted on her, devoured her. She writhed against his hold; he didn’t let her get away. When her legs tightened around his head and her stomach muscles pulled taut under his hands, he stopped, taking his ministrations to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. “Michael!”
“Beg me,” he reminded her.
“Nooooo,” she groaned.
“All right,” he said with affable nonchalance, and continued enjoying the silky texture of her skin against his lips. Savannah squirmed, breathing heavily and whimpering. Testing her, he returned to her fevered center and licked the barest tip of her clit. She jerked so hard, she nearly broke his hold on her. “Not ready,” he said sadly.
“What?” she sobbed.
“I’ll come back when I can touch you without you flying apart.”
“Fuck! Make me come, please, please, please, Michael, I’m begging, okay, I’m fucking begging—”
No way on this planet was he going to waste the chance to feel her squeeze the life out of him when this orgasm rent her. Surging up her body, he plunged balls deep into her, her hands going to his ass and her legs wrapping around him as she took every inch of him. He fucked her hard and steady, grinding against her clit, nearly losing his godforsaken mind when she finally fell over the edge, rhythmic contractions sucking greedily at him. Her fingernails raked across his back, tearing at him, her lovely body surging underneath him. His own release ripped loose from the base of his spine and punched through into her to the musical sound of his name from her lips, over and over like a song.
Then silence except for their softly panting breath. He kissed her to keep from saying something that would seal his fate.
Chapter Fifteen
“I lost an earring,” she said curiously, lightly pinching the bare lobe between her fingers. Michael, whose head was pillowed on her naked stomach, glanced up at her.
“Do you need to get up and look for it?”
God, it had been the better part of an hour, but she still couldn’t contemplate moving, at least not for a cheap pair of earrings. “I’m sure it’s here in the bed somewhere.” She chuckled. “That’s when you know the sex was good. You fucked me out of my earrings.”
Mike blew a puff of air on his knuckles and buffed them on his chest, wearing what was probably the cockiest grin she’d ever seen. Savannah poked him lightly on the top of the head. “Hey now. Don’t congratulate yourself too much.”
“Why not? You just did.”
“All right, point taken.” Sighing drowsily, she stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Her body felt as if it were filled with light, floating. So good. When every time with him was better than the last, she almost dreaded the next time . . . it might very well kill her.
Tomorrow was going to be so hard.
Today, rather, since it was surely after midnight. “I should probably check my phone,” she told him. “I’m sure Rowan’s going apeshit by now.”
He planted a kiss on her belly and rolled off her, getting to his feet while she admired the view. Broad shoulders rippling down to a V-shaped torso, and that ass.
After pulling a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts from the top drawer of his dresser, he tossed the shirt to her and pulled the shorts on, obstructing her beloved view. The red grim reaper inked on his chest glowered at her as he turned and headed for the bathroom. That tattoo gave her a little shiver of unease, but as long as she had the rest of him to distract her, it was all good.
The floor was cool against her bare feet as she made her way to her clutch on the bar, wearing the T-shirt that swallowed her. She’d silenced her phone before dinner, and sure enough, she had almost a dozen text bubbles from Rowan.
Are you back yet?
Hellooooo . . .
You’re worrying me.
Ok I just banged on your door. You ARE NOT back yet. Call me!
&
nbsp; SAVANNAH
It’s past midnight!
It’s now after one.
SAVANNAAAAHHHHHH
What are you doing?!?!!!!
I’m calling your mother!!!!!!
The last one had been sent twenty minutes ago. “You. Are. NOT,” Savannah said out loud, gaining Mike’s attention from where he stood near the fridge, swathed in the light glowing from the open door.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she sighed, tapping a quick message back: I’M FINE. Quit it. If you call my mother, I’LL KILL YOU. And she threw it back into her clutch, vowing not to check it again tonight.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s being Rowan. Going apeshit, like I said.”
“Have I kept you out past your curfew?” He grinned at her and took a swig from the bottle he’d pulled from the refrigerator. The way his body was cast half in light and half in shadow, she could see every indentation of his cut muscles.
“Who knew I had one? I sure didn’t.” She went into the kitchen and leaned over the granite-topped island, propping her chin in one hand.
“Are you thirsty or hungry?” Mike asked, rubbing the back of his head with one hand as he inspected the depths of his refrigerator, those biceps popping. Savannah wanted to grab her phone again and snap a picture so she could have something to keep her warm at night after she went home.
They’d worked off most everything she’d eaten and drunk at dinner. “I could definitely do with a snack.”
He shut the door and pulled open the freezer drawer. “I’m thinking ice cream.”
And so she found herself sitting on Mike Larson’s kitchen floor at almost two in the morning, each of them with a spoon, attacking a carton of butter pecan together and laughing like teenagers. When he “accidentally” dribbled some on her thigh, he leaned down to lick it off as it melted in a cold pale rivulet heading to the inside of her leg. “Mike,” she groaned, her head falling back. “I don’t know if I can take any more.”
The puppy-dog eyes he gave her through the fringe of his lashes squeezed her heart. “Even if I promise to be good?”
“You’re always good.”
“I’ll be extra good.” He brought his mouth to hers and she devoured the sweetness of the ice cream on his tongue in a slow, thorough kiss that made her body think yes, indeed, she could take more. And she did, right there on his kitchen floor against the cold, hard tiles. He was so gentle and careful, obviously taking into account their earlier exertions, and her release ripped another little piece of her away for his safekeeping as she sobbed his name.
Afterward, as they composed themselves and settled across from each other on the floor to more thoroughly enjoy their middle-of-the-night snack, she found herself thinking about the horrible day when she’d first met him. How shocked she’d been to see him at the cemetery and how utterly different he’d been from everything she had seen until that point. If someone had told her then that she would be here with him like this tonight, she probably would’ve severed all ties with that person because they were obviously delusional. Watching him slowly pull his spoon from between his lips with obvious pleasure, she smiled and leaned her head back against the bank of kitchen drawers behind her. He sat opposite her against the island, his legs stretched out beside hers. Lifting one foot, she tickled his side with her toes.
“Did you ever imagine us here?” she asked him. “In your wildest dreams?”
“In my wildest ones?” He grinned, showing off perfect laugh lines. “Maybe.”
“Do you believe in omens?”
He considered her for a moment, his eyes gentle. “Not really. Why do you ask?”
Shrugging, she turned her attention back to digging another scrumptious bite from the carton. “It’s silly.”
“Tell me. Maybe you can convert a hardened cynic.”
“Tommy had a thing for eagles. You might have noticed the tattoo on his back.”
“Had my face smashed against it a couple of times. Incredible piece of work he had.”
“I’ve never seen a real one before, you know? Well, maybe at a zoo or something when I was a kid. But I saw one circling above his service that day. All by itself against the blue sky, just . . . strong and beautiful and . . .” Dropping her gaze, she growled in frustration at the sudden heat gathering behind her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. He put one hand on her shin, rubbing comfortingly, encouragingly. “Then I saw you,” she finished when she had shoved the tears back where they belonged.
“What do you think it meant?” He asked, out of genuine curiosity, she thought. Or at least it sounded that way. Not humoring or patronizing her.
“Rowan asked if I thought it was him saying goodbye. It was my first thought when I saw it, but I’ve never believed in things like that either. Probably a stupid coincidence I’ve given entirely too much thought to, right? But it keeps coming back to me.”
“I think we have to take solace wherever we find it. If it’s therapeutic for you to believe it was him, then believe it. And don’t let anyone take it from you.”
She fell silent for a time, scraping her spoon against the inside of the ice cream carton to get at the soft, melty part and taking a bite. “You don’t seem to like talking about your past,” she ventured, flicking a glance up at him. “I want to ask, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“You couldn’t intrude if you wanted to. I’ll be an open book for you. I don’t offer that to many.”
“Did you . . .” Trailing off, unable to phrase the question, she could only look up at him helplessly. “I don’t want to dig up what the press says. I deliberately avoid it. I don’t want to listen to everyone else, either. And I don’t really want to hear it, but . . . I guess I need to. Whatever it is.”
“When I was seventeen,” he began, abandoning his spoon in the ice cream so that it stood straight up and not looking at her, “I killed a man in our house.”
“Was it an accident?” she asked, her heart thudding hard.
His jaw stiffened, hard as granite. Otherwise he was as still as sculpture. “No. I fucking meant to do it. Said it was an accident to keep my ass out of jail, told everyone that, but he was beating my mother. He’d beaten her to the ground, unconscious, and was still beating her. He would have killed her. I don’t know why, maybe over money or drugs or sex, but I didn’t care. I returned the favor, and I didn’t stop until that son of a bitch was dead.”
Savannah laced her hands together in front of her mouth, simultaneously heartbroken and horrified, robbed of words.
“Some people think I should have called the police. My mother would have been dead before they got there. Some people think that once I subdued him, I should have stopped. I guess they have a point. But seeing her there . . .” His voice cracked and he drew a deep breath before going on, “Beaten and bloody and so small on the floor in a puddle of her own blood . . . I couldn’t stop. All I could imagine was that we would never be safe, Mom or Zane or Damien or me, even if they picked the guy up and he went to jail, he would be out in no time and we would all be in danger then. I knew how the system worked.”
“And you were let off?”
“Eventually. They determined it was justifiable. Zane was there so he could back me up. I don’t know where Damien was but I’m glad he was gone. Mom was slow recovering—probably because all the drugs had taken their toll. She was never the same, and about seven months later, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Michael. For everything.”
“I never meant to hurt your brother, Savannah. Beat him, yeah, even beat him bad. But never that. Never what happened. It’s the darkest, emptiest, most fucking catastrophic feeling you can ever imagine and it shredded me. I couldn’t deal. I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing it again. When it happened with Tommy . . . Jesus Christ, I can’t describe it.” He scrubbed his face hard with both hands, as if to wipe away the emotion. She bet there wasn’t enough force in the world to do that. “I kept th
inking of your family, and how I didn’t know you but you probably wanted to do to me what I did to that guy fifteen years ago. That it was payback.”
“No, no. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said, prompting an open stream of tears to flow down her cheeks. She didn’t even care anymore about them. After what he had just shared with her, being embarrassed of a few tears seemed ridiculous. She crawled over to him and collapsed onto his chest, sighing as the strength of his arms came around her, clutching her as fiercely as she did him. Each of them soaking in the other’s strength. He shuddered against her, grappling with his unnamable demons. We have to take solace wherever we can find it, he’d said, and somehow, by some divine intervention or alignment of the stars or whatever the hell else determined their destinies . . . he was her solace.
“I’d better get you back,” he murmured into her hair, his fist clenching in it as if the thought was unbearable for him. And she knew he was right, that Rowan would probably never forgive her for staying the night with him, but it was unbearable for her too.
“I know,” she said softly. And not all of her tears after that were for her brother. More than a few were for Michael, and for herself.
Savannah opened the hotel door to Rowan’s furious green eyes and crossed arms.
“You slept with him.”
The accusation cut right to the heart, as Savannah had known it would. She maintained her silence, her mouth tightening, and turned to retrieve her carry-on bag from the bed.
Rowan chased after her. “My God! What are you thinking? After all that lecturing me about Zane, and you run off and screw the reason for this entire mess?”
Savannah calmly extended the handle on her suitcase and glanced around the room before turning back to Rowan with a deep inhale. “I did not say that I slept with him, and I don’t appreciate that.”
“Why else were you out so late?”
