Meg heard the sound of flesh cracking against flesh before she registered the fact that his palm had just swatted her ass. Her spine stiffened, and he paused, presumably to let her absorb what had just happened.
Her skin stung, stretched hot and tight where his hand had connected with it. It was uncomfortable.
As she shifted on her knees, somehow the newly awoken nerves traveled in a direct line to her clit. Oh—oh, that was new.
That was amazing.
Groaning, she felt herself sliding down until her chest touched the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The position offered her ass up, and she heard him growl.
He was breathing hard when he swiped his fingers through her exposed slit.
“You’re drenched, kitten.” A pleasant fog started to drift through her brain as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back up to her knees. “This body was made for me.”
His hand found her center again. She heard someone crying out over and over—was that her?—as she was pushed higher, then higher still. Then two fingers were inside her, scissoring against her swollen tissue, and she shattered.
She had no awareness of her limbs, of moving or of being moved, but suddenly she was in the steaming bath. John reclined in the scented water, and she straddled his lap. His latex-covered cock pressed against her, his hands at her hips, and she melted around him as he pulled her down, or he surged up, filling her to the brim.
It was too much. It was not enough. She couldn’t handle it, and when he began to thrust, she came again, and again, riding a series of aftershocks that had a scream tearing from her lips. He muttered filthy words in a rough voice, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he followed her over the edge.
The fog overtook her. When she came to, she was lying on the bed, wrapped in a giant plush towel. Her nose was pressed to John’s chest, his arms around her.
Holy crap.
She felt as though she’d been turned inside out. What the hell had just happened?
CHAPTER TEN
HE WAS SCREWED.
He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of different women. He didn’t see any shame in that, because he’d always been up-front with his partners about what he could—and couldn’t—give.
What he’d just experienced with Meg had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered it with crystal clarity—he’d wandered into the Marchande family garage to offer Jo a job, and there she’d been. She’d only been wearing a bra and a pair of faded overalls—none of the fancy clothes she loved. There had been no makeup on her face. She’d been surrounded by her sisters, and yet he hadn’t been able to look at anyone but her.
She’d looked right back. He’d thought that when they got together, any attraction they succumbed to would burn itself out, then be something they could exchange glances over at any future encounters.
He’d been stupid. Having Meg made him think of the tasting menus she put together for clients. So many different flavors. He could eat and eat, stuffing himself and never have his fill.
He had... He had feelings.
He was also leaving. Usually, that was appealing—moving on, a clean slate, a fresh start.
Right now, all he could think of was the fact that when she’d surrendered to him, something had clicked into place. Something that neatly filled all the empty places he ignored.
Pulling her against his chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have any answers, but right now, just having her in his arms was enough.
Except she wasn’t all warm and pliant like she’d been just a few minutes ago. She was stiff. Tense.
“What’s wrong?” Pulling back enough that he could see her face, he took in her pale skin, her wide eyes. “Hey. Talk to me.”
She sighed, squirmed with avoidance, then huffed out a breath of exasperation and finally spoke.
“My dad died when I was twelve.” She eyed him warily, and he knew she was searching for signs that he didn’t care, that stories about her past weren’t what he was here for.
He was here for everything, so he nodded for her to continue.
“Mamesie was a stay-at-home mom when it happened, and suddenly, she was responsible for four kids and a house.” Meg’s chin quivered. “I was the oldest, so a lot of responsibility fell to me. I’m the normal kid. The one who doesn’t create any trouble.”
“The one who doesn’t cry?” He traced a fingertip belong one of her eyes. It came away wet. “There’s no shame in crying.”
“Except that I don’t know why I am!” Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed back until there was a ribbon of space between them. He wanted to close it back up but understood that she needed it. “I’m just... I’m not used to having my needs made a priority. It brought out some stuff.”
“Hey.” Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him full on. “I thought part of what you wanted from me was some care. Isn’t that part of our deal?”
She eyed him uncertainly but didn’t speak.
“Let me provide it.” Swiping under her other eye, he lifted his fingers to show her the wetness. “And let’s start with this. While you’re with me, you are mine. That means these tears are mine. If they’re in you, you’d better let them out so that I can have them. Understood?”
Meg laughed, then sniffed. He couldn’t lie; he was more than a bit relieved that she hadn’t burst into tears. He wasn’t one of those men who panicked at the sight of a crying woman, but he didn’t want Meg to cry. He wanted her to feel like what she was—the queen of the world.
“Orgasms. Therapy.” The corner of her mouth crooked up in a half smile. “You’re a man of many talents.”
“Oh, I’m very talented.” He smirked down at her, sliding his hand around to cup her bottom. “Let me show you.”
“Take a cold shower there, Romeo.” Pulling herself to a sitting position, Meg looked down at him with those big blue eyes, which were now, thankfully, dry. “I have to be up at four to make muffins.”
“I like muffins.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sure you don’t want to see more of my talents?”
“I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, then looked at him thoughtfully. “Though since you’ve shown me yours, I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”
“I like this game.” He sat up as well, laughing when she ducked out of reach of his roaming hands.
“Stop that.” She arched an eyebrow. When he stilled, she took one of his hands in hers. Turning it over so that the palm faced up, she traced a finger over the lines that creased his skin.
He watched, saying nothing.
“Mamesie learned to read palms when she was just a kid,” she started, and the touch of her fingers tickled his skin. “She taught all of us girls, but I took to it the most.”
“This is one of your talents?”
“Yup.” She squinted at his palm, and he felt an unexpected trickle of nerves. “I don’t tell most people about it, because they’re skeptical. But since you shared with me, I’m going to share with you.”
“Huh.” She continued to study his palm, where the skin was lighter than it was on the rest of his body.
“Huh?” He was unexpectedly nervous. That was weird. “What’s huh?”
“See this line here?” She traced a finger over the line that curved near the base of his fingers. He nodded, and she continued, “See here, how it branches into two? That’s weird. Like... I’ve never seen that before, and Mamesie never mentioned it as a possibility. I’ve heard of the life line splitting, but never the heart line.”
“What does it mean?” In the dim light, her pale eyes glowed, looking almost otherworldly. He would believe whatever she told him.
She pondered for a moment before speak
ing. “I don’t know for sure. But my instincts tell me that it means you believed in one direction for your heart, and only one, that you thought would last you for your entire life. And then the branching off indicates that your feelings on matters of the heart have changed, or will change, at some point.”
That was scarily accurate. His feelings had changed...when he met her.
She frowned down at his palm, then looked up, faltering when she saw the intensity on his face.
“I do need to be going.” Dropping his hand, she shimmied to the edge of the bed. He loved that she didn’t hold a sheet to her skin like a life preserver. Instead, she walked naked around the room, collecting her clothing without a shred of embarrassment.
He focused on the view, rather than the words she’d just flayed him open with. Her confidence was hot.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” He knew by now that he was never going to get his fill of her before he left, but he was greedy and wanted as much as he could.
“No can do.” He appreciated the bounce of her breasts as she shimmied into her bra. “I have a girls’ night with Amy tomorrow night, and a family dinner the night after.”
“I like your mom’s cooking.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think them through.
Dinners with Meg’s family were one thing when he and Meg were just friends. They were something else entirely now that they were involved.
It didn’t matter. He still desperately wanted to attend.
She studied him curiously, as though she was meeting him for the first time. When she finally spoke, it was just to say one word.
“Okay.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I HAD NO idea how hungry I was until I bit into this,” Meg said to Amy as she devoured a spicy, cheesy taco. She needed to dissect it so she could replicate the taste in her kitchen. Then again, chances were that the taco was mediocre—she was likely just ravenous from all the sex she’d been having. Anything she put into her mouth right now would likely taste divine.
Speaking of putting things into her mouth...
Don’t go there, Meg.
Nope, too late. Now she was thinking of John, and all the delectable things she could be tasting if she agreed to see him tonight as he’d asked. A streak of heat moved through her, and her lashes fluttered as she briefly reminisced about the way he’d taken care of her. But when her lids fluttered back open, she caught the intense and far too curious way that Amy was watching her.
Stop thinking about him.
Amy toyed with the stem of her margarita glass, the overhead light dancing on the blond streaks in her long well-kept dreadlocks. “And I had no idea how little I’ve seen of you lately until now.”
Meg frowned at her sister and blew a strand of hair from her face. She missed hanging with Amy. Honestly, she’d been so preoccupied with John that she’d been neglecting her youngest and closest sister. Reaching across the table, she took Amy’s elegantly inked hand into her own and gave it a little squeeze.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy with work. I’m trying to put a menu together for that Gavin Aronson guy that I told you about. I pretty much have to set my alarm for the middle of the night just to go to the bathroom.” She crinkled her nose. “I want to get it right, you know?”
She wasn’t lying—catering for the mayor’s event was a big deal. It would potentially give her enough money for her dream, which she hadn’t voiced aloud to anyone yet. Still...
She wasn’t telling the whole truth, either—there was no denying that other things were preoccupying her brain. “This is a great opportunity for me, Amy.”
“I know. I’m so thrilled for you. No one deserves happiness and success like you do, Megs.” Amy squeezed her hand back. Something in the depths of her bright blue eyes flickered, and Meg felt a wave of guilt—she felt guilty that Amy felt guilty about everything Meg had done for their family over the years.
And thinking like that was a rabbit hole with no end. Shaking her head to clear it, she forced herself to focus on what Amy was saying.
“I was wondering...” Amy’s lips turned up in a smirk that Meg was all too familiar with. She stiffened, worried where her sister was going to take this conversation, yet knowing it’d be heading south...fast. Amy cocked her head, her grin widening. “I don’t think work is what’s been keeping you busy.”
Meg snatched her hand back, then hoped that the quick reaction was lost on her sister. From the gleam in her pretty blue eyes, she guessed it wasn’t.
“What?” Meg asked, widening her eyes innocently. Good God, she probably had sex written all over her, and no way was her sister going to let that go. Maybe dinner out was a bad idea. Maybe she should be hiding from her family until this affair was over. Telling them about John wasn’t conducive to her mental health. When he left, they’d ask a million questions, and it would create drama that she wasn’t interested in dealing with. Ever.
Nevertheless, while she wasn’t about to talk about what had been keeping her up at night, there was a part of her that wanted to talk about John, despite the commotion that was sure to follow in the early days after his disappearance. Maybe it was because she’d missed out on a big chunk of her childhood, missed the years of gossiping about boys with her friends.
Except John was no boy. No, he was a man, experienced, suave, lethal. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to leave here in a couple of days with her heart in the palm of his very deft hands.
“Oh, I just thought something else might be preoccupying you,” Amy said, her brow raised playfully as she took a generous sip of her margarita.
Don’t ask, Meg. Don’t ask.
“Like what?” she asked.
Kill me now.
Amy lifted her finger to draw a circle in the air, one that outlined Meg’s face. “You almost look a little windburned, sis. Only problem is, it hasn’t been windy lately.” She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. “The only other logical explanation is...those are whisker burns on your cheeks.”
Oh shit.
Amy’s laugh carried through the restaurant, and Meg groaned, fighting the urge to hide her face. She didn’t want to tell her sister about her and John. Dammit, there was no her and John. Not really. They were simply having an affair, one that came with an expiration date, and she’d be wise to remember that.
She’d left his arms last night, and today was about reconnecting with her sister, not reminiscing about the way he’d taken care of her, wiped her eyes when she’d told him something painfully personal. She certainly hadn’t expected him to make a gift of her words, wiping away her tears and...comforting her. Tender, that was what he’d been, and she wasn’t sure it was something she could bounce back from.
Something had changed between them last night, something she couldn’t define. Honestly, if she hadn’t felt things for him before...that profound moment would have been icing on the damn cake.
When she’d started this thing with John, he was all icing. All delicious goodness to be licked off with her tongue until the sugar became too sweet and she’d had her fill. But no, he was proving to be the sturdy surface that supported the icing—and that was a problem for her.
God, maybe she was just tired, getting up at four to bake all those bagels and muffins. That had to be why her stupid emotions were on a roller-coaster ride with no stop button in sight.
“Hello, earth to Meg,” Amy said, bringing her thoughts back to the present.
Meg blinked once, then twice until her sister’s smirking face came into view again.
“Want to talk about him?” Amy asked.
Meg picked up her taco and bit into it, humming nonchalantly around a mouthful of cheesy goodness.
Amy laughed. “Okay, I get it. But I have to say, it’s a good look on you, sis.” She gestured to the window, and Meg turned, catching her reflection. Truthfully, she did look
happier, far more relaxed than she had in ages, and damn if her skin wasn’t all flushed and smooth.
That’s what good sex does to a girl.
That thought made her smile, but it dissolved quickly, the bite she’d just swallowed ready to rise for a second viewing when reality came crashing over her like a tsunami. It didn’t matter how good the sex was, how tender John had been with her. All of this would be over in a few days, and it was time for her to pull herself together once and for all.
She dropped the rest of her taco and plastered on a smile. “What do you say we go have some fun?”
“There’s my girl.” Amy wiped her mouth with the napkin as Meg gestured for the bill. She paid for dinner and wrapped her arm around her sister as they made their way to her favorite wine bar. The thump of bass shook the ground below them as they approached, and boom. Once again, her mind was on John, and the night, that first night, right here in this wine bar.
Amy pushed the door open. Floral perfume and sandalwood cologne clogged the air and assaulted her senses. Numerous eyes turned in their direction, and Meg chuckled. The Marchande girls knew how to make an entrance, and it was all about confidence. It didn’t hurt that her sister, with all her colorful ink and unapologetic attitude, drew stares, many from males, and all appreciative. She tugged on Amy’s arm, and her sister’s dreads tickled Meg’s nose when she put her mouth near her ear.
“Grab us a table. I need to make a quick trip to the bathroom.”
“Look at you. And you didn’t even have to set the alarm,” Amy teased.
Laughing, Meg made a beeline for the bathroom, cutting through the nearly empty dance floor, but a calloused hand scraped lightly down her arm and stopped her cold. The touch was vaguely familiar, but it didn’t give her all the feels like John’s. Still, no one touched her without her permission.
Scowl in place, and a curse on the tip of her tongue, she spun around and came face-to-face—or rather, face-to-chest—with Aaron. Her retort softened, and she tilted her chin to meet his gaze.
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