by Maisey Yates
It made her ache. Made her feel desperate.
And it made her reckless. Made her determined to seize this moment, to seize what they had now. To grab every little thing that she could. Every last groan, every breath, every beat of his heart against her hand as it lay pressed against that bare chest.
They couldn’t have the past thirteen years back, and she knew they couldn’t have forever. But they had right now. And she would take it.
Oh, would she ever take it.
He stroked her, bringing her close, so close to the edge of orgasm, and then drawing back. She shifted restlessly beneath his touch, and he pressed a finger deep inside of her as he continued to stroke her with an extremely talented thumb.
She couldn’t believe how easy it was. How quickly he was accomplishing this, when typically on her own it took a whole lot of time and an extreme amount of concentration.
He was drawing out her climax with ease. As if he knew her body better than she did.
He shifted, pressing another finger inside of her, the slight burning pressure stealing her pleasure for a moment before he pressed the heel of his hand back to that sensitive bundle of nerves. He rocked his hand slowly, back and forth, his fingers stroking something sensitive and untouched deep inside of her. And then she lost herself. Lost everything in an extreme explosion of pleasure, lights bursting behind her eyes as she gave herself over to her climax. Her internal muscles tightened around his fingers, her whole body releasing as pleasure washed over her like a tide, endless, unchecked.
When she came back to herself she was breathing hard and he was gazing down at her with those fierce green eyes glittering.
“Beautiful,” he said, kissing her lips. “The most beautiful.”
He withdrew from her, grabbing hold of her pants and pulling them the rest of the way down her legs, casting them down on the floor, along with her underwear. She was naked, but now she didn’t care. She simply felt boneless, pliant. She had already come, so there was nothing more to worry about, really. Whatever happened now, she felt like she was floating, felt like she was about to sail away on a breeze. Or something. She couldn’t exactly think straight. And she didn’t have anything she could compare this to.
That first touch of Liam’s hand. That first time being brought to the peak of pleasure by someone else.
Of giving over that control.
He moved away from her, standing on the edge of the bed, undoing his jeans and shrugging them down his muscular thighs.
She could see the outline of his arousal clearly through the black boxer briefs he was wearing. So big, so thick, so much more than she had imagined it could be. She had gotten the gist of it when she had looked down at his jeans earlier in the evening, but this was a much more explicit preview.
And then, he pushed them off without ceremony, leaving him naked and exposed to her hungry gaze. To her hungry, curious gaze, because she had never seen a naked man in person before. And he was quite a lot of naked man.
He was quite a lot in general.
He moved to the edge of the bed and she scooted toward the end of it, reaching up and pressing her hand against his hard-cut abs. She trailed her fingertips down each ridge of muscle, hesitating when she reached that gorgeous cock. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to taste him.
And so she did.
She wrapped her fingers around his hard length, stunned for a moment how hot it was. And how soft the skin was. Then she leaned in, touching her tongue to his shaft, gratified when he jerked. She looked up at him, and he was gazing down at her, his jaw held tight, his lips pressed into a grim line. The evidence of his tested control in each distended tendon in his neck, in the way he stood completely immobile.
She pressed her lips against that wide head, then wrapped her lips around it, drawing each glorious inch of him into her mouth, as far as she could take him. She curled her hand around the base, dragged her tongue along his length.
He breathed out a curse, reaching up and grabbing hold of her hair, his hips bucking forward.
It was crass, but she didn’t care, because she knew that he enjoyed it. Knew that he was this close to losing it because of her.
Because a virgin had her mouth on him.
That at least made her feel satisfied. Whatever came after this, she had that.
She might be inexperienced, but he wasn’t immune to her. Not even a little bit.
She dragged her mouth from him slowly, sliding her tongue along his length as she did, then she licked him like a lollipop, and found herself being lifted up, held against his chest, her breasts crushed against him as he claimed her mouth with his.
And then she was falling, back onto the bed, beneath all that hard, hot wall of man. He pressed her thighs wide, settling between them, pressing the head of his erection against the entrance to her body before dragging it up to where she was most sensitive, sliding that hard length through her slick folds.
Then he reached to the side, fumbling until he grabbed hold of the box of condoms. The condoms that had nearly kept this from happening. That had nearly given her the out that her fear so desperately craved. She could not remember what she had been thinking then. It seemed like another day. Seemed like another person.
That girl who had nearly let her fear, let her embarrassment, talk her out of claiming something she had wanted for so long.
She could hardly remember that girl.
He opened the box quickly, taking out a gray packet and tearing it open. Then he quickly rolled the latex over his length before moving back between her thighs, kissing her deeply, stealing her nerves, stealing any hesitation she might have felt.
She arched against him as he pressed into her, slowly, achingly slowly. She felt each agonizing inch as he stretched her, as he reached that barrier, the burning, stretching pain strangely welcome. Then he jerked his hips forward, finishing it, burying himself in her completely.
She cried out, unable to stop herself, because that hurt like fucking hell.
He lifted his head, his gaze burning into hers, and for the first time she was sorry they had left the lights on. Because she knew that he could see her expression perfectly. That he could see the pain etched there, the uncertainty, the nerves, the embarrassment.
That it was all written there in a flush stained over her cheeks, in the way she was biting her lip, in all the raw uncertainty she was sure he could see in her eyes.
She didn’t know what to expect. For him to get angry. For him to stop.
Instead, he lowered his head for a moment, first pressing his forehead against hers. Then he kissed her lips, kissed her neck. He murmured something she couldn’t understand, jerking up against her body, sliding his hands down beneath her butt as he lifted her up to meet him.
He whispered something that sounded a lot like an apology before withdrawing from her slightly and thrusting back home.
He rolled his hips against hers, that thick, uncompromising length sliding in and out of her as he made short, fractured sounds that sounded somewhere between pleasure and pain. And it took a while for her own pain to fade. For that restless buzz of desire to return. But it did. And when it did it built deeper, more intensely than it had before. When it did, she couldn’t be concerned about anything. Not about her lack of practical experience or what he thought of it, not about what he wanted, not about what he felt.
Everything in her world was reduced to her own need, to her own desire. To the restless command of arousal that overtook her completely.
She was close. So close.
She rocked her hips against his, instinctively meeting his every thrust with a movement of her hips.
He reached up for her breast, sliding his thumb over her nipple, pinching it, teasing it. And then he kissed her, taking her mouth hard with his own, his tongue going deep as he staked a claim on her that
she didn’t think she would ever be free of.
Then she broke.
Utterly. Completely. Her internal muscles tightening around his erection as she gave up everything. All of her thoughts. All of her control. She was broken open, for him, with him.
He growled against her mouth, his erection pulsing deep inside of her as he came, as he found his own pleasure, his own release.
She had been right to be afraid of this. Had been right to be afraid of him. There would be no going back after this. There would be no rebuilding those walls inside of her. No pretending that she hadn’t known this pleasure, that she hadn’t known this man. It wouldn’t be something she could simply walk away from as if it had never happened.
And perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps it was what they had both always known.
They lay together for a moment, his heart pounding heavily against her chest, the room seeming to spin above her.
She’d done it. She’d had sex with Liam Donnelly.
And she truly didn’t know what she was supposed to feel.
He rolled away from her, breathing hard. Then he sat up on the bed, his back to her. She rolled over facing him. And all the breath rushed from her body.
Finally, that whole tattoo was visible to her. And it was the tree. She was certain of that.
But it was more than just the tree. It was the girl, blonde and barefoot, leaning against the tree.
Grassroots Winery was inked on Liam Donnelly’s skin. And so was she.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIAM FELT LIKE he had been kicked in the chest, so when Sabrina’s tiny fist connected with his back, it took him a moment to realize that he had been hit in reality, and not just metaphorically.
“What the hell?” came her venomous-sounding growl.
“What?” he asked, getting up off the bed slowly and turning to face her. She was naked, beautiful, those pale pink nipples on display. But she was also angry. Angrier than he could remember ever seeing her.
He had seen her naked and shell-shocked before, that was true, but he had never seen her this righteously furious, blue eyes blazing.
“Explain that tattoo,” she said. “The tattoo you have of the tree. The tattoo you have of me.”
Oh shit. The tattoo. Why the hell hadn’t he realized she was going to see that? Why the hell hadn’t he realized...
Because somehow you managed to get it without acknowledging what you were doing. Because you’re so deep in your own bullshit that you thought maybe she would be too. That it really wasn’t a big deal.
The lights had been on the entire time, but somehow now he felt like they had been wrenched up so that they were even brighter. Somehow now, it felt like he was exposed in a way he hadn’t been before.
He had been naked in front of a lot of women. And the response had always been positive. He wasn’t shy in the least.
This was different. This was like reading pages from a diary he had never intended to keep. Like he was a damned teenage girl.
“It’s a tattoo,” he said, finally, flatly.
“It’s me,” she said.
“I have a lot of tattoos,” he said. He got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, discarding the condom before returning to the bedroom. “About different things. Different things I’ve done.”
“Right. But you didn’t care about me, did you, Liam? It was easy for you to leave? Easy for you to accuse me of having baggage while you had stepped away from all of it carrying nothing. But you’re a liar. You have it all on you permanently. It’s just so self-righteous. You told me to let things go. You’re telling me not to think... not to feel anything, and you have it all emblazoned on your body. What did you think? That I wouldn’t notice?”
“I didn’t think,” he said, the words clipped. “Honest to God. I got the tattoo a couple of years after I left. And I thought about the tree, because trees are strong. And they have roots. And they can withstand storms. And then, when the guy was making the design I thought of a blonde woman. Standing at the base of the tree.”
“Just a blonde. Any old blonde,” she said, waving her hand around.
“I didn’t let myself think about it,” he bit out.
“Incredible,” she said. “Let me ask you a question, Liam, does anybody buy your bullshit as much as you do?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a tattoo.”
“It’s just the entire past permanently etched into your back,” she said, flinging her hands wide. “Right. Not a big deal at all.”
“Maybe it is,” he said. “Maybe it’s part of my life I didn’t want to forget. Your father giving me the money...”
“Right. My father. Not me. But he gave it to you because of me. I’m everywhere in your past. And you’re everywhere in mine. You’re all up in all of it. And what happened to me afterward... You made me think that I was being ridiculous. That something was wrong with me. Everybody did. But it does all come back to you. It does. Whatever you say, whatever anyone else says.”
“Convenient that you’re freaking out at me now,” he commented. “You know, now that we’ve already had sex. Now that you got what you wanted. But you’re scared now, aren’t you? Because you let yourself have it. You let yourself do it. So now you have to get up in my grill and blame me for more things.”
“I don’t have to. You showed all that guilt to me when you turned around.”
“Why does it bother you so much? Do you feel vindicated?”
He didn’t even know what fight he was having right now. Because her words were burrowing down beneath his skin and tearing strips off him. Because it was forcing him to look at those past decisions he made. At everything he had let himself believe. Liam Donnelly, the one who saw everything clearly. Who had known he had to leave Sabrina because it was for her own good. Who had known that taking the money for college was simply the right thing to do, because without it he would have nothing. Who had known that earning all that money was just something he had to do, not something that would fix him.
He had said all those things with confidence. To himself, to other people. To his mother as he wrote her that giant-ass check to pay her back for all the years she had spent raising him. To settle a score, he had told himself, not to flip her the middle finger. Not to try to prove to her with one last gasp she had been wrong about him.
That he mattered. That his life had mattered and that she should be damned glad her neglect hadn’t killed him.
All of those walls, those structures he had built up around himself were going up in flames, bright blue flames that looked a lot like Sabrina Leighton’s eyes.
“I do have a right to be angry,” she said. “Because I’ve been carrying this on my shoulders the whole time. And it’s right there on yours. Right there on yours and you’re pretending that it isn’t.” She huffed out a laugh. “I have been... I ruined everything. I ruined everything, and you let me think that I did it for nothing. For something I made up. Something only I still thought about.”
Suddenly, something snapped inside of him. Anger, unreasonable, unquenchable anger flowing through him.
She was uncovering his lies, getting down to the truth, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t want to see them any more than he wanted her to. No one else ever bothered with this. They were content with his facade. The suit, the money. If they were lovers, with his skin, and the tattoos. Never what they represented.
But she wanted deeper. And he wanted nothing less.
“You ruined everything, right? Absolutely everything.” He moved around to the end of the bed, pressed his hands against the mattress and leaned forward. “That has been a pretty convenient story for you this whole time, don’t lie about that, Sabrina. Because what danger does it put you in to believe that? To believe that you are so powerful you’re the on
e who destroyed all the things around you and you have to stay here and pay penance for the rest of your damned life. You might have been hurt, you might have been wandering around all wounded and ashamed, but it kept you safe, didn’t it? You got to blame it on me. You got to cast me as the villain, and you, the unwitting tragic maiden.”
“I’m sorry, I might have cast you as the villain but you cast yourself as the benevolent knight.” She curled her legs up, rolled away from him and got off the bed. “The benevolent knight who took a payoff from my father and then ran off leaving me to pick up all the pieces.”
“Who told you that you were the one who had to pick them up?” he asked.
“What?”
“Who told you all those pieces were your responsibility? You didn’t cause anything. You exposed what people were already doing. Your father already knew your mother was having an affair, I would wager a guess that half the people in town did too. Certainly the men she was sleeping with knew. Your father let that sin become yours. And you took it on. You took it on and made it yours. And then you held it close all this time, and you used it as an excuse. For why you didn’t go to school away from home. Why you haven’t left.”
She huffed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She looked like she was fighting the urge to strangle him, but he carried on, anyway.
“You might be hurt, but you’re safe. And I think that’s what you wanted. So go ahead and scream at me if you want but it doesn’t change the fact that you have stake in what happened to your life, and what happened in everyone else’s isn’t your damn fault. You would rather blame yourself for all those things than for the one thing that you can actually control, which is what you do with yourself. So go ahead, Sabrina, blame me for that. For the fact that you were a thirty-year-old virgin, for the fact that you never left home, but you’re lying to yourself.”
