“You look beautiful,” he said.
Amy had done fine work. Plus, included in her “day bag” were a dozen outfits from my closet, including bras and panties. I felt a lot more normal back in real clothes.
“Thank you,” I said.
A raindrop landed on my shoulder, cool against my heating skin. Another landed in his hair, gleaming like a diamond in the dark strands.
“We should go inside,” he said.
He didn’t move
“Why did you come back?” I whispered.
He shook his head, as if to clear it, and I could feel him back away, even before he rocked onto his heels. The rain pattered against the palm trees and long grass that lined the shore, more insistent than before.
“I’m scared, too,” I said, more loudly now. “What happened to me scares me, and losing control scares me, and you, you scare me more than anything.” My fist closed in his shirt. “But mostly I’m scared that if we keep pushing each other away, we’ll forget how to do anything else.”
His eyes filled with regret. His hands moved to my hips, touching me too lightly, as if I might break.
“I forgive you,” I said. “For whatever part you played, and whatever part you think you played. I forgive you.”
“Anna, don’t.”
“I forgive you.”
“Anna . . .”
“I forgive you.”
His breath came out in a shudder. He looked up, and it wasn’t the rain that dampened his face, but his own tears. His throat tightened as he tried to swallow, and he gripped my hips so hard I could feel his hands shaking. I slid my open palms up his chest to his neck, but before I could pull him down to kiss me, he’d lifted me against his body, and crushed his lips to mine.
The passion in that kiss touched me like none before it had. It shook me to my very soul. As his arms surrounded me, his mouth claimed mine with a force he’d kept pent up far too long. His tongue pushed past my teeth, stroking me in a way that lit my blood on fire. Exploring, but yet demanding. Slow, but fierce. I gripped the back of his neck and held on, losing my equilibrium as my eyes drifted closed.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. His hair sifted through my fingers as the need in my belly twisted tighter. He broke away and I gasped for breath, but that breath turned to a moan as his teeth scraped down the length of my neck. I fisted his hair, and kissed his jaw and the corners of his eyes, tasting the tears on his skin. I held on to his shoulders as he slid me down his body. My breasts rubbed against his chest, my stomach over his hard length. His hands spread over my back, then reached lower, over my bottom, to where my cutoff shorts ended. He slipped beneath the denim, kneading the sensitive places so close to where I needed his touch.
And then we were falling, only not. I wound my arms around his neck as he took us to the ground, and the cool sand beneath my back crunched as I wriggled my knees open. He settled between them, pulling back for a moment to look down at me.
“Anna,” he whispered.
A wave crept up and splashed over my hip, drenching my side. The raindrops were growing heavier. I barely felt them.
One hand moved down my body to my thigh, and pulled my leg higher up his side. His hand hooked beneath my bare knee, tickling the skin just beneath. Then he was kissing me again, and there wasn’t room for fear, or insecurity. Only him. Only Alec.
Water from the sky dampened his hair, and his shirt, while water from the Bay soaked my clothes. He rocked his hips against mine, and I answered with a breathless gasp. His fingers intertwined with mine. A rhythm began, a slow but intense dance that hastened with each pull of the waves. This night belonged to us. The sky and the sand and the water were all ours.
The tension was all drawing to my center, into that place he rubbed with each flex of his hips. My pulse raced. My eyes fluttered closed. His tongue licked mine. Our clothes began to twist and pull the wetter they became, but the strain of the fabric only pushed us higher.
My breath hitched.
“Alec,” I said, realizing suddenly what was happening. I had my clothes on. I wanted to feel his skin when I came. I wanted to feel him inside me.
“Alec, I . . .”
He kept moving. He knew.
Then his hand was between us, over my shorts, rubbing, circling, pressing. His hips kept up their movements, faster now, and I wrapped my arms around his back, nails digging through the thin, wet fabric.
“Not yet,” I begged. “I need . . .”
The words were lost. I cried out into the night as the tension spiraled outward, claiming my body. I bit his shoulder through the T-shirt, just as another burst of heat shattered my thoughts. My body stretched tight, heels digging into the denim over his calves. Then there was nothing but lightness, and warmth, and Alec’s harsh breaths in my ear.
“Thank you,” he said.
I buried my face in his neck, a little embarrassed that I’d come on a beach with my clothes on. But he didn’t seem to care. He kissed my forehead, and my cheek, and my collar. His hands roamed over my legs and my ankles, even as the rain clattered against the water and thunder boomed overhead.
Finally, he drew back, and pulled me to a stand. Lightning cracked over the sky, but though I looked, he continued to stare at me, eyes flashing with desire.
He took my hand, and we ran for the shelter of the apartment.
Twenty
He didn’t release my hand until we were inside with the door safely locked behind us. As he reached down to turn on the small end table lamp, I flattened my hands over my belly, trying to calm the nerves that were multiplying by the second. We were soaked to the bone, dripping from our clothes and every angle of our bodies. Puddles formed beneath our feet on the wood floor, but I couldn’t move, not even to get a towel to dry my hair.
It was pouring outside now. The rain had washed away the sand and saltwater, but not the words that I’d said, or the intensity of what had happened between us. Those things were all around us now, layering on top of our desire, and our pain, and that single force that forbid me from letting him go.
I loved Alec Flynn.
And nothing about that felt wrong.
There was no guilt about Amy finding out—she already knew where this was going. There was no fear about Maxim Stein and the pictures. That was all left outside. No one could hurt us worse than we could hurt ourselves, and we were done with that.
I swallowed. “Were there other women?”
I didn’t want to know, but it was important regardless. Thinking of him seeking out someone else to ease his loneliness made my stomach hurt.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “You’re it for me. There’s been no one since you.”
He stood, watching me with questions in his eyes. But those faded as I lifted the hem of my tank top and pulled it over my head. It stuck to every inch of my skin on the way off, heavy with moisture. I dropped it on the floor beside me.
“You aren’t going to ask me?” I said.
His hand twitched.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t care?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He was just out of reach, but his gaze touched me all the same. My skin warmed, and my nipples, already straining against the wet silk of my white bra, ached almost painfully. He stripped off his T-shirt, dropping it beside mine. Then toed off his shoes and removed his socks.
It seemed impossible that he was so perfect. His chest was smooth, but for the dark groomed hair across his pecs. His shoulders, like his abs, were defined by muscle; swells and slopes that ran with tiny rivulets of rainwater. There was a knotted pink scar on his ribs from where he’d taken a knife in my protection, and I knew a matching one on his back from prison. His hair fell in dark points, dripping down his hard jaw and neck. I wanted to lick those places, taste the sky and the salt on his skin.
“I dreamed about you,” I said. “I could feel you. It would have been impossible to let another man touch me.”
I undid the button on my shorts, then lowered the zipper slowly, one click at a time. The denim stuck, but I peeled it away slowly, feeling his hunger grow as the matching white silk thong was revealed. It had been made see-through by the water, and clung to my bare lips. A small groan tore from his throat as I kicked the shorts aside.
He huffed out a breath. “You’re so damn beautiful.” He shook his head. “The words aren’t right. I can’t think.”
I smiled. “They’re good enough.”
“Nothing’s good enough,” he said. “Not for you. Anna, I would give you anything. I would do anything.”
And he had. He had given me everything he could, including time apart. As he opened his hands before me, I felt humbled. Even giving him my soul didn’t feel like enough.
“I want you,” I said.
He took a tentative step forward. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His hands lifted to cup my face. The kiss was gentle, sweet, and made my knees weak. I slid my hands over his chest, stopping on the scar to trace it with my fingers.
I pulled back, then lowered to kiss him there, first gently, then trailing my tongue over the puckered skin. His breathing grew ragged, even as his fingertips were soft over my hair and down my back.
I kissed my way up, and when my tongue lanced over his nipple his grip tightened around my arms. He pulled me up to kiss me again, his hands staying on my biceps, as if to make certain he wouldn’t go too fast.
I reached for his fly and undid the button. He helped me then, never breaking our kiss. As he bent to pull his legs free, I melted into his chest, and when his legs were bare, he held me tightly, our wet bodies sliding over each other. He was still wearing his boxer briefs, and as I reached for the waistband, he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders, unable to stifle the sounds that slipped out of my mouth when his strong fingers kneaded my buttocks and pressed me against his cock.
He hurried to the bedroom, tensing as I took his ear between my teeth. I expected him to throw me on the bed and lose control—I wanted him to—but he set me down gently, and then slowly climbed over me.
“If you want to stop, just tell me,” he said.
He edged down one bra strap and kissed my shoulder.
I told him not to stop.
He reached behind me and unclasped my bra in one easy move. My breasts felt suddenly too heavy without the support, but he didn’t yet remove the fabric that covered me.
He pulled the other strap down my shoulder. I squirmed beneath him. He was still on his knees, not yet resting his weight on me. I could feel the doubt in him, see it flash in his eyes.
He cleared his throat. “If I do something wrong, or . . .”
His hesitance was breaking my heart. I hoped my touch would heal him.
“Alec.” I pulled his chin up so that he was forced to look at me. “Make me feel good.”
His eyes went dark, and he gave one curt nod.
I slipped out of the bra, exposing my breasts. They felt swollen, tender, like that hot, wet place between my legs. For one long second he looked at me, awe and lust and something deeper in his eyes.
Then he touched me.
It started gentle. He eased his weight between my legs. His knuckles glided over the swell of my left breast. His fingertip circled the hard point. He watched my nipple tighten further, then brushed his thumb over it, then gave it a light pinch.
I arched off the bed, my chest colliding with his.
“Alec . . .”
His kiss stole my breath. His arms surrounded me, then pulled me farther up the bed. Fire followed his lips as they trailed down my neck to my shoulder. It lashed through my veins as his wicked mouth moved lower. He kissed my breast, swirled his tongue around the nipple, and then sucked it into his mouth with one tantalizing scrape of his teeth.
“God,” he murmured. I could feel him losing the battle for control. His lids had grown heavy, his voice raspy. He moved to my other breast, working it until I was writhing beneath him. More. I needed more. And it had to be now.
I reached between us, trying to pull off his boxer briefs, but he grabbed my wrists and stretched them over my head. His tongue made a slow line from the inside of my elbow toward my body as I quivered and wrapped my legs around him. He stopped me with one hard thrust of his hips.
“Yes,” I said. “Alec, please.”
Still holding my arms with one hand, he shifted onto his side, and rolled me toward him. His other hand slipped between us, doing what he wouldn’t let me do. He cupped me over my panties, the fabric still soaked from the rain and the beach and now slick with my desire.
I started panting. He was delaying. It was killing me.
“Let me touch you,” I said.
“Not yet.”
He looked into my eyes while his fingers slipped beneath the fabric. He kept watching as he traced the curves of my body. I could feel how slippery I was when he pushed just the tip of one finger inside and pressed against my clit with the heel of his hand.
I bit my lip hard, but the cry came anyway.
“Is this okay?”
He couldn’t be serious. It was beyond okay. It was better than my memories and fantasies combined.
I nodded, my wet hair sticking to my cheeks.
His finger slipped lower, deeper, and circled my entrance.
I clapped my knees together, trapping his hand. I could feel my hungry body clenching, longing to be filled. I was too sensitive; every movement of his hand sent electric bolts surging through my body.
“Come on my hand,” he said.
I shook my head. I wanted to come on his cock.
But he destroyed me anyway. His thumb reached up to my clit just as one finger probed within. The pressure increased, inside and out, and I gave a hoarse yell as the wave built, and built, and then dragged me under. He didn’t stop massaging both places, even as I arched and strained against him. Even as that soft velvet whip pelted me again and again.
As I succumbed to trembles and gasps he held me, one hand still cupping my wet center.
“Fucking beautiful,” he muttered. “I’m here. Hold on to me.”
I did. But the orgasm had left me longing for something deeper. It was as if he’d just scratched the surface; the ache was growing harsher. The power of it almost frightening.
He left me for just long enough to ease my panties off. Then he was back, kissing his way down my body, between my breasts, over my ribs.
I kept trembling. I couldn’t stop shaking.
“You okay?” He kissed my belly button.
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure what was happening to me. I should have felt pliant, relaxed, ready for him. But my body was so starved for his cock I could barely hold still. I fisted the bedsheets, jumping when he pulled my thighs wider.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
A sudden fear ripped through me that he would stop. That he would back away like he had the other night when he’d watched me. It wasn’t rational, I knew that. Things were different now, but still I couldn’t help it.
“Anna?”
I rose to my elbows, and pulled him up.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
He pushed off the bed, and my sex gave one hard throb as his weight shifted off my thighs. He reached for my cheek.
“It’s all right,” he said. “We don’t . . .”
“You have to make love to me,” I said hurriedly, trying to pull his body over mine. “You have to. Right now.”
“I . . .” He tilted my chin up. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t eith
er,” I nearly yelled. All I knew was the ache was so intense it was threatening to swallow me whole.
I pulled at the band of his boxer briefs. “I’m ready. I don’t want to be apart anymore.”
He stopped my hands. “Just because I’m not inside of you doesn’t mean we aren’t making love.”
I looked at him, the certainty in his tone dousing my sudden panic.
He rolled onto his back, and peeled off the last bit of clothing separating us. Then he returned to me. But he didn’t thrust inside. Not even as I laid back and hooked my knees around his hips.
His gaze captured me, held me. The world slowed.
“Every time I touch you, it shakes me. Every touch, even when it seems meaningless.”
His hand trailed down my side, leaving warm shivers in its wake.
“And when we’re here, so close to the edge . . .”
He shifted his weight. Lowered.
“Anna,” he said. “I love you.”
My eyes filled with tears. My heart was swelling.
I felt him there, pressing against my entrance, and my body stilled. I closed my eyes, focusing on that hard, smooth feel of him. Feeling my anticipation grow with each second.
“I love you so much,” he murmured. “So fucking much.”
With his weight on his elbows, he pushed into me so slowly I could feel my muscles grip the head, and then stretch to accommodate his girth.
I finally wept, and held on to his shoulders as the muscles beneath flexed. He was back. Finally. Mine again. My heart had been broken, but he was fusing it back together with the searing heat of this long, slow thrust.
It became apparent now that he was shaky, too. Either with the magnitude of the emotions rolling through us, or from his own imposed restraint, I couldn’t tell, but I held his face in my hands and kissed him. On the lips. On the sexy scar that ran along the bridge of his nose. Between his eyebrows, in the place that always revealed the concerns he couldn’t voice. This was different than it had been in his apartment. This felt like the way it should have been. Like the way it always had been but better.
The Confession Page 17
