But then, in a flash, everything shifted.
She grabbed his hand between her legs, and gripped his wrist. She circled her hips, jerking her body, rising against him, and holding him in place like his hand was a dildo. Holy shit. He’d become her goddamn vibrator as she rocked into his hand in frantic jerks, desperately racing to come.
“Do it,” he growled, urging her on. “Do it till you get there.”
She fucked his hand with reckless, untamed need, clenching tight around his fingers until she moaned into his mouth, her lips falling away from his. She cried out, gasping I’m coming in French.
That was the girl he’d known. She’d always come in French. On his fingers, in his hand, while dry-humping him in a car, in her locked room, in a movie theater once during a high-octane action sequence. Her words always returned to her native language when she soared off the cliff. Hell, her sexy, breathy moans right now were rich with her accent. It made him even harder, and it made him grin, pride suffusing him.
He lowered his mouth, kissing her neck, dragging his teeth across the tender skin, biting her. He needed to mark this woman who’d haunted him. For years, she’d been the yardstick, the dream, the what if fantasy. The trouble was, making her come, watching her lose all control for him, did nothing to abate that pent-up desire for her. The opposite had happened. It stoked the flames. He wanted her more than ever. Wanted to slide his cock inside her, wanted to feel her snug and tight around him, wanted to know what it was like to make love to—no. Not that. To fuck this woman.
She shuddered, her shoulders shaking. It occurred to him that his fingers were still inside her. Gently, he removed them.
She looked up at him from hooded, sated eyes. “I think I treated your hand like a dildo,” she said, a sweet little smirk on her gorgeous face.
“You did. But I’m perfectly okay with you treating my hand, cock, or my mouth as a sex toy anytime you want,” he said, and she laughed. He leaned in, moving his lips to her ear. “Because I want you with every part of me. I want to fuck you in every way,” he told her. “To have you in any way I can.”
She wrapped her hands around his neck. “I want that, too. I want it desperately.”
“So what do you want to do about that?”
He waited for her answer, watching her expression change from one of euphoria to something else entirely, something that looked a lot like regret.
His heart cratered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As soon as I want it desperately tumbled from her lips, she cast her eyes downward.
A strange sensation washed over her. It felt like…guilt. And it was awful. It wormed through her, eating up the bliss she’d experienced mere moments ago, turning it into something insidious.
She’d just come with another person for the first time in two years. She should feel ecstatic, but instead a seed pushed and shoved against her skin, because it was the first time she’d been with someone new in more than a decade, and that felt traitorous.
It shouldn’t.
It really shouldn’t.
But as she brushed her messy hair from her face with fingers that had clutched Michael like a lifeline, remorse turned her blood sluggish. She pressed her lips together, holding in this feeling, sucking it down. Maybe she could just ride it out.
When a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek, Michael tucked his fingers under her chin and raised her face. “Hey. Are you okay?”
His voice was warm, full of concern, and his eyes searched her expression. It was then that she realized why she’d thought he was a safe choice. Because in this moment, he was. They’d always talked; they’d been as open as a couple could be. She brushed the remnant of the tear away, and spoke softly. “I feel guilty, but I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“I understand why you’d feel that way,” he said, taking his time speaking. “And I don’t want to push you into anything.”
Her eyes widened. “No. God, no. You didn’t push me. I wanted all of it. I wanted you.”
“Did it bother you, what I said? That I wanted you in every way?”
She shook her head. “No. I loved it, actually.”
“You have to know you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I know. I get it up here,” she said, tapping her head, then moved her hand to her heart. “But here, it’s hard. That’s the first time I’ve done a thing with anyone since…”
“I just want you to feel good. In every way. Your heart, and your body.” He ran his hand down her arm. Her gaze followed the path of his fingertips, and it registered what he’d done. He’d gone from pleasuring her to comforting her. He could do both, just as she could talk freely to him about this pendulum swing of emotions.
She took a long, deep breath, met his gaze, and made a choice. To live in the present.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice strong again. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “For that. All of it. Every part.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. He looked at his wristwatch. “We need to feed you and get you back to work. I would love to see you again, if you want,” he said.
“I want that.”
“But I don’t even know how long you’re in town for.”
“Not long. I leave tomorrow for New York.”
His smile spread. “Me, too.”
The words rang in her ears like a song.
And suddenly, she knew she wanted to live in the present with him for a little bit longer.
* * *
The Thai restaurant served them lickety-split. With her fork she twirled the noodles and took a bite of her pad Thai. She hummed as she ate. Maybe she was still high from that orgasm, or maybe it was from their plans to spend time together in New York. Quite possibly she might be feeling this way because they’d talked about what was happening, and she’d moved through it, for now.
“The pad Thai…it’s that good?”
“Maybe it is,” she said, after she finished chewing.
“Or are you grinning about something else?”
She leaned across the table as he worked his way through a shrimp dish. “You,” she said with a naughty grin. “Your tongue.”
A smile spread slowly across his handsome face, as he licked his lips. “You looking forward to getting to know that part of me?”
She nodded and took another bite, moaning around the food. “Mmm. I bet you’re spectacular at that.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The way you kiss me.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want to show you other ways to kiss you.” He dropped his voice lower. “I want to kiss you until your taste is all over my lips.”
She dropped her fork. Her entire body went up in flames. He reached across the table, picked up the utensil, and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and she wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the fork, or the orgasm, or the promise of more and in a new variety.
Somehow, she managed to take another bite of her noodles, but she couldn’t rein in the grin as she ate.
He laughed, wiped his napkin across his mouth, and took a drink of his water. “I like seeing you…happy. You deserve to be happy.”
Happy was one way to put it. Unlocked worked, too. That first kiss had turned the key on a closed door in her that had been shut tight since Julien had passed away. She’d shut off the woman who’d loved sex and intimacy and closeness, as if the lack of it were necessary to prove her grief.
But as soon as she’d let herself go there last night, with her own fingers, she’d become a woman unleashed. It was as if that single orgasm against her hotel room door had uncorked her. Like a ravenous, starving woman given filet and chocolate cake and fine wine, she wanted more. Wanted to gobble it all up. A second serving, a third helping, and dessert, please, too.
If she could only keep the guilt at bay. She hoped that brief encounter with it in the dressing room was her last, because she clearly had unfinished business wit
h Michael. He’d been her first taste of love, and the connection they’d shared years ago had been so deep and so strong. Even though loving again was too dangerous, surely she was still allowed to experience passion and erotic joy, right? Especially with someone who’d once been the center of her world.
Perhaps now he could help her move on, help her heal. She had a freedom with him she wouldn’t have with another man, a chance to skip the bullshit and come together on a blissful, carnal level with her one-time love. They’d waited for each other when they were younger, but now they’d matured into adults who could have sex without labels. As teens they’d been wildly idealistic; as men and women who’d seen the world, they had the freedom to have unfettered sex. He would be the balm to her wounded body, the warmth to her cold heart. Maybe then she could finally be free to live again, to stop feeling like she was walking around the earth half-alive, with a frozen heart encased in her icicle ribs.
“I am happy. I’m looking forward to New York. It’s everything we couldn’t do before,” she answered him.
“Being young made some things too difficult,” he said, his tone both serious and nostalgic.
“Now we can be naughty adults. Do it in taxis, on airplanes, in restaurants,” she said, as her dirty dreams spilled forth.
“You want all that? You sure?”
“Yes,” she said emphatically, waving her hand behind her as if to gesture to the room where they’d been. “Please don’t let my momentary breakdown before scare you off.”
He held up his hands. “I assure you, you haven’t scared me off.”
“And I assure you that I desperately want all of you,” she said, choosing total directness right now. She didn’t get into the why. But the truth was she’d mostly had bedroom sex, and while it had been good, she wanted hot, dirty, thrilling sex. The kind that was spelled with the word abandon. The kind he seemed able to give her.
The waitress appeared to refill their water, breaking up the flirty, dirty moment. That was fine, because Annalise needed to return to their prior conversation. “I wanted to tell you about Sanders and Becky,” she said.
Michael nodded, a serious look in his cool blue eyes. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“She seemed off. Like something was really bothering her,” Annalise began. She hadn’t intended to tell Michael at first, and yet it seemed necessary. The more she reflected on the conversation, the more she wanted Michael to know. She’d lingered on the exchange with Becky, and the fact that her old friend had said ever since the investigation. She shared the details, adding that Sanders had missed the breakfast because of an appointment. “And Becky seemed nervous, but sad, too.”
Michael nodded, his expression now intensely focused, his jaw set. “Sad in what way?”
“She wouldn’t elaborate, and I don’t want to sound alarms. I have no idea what’s going on, but something is on her mind. And I wanted you to know.”
“I don’t know why she’d be like that. But I’ll try to see if it means anything.”
She reached across the table for his hand and clasped hers over it. He let out a breath and seemed to relax the slightest bit. She rewound to all the times they’d talked about his loss, to the letters and the phone calls from overseas. He’d shared everything with her—all his hurt, all his pain. She’d heard the man cry once or twice, and she’d comforted him from afar as best she could as he told her the horror of what happened to his family the night after she left town.
The story was shocking to her, especially since she’d seen Thomas Paige less than thirty-six hours before he was killed. She and Michael had had breakfast with him at a little diner, eating eggs and toast as they talked about their plans. He was such a good man, so committed to doing everything he could for his son, and by extension for her. She’d thanked him, hugged him, and even told him she looked forward to the day he became her father-in-law. She’d believed it then—at the time, she was so certain she’d marry Michael.
“How is everything going with the reopened investigation?” she asked, threading her fingers more tightly through his, wanting to be his anchor if he needed her, like she’d been before.
He swallowed, his shoulders rising and falling, then spoke. “They arrested one guy, the getaway driver. And they’re looking for the mastermind. T.J. Nelson. He was the guy who brokered Stefano’s hits. Apparently, he’s wanted for several murders over the years, including this one.”
She shuddered, imagining the trail of carnage the man had left behind. “Do they think your father’s death was connected to the others? I thought with your mother in prison, and the gunman’s confession, that they knew the motive.” How much more clear could it be? Dora had her husband killed for the life insurance money so she could run off with her lover.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s changed. But the shooter had accomplices, and now it turns out the guy she was involved with is head of the whole fucking Royal Sinners gang.”
Her jaw fell open, and her eyes widened. She knew of the gang from all her talks with Michael after the murder. She grabbed her water, taking a drink, processing this newest twist. “She was involved with the head of a street gang?”
“Turns out she was buying and selling drugs from them. That’s part of what the cops have uncovered now. She was selling drugs to a whole long list of people, including the two guys they think helped out with the killing. The shooter was her supplier, and the guy she was cheating on my dad with—well, turns out Luke wasn’t just some local piano teacher. He’s like the ‘deep undercover, appears innocent on the outside, but is really head of the street gang’ teacher.”
Shock coursed through her, spreading from her chest all the way to her fingertips, a cold, liquid sensation under her skin. “Are they arresting him, too?”
Michael rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. They know he’s head of the gang, but they have to have specific evidence to link him to a specific crime, so that’s what they’re looking for. Since all the other players were part of the Royal Sinners, they’re trying to figure out if somehow that means my dad’s murder was related to the drug trade the gang is part of. The guy who supposedly masterminded the hit, T.J., was involved in a lot of the other gang crimes.”
Annalise shook her head, taking it all in. She remembered details that had emerged during the trial—the lover, the affair, the life insurance. Michael had told her everything. Crazy that the crime might have had deeper roots. “Do you think they can find T.J.?”
“I sure hope so. I want nothing as much as I want to see all those fuckers behind bars. Forever,” he said, his voice a low seethe, his eyes sharp as knives. “I will never forget.”
His hand tightened beneath hers into a stony fist. She rubbed her palm over it, wishing she could comfort him. As she touched him, a memory flickered before her. A party. His mother saying something about a piano.
“Do you think she met her lover at a party? Your mom mentioned something once about a party with a piano.”
“You remember those kind of details?”
She nodded. “I have a ridiculously good memory. I remember her making a dress. I asked her what it was for, and she told me.”
“A party with a piano?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded, then told him bits and pieces from a brief conversation she’d had with his mother in passing one afternoon. “I don’t know if that’s helpful, though.”
His expression seemed grateful. “It’s all helpful. Every detail matters.”
They finished lunch, and he walked her back to the shoot a few minutes early.
“I can’t wait to spend some time together in New York,” she said, cupping his cheek. His eyes blazed, and his breathing intensified from that simple touch. For a moment she felt powerful, eliciting that reaction in this strong, stoic man. She stood on tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I’m counting down the hours.” He’d said he had a dinner with a client that night, so the flight wou
ld be the next time she saw him.
Then, because she was feeling frisky, and because things had been one-sided so far, she pressed a hand to his flat belly through his shirt. “Don’t think I’m selfish. I’m not,” she said, whispering in his ear. “I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth. I want to feel you in my throat.”
He swayed closer, a sexy sigh escaping his lips. “You’re killing me,” he growled.
She wiggled an eyebrow, turned on her heel, and left with a spring in her step, knowing that tomorrow she’d come again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
His grandmother kept everything. Which meant it took him nearly an hour to find the box of photos from when he was sixteen. If his hunch was right, his mom had met Luke that year. He grabbed a shoebox from the top shelf in the garage, cluttered with tools, old toys, and clothes headed for donation.
“Found it?”
“I think so,” he said, tucking the box under his arm as he climbed down the ladder to join Victoria Paige, the woman who’d raised him and his brothers and sister after his mother went to prison.
“Let’s go inside and paw through it,” she said, gesturing to the door into the house. Michael had come straight there after lunch with Annalise.
They parked themselves on stools at the kitchen counter, and Michael took the top off the shoebox.
“What exactly do you think you’ll find?” his grandmother asked as she grabbed a thick handful of curled-up photos from nearly two decades ago.
He shook his head. “Honestly not sure, Nana. But I want to look to see if anything gives me a clue about that guy. Any photo at all. I know he had to have been involved somehow. It can’t be a coincidence that she was trying to run away with that man.”
She nodded resolutely. If anyone understood the drive to leave no stone unturned, it was Victoria. Michael had lost a father; she had lost her son. That loss tethered them more tightly than a grandmother and a grandson should be. Now they were driven by the same need—the one for justice.
Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4) Page 8
