by Jami Alden
And the feel of her, so much better than his tortured memories. Skin as smooth as cream, soft curves yielding to his big hands, and between her legs... slick, tight heat that beckoned him to paradise.
He never should have touched her. Never should have lost control.
Ever since the morning when she'd come to his house and he'd seen the spark of desire in her eyes, flooding him with need, he'd been careful to keep his distance. Convinced that soon enough whatever she'd stirred up with her arrival in town would settle down.
Soon enough he'd be able to look at her without wanting to pin her down on the closest flat surface and shove himself as deep and as hard inside her as he could possibly go.
Then he'd found her in his bathroom, and the last of his resolve had crumbled to dust. He'd been shell-shocked by the sight of her wearing nothing but a lacy bra and floaty skirt that beckoned a man to tug it up to her waist.
The smooth bare skin of her arms, the taut plane of her belly, her long, smooth legs... One look at her and his hands had burned to touch her, all logical thought drowned out by the red haze of need that had washed over him.
Hours later, the taste of her lingered on his tongue. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the tight, wet clasp of her body around his fingers. Christ, he knew exactly how good it would feel to sink his cock into that tight heat.
That knowledge was what had him here, now, lurking like a derelict in the shadows of Ellie's back yard.
He'd wanted to go after her the second she left, but too many guests stayed too long, ignoring his hint when he took the tap off the keg and put the food away. Amy, in particular seemed reluctant to go until Brady sidled up and invited her to join them for an after party at the Last Chance.
She snuggled up to Brady with a pointed look, but if she thought she would make him jealous, she was sorely mistaken.
As he watched the last of cars peel away, his mind was utterly focused on one woman. And finishing what they'd started earlier that afternoon.
His last functioning brain cell tried to alert him to the absurdity of his plan. Sneaking into her back yard, waiting for everyone to fall asleep so he could sneak in her bedroom window?
Sounded like great strategy to get arrested.
But no amount of rational argument could overcome the buzz of anticipation that had overcome him when he left his house. The same buzz that had overcome him dozens of nights when he'd snuck out of his house to come crawling through Ellie's bedroom window.
He watched as the light in Ellie's window went from bright to dim. That meant she'd turned off the overhead light and left only the bedside lamp burning. Her shadow moved back and forth against the thin curtain, then stilled.
She was in bed now, he was sure, the light still on. He could easily picture her, propped up against the pillow, face scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
You realize this is a horrible idea? That the likelihood of her screaming the house down is much greater than her welcoming you with open arms. Or open legs.
He was halfway across the lawn before he realized his feet were moving. The little voice of reason dissolving into nothing as all the blood in his body ditched his brain and moved south.
Ten strides and he was across the lawn to the porch and its sturdy wooden trellis that offered partial shade during the day. A little hop and he was able to grip the edge of one side and pull himself up and on top.
His heightened breathing had nothing to do with the effort it took to pull himself up and everything to do with the fact that he was now less than five feet away from Ellie's bedroom windowed.
Treading lightly, he made his way through the thick tangle of Jasmine that covered the trellis in the summer, taking small pride in the fact that he didn't so much as crack a branch. The stealth skills he'd cultivated in high school, sneaking around so he could fool around with Ellie, had been honed in his years as an Army Ranger. Now he'd give any catburgler a run for his money in getting into places undetected.
As he carefully detached the screen from the window frame and propped it against the house, he was hit with another wave of déjà vu. How many times had he gone through these exact motions, his entire body throbbing in anticipation over what was about to happen?
So much the same, and yet so much was different. Back then he'd been so crazy in love with her he would have figured out how to steal the moon if he thought it would make her happy. So worried about hurting her or scaring her he'd made himself hold back, never letting himself succumb to the need raging through his body.
Always looking out for her first. Her needs. Her wants. Her desire.
Not tonight. Tonight it was all about satisfying the need that had sparked the first day she came back to town and roared to uncontrollable life this afternoon in his bathroom.
Scratch that itch, and maybe he could walk around without feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
On that thought, he pushed the window a couple of inches higher and climbed, head first into her bedroom.
There was no expected gasp of surprise, or, thank God, a scream. When he looked over at Ellie he saw why. As he imagined, she was propped against the pillows. But instead of a book, her attention fixed on the screen of the iPad propped against her bent knees, earbuds in her ears blocking out all the sound.
Completely oblivious.
He took the opportunity to study her, tucked up in the same bed she'd had since she moved into this house. Looking at her now, tucked under that same pink patchwork quilt in that twin bed—a girl's bed—the light of her iPad illuminating the fullness of her lips, the curve of her cheek, she looked so much like the seventeen-year-old Ellie it made something in his chest go tight.
He shoved it away. He toed off his shoes and took a step closer to the bed. It wasn't until he was right next to her that she finally noticed him out of the corner of her eye.
She gasped, recoiling against the wall as she yanked out the earbuds.
"Damon?" she said in a stage whisper when she finally recognized him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I don't know, Ellie, what possible reason could I have to sneak into your room at night?" He tugged his shirt over his head with a casualness that belied the intense need raging through his body. "I told you earlier we weren't finished."
Ellie swallowed hard, and he didn't miss the way her gaze drifted over his bare torso before snapping back to his face. She bent her knees up against her chest and tugged the covers up to her neck for good measure. "You can't be serious."
He put one knee down on the bed. "As a heart attack." He leaned down and put one hand on either side of her hips. This close, he could smell the scent of the lotion she must have rubbed on her arms before bed, see the rapid flutter of her pulse against the skin of her neck.
She tried to scoot away, only to run into the headboard. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why not?" he leaned closer, until his forehead nearly touched hers. "I want you."
"So you think you can just take it?"
He had a flash of himself, eighteen, desperate to please Ellie, pausing at practically every kiss, every touch, to ask her if it felt good, if she liked it, if she wanted something different.
As though she could read his thoughts, Ellie's cheeks flushed pink.
"I've learned it's a lot more effective." The muscles in his shoulders went tight at the memory of that clueless boy, trying so hard, not realizing he could never please her enough.
So he’d learned to please himself first, in bed and out. Funny thing, none of the lovers he'd had since had any complaints.
He bent to take her mouth. She turned her head at the last second, and he settled his mouth on the side of her neck instead. She gave a little sigh, then whispered shakily, "We can't do this. It's too risky."
"The Ellie I remember never let anything as silly as a little risk stop her."
"The Ellie you remember disappeared, thank God, and turned into a grown up."
&
nbsp; "Oh, I bet I could find her pretty quickly," he said and sucked her earlobe between his lips and gave it a little nip.
"We can't do this," she repeated, her breath coming in short pants now. "My life is a disaster, I have Anthony, I can't get involved—"
"No one said anything about getting involved," he murmured against her cheek, lifting his head when she went completely still against him. He met her gaze, keeping his steady so she had no confusion about what he was proposing. "We're just two consenting adults, fulfilling a mutual need."
She cocked one dark brow. "Friends with benefits?"
"Who says we even need to be friends?"
Instead of getting offended, she narrowed her eyes and tipped her chin up. "You really think we can do that? Just hook up like what happened before doesn't matter?"
"It doesn't," he said with a conviction that sounded real even to himself.
"You didn't use to be so cold hearted."
"I didn't use to be a lot of things. Come on, Ellie, tell me you don't want me here." He bent closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath puffing over his lips. "Tell me you don't want me."
There was nothing but silence, filled with her soft, rapid breath and the drumming of his own heart in his head.
"I don't want to want you," she finally whispered.
"That makes two of us," he rasped.
He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, heat roaring through him as she parted her lips, her tongue darting out to meet his. He tore back the quilt and pushed her back against the pillows. She pulled him down over her, and he settled his hips between her parted thighs.
He kissed her hard, groaning as she kissed him back with a hunger that met his own. He'd always loved how she kissed him, touched him. Fiercely, almost desperately, like someone was going to take him away before she'd had her fill of him.
She didn't need to worry. Tonight he wasn't going anywhere. Not until they both got what they needed several times over.
He could feel the hard peak of her nipples through the soft cotton of her tank top. Eager little points pressing into his bare chest. Reaching between them, he shoved the hem of her top, tugged it up and over her head.
They both hissed at the first skin on skin contact. Ellie shifted under him, all smooth silky skin and warm curves, pressing against him like she couldn't get close enough.
She rocked against him, the press of her lower belly against his fly reminding him that they both still had their shorts on.
They may have spent hours dry humping themselves to orgasm back in the day, but now Damon wasted no time divesting them of the rest of their clothes.
Within seconds they were both naked, Ellie lying back against the pillows. Her hair, pulled free of the ponytail, framed her flushed face. Drowsy blue eyes sparked with need and her lips were red and swollen from kisses.
And Christ, that body... Stress might have taken off a few too many pounds for his liking, but that didn't stop the blood from surging in his cock until he was so hard it almost hurt.
Creamy smooth skin, full round breasts topped with dark pink nipples pulled into hard points, begging for the touch of his lips and hands.
The deep curve of her waist, the softness of her belly and the gentle swell of her hips above sleek legs.
And in between... his mouth went dry as his body flushed with the memory of all the pleasure he'd experienced between Ellie Tanner's perfect, pale thighs.
Once he'd known this body as well as his own. Known every patch of skin and exactly how to kiss or stroke it to deliver maximum pleasure. He wanted to know it that well again, spend hours, days reacquainting himself with every gorgeous inch of her.
But not tonight. Tonight he was too hot, raging with a need so fierce he was half afraid he'd come before he even got inside of her.
And she wasn't helping, not with the way she was looking him over with that eager, covetous look. So full of need he could feel its heat like a touch as it roamed over his chest, down his stomach and lower.
His cock surged, yearning towards her. Then, God help him, she was reaching one slim hand out to touch him. He sucked in a breath, mesmerized at the sight of her fingers wrapping around his thick shaft. She slid her fist up and down, making a little purring sound at the way he swelled in her fist.
He let her stroke him once, twice, before he stilled her. "Keep going and I'm not going to be any good for either of us." He pushed her back against the pillows.
"You were always good Damon," she said as she ran hot, sucking kisses over his neck. "The best."
And Christ, so was she, with her hot hands running all over his back, his sides, down to clutch the muscles of his butt. Her knees parted and he could feel her, hot and wet against the skin of his stomach.
Hot and ready for him, and practically all he'd done was kiss her.
She moaned into his mouth and pressed her sex more firmly against his abs. Needing him as much as he needed her.
He slid his hand between them, over the patch of hair at the top of her sex. Like she'd done earlier, she spread her legs wider, rocking against his fingers. He stroked her clit, eliciting a muffled little cry, then moved lower.
He pushed one, then two fingers inside, finger fucking her with firm, deep strokes. Flicking her clit with his thumb until every sinew was pulled tight, her breath coming in tight gasps as he pushed her to the edge.
Then stopped.
No way was he going to make her come for the first time in over a decade with just his damn fingers.
Ignoring her whispered protest, he reached for the floor, fumbling with his shorts until he found his wallet and the condom he carried at all times. He could feel her eyes on him as he rolled it down his thick length, feel the need coming off her in waves, mingling with his until it was nearly a physical force.
He knelt between her thighs, reached for her hand and wrapped it around his cock. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Put me in."
Her eyes flashed at his commanding tone. She liked it, he could tell from the little curve in her lips. He bet there were a lot of things Ellie would like that he'd been too hesitant to ask for.
His gaze never left her face as she guided him into position. The first contact with her heat threatened to send him over the edge. He stifled a groan as he pushed inside, felt the tight squeeze of her body yielding to him. Pleasure sizzled up his spine through every nerve.
"God, you're still so tight," he whispered as he pushed deeper. Every muscle quivering, desperate to get inside her, he pressed his hands against her inner thighs, opening her as he sank in as deep as he could go.
He watched, mesmerized, as her eyes drifted closed, her lips parting on a gasp, her eyebrows furrowing in a grimace of pleasure.
He began to move then, hard, slow thrusts that wouldn't make the mattress squeak or the bed frame rattle against the walls.
She let out a half gasp, half laugh. "Oh my God," she whispered, "you still know how to do the stealth fuck."
"Like riding a bicycle," he said and bent his head down to suck a nipple between his lips. He bit back a groan as her pussy clenched even tighter in response. Pleasure surged, threatening to burst past his last shred of restraint.
Ellie slid her hands down his back and cupped his butt. Her fingers dug into the muscles, urging him on.
She was close, he could feel it. And thank God, because he wasn't going to last much longer. Her muscles pulled tight with pleasure, a sheen of sweat blooming across her skin. Her sex rippling around him like she was trying to suck him deeper with every stroke.
He reached between them, burrowed his thumb in her folds until he found the slick bud of her clit. He stroked her in rhythm with his deep thrusts. Even though she didn't make a sound, he knew the moment she went hurtling over the edge.
Shaking, shuddering against him, as she rippled and pulsed around his cock, she buried her mouth against his shoulder to muffle her cry. The sharp sting of her teeth—Christ, how could he have forgotten about the biting—se
nt him over the edge.
Every muscle in his body went tight as he sank into her one last time. Gripping her hips, he held himself as deep inside as he could get as he struggled to hold back a bellowing groan.
Gasping, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the pillow next to her head.
Eyes closed, listening to her breathe, her body soft and yielding under him, her fingers trailing lazily over his back, he could almost pretend that the last thirteen years had never happened.
He was eighteen again, naked in bed with the girl he loved most in the world. The girl he was going to marry and share a bed with for the rest of his life.
It came out of nowhere, an up swell of emotion so powerful it was like physical being surging inside of him. His chest felt swollen and achy, his throat got tight, and his eyes burned behind his closed lids.
It was like every emotion he'd ever felt for Ellie was rolling over him. All the love and need to protect her and make her happy; the lust that had driven him to distraction once they’d really started getting physical.
And then there was the hurt, the anger, the humiliation when she threw his proposal back in his face.
He curled his fist against the mattress, swallowing hard to shove everything back down and seal it up tight. He was a thirty-year-old fucking man, not an eighteen-year-old hormone addled idiot foolish enough to think he'd met his one true love at the age of twelve. He had no business feeling anything for her or about her, except for sense of gratitude that she'd saved them both from making a huge fucking mistake.
So the chemistry between them was still white hot. He could easily indulge in it without letting his brain get mucked up with a bunch of crap from the past that was best left dead and buried.
Chapter 7
Ellie lay under Damon, savoring the weight of him against her, the feel of his sweat slicked skin under her fingers. His heartbeat thudded against her chest as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her body thrummed with aftershocks of pleasure, little electric currents pulsing in her core.
