by Maisey Yates
“You’re going to have to get rid of these clothes,” he said.
She just stood there, her arms wrapped around her midsection as she stared vacantly into the mirror above the sink.
“Or I can take care of it for you.”
She nodded again. He moved forward, his own hands unsteady as he grabbed hold of the hem of her T-shirt and peeled it up over her head. She had a plain white bra on underneath, nothing that was designed to get a man’s blood pumping hotter. And yet, his was.
Jerk. She’s obviously going through something, and you are checking her out.
Well, sure. He was a man, after all. He wasn’t a saint, and he had never claimed to be. Being gentlemanly in the situation was decidedly above his pay grade. But, while he might not be able to keep his thoughts pure, he was going to endeavor to be a little bit better with his actions.
He reached around behind her, unhooking her bra with one hand and letting it fall down her arms before he pulled it off and cast it onto the floor. Then he made quick work of her jeans, taking her panties down with them as he struggled to get the wet denim off. Then, he waged an even more intense struggle to keep his eyes off of her.
He put his hand beneath the spray and discovered it was hot. “Okay, time to get in.”
He led her gently into the shower, and she grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling him inside, clothes and all. Then she folded herself into his embrace, resting her head against his chest, her naked body pressed against his clothed one. He froze, keeping his hands down at his sides, because he didn’t trust himself to do the right thing here. He didn’t trust himself to do much of anything. So he just stood there, and let her rest against him. Let her take whatever it was she needed from this.
Finally, he lifted one hand, pressing it against the center of her back. Her skin was still chilly from those wet clothes. He shifted their positions so that she was the one getting most of the hot water. Then he took a bar of soap from the ledge, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he didn’t have a loofah, or whatever other girlie nonsense women liked to have in these situations.
He sent the soap down, turning her so that she was facing the wall, away from him. Then he slid his hands from her shoulders, down her back, to the curve of her ass, stopping just short of anywhere too inappropriate. She didn’t tell him to stop, though. Instead, she made a small, satisfied sound, and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, trying to keep a handle on himself.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, running his hands over the bar of soap again.
She shook her head.
He put his hands on her shoulders again, this time running them down her arms. “Are you feeling warmer?”
Again, he got a silent nod.
He reached over and picked up a bottle of shampoo, squirting a small amount in his hand before placing it back on the shelf in the shower. Then he started to work his fingers through her hair, lathering it up as he did. He had never done anything like this in his life. Not even for his wife. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it now. He just wanted to fix whatever was happening with her. Wanted to heal the broken thing inside of her that he knew he was responsible for.
There were a lot of broken things left in his wake. No, he hadn’t been the one to break his marriage or his family apart. But the rifts were still a part of his legacy. Then there was his biological family. His parents. His sister. Relationships that he couldn’t handle because he had forgotten how to build bridges.
He only knew how to destroy them.
He needed to build a bridge between himself and Sierra. And if it had to start here—washing her hair, while he let water wash over his T-shirt and jeans—well, then he would damn well start here.
He worked his fingers slowly through her long hair, before adjusting her slightly and helping rinse all of the soap out. She made another satisfying noise, one that spurred him on. One that echoed deep inside of him, made his stomach tight, wrenched the growing desire inside of him higher, impossibly so.
Buried beneath everything that had happened in the past few days was the fact that he still wanted her more than he had wanted any other woman in recent memory. Maybe ever.
He wished they could go back to that. Just to the wanting. Rather than the result of the having.
He lathered up his hands again, sliding them down her rib cage, her narrow waist, then back around, moving over her breasts, the contact sending a jolt through him like a lightning bolt.
She leaned back against him, her head rested on his chest, her bottom fitted up against his hardening erection.
“You’re upset,” he said.
“Very,” she murmured.
“I think you should just go to sleep. After you get warm, and dried off, of course.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?”
“I’m not sure you should make a decision like that while you’re upset.”
She turned to face him. “I made a decision like this while I was drunk. I don’t see why I shouldn’t make it while I’m upset.”
She looped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest. “Don’t test how nice of a guy I am. You’re going to be disappointed by the results.”
“I don’t want you to be a nice guy. Not right now.”
“You need a nice guy,” he said, resting his hand on her ass, just resting it there. Not exploring any of her slick, plump flesh, not like he wanted to. “Right now, you could really use a nice guy who tucks you into bed and leaves you alone. Who reminds you that we’re in this mess because of the attraction between us. Who reminds you that this isn’t something you want.”
She shook her head, and he couldn’t tell if the drops on her face were from the shower or from tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He reached behind her, shutting the water off. Cursing himself while he did.
“That isn’t a great reason for sex.”
She got out of the shower by herself, taking a towel off of the rack and wrapping it around her curves before disappearing into the next room. He let out a harsh breath and stripped his clothes off in the shower, leaving them lying on the floor as he went after his own towel. He wrapped it around his waist and went into his bedroom, expecting to find it empty. Instead, she was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, the towel still covering her curves. She looked up, a determined expression in her blue eyes.
“That’s not the only reason,” she said, her voice soft.
“What’s the other reason?”
She shook her head. “I just want you. No matter what, no matter what’s going on, no matter how crazy it all is, I still want you. I was walking behind you earlier and had to remind myself of all the baggage that’s between us now, because mainly, I just wanted to check you out.”
He curled his fingers tightly around the towel, trying to fight the urge to drop it and go over to the bed, pull her into his arms and lay her flat across the mattress. “That isn’t going to solve any of your problems.”
“But it’ll make me feel better for a while.” She stood up, walking toward him, releasing her hold on the towel and letting it fall to the floor. “Make me feel better.”
And with that, all of his good intentions were reduced to ash. He was a man, he wasn’t made of stone.
He had told her they would find themselves here. And he was dimly aware that he should be rejoicing in his win. But he didn’t feel like rejoicing. Instead, he felt humbled. And needy. Very, very needy. He couldn’t crow about his victory, because his brain didn’t even work right. He just wanted her.
And he wasn’t strong enough to resist her wanting him back.
* * *
SIERRA KNEW THAT she was losing their wager. She didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to care at all. Not when she wanted him this badly. Not when she wanted nothing more than to lo
se herself completely in the heat and fire that built so easily between them. She was so cold. Cold from the inside out. Terrified about what the future might hold. But this thing between them, at least it made sense.
It was simple. It was need. In its purest, most undiluted form. She had never wanted a man the way that she wanted Ace. It had been that way from the first moment she’d seen him. And she knew it had been the same for him. No matter how irritating he found her, no matter how prickly he was to her, they wanted each other.
And now she was standing completely naked in front of him while he looked at her like she was the fulfillment of his every dirty wish.
This felt good. It felt right. She was going for it.
She curled her arm around his neck and rose up on her tiptoes, brushing his mouth with hers before settling more firmly against his lips, taking a slow, leisurely taste of him. He stiffened beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull away. She sank more deeply into the kiss, his rough chest hair stimulating her sensitive nipples. He raised his hand, resting it gently on her hip as she continued to explore his mouth with her tongue.
She reached down between them, grabbing a hold of the towel that was resting precariously on his narrow hips, and she pulled it away, letting it drop to the floor. He growled then, raising his other hand, planting both palms firmly on her ass cheeks, pulling her forward, rolling his pelvis against her, showing her the exact effect she was having on his body.
Yes. This was familiar at least. This didn’t feel terrifying. This felt like coming home.
She broke the kiss, taking a step back, taking a moment to admire his body. She didn’t feel like she had been able to do that their first time together. It had been too fraught, too quick. Everything had been fuzzy. Well, it wasn’t now.
She was seeing sharp and clear. This moment was in brilliant Technicolor, moving in slow motion, allowing her to take it all in. He was gorgeous. From those dark, intense eyes, his straight nose and sharp jaw to his broad shoulders and chest. His masculine perfection, each muscle like a notch carved in stone, so purposeful, so finely honed.
He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her up against his body, his arms engulfing her completely, his palms pressed flat between her shoulder blades. The way he held her, he made her feel so small, so petite. Like he could hold every single one of her problems in those strong arms capably, easily.
And she wanted to let him. More than anything she wanted to let him.
He moved his hands down to her butt, then lower, to her thighs. He gripped her tight, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he walked them both to the bed. He pressed her into the mattress, kissing her deeply as he did, his hands holding her tightly, blunt fingertips digging into her skin. She was sure he would leave a mark behind, and the thought secretly thrilled her.
He already left a mark, and there will be a very visible outward sign soon.
She pushed the thought away. Right now, all she wanted to think about was how much she wanted him. Not the consequences of that desire, not what it might mean tomorrow. Not what it would certainly mean in nine months. She just wanted to focus on him. On the moment.
She slid her hands down his chest, relishing the feel of his hard muscles beneath her fingertips. He was so perfectly masculine in every way, so very different from her. She loved touching every hard, well-defined inch of him.
Her major regret about their last time together was the fact that she hadn’t gotten to taste enough of him.
She wasn’t nervous this time. Not about her inability to have an orgasm. She didn’t doubt that she would. How could she, after how good last time had been? Anyway, her own pleasure wasn’t her top priority at the moment. Or, rather, that ultimate peak of pleasure wasn’t her top concern. She had him now, and she was intent on getting what she wanted.
Though Ace seemed intent on driving.
She angled her head, nipping the side of his neck. That surprised him into loosening his grip on her. She slipped away from him, pressing his shoulder, encouraging him to roll onto his back. He didn’t resist. She planted her hands on his chest, pressing a kiss between his pecs, then down to his abs. She was traveling a very similar path to the one he had taken their first time together.
She lowered her head again, trailing the tip of her tongue along the well-defined line that cut diagonally down toward the most male part of him. She shifted, curling her hand around his thick arousal, squeezing him gently as she pressed her lips to his shaft.
He jerked beneath her touch and she tightened her hold as she flicked her tongue over the head of his cock. Then she worked her hand down to the base of him as she took him into her mouth, savoring the flavor of him, the feel of him against her tongue.
He grabbed hold of her hair, sinking his fingers deep into the strands as he held on to her while she continued to pleasure him, while she continued to pleasure them both.
She loved this. Everything about it. The way that he shook because of what she was doing to him. He was so big, so strong. When he held her in his arms he felt like a mountain. Right now, she was making the mountain move.
“Baby,” he said, his voice strained. “Sierra. Not like this.”
She had to agree with him, only because she was desperate for some satisfaction. Still, she couldn’t resist sliding her tongue along his length, teasing him just a little bit more. He tightened his hold on her hair, drawing her away from him. The pain sent a shock of electricity straight down her spine, arousal pooling between her thighs, an empty ache starting to grow there that she knew only he could satisfy.
He grabbed hold of her legs again, positioning her over him, before sliding his hands up to her hips, holding tightly on to her as he guided her over his arousal, teasing the entrance to her body.
She let her head fall back as she lowered herself onto him, just a little bit, teasing them both with the near penetration. She gasped as she gave herself an inch, then took it away. She could stay like this forever. Hovering on the knife edge between pleasure and pain, between satisfaction and desperation. Except she didn’t have the restraint to hold that much longer.
Slowly, she took him inside, inch by agonizing inch. When she was fully seated on him, he tightened his hold, keeping her still for a moment. She looked down at his expression, at the intense concentration on his face.
She established a slow, steady rhythm, designed to torture them both. To hold them back from the edge of completion, to take them there, right there, and keep them from going over. She had never been able to tease herself like this before. Had never been poised on the brink in such a delicious, exceptional way. Before, it had always been a frustration to reach this point, because she had known she would never be able to go all the way. With Ace, it was a certainty. And knowing her destination, she was able to enjoy the journey that much more.
He slipped his hands around, holding on to her ass, guiding her movements as he thrust up inside of her, increasing the intensity, pushing them both closer. He wasn’t going to allow a slow tease, not anymore. And, she wasn’t going to fight it. Not when she wanted it so badly. Not when she wanted him so badly. Everything he wanted to give.
Suddenly, he reversed their positions, rising above her, thrusting hard inside of her. She gasped, lifting her hips from the bed, meeting his every movement with one of her own. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on hers as he thrust into her one last time. He shattered, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. And then she broke in two, pleasure blossoming inside of her like a slow crack across ice, feathering outward until it shattered the entire surface, leaving nothing behind but glittering dust, so irrevocably destroyed it could never be put back together again. Not as it was.
He moved away from her, rolling onto his back, taking her with him. They were both breathing hard, aftershocks of pleasure moving through her. And left in
its wake was an intense crash of emotion. Everything had seemed clear only a moment ago. And now she just felt tired. Of course, it was the wee hours of the morning, so that could explain it. Though she had kind of been operating on these hours for the last few weeks, so maybe the time had less to do with it than she might think.
“Get some sleep,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING’S conversation was served with coffee, and without clothes. Not exactly how Sierra had imagined planning her future, but, all things considered, she would take it.
Ace set a tray with coffee and pastries down in front of her, then slid into bed beside her, beneath the covers. It was early. Much too early for how late they had been up. But now that she was awake, she couldn’t go back to sleep anyway.
Last night came and slapped her in the face almost as soon as she opened her eyes. She was so embarrassed. She had shown that kind of weakness, that kind of vulnerability in front of him. Embarrassed that she had experienced it at all. It wasn’t like her. Usually, she was stronger than that. More resilient. But then, usually she wasn’t pregnant and faced with the fact that she didn’t know how to do anything. So, all things considered, she didn’t really blame herself.
“We don’t have to talk before you drink a cup, if you don’t want,” he said, keeping an eye on her as she raised the coffee mug to her lips.
“Well, with you staring at me like that, we might as well just go ahead and talk.”
She shifted, moving up the headboard, trying to keep the blankets in place. There was really no point in being modest in front of him, and she didn’t have any issues with her body, but it just seemed weird to have coffee with your boobs out in front of a guy you’d only slept with twice. Besides, it seemed like a burn hazard.
“I’m going to phrase this in a way that’s potentially ungentlemanly,” he said.
