by JB Salsbury
Showered and in my pajamas, I heat up a frozen macaroni and cheese to celebrate my first official night in my new place. I curl up in the couch my parents let me take from my dad’s study. It smells like his cologne. I turn on the television but keep the volume low so I can enjoy the sound of the rain as it pelts the glass.
A knock on the door startles me.
I haven’t buzzed anyone up, so I assume it’s my neighbor in 2B, but I’m afraid to answer in case they’re angry I stole their—”
“Gabriella, it’s me. Kingston.”
I blow out a breath of relief while my heart simultaneously picks up a furious pace. What is he doing here? And why couldn’t he have stopped by when I’m wearing something other than the flannel pajamas my parents bought me three Christmases ago?
“Coming!” I shake out my hair, hoping to give it a tousled, casual look, and throw back my shoulders before unlocking the door.
I should’ve worried less about my appearance and prepared more for his.
His hands are in the pockets of his royal blue slacks, and his suit jacket is opened to expose his impressive torso, which is wrapped in a fine silk shirt the color of eggplant. His head tilts, and he takes in what I’m wearing, just as I did him. He grins.
His gaze has the ability to rip through my clothes, and I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I immediately regret the question when his smile falls.
“With the winter storm coming in, I wanted to make sure you knew how to work the heater.” He nods over my shoulder to the wall heater across the room. “It’s a little temperamental.” His eyes settle on the single couch in the room that’s facing the television, which is playing without sound. They narrow on the half-eaten noodles in a plastic tray.
“I messed with it earlier, and it’s working fine.” I have the urge to close the door, to block his view of what I’m sure looks like a pathetic and lonely life. I won’t say it’s pathetic. To me, it’s more like freedom. But I can’t deny I’ve been lonely. I’ve met friends at the ballet studio and hung out with co-workers at the children’s hospital, but there has been a piece missing since Kingston and I broke up. A piece I fear I may never be able to replace.
He nods solemnly. “Good, that’s good. If you, uh…” He does that thing where he rubs the back of his neck. A nervous tick that only makes him look hotter. “If you need anything, like anything at all, I’ll be, ya know,” he says and jerks his head toward 2B.
“Wait… what? Kingston. You lived here?”
He holds up his palms. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? I kicked you out of your place!”
“No, I voluntarily moved. The smaller apartment is better for me. I’m never home anyway.”
“The cheap rent, the bigger apartment, the complimentary movers…” I shake my head. “That was all you.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“You don’t have to do all this for me.” I clench my fists. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? I told you I don’t blame you—”
He takes a step forward, his brows pinched into a vicious slant. “You think I did all this because of some obligation I feel?”
“Isn’t it?”
He runs a hand through his hair and stares at the ceiling for a minute as if searching for the last sliver of patience that he stashed in the rafters. “Fuck, I don’t know how to be any clearer, Bee.” When he lowers his eyes, he braces his arms on the doorframe and leans in. “When are you going to get it through your head? I’m fucking in love with you. I have been for a long time, and whether we’re together or not speaking to one another, I will still and always be in love with you. I know I’m not the kind of man you deserve, but that means jack shit to what I feel for you. Get this through your beautiful and brilliant head. I am in love with you. And as long as there is air in my lungs, I will jump at any and every opportunity to take care of you. Now, I understand you may not be comfortable with all this, so if you want to leave and find somewhere else to live, I won’t stop you.” He studies my face, then pushes back and away from the door. “Have a good night, Bee. If you need anything at all…” He nods toward his door and then turns away and disappears inside.
I don’t know how long I stand there in my open doorway processing his confession, but when I get back to my dinner, it’s cold.
Thirty-Two
Kingston
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the raging wind outside my window. Freezing sleet hit the glass from a wind that came in waves and threw a million tiny pebbles. The crack of what sounds like thunder comes next, but I don’t see the flash. I sit up in bed and watch. Listen.
Another crack, but it’s not thunder.
I wrench my head around.
What I’m hearing is a frantic knock on my door.
I dart from bed and race through the living room, knowing it could only be one person.
I swing open the door to find Gabriella looking much the same as she did when I saw her earlier. Same pajamas, and her bob still a sexy mess, but her stoic expression from earlier is replaced by flushed cheeks and wild eyes.
“Bee, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“No.” She shakes her hands out nervously. “You said I could come to you if I needed something.”
“Yes,” I say, ready to provide whatever she needs, whether it be a cup of sugar or my fucking soul. “What do you need?”
She stops fidgeting, her eyes so clear and determined that I reel back at the power of them. “You.”
“Huh—oomph.” I catch her in my arms and stumble back from the force.
Her mouth reaches for mine, and I grip her by the ass and pull her to me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and our lips come together in a frenzied kiss. I groan when our tongues slide together. The taste of her brings back a rightness I’ve lived without for too long.
Her hands fist in my hair and tilt my head so she can deepen the kiss. And fuck me, I’ve never felt so wholly consumed.
With everything I have, all the things I’ve been given, all the success I’ve worked for, she’s the only one I’ve ever needed. She’s my beating heart, my muse, the missing part of me. I’ll never be whole again without her.
I head for the bedroom and slam into a moving box. I pitch forward and throw an arm out to the wall to keep us upright. Smooth fucking move, asshole.
I feel my way slowly through the living room. I shuffle my feet and kick the coffee table, the corner, and my bedside table.
Finally, my shins hit the mattress, and I lay her down on my bed.
I pull my T-shirt off and toss it aside while she unbuttons her flannel with trembling fingers.
“Let me,” I say and put a knee to the bed between her legs. I slip the first button open to reveal her quickly rising and falling chest. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she answers quickly. Resolutely.
I smile. I can’t help it. She wants me!
I open the next button and the last, but I keep her body covered. I pick up her hands and press them to my lips, first one, then the other, then both. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t—”
She hooks me around the neck and pulls me down on top of her. “I missed you. I want to feel close to you again.”
I push a strand of hair off her face and kiss the tip of her nose, loving the feel of her beneath me, her eyes on me, and her hands on my skin. “I missed you, too. So much. If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go again.”
The corner of her mouth tips up. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She lifts to press her mouth to mine.
I pull back. “Are you sure? Is our history too much to overcome? Will you ever trust me again?”
“I trust you now. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She pushes up and says against my lips, “Now kiss me already.”
Is this real? Is she really in my arms, or am I lost in the world’s greates
t dream? If so, I hope I never wake up.
Rolling to my back, I take her with me. Bringing her weight against me, her chest on mine, our hearts race in unison. My hands slide under her top, and the skin of her back is softer than the finest fabrics against my palms. She breaks the kiss in order to sit up, and her thighs spread wide across my hips. She pulls one arm free and then the other so that the flannel falls loosely, still buttoned, around her waist.
The moonlight through the rain casts her naked torso in a captivating glow, giving depth to the beauty of her form. I run my hands up her ribs and cup her breasts. Her nipples grow hard beneath my touch, and I thumb the pebbled tips.
She rolls her hips in waves, rocking and riding the stiffness that is held captive behind my sweats.
My mind swims with all the ways I want to touch her, taste her, please her every desire and discover a million more. I would spend my life exploring every square inch of her skin if she’d let me. Gabriella is my soul’s obsession. She always has been.
“I need to taste you.” I sit up and cover her nipple with my mouth.
She moans and arches her back, offering more of herself to me. I steady her with a hand between her shoulder blades, holding her to my face while I lick, suck, and nip at her breast until she writhes against me.
When I pull back, her breast is wet and pink from my attention. I switch to the neglected side and work her over until she’s shaking with the need for release.
I kiss between her breasts, lick a path to her throat, and run my lips against her scar. She shivers in my arms.
“I could eat you alive,” I growl against her skin.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she pulls me away enough to get my eyes. Desire turns her eyes into molten sapphire. She licks her lips. “Me first.”
“Fuck.”
Gabriella
I’ve always hated giving blow jobs. My first experience was so awful that I avoided them every chance I got. Which is why this all-consuming desire to get my mouth on Kingston catches me by surprise. Usually, I’d end up caving to the pressure for oral sex and do it as a means to get the guy off my back. But this is different.
I want to feel him between my lips. The stretching fullness of my mouth. His silken steel against my tongue. I want to use my mouth on him in ways that will make his hips buck and his mind spin, and I want to hear the noises he makes. I more than want all these things.
I need them.
I lean in and kiss him. I suck his tongue into my mouth as a sample of what’s to come. His hips jump, and he nips at my lips.
I crawl down his body, taking my time. I drag my lips across his throat, stop to flick my tongue against his nipples, and lick over his belly button to the drawstring of his sweats.
The cotton is stretched thin over his erection. If he were any harder, there is no doubt he’d rip through the fabric. The area at the tip is soaking wet, and I am emboldened by the effect I have on him.
Little ole me turning on a man like Kingston doesn’t seem possible. And yet, the evidence stands long, thick, and proud in front of me.
I untie his drawstring with trembling hands, my body connected to the livewire that is Kingston North. His blatant sensuality is intoxicating.
He lifts his hips so I can slide his pants down, and his hard-on springs free and lands heavily against his stomach.
In the history of the human world, praise has been given to the beauty of the female form. Clearly, history has never seen anyone like Kingston. If he were sculpted from stone like Michelangelo’s David, he would be considered obscene and vulgar. Not because of the shape of his long torso, narrow hips, broad shoulders, and wide chest. In all those areas, he’s got David beat. But below the waist, Kingston is the definition of virile strength and size combined with artistic form and beauty.
“If you keep staring at it like that, I’m not going to be able to sit still much longer—” He sucks in air through his teeth. “Licking your lips is not helping.”
I look up his body and grin.
“So fucking sexy,” he says and falls back to the bed. “You’re killing me here.”
I grip the base, and his hips jump. “You should know, I haven’t done this in a long time.”
“You’re breathing on me is enough to finish me off. When it comes to you, it doesn’t take much—mmmm…”
With the tip between my lips, I take a long swipe with my tongue. His hands fist the bedding at his side as if he’s locking them in place to avoid taking over. I have no practiced technique, no learned skills that are proven to drive a man wild, so I take my time learning every dip, every swell, and every long stretch of silken skin with my mouth. I pay attention to his reactions, a study in how he likes to be touched, and make mental notes—
“Stop!”
I look up in time to see him jackknife forward. He grips my shoulders and pulls me up his body. Wrapped in his arms, I feel his muscles twitch. I put my lips to his throat and kiss him there.
“That was close,” he breathes. “I need a minute to—stop wiggling.” He braces his hands on my hips to keep me still. “I’m not kidding. I’m so close.”
I prop myself up on an elbow. “And that’s bad?” I shift my weight, making him groan.
His eyes are pinched tightly closed, and his jaw is hard. “You’re teasing me,” he says in a warning tone.
“Teasing?” I open my legs to straddle his hips. “Me?”
With a guttural growl, he pushes me to my back and pins me to the bed. His eyes are a wildfire that holds me captive in his gaze. “You’re a temptress.”
“Only to you.”
He moans and kisses me deeply. “I love the sound of that.”
He hooks my pants and underwear and pulls them off my legs in one swift movement. He then tugs each side of my flannel shirt, popping the last few buttons. “I’ll fix those tomorrow.”
He kicks off his sweatpants and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed. “My turn.” He hooks my thighs and pulls me toward him. Resting my legs on his shoulders, he opens me to the heat of his gaze. I should feel self-conscious as he blatantly stares at me and studies my exposed flesh just inches from his face.
I squirm beneath his inspection, but I’m surprised that my unease isn’t from feeling bashful. I squirm because I’m restless. Eager. Frantic for him to put out the ache.
He kisses up my thigh, switches to the other, and nips at the tender skin with his teeth.
“Now, who’s the tease.”
I feel him smile against my skin. This time, when he kisses me, he does it right where I need him most.
I gasp at the contact, and my back comes off the bed. He groans, and the vibration sends a jolt of pleasure up my spine. His expert touch brings me close, and he manages to read every response and back off just enough to leave me hanging on the edge of release. I toss my head to the side and moan. My heels dig into the powerful muscles of his back while he strings me along a tightrope but never lets me fall.
“I can’t decide which part of you I want more,” he says, and with one last kiss to my inner thigh, he releases my legs and pulls me off the bed.
My ass lands on his thighs, lining up his solid length with my liquid heat.
His eyes are lust-filled, his lids heavy, and his lips flushed. “Kiss me.” He stays put, forcing me to come closer.
My bare breasts brush against his chest and my nipples harden at the contact. Every touch is a hot button that fills me with heat and urgent need.
I touch my lips to his, lick his lower lip and his hips jerk beneath me.
His fingers dig into my hips as if he’s holding me off. Or maybe holding on. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” It may be irresponsible, but I don’t.
“I haven’t been with anyone but you,” he says, dragging me closer.
“Since we were together?”
He shakes his head. “Since your accident.”
“What?” I say, but it comes out in a whisper.
“And before that, never without a condom.”
“Wait, you haven’t slept with anyone since…” I swallow hard.
He nuzzles my throat, kisses up my neck to my ear. “No one.” He nips at my earlobe. “It’s only ever been you.”
How did I miss it when we first met? Why did it take me nearly dying to see that the man in front of me was the only man for me?
Whatever the answers, they don’t matter now.
The important part is that we’re here, together, now.
And I’m in love with Kingston North.
I wrap one arm around his shoulders and cup his jaw with my free hand. He leans into my palm in a way that makes me think he’d be happy to spend the rest of his life there.
“I love you.” The words are a release valve, and putting them out there lifts a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. I’ve spent years of my life hiding who I am, telling lies so I don’t have to tell my story, and pushing down feelings that are too intense. Too real. For fear they would wreck me. But this confession, these three words, they remind me that I don’t have to hide anymore. That my story doesn’t make me vulnerable or weak. It’s all a part of what makes me who I am, but it does not define me. My scars are not who I am.
I am a smart, capable woman who is in control of her own future. Who can make choices and change her mind. And who managed to win the heart of an incredibly talented, funny, beautiful man with his own broken story to tell.
“Do you mean it?” His voice cracks with emotion.
“I’ve never meant anything more.”
He covers his mouth with mine and kisses me until I’m clawing at his back. He lifts me over him and then slides gently inside. Stretching me, filling me, consuming me.
In that moment, I know I’m never letting him go.
Kingston
