Hidden Scars Page 11

  She rose on her toes and cut off his protest with her mouth. “I want this,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t want to go slow. Not anymore.”

  It’d be easy to take her at her word. But she’d been cautious for so long, he had to be certain. “We can wait. Just dinner, remember?”

  She kissed him again, harder, hotter, her tongue darting out to probe at the seam of his lips. Before he could respond, she broke the kiss on a pant. “Now. I want you now. I’m not going to break, so don’t you dare hold back on me.”

  The way she was vibrating against him, her mouth teasing and seeking, stretched his control to the limits. If she wanted this, he’d give it to her. He crushed his mouth to hers, her taste ripping through him as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. Hot and tart and quintessentially Sara. He traced her curves with his hands as she met him kiss for kiss, the sinful heat of them clouding his brain. Her body was fantastic. Full, high breasts he wanted to see uncovered. A slightly rounded belly, the curve of her waist flaring out. His hands continued their journey, skimming down to her hips, cupping her ass. She needed to get out of the skirt. He vaguely remembered it hampering her movements earlier, sitting on the edge of her desk. Sliding his hands over the thin material, he found the zipper and drew it down, groaning as her tongue completed a particularly clever maneuver.

  He was going to take his time. He was greedy, wanting to know what would make her sigh. What would make her scream.

  The skirt slipped down her legs, and as soon as she’d stepped out of it, he grabbed her hips and picked her up, bracing her against the wall. She met heat with heat, need with a towering one of her own, her mouth working over his jaw and up to his ear as her fingers plucked at the buttons on his shirt. She lifted her head, lips swollen from his, and smiled darkly. Her hands slid over his shoulders and pushed the shirt down his arms.

  He had to touch her. Had to have her skin heating under his hands. Capturing her mouth, feeding off her moans, he stumbled down the hall and into the bedroom, lowering her to the bed. Then he yanked her up, whipped her sweater off, and urged her down again, pinning her to the bed.

  She felt so damn good under him. Soft and curvy and warm, the spicy scent of her perfume surrounding him, her body fitting to his in all the right places. Her arms and legs locked around him as her hips tilted up. It shoved him onto the edge, his dick aching, and he had to drop his head to her shoulder to keep from tearing the rest of his clothes off and plunging into her right then.

  Sara, on the other hand, didn’t share his desires to slow down. Her hands wiggled between them and down to his belt, and he lifted his hips so she could undo it, along with the fly of his slacks. Using her feet, and fuck if that wasn’t sexy, she pushed the material over his hips, and he toed off his shoes and kicked free.

  Fuck, he was still wearing his socks.

  Swearing, he sat up, dragged them off, and picked her up and brought her to straddle his lap. They both groaned at the contact as their hips rocked together. Once. Twice, settling into an urgent rhythm. Their mouths locked once more as his hands slid up to her breasts, encased in the cups of her bra. He was not going to embarrass himself. He was going to get the damn contraption off her with style and skill.

  His reward when the bra slid away was her glorious tits.

  Palming them, he thumbed her nipples, lips curving in a small smile at her gasp. He laved one with his tongue. Over and over, until it hardened, and then he latched on and sucked hard. From the way she was rubbing herself against him, she had to like it. So he kissed his way over to the other and repeated the process, molding and squeezing the soft flesh as he did so.

  She went wild against him, writhing and pleading with him to stop, for him to go lower, kissing and licking any part of him she could reach. When his hand slid between them, under the band of her panties, she froze as he brushed over her clit. His thumb moving in slow, lazy circles, he slid his fingers into the slick, welcoming heat of her.

  At the first thrust of his fingers, she arched into him, whimpering. Christ, she felt tight, even around his fingers. Tight and wet and hot. He wouldn’t last long once he got inside her. He plied her, felt her grow slicker, felt her tensing around him, those tiny flutters an indicator of the implosion to come.

  Her inner muscles clamped hard on his fingers, the pulses strong. In that moment, she was beautiful, her head thrown back, hips grinding down onto his hand, mouth open on a soundless scream. He eased her down and onto her side. Her pleasure had temporarily sated the beast raging inside, and he slid his hand free and grasped the sides of her panties, drawing them down her legs.

  Her smile was pleasure-drunk and fuzzy, and he trailed kisses over her belly, pleased with the feminine roundness of it. Her hands in his hair stopped him from going further. He lifted his head. “Let me up, Taylor.”

  Confused, he drew back, wondering what the hell she was going to do as she scooted around him on the bed. And hissed as her slim fingers began tracing the lines of his tattoo.

  “The moment I saw this,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, “I wanted to touch it.” Stroke, stroke, stroke along the bleeding edges. He had no idea he could get so hard from someone tracing his tattoo. He squeezed his cock, wishing it were her hand, the pressure distracting him momentarily from her exploration of his back. “Wanted to taste it.” The tip of her tongue hit the middle of his spine, and she followed every tiny line of the figure etched into his flesh. By the time she was done, he was hard as granite and losing patience, his control hanging by a few threads.

  She curled around him, her smile feline and smug, her kiss a seduction all its own. He couldn’t wait any longer. He fumbled open the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out a condom. Watching as she stretched out on her back, he stripped off his boxers, rolled the latex down his shaft and pushed her legs apart.

  The first thrust was brutal. She closed around him like a vise, back arched so her breasts presented themselves for his pleasure. Later. Later he would take his time. Right now he was almost out of his mind, but he had to make sure she was okay. She hadn’t said anything, and she was so damn tight, strangling him. “Sara?” His voice was raspy with barely contained desire.

  Her answer was to rear up and bite him on the shoulder. As her teeth sank in, it broke the thread of his control, and he withdrew, plunged again, knowing this first round wouldn’t last long and needing her to come with him. As the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping flesh and harsh pants, she took his hand and sucked two fingers into her mouth, tongue swirling around the tips. He pulled them free on a groan, reaching down to circle her clit. The first press of his fingers on the hard little bud drew a small keening sound from her, and he kept it up, desperate to get her off. Their rhythm sped up, faster, faster still, sweat breaking out, and her muscles rippled around him. The sight of her body bowing up as the climax ripped through her pushed him headlong into release, hips jerking erratically as he rode out the orgasm.

  He was pretty sure his brain was fried. Collapsing, he rolled onto his side, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close. He’d thought he’d been prepared after their first kiss. He had never been more wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for that.

  “Shit,” she whispered into his neck. She stretched, her body rubbing along his as their skin suctioned together in places damp from exertion. “We should shower.” The suggestion was followed by a nip to his earlobe.

  Sara in his shower, water slicking over her skin, legs wound around him as her eyes glowed, pleas tumbling from her lips. Yeah, he could get behind that. Or in front of it. In fact, that sounded like an outstanding idea.

  He followed her into the bathroom and tossed the condom into the trash. Reaching behind the shower curtain, he flipped on the tap, hunting up an extra towel before he dragged her under the spray.

  They soaped each other lazily, and a part of him crowed in triumph as the scent of his soap rose from her skin. Marking her. She leaned into him,
her body loose, her earlier nerves forgotten, and he ran his hands along her hips, smiling when she kissed his chest.

  After she’d dried off, she wound the towel around her hair, turban-style, some mysterious thing women did. She followed him into the bedroom and retrieved her underwear. “Can I borrow a shirt?” Her nose wrinkled. “I’d rather not get dressed in that skirt. Constricting.”

  Sara in his clothes. He was going to have a hell of a time keeping his hands off her. Crossing to his dresser, he pulled a shirt out of a drawer and handed it to her. The towel came off and she slipped the shirt over her head. It skimmed over her hips and brushed her thighs, almost to her knees, her damp hair trailing in ropes over her shoulders.

  Her stomach rumbled and she grinned ruefully. “You said something about dinner?”

  His mouth quirked. “Hope you like pork chops.” He held out a hand and she took it without hesitation, letting him lead her down the hall to the kitchen.

  She sat at the kitchen table while he pan fried the chops. “Color me surprised. You cook.”

  “Too expensive to eat take out all the time, and living on cereal and ramen noodles leads to high blood sugar and sodium levels.” He shook the pan to unstick the meat, then grabbed the potatoes he’d set out and scrubbed them. They went in the microwave and he flipped the pork chops, pausing to open his fridge and pass her a beer. “Unless you’d rather have wine.” He leaned against the counter and took a long pull from his own.

  “I’m good with the beer.” She tipped the bottle up. “Mmm.” Licking her lips, she set it aside. “Gonna be sore tomorrow. Not that I mind.” Her grin was quick and full of fun.

  “Not done with you yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hon, I’ve gone seven years without sex. Do you think I’m going to let a little soreness get in the way?”

  Holy. Fuck.

  The timer dinged on the microwave. He ignored it. He’d rammed right into her, with no finesse, and she hadn’t said a word. “Are you okay?”

  Her head came up, eyes flashing, and she was out of her chair and across the kitchen like a shot. “Get one thing straight: I wanted you exactly like that. I asked for it. You understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’ so I have no doubt you would have stopped if I’d asked.” Placing her hands on his shoulders, she hopped up and wound her legs around his waist, claiming his mouth. “I asked for it,” she repeated quietly. “I didn’t want slow. You gave me what I needed.” She leaned back, her legs tightening around his waist. “You didn’t hurt me, Taylor. And after dinner, I’m really hoping we can do it again.” She slid down his body and walked to the table and her beer, butt swaying gently beneath the long hem of his shirt.

  This was going to be a very quick dinner.

  Once again, though, Sara had other ideas, and he found himself relaxing into their meal, the fluid, flexible camaraderie they’d developed over the past weeks sliding into place. As they ate, as she teased him, laughing while she recounted some mishap the sales exec in the last office had with a new client, a new plan formed. Slow. He was going to take his time, do all the things he’d wanted to the first time around and hadn’t. He was going to take her, just like she’d told him to. Only he was going to do it his way.

  The first stage of his plan was put into play once they’d cleared away the remains of dinner. His exploration of her mouth was thorough, bordering on tender, and she went pliant in his arms. “I thought I told you I wasn’t fragile.” She tipped her head back as he licked down the line of her throat.

  “Not fragile. Just worthy of being savored.” He circled her out of the kitchen and down the hall, kissing her all the while. Her mouth was addictive. He could spend hours mapping the curves of her body. One day he would. He’d kidnap her and make her a hostage to pleasure.

  She fell onto the bed, and he cupped her ass, lifted her further so he could climb up beside her. He grasped the hem of the shirt. “You should have told me how long it’d been,” he murmured, tracing kisses over her abdomen. He already loved this part of her, the sweet femininity of it, loved how she trembled as he went lower, over her hip bone, nipping and suckling the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

  It was easy to go slower. He mapped every inch of her, easing in, watched her fall apart beneath him. Watched her break open and lay herself out, ripe for the plucking.

  But he couldn’t give her the same, couldn’t find that vulnerability to match hers, even as he lost himself in her. Even as her name tumbled from his lips.

  It shouldn’t have surprised him when he woke in the dark hours later, the space beside him rumpled and cold. Tension had tightened her limbs as she settled against him for sleep, and he should have asked why. Getting up, he checked the living room, knowing he wouldn’t find her curled up on the couch or in the chair. The lock on the front door was open. He flipped it closed.

  It shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet it did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Taylor didn’t stalk into her office first thing.

  It added to her store of nerves. She’d tried to hold on to the loose, languid feeling their sex had brought on, cuddling against Taylor. Even after just a few hours together, his naked body felt familiar to her. She’d already spent the night with him once before, and he’d been a perfect gentleman. But she’d woken a few hours later in a panic, and she’d been unable to quell her fear. So she’d slipped out of bed, dressed, and snuck out of his apartment, shame preventing her from waking him for a ride. She’d been doing so well, and then this happened.

  She wanted to kick herself.

  Her morning already off to a bad start, she frowned at the email from her dad, letting her know Mom wasn’t taking her word for it and they’d be there tonight. Her inbox pinged with a meeting invite from her boss, and she scanned the attached message, her frown deepening as she pulled up the requested information.

  Sara flipped her pen back and forth, staring at the spreadsheet on her monitor. Was Larry looking for errors? Had she missed a client request?

  The resumes she’d sent out weeks ago hadn’t garnered any responses. It had been so long since she’d applied for a job, she didn’t know what the standard response time was any longer, if it was weeks or months, if she should follow up if she didn’t hear a response.

  The client email complaining about the lax product servicing had her covering her face with her hands. She couldn’t take much more of this. Something had to come through soon. Something had to give. The economy wasn’t that bad.

  Hands closed around her wrists and she jolted, sucking in air to scream. It died in her throat as her eyes locked on Taylor’s, the hazel swirling with a wariness and confusion that had her tugging at his hold. “Don’t scare me like that. Jesus.”

  “Don’t leave in the middle of the night like that, Sara. It’s not safe. You want to go home, wake me and I’ll take you.”

  His hold was gentle, and she tugged her wrists free. “I’m sorry. You were sleeping pretty soundly, and I didn’t want to wake you. I called a cab from the lobby of your building.”

  This time he reached out and cupped her face in his hands. “Sara. It’s okay if you didn’t want to sleep over.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, breath hitching as his thumbs swept over her cheeks. “I panicked,” she whispered. “Everything was fine, and then it wasn’t.” She opened her eyes, misery dragging on her heart. “It was embarrassing, and I didn’t want you to see it.”

  He cocked a brow. “How is it different from you jumping out of your skin every time I come up behind you?”

  “It is,” she grumbled. His touch was hypnotic. She shifted on her feet, and he slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, not stopping until they were at her waist. “It’s easy in theory. Not so easy to do. Allowing someone into your body is different from allowing them to share your bed. It requires a new level of trust. You’re giving them a part of you that you won’t get back. It’s theirs to tend to, or abuse. And even if you wrench it away, it’s not yours an
ymore.” Cold slunk into her bones. Sleep left you defenseless, in more ways than one. She’d woken many times with Sam’s arms straitjacketed around her, crushing the air from her lungs. At first she’d loved it, loved the feeling of being cherished even in sleep. It faded as her fear of him grew.

  Taylor’s face was more than blank. It was shuttered. Tears gathered in her throat. She eased away and walked over to the window, staring down at the street. She hated that look. That was the look associated with the Taylor who didn’t know her. Didn’t know she’d scream her head off for WVU basketball, didn’t know Rebekah Cross made her laugh and cry, often at the same time, didn’t know that everything was better with bacon. It took back all the big things and tiny moments over the past two months and relegated them to the level of colleagues.

  It was her move, she realized. She’d hugged him first, kissed him first, told him she was ready. And she had been; she didn’t regret making love with him. In fact, she was happy her first time in so long had been with him. He’d reminded her in a scant few hours how powerful a connection sex could be, and despite her fear in the middle of the night, she wanted to keep trying with him, see their connection deepen.

  It would always be her move, because somewhere buried inside him was the same fear she carried in a box, of holding out her heart for someone to take only to have them smash it to a pulp.

  “If you think that I’ve had years to get over what Sam did to me and should be back to normal, you’re an ass.” Her tone was so mild she could have been discussing the weather. Leaden skies hung low, promising more rain. She’d like to walk in it. She’d like to get drenched, clothing sticking to skin, and jump in mud puddles and pretend she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned around. He was in the same place, his expression unchanged. “I don’t know what I can tell you to make you understand what it’s like to be terrified of someone. For a long, long time I thought I was trapped. It didn’t matter what I tried to do to get free, because I would always fail. He used to hold me. At night.” Her legs started to shake from the memory of Sam’s arms around her waist, and she locked her knees. “If I made the smallest movement, he’d squeeze. Even in his sleep, he was determined to suffocate me so no one else could have me.” It was what he’d whispered in her ear while the tip of the knife pricked her skin. If he couldn’t have her, no one would. A laughable cliché turned deadly when the blood dripped from the nick on her throat.