Chapter 10
Charles Carroll House, Annapolis Marine Life Gallery Fundraiser, Annapolis, Maryland
The raw, desperate need finally ebbed just enough for air to become a necessity.
Than broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, his forehead resting against hers, his body still pressed tight, pinning her to the tree.
He was shaking, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants that matched the frantic pounding of his heart.
The world slowly came back into focus, the rough bark behind her, the distant music, the soft bubbling of the fountain.
All of it felt muted, insignificant compared to the roaring in his blood and the woman in his arms.
Then he felt her fingers, still tangled in the fabric of his jacket, loosen their grip.
Her hands moved, a slow, deliberate slide up his chest until they rested gently on the sides of his neck.
Her thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just below his ears, and he shuddered, a full-body tremor of pure, unadulterated sensation.
Her voice was a whisper, soft and reverent, a thread of sound in the hushed night. "May I touch your hair?"
The question hit him like a physical blow, a wave of heat so intense it stole the air from his lungs all over again.
He froze, every muscle in his body locking down.
It wasn't just a request. It was an offering.
An understanding. She knew what it meant, the weight of it, the history, the power he carried in the dark strands that ended just barely above his collar.
A slow, sensuous delight bloomed in his chest, warm and potent, spreading through his veins like wildfire.
It was a feeling so profound, so right, it made his ache for her sharpen into a near-agony.
Ancestors help him, after the longest fucking tease of his life, she was seeing all of him.
He wanted her to touch more than his hair. He wanted her hands on his soul.
He couldn't speak. He could only manage a tight, jerky nod, his jaw clenched against the overwhelming tide of emotion.
He watched her face, her eyes dark and serious as she slowly, carefully, lifted one hand.
Her fingers brushed the hair at his temple, soft and tentative at first, then slid deeper, her palm cradling the side of his head as her fingers combed through the thick, silky strands.
A raw, choked sound escaped his throat, a sound of pure, unguarded surrender.
He closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward slightly, giving himself over to the simple, devastating intimacy of her touch.
It was the most erotic, most grounding, most terrifying moment of his entire life.
Her fingers were still buried in his hair, a gentle, possessive weight that grounded him even as her words threatened to send him spinning off into the ether. He kept his eyes closed, savoring the feel of her, the scent of her, the reality of her pressed against him.
Then she spoke, her voice a low, intimate murmur that vibrated through his skull and straight down his spine. "I wanted to tell you so many times, wanted to touch you like this, kiss you."
His breath hitched. Every unspoken moment, every stolen glance, every near-miss over four long years crystallized in his mind. It wasn't just him. It had never been just him.
"You're so fucking beautiful in so many ways, and...God, Than, I want you."
That last phrase, raw and direct and utterly without artifice, was the final blow.
It shattered the last vestiges of his control.
His eyes flew open, and the world he saw was her face, illuminated by the soft lantern light, her expression a stunning mix of vulnerability and fierce certainty.
The desire in her gaze was a mirror of his own, a fire that had been banked for years and was now blazing, uncontrollable.
A guttural sound, half-groan, half-sob, wrenched from his chest. He didn't answer with words. He couldn't. He answered with his body. He surged forward, capturing her mouth again in a kiss that was nothing like the one before. This wasn't desperate or frantic.
A deep, thorough, possessive kiss that was an answer to every unasked question, a fulfillment of every unspoken dream.
He poured all the years of silent wanting, all the aching loneliness, all the worship he’d held in check, into that single, devastating kiss.
His hand tightened in her hair, holding her to him, while the other slid down her back to press her hips even harder against his, letting her feel the rigid, undeniable proof of exactly how much he wanted her, too.
The possessive heat of the kiss was a roaring fire in his blood, a primal satisfaction that eclipsed everything else.
He could have stayed there for an eternity, lost in the taste of her, the feel of her body yielding to his, the silent promise in the way her hands clung to him.
The world was Mei, the tree at her back, and the crushing, glorious weight of four years of longing finally being set free.
But even through the haze of raw desire, a different instinct kicked in.
It was quieter, deeper, and just as powerful.
Protection. He could feel the distant murmur of the party, the soft glow of the lanterns casting them in a revealing light.
This moment, this raw, sacred unraveling of them, was not for anyone else.
It was not an exhibition. He would never expose her like that, never let this beautiful, fragile beginning be tainted by curious eyes or casual glances.
She deserved more than that. They deserved more than that.
With a Herculean effort that felt like tearing his own soul in two, he started to pull back, intending to break the kiss, to give them a moment of sanity. He’d barely moved a fraction of an inch, a sliver of space forming between their lips.
But Mei was lost. “No,” she panted. “Than…please.” Her words cut through him, telling him the thought of losing his mouth, even for a second, was unbearable.
A desperate, instinctual need took over.
With a soft, pleading sound, she surged forward, pulling him back to her.
Her hand, already buried in his hair, tightened, her fingers curling, gripping the thick strands with a possessiveness that sent a bolt of pure lightning straight to his core.
Her other hand fisted the fine silk of his shirt, pulling him down, holding him captive, as if she feared he might vanish.
Her leg curled around his, fitting her sex tighter against his cock.
The move was so unexpected it knocked the breath from him.
Whatever restraint he’d been clinging to burned away, the thought of not here erased by the undeniable truth of her wanting him just as fiercely as he wanted her.
He surged back into her, his mouth crashing over hers, the kiss turning savage, all hunger and heat and breathless need.
A low, raw sound tore from his chest as he met her with equal ferocity, their mouths colliding in an open-mouthed kiss that left no room for mercy or restraint.
His body betrayed him, hips driving forward in a hard, involuntary grind that pressed his arousal against her, once, then again, until the sensation overwhelmed him.
His hand slid from her back, urgent now, curving around her ribcage to cup the soft weight of her breast through the silk of her dress.
His thumb found her, rough and relentless, and her response shattered against him, a broken cry spilling into his mouth as her body arched into his touch.
“Than,” she whimpered.
The sound of his name shattered whatever fragile balance he had left. It wasn’t a plea or a demand so much as an invitation he could no longer refuse.
His mouth left hers, but only to trail a hot, open kiss down the column of her throat.
Her pulse hammered against his lips, a frantic, wild beat that matched his own.
His hand left her breast, slid down her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her ribs and the dip of her waist until they found the hem of her dress.
The silk was cool and slippery against his heated skin.
With a single, decisive motion, he pulled the fabric up, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Her breath hitched, a sharp, audible gasp, but her body didn't tense.
It melted, her legs parting slightly in a silent, breathtaking invitation.
He slipped his hand inside, his fingers encountering the damp, warm silk of her panties.
The feel of her, so hot and ready for him, nearly sent him to his knees.
He groaned against her neck, a low, guttural sound of pure, agonized need.
He was so hard it was a physical pain, a throbbing ache that demanded to be buried deep inside her, but he forced that instinct down.
Not here. Not like this. This was for her.
He hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric and pulled it aside.
His hand cupped her, his palm resting against the soft, swollen folds of her sex.
She was impossibly wet, slick with the same desire that was pounding through his veins.
He slid one finger through her heat, then a second, entering her, and her head fell back against the tree with a soft thud, a cry escaping her lips.
He found the tight, sensitive bundle of her clit and began to work it, slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of her ragged breaths.
He pressed the heel of his hand against her, grinding his fingers deep inside her, his thumb circling her with relentless, expert pressure.
He watched her face, transfixed. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted, her brow furrowed in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her hips began to move, riding his hand in a desperate, primal rhythm that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.