16. Sarah
16
SARAH
Ian grabs me by the back of my neck, his hold firm yet not hard.
He pushes his tongue into my mouth, taking over the kiss that I started. I try to breathe as best as I can through my nose, but really, there's only so much I can do with what the man is doing to me.
He's hard beneath me. I can feel that, and it feels beyond good.
It feels familiar, like home.
Shit, it's either I'm out of my mind, or I'm just plain horny.
I'd like to believe it's the former.
More than anything, I want him inside me. I'm thinking about it already, so much that my body starts to shake.
His other hand goes behind my back, and he rubs downward, gently soothing me. He breaks the kiss, but he doesn't separate from me. Instead, he lets our foreheads rest together, his eyes boring into mine.
“Breathe Sarah, breathe.”
“I've missed you,” I whisper.
“And I, you.”
“What am I ever going to do without you?”
“You'll soar so high the world will marvel at it. Just like you've done before. Just like you will again.” He speaks so passionately, I have no doubt that he believes it.
Nodding, I look away from him, the weight behind his words too hard for me to ignore.
“Look at me,” he says.
“No.”
“Please,” he begs.
I shake my head and try to move away from him, but his hold on me tightens, giving me no opportunity to escape.
“Sarah, please. Look at me.”
“Why should I?” I snap, my eyes unintentionally meeting him.
“Because you want to,” he whispers, his words soft yet piercing. “Because you need to, Sarah. Because you know I'll never look you in the eyes and lie to you, and because I need to look you in the eyes so I don't…” He trails off, his eyes suddenly becoming haunted with emotions. I look away.
Damn it.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
And why do I keep letting him do this to me?
I shouldn't have called him. He shouldn't have come. Yet somehow, when I needed someone to reach out to, he was the first person to come to my mind. And the fact that he dropped whatever it was that he must have been doing and came?
That meant a lot.
And yes, I know he may not have been busy when I called, but he could have easily said no.
This is all too much.
Shaking my head, I blow out a breath. “Why are you here, Ian?”
“Because you asked me to come.”
“Really?” I fix him a look. He'll have to do better than that.
He shrugs, refusing to give me any answer beyond that.
My belly churns, and my mind won't stop spinning.
What if he's here because he knew I would definitely have sex with him?
“Are you here because of sex, Ian?” I ask, even though I know it's highly unlikely that's why he's here. The man refused to touch me for years, but I press on anyway. “Is that why you reached out, because you know I'll easily give it up?”
“If sex was the only thing I wanted from you then you and I both know I'd have had it long ago and been done with it.”
“Maybe it wasn't what you wanted then. Maybe it is what you want now.”
His hold on me loosens, and my heart breaks a million times as I slip off his lap.
“I would not deny that I find you attractive, Sarah, but I also won't sit here and let you insult yourself by insinuating that the only thing you think you can offer me is sex,” he snaps.
Although he won't look at me. I can feel his anger, and it snaps at something inside of me, too.
“Then what do you want, damn it? Why are you here? You won't have sex with me, then suddenly it's all you're panting after now.”
“Sarah, you kissed me.” He's on his feet, towering over me. I stand to meet his gaze.
“I didn't hear you complaining.”
“I hesitated.”
“For a minute.”
“Because you urged me to.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I snap.
I'm being irrational at best here but can anyone blame me?
Ian is not the easiest man to deal with. Maybe I just need to sleep and forget this afternoon ever happened. I highly doubt that I'll be able to sleep after what just happened, but it's worth a shot.
Maybe I can watch a movie or two to clear my head.
“You know what, you can go. You didn't want to kiss me anyway, right? So no point in being here,” I say dismissively and start to walk away. One of his arms wraps around my waist, and I start to protest, but that's cut off when he turns me so I'm facing him, and then he lifts me up.
My legs go around his waist on instinct. With a determined look on his face, he holds me steady to him, pushing his hot erection against me, and then he kisses me.
Whoa.
He doesn't give me any time to get over my surprise before he starts to plunge his tongue into my mouth, invading me, and driving me dizzy with pleasure as his palms strongly mold my ass, his hips moving so he's rocking against me.
Fuck.
When he eventually stops, I realize that we're now on the edge of the bed, and I'm still clinging onto him for my dear life.
“That's me kissing you intentionally.”
He's mocking me.
“Very funny.”
“Trust me, nothing is funny about the things going on in my head right now, but I won't do any of them if you don't want me to.”
“Really? You dangle a carrot in front of me and tell me it's fine if I don't want to eat it?”
“Oh honey, this ain't no carrot. Think banana, bigger and juicier.”
I don't know what's suddenly come over him, but I know I don't want him to stop.
“You so much as move away from me, and I scream,” I say with a straight face.
“Noted.”
We lunge for each other again. Both our hands grow minds of their own as they start to roam around our bodies.
Soon, I'm naked and he's going between my legs to drive me wild with his tongue and fingers.
Every lick he gives is like more fuel being added to the fire within me, and every thrust he gives pushes me to the edge.
I shake, I moan, I whimper, yet I beg him never to stop. Never to leave… I think. I'm not so sure at this point.
The man is good with his mouth.
“Ian please, I need you,” I beg him to fill me with his dick when I feel like I'm not going to last for a moment longer.
But he refuses to move away from my pussy. Instead he eats at me until I'm lax from three different orgasms, and that's when he pulls away, his dick still firmly tucked in his jeans.
“Why are you still dressed?”
“Because this isn't about me,” he says, crawling up my body and leaving a trail with his tongue as he kisses and licks me.
When he's finally facing me. I raise my brow.
“You asked why I came.”
Oh no.
“Ian…”
“Shhhh. Let me talk.” He places a finger on my lips to silence me.
When I'm quiet, he speaks again.
“I came because you needed me to. I know you wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. And while this may be hard for you to believe, I feel safe around you, Sarah. More than I ever have with anyone else, more than I think I ever will with anyone else. And when I called earlier, it was because I knew you needed someone, and I hoped you'd feel safe enough around me to want my comfort.”
I don't know what to say to him. So instead of speaking, I just bring our mouths back together and appreciate his thoughtfulness with my mouth.
When I eventually break the kiss, he pecks me on the cheek before he stands up from between my legs, goes into the bathroom, and returns with a washcloth, which he uses to clean between my legs.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He only winks in response as he walks away.
When he's back, he's removed his shirt and draped it over the edge of the sofa. He gets on the bed and offers me his arms.
“Come here.”
I willingly go between the offered arms and let him wrap me up with his strong muscles. We remain like this for a while. I almost assume he's fallen asleep until he speaks again.
“ Shame on You ,” he whispers, and I instantly understand what he's talking about.
“What about it?”
“Nothing, it just feels very accusatory. I almost feel bad for the guy who inspired the title.”
“Why? Do you think you might have been the guy behind the inspiration?”
“Maybe?”
He wasn't. But I'm not about to dredge up things that need not be bothered with, so I switch things up.
“Why do you think the title feels accusatory? You haven’t even read the book.”
“Oh, I have. Took me three full days to finish it. You write very detailed books, Sarah. It's impressive.”
Books.
“How many of my books have you read so far?”
“Only twelve.”
Twelve! That's more than half the books I've written.
Turning in his arms, I raise my head so I can see his face.
“You're not joking,” I say when I can see him.
“Why would I be joking?”
“ Shame on You, what's the name of the lead male character?”
“Jordan Smith. Although, I do think the name could use a bit more tweaking. Maybe the Smith could substitute for Dick? The guy is an asshole.”
“Pot calling the kettle black,” I tease.
The way his face darkens tells me he believes he's an asshole. Maybe he is, but he's not Jordan or the man and relationship that inspired me to write it. I didn't even capture half his character in the book.
“Well, I do like the way you improved on him through the book, though. You know, he was a total selfish bastard at the beginning, but you gave him many opportunities to grow, and I think he made good use of them. He's a cool guy when he's not trying to punch a hole through the wall, something I know for a fact that I wouldn’t do,” he finishes with a pointed look.
The way he summarizes the book with so few words almost makes me feel jealous. Almost. If only I could say so much with so little and go home rich. Unfortunately, that's not a luxury I can have as a writer.
Show, not tell, they'll say. But most people want more telling than showing. I should know. Most of my novellas have reviews with readers demanding to know why they are so short.
Shaking my head at him, I pat him playfully on the chest. He's impressive and annoying at the same time.
“The book wasn't about you, Ian.”
“Now, I don't know if I should be relieved or disappointed.”
“You're weird. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You're telling me now,” he whispers and winks, tapping at the tip of my nose.
I like this side of him so much it makes my heart hurt. I don't think I've ever seen him let his guard down around me since the first day I met him.
Sure, he's not uptight. But he's always tense, his actions and words tainted by the shadows of his past that he won't let go.
Soon, he falls asleep, his soft sound of snoring filling the room.
I watch him sleep and marvel at the kind of body he has. He has the body of a thirty-year-old, but if you look hard enough, you'll see the gray hair and the wrinkles that show his age.
I reach out to stroke his hair, and he begins to talk in his sleep just like he did that night in the motel. Only this time, he isn't talking about Justin.
No, this time he's talking about me, apologizing for leaving because he knew he would lose me inevitably, so better he leave on his own accord than watch the world snatch me from him.
As he murmurs in his sleep, I struggle with what to feel for him.
Pity or sadness?
It's hard to decide on what to feel for him at this point.