13. Sabrina #2
“I’m not trying to change everything. I’m trying to change myself. I’m trying to be the man you deserve instead of the one who kept letting you down.”
I should have pulled away. I should have pushed him out of the bathroom and out of the cabin and out of my life. But I was tired and scared and he was right there, solid and warm and looking at me with that expression that had always undone me.
I kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle or careful or any of the things a reconciliation kiss should be. It was desperate and angry and hungry, all the longing and frustration of the past weeks pouring into the press of lips and teeth and tongue.
He responded immediately, his hands fisting in my wet hair, pulling me closer until there was no space between us. My back hit the bathroom door and he pressed against me, the weight of his body pinning me in place, his mouth hot and insistent on mine.
“We can’t,” I gasped against his lips. “Ivy’s in the next room.”
“Then we’ll be quiet.”
“Killian.”
“I know. I know we shouldn’t. But God, Sabrina, I need you. I need you so much I can’t think straight.”
His hands found the hem of my wet shirt and slipped underneath, his fingers burning against my cold skin, and I was already embarrassingly wet for him, had been since the drop of water on his throat, since before I’d let myself admit it.
I arched into his touch, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed that this was a mistake.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” I said.
“I know.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know that too.”
“If you think one night of sex is going to make me forgive you-”
“I don’t think that.” He pulled back just far enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want but also with a softer ache. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. I just want you. I want to be close to you, even if it’s just for tonight, even if you hate me again in the morning.”
“I don’t hate you.” The words came out broken. “That’s the problem. I want to hate you. It would be so much easier if I could hate you.”
“But you can’t.”
“But I can’t.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper.
His hands pushed my shirt up and over my head, and I shivered as the cool air hit my bare skin.
Then his mouth was on my neck, trailing down to my collarbone, and everything below my navel pulled tight and greedy, until the only coherent thought left was more.
“We need to be quiet,” I whispered.
“I remember.”
He lifted me onto the edge of the sink, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The counter was cold against my thighs but I barely noticed because his hands were everywhere, learning my body again after too long apart.
“Christ, I forgot what you do to me.” His voice came out low and wrecked. “Weeks of you looking at me like you hate me and all I could think about was getting my hands under that shirt.”
“Don’t,” I breathed. “Don’t say sweet things to me right now. I can’t take it.”
“Then I’ll just do this instead.”
I dragged his mouth back to mine to end the sentence, and felt him smile against my lips. His fingers found the clasp of my bra and undid it with practiced ease, and then his hands were on me, and the moan that escaped my throat was dangerously loud.
“Shh.” He covered my mouth with his hand, his eyes glinting between amusement and desperation. “You have to be quiet for me. Can you do that?”
I nodded against his palm.
“Good girl.”
The words sent a pulse of heat straight through me. I fumbled with his belt, my fingers clumsy with urgency, and finally got his pants undone just as his hand slipped into mine. The first touch made my hips jerk, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.
“Fuck, feel that,” he breathed against my ear. “Already so wet for me. Spread your legs wider, quietly, that’s it.”
I was wet and aching and beyond the point of pretending I didn’t want this. I hooked my fingers in his waistband and pulled him closer.
“Now. Please.”
He lifted me off the sink and moved us to the toilet, the only place in the tiny bathroom where this was going to work. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap, and I sank down onto him slowly, both of us shuddering with the effort of staying silent.
“Fuck.” The word escaped his lips, barely audible. “That’s it. Take all of it. Quietly. You have to take it quietly, or you’ll wake her.”
I braced my hands on his shoulders and rode him in the dark, setting a rhythm that made my vision go soft at the edges. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, and his mouth found my breast, his tongue circling and teasing until I had to stuff my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming.
“I love you,” he whispered against my skin. “I love you, Sabrina. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Words were beyond me. I answered with my body instead, with the way I moved on him, with the way my hands cradled his face when I pulled him up for a kiss.
Everything in me wound toward the edge, tighter with every drag of him inside me, until I was trembling with the work of staying silent.
He must have felt how close I was because his hand slipped between us, his fingers finding exactly the right spot, and he whispered, “Come on. Let me feel it, right now, around me. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”
I came with his hand clamped over my mouth, my cry breaking apart against his palm, my whole body locking around him. He lasted three more ragged thrusts and then went rigid beneath me, spilling into me with his face jammed into my neck and my name bitten off between his teeth.
We sat there for a long moment, tangled together in the cramped bathroom, our breathing slowly returning to normal. His arms were wrapped around me, holding me close, and I could feel his heart pounding against my chest.
Finally I pulled back. Already I was reaching for my shirt, not meeting his eyes, the cold tile suddenly very present under my bare feet.
“This changes nothing,” I said.
He looked at me, his eyes soft in a way I couldn’t handle right now.
“I know.”
But I didn’t believe it. And from the look on his face, neither did he.