Chapter 11
POPE
The click of the key twisting in the lock reverberates through the empty hallway, and I push in the door to my condo, hoping things might have improved since I left an hour ago.
Aunt Skye and Bishop’s chatter carries through from the kitchen in the open loft space, and I let the door close behind me. They both pop their heads out to see who arrived, then duck back to whatever they were doing as soon as they know they don’t have to be concerned.
I sure do, though.
My attention immediately goes to Allie, who stands at the bank of windows at the far side of the living room, staring out at the dark river and pitch-black night—completely unmoved since I left.
She doesn’t turn to acknowledge me entering, and I can’t even be sure she heard me, despite how everything seems to echo in here.
I lock the door—extra protection we probably don’t need here, given the fact that we own the building and I live in the penthouse that occupies the entire top floor. Gabe and Dad have so much extra security downstairs that I think it would be hard for even the police to get in here, but it makes everyone more comfortable, including me.
Well, maybe not everyone.
No amount of reassurances or security measures seem to have helped Allie over the last two weeks since we returned to New Orleans and she met with Satriano. Even being back with the rest of the family, seeing Jude, Angelina, and her parents, hasn’t helped.
Storm has been here every day for hours, trying to get through to her, doing anything she can as her mother to attempt to make this better—but it seems to have failed.
I beeline for the kitchen and set the grocery bags on the counter, raising a brow. “How is she?”
Bishop leans against the counter near the sink, tossing a towel she apparently used to dry our dinner dishes behind her.
Skye bumps me with her hip, urging me out of the way, and starts unpacking the bags. “The same.” She offers a slight shrug. “She’s barely talking to anyone. She just stares out that window when she isn’t with Benjamin…”
Dammit.
I wasn’t gone that long—only an hour, tops, to pick up the few items we needed and the special treat for Allie that I pray will lift her spirits. But I had held on to a sliver of hope that Bishop and Skye could get her to open up and talk once I was out of the condo.
About anything.
Just as long as she’s not locked inside her own head anymore.
Two fucking weeks like this since she sat down with that mobster…
Fourteen fucking days of Allie being practically catatonic.
It isn’t like her to be so quiet, barely interacting with anyone who comes to my place to see her and the baby. Even Jude, who somehow fought his own demons to make it over here and stay with her one day, said she barely spoke to him, either, unless it was to answer a question about Benjamin.
I don’t have to be a doctor to know how unhealthy it is. And she appears to be losing the battle despite every single one of the Hawkes doing their best to spend as much time with her as possible and get her to open up about what’s been happening since she met with Satriano.
Which is basically fucking nothing.
Skye reaches into one of the bags and pulls out the massive tub of ice cream. She raises a brow and holds it up to me.
Given how healthy I normally eat, I can already anticipate her question. I hold up a finger. “Not for me.” I motion toward the living room. “For Al. Her favorite—Brownie Batter.”
Bishop smirks, and I glare at her.
“Hey, you have any better ideas?” I throw up my hands. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”
I’ve tried everything I can think of—short of calling one of the psychiatrists at the hospital to come meet with her. But if I even attempted that, she would only see it as an act of betrayal and push me away more.
I didn’t know it was possible to put a bigger rift between us, but each day, I feel like she’s slipping further away, the tide of uncertainty pulling her out into deeper water without a lifeboat or any signs of rescue.
And no matter what I do or say, she doesn’t want to talk to me.
What happened at that house, the conversation we long ago should have had, hasn’t changed anything. Not really. Maybe she better understands what I did that night and why, but that hurt is still there. The wound I made with my words and actions still stings her every day. She still harbors that anger toward me and what I did, and I still can’t give her what she needs and deserves, even if she wants me to.
Which puts us back exactly where we were ten years ago.
Only now, she and Benjamin are living at my place until Satriano can fulfill his end of this deal, which is taking way too fucking long.
Bishop ignores my outburst and doesn’t offer any suggestions—because we’ve literally tried everything. She moves out of the way so Skye can start putting things away in the refrigerator. “No more updates from Satriano then, huh?”
I sigh and rub my neck, trying to release some of the tension there. My stop at Savage and Dani’s place on the way home ended up being a fruitless effort to get something positive and substantive to tell Allie before I came back. “Not according to Savage. Just like we already knew, they last spoke with him a few days ago, and he said Roselli was on the move again—that he was either tipped off or far smarter than he gave him credit for. He told Savage that he intends to uphold his end of the bargain and take care of it for us, no matter how long it takes.”
Bishop rolls her eyes. “Yeah, what a bargain. All we had to do was make a deal with Satan himself.”
Skye scowls and finishes with the groceries, folding the reusable grocery bags and stuffing them into their spot under my sink. “We didn’t have much choice, did we?”
After living through what she did with Dom Abello when she was our age, all the pain and loss that befell the Hawkes due to that man and their connection to him, I can only imagine how hard this must be for her. Almost like history repeating itself, with the family being pulled into another mob war.
She offers me a tight smile and pats my arm. “Well, since you’re home, that’s where I’m going to head.”
“Thank you so much for staying with her.”
Knowing Skye was here should anything go wrong medically has made leaving the condo when I need to so much easier. Between her, Nora, and me, it makes it possible to keep one of us always here who can treat her if her symptoms worsen or the unthinkable happens.
Just in case.
Thankfully, Allie’s condition has remained stable and even improved slightly over the last month since she gave birth, but she isn’t completely out of the woods yet. There’s still a chance her heart won’t completely heal, and she may be at risk of issues for the rest of her life.
The continued uncertainty and fear don’t help anything.
Which means we continue watching her and monitoring her, praying nothing sets off a progression of the disease.
“Of course.” Skye hesitates for a moment, glancing toward the living room even though Allie seems completely oblivious to our conversation or that I’m even back. “Do you have any plans to go back to work at the hospital, given how long this is taking?”
One more thing weighing on my mind on top of Allie’s medical condition and keeping her and Benjamin safe.
My six weeks of personal leave is almost up. Only two more weeks, and if I don’t make a decision fast, there may not be a job for me to go back to, regardless of how close I am to my direct boss.
Nora can’t operate the ER short-staffed for much longer. I probably wouldn’t have even been granted the leave in the first place if she hadn’t gone to bat for me with the head of the residency program. But she can only do so much. Ultimately, it will be what’s best for UMC and not what’s best for Allie, even though I continue to think that’s me here monitoring her while she’s forced to stay cooped up with the baby.
“I don’t know yet.” And it seems like an utterly impossible decision to make. “I have a couple weeks to decide…”
Bishop scowls at me. “Have you told Mom and Dad that?”
I shake my head. “They’ll kill me if I don’t go back.”
“I might kill you if you don’t go back.”
She always was one of my biggest supporters, the one quizzing me before exams and helping me through so much of the complicated medical school shit that I might have stumbled on without her. It all comes so easily to her, as simple as a jiu jitsu flip of an opponent, firing off the perfect rifle shot, or decking Atlas in the ring.
At times, it still surprises me she isn’t the one with the M.D. after her name, but I sure as hell know I wouldn’t have gotten mine without her. So, she has every right to be angry at the thought that I might risk my career to stay here and monitor Allie when Skye is perfectly capable of doing it and we all know it.
“I have no intention of never going back. I’ll figure it out…”
Eventually.
Hopefully.
Skye and Bishop both give me unconvinced looks.
Time to change the subject.
I raise a brow at Bishop. “Are you staying tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No. Dad is going to take the overnight shift down in the lobby and should be here soon. Gabe will be here in the morning, and I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.” Her gaze darts to the living room, where Allie still stands near the windows. “Unless you need me to stay…”
After her meeting with Satriano, Allie needed a friend here—either Angelina, Astrid, or Bishop—spending the night in her room. It wasn’t enough that I was right down the hall. With the vast chasm between us, she was never going to come to me for what she needed. And when I checked on whoever stayed over, I always found them curled around each other like the way they used to when they had slumber parties as kids, crashed out in the massive bed in my guest room with Benjamin sleeping peacefully nearby in his bassinet.
It would have been a cute throwback had I not known how deeply Allie hurt and craved that comfort I can’t provide her—that she won’t let me give her.
Bishop drums her nails on the counter. “What do you think? Should I ask her?”
I shake my head. “Leave her be. If she needs you, I’ll call and you can come back.”
She releases a long, slow breath, her worry furrowing her brow. “Okay.” Stepping up, she gives me a look that tells me I better make that call if Allie even hints at wanting her here. Then she throws her arms around me and squeezes. “See you later, baby bro.”
“Goodnight.”
Skye does the same, patting me on the chest as she pulls away. “You’ll get through to her eventually. You and Jude were always the only ones who could.”
That might be reassuring if he hadn’t tried—and failed—a hundred times over the last few weeks, too.
They move out of the kitchen toward the door.
Bishop waves at Allie’s back. “Bye, Al, we’re taking off.”
“Bye, sweetheart.” Skye pauses to examine her niece, tears misting in her eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
The front door opens and closes, and one of them clicks the lock back into place, leaving me with Allie again—minus the buffer of having another Hawke around provides.
I give myself a minute before I go talk to her.
Maybe this isn’t the best place for her.
It seemed logical to bring her here when we returned from Shreveport since Nora’s at the hospital so much and wouldn’t be at her place enough to really monitor her, and I already had my leave set. Add how easily defensible this condo is and it made sense.
But the longer we’re here, the more I begin to question whether I should have let her go to her parents’ house or Gabe and Skye’s. If it would’ve been easier on her not to be around me so much. Maybe easier on everyone.
I run my hands over my head and push off the counter, slowly making my way toward where she stands in the living room, still staring out at the river.
City lights reflect off the water, sparkling and glinting in the rippling flow. Constantly moving and advancing, unlike our lives over the last month. The juxtaposition against the stagnation we’ve all experienced isn’t lost on me.
Is that why she’s been staring out at it for so long? Wishing she could move forward in life the way the water does?
Stopping next to her, I mirror her stance, trying to see what she does. “What are you looking at?”
Dumb fucking question.
But I need something to break the ice because, otherwise, Al will stand next to me for hours without uttering a word. Silence has become the fourth person living here, occupying all the empty space not taken up by Al, Benjamin, or me. Pervading the voids that should be filled with us actually discussing all the trauma she’s endured and the demons chasing her.
Her slender shoulders rise and fall, but she doesn’t look at me. “The water.”
“Is it that interesting?”
Not to me, though I guess I’m spoiled seeing it every day since I’ve lived here. I’ve seen the water violent and rushing; I’ve seen it meandering, slow and lazy. But I’ve never stood staring at it for literally hours.
Allie tilts her head to the side. “I was wondering how cold it is this time of year.”
“Probably not too bad. Why?”
She offers another half shrug. “I don’t know, just something to think about, I guess.”
Other than where she is and why.
That’s what she means but doesn’t or can’t say.
She’s spent the last month locked away from her life, hidden and in fear of a man she once trusted and gave herself to. It gets worse for her with each day that passes without a resolution. Cooped up here when she’s always been one to spread her wings and fly.
Allie isn’t the type of girl who can be caged, yet that’s exactly what we’ve done to her.
It doesn’t matter that she knows and understands why—it’s breaking her spirit all the same.
“I got you brownie batter ice cream.”
She finally turns her head to look at me, her blue eyes rimmed with red from the tears she tries to hide from us. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
I bite back the desire to tell her she needs to eat more, especially because she’s breastfeeding and burning through calories like crazy. But every time I slip into doctor mode, she gets angrier with me. So, I redirect to the one topic she actually will talk about. “How’s Benjamin?”
“Asleep for a while now.”
“Good.”
The uncomfortable silence lingers between us, like it has the last few weeks while we’ve waited to know her fate.
Finally, she issues a long sigh. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
And pretend you haven’t just stood here for hours, lost in your head.
“Okay. Goodnight.” I almost leave it at that and let her walk away, but that damn invisible thread that keeps us tied together won’t let me do that without reminding her why she’s here. “You know where I’ll be if you need anything.”
Right down the hall from her.
So close, yet so far away from each other.
It feels like miles separate us—ones we will never be able to close.
She turns and slowly retreats down the hallway toward the bedrooms, and I step up to the glass and stare down at the water, trying to see whatever she did that was so fascinating.
It actually is quite beautiful if you stop and look at it, but my guess is, she wasn’t really seeing it.
Her meeting with Satriano spooked her badly. Knowing what the family gave up to protect her. Knowing we made that deal because of what she sees as her huge mistake. It’s been tearing her up inside, bit by bit. And the longer it takes for Satriano and us to find Roselli, the more it feels like it will never happen.
I understand her frustration because I feel it, too.
Battering my rib cage.
Clawing at the inside of my brain.
I want that fucker gone so Allie can return to a normal life again, so she can be the mother she wants to be outside of the prison we’ve had to keep her in.
“Shit.”
No wonder she wants nothing to do with me.
I slam my palm against the glass, and it rattles violently, mirroring the way I’ve felt since she told me about Benjamin’s father—so close to shattering.
Things could have been so different…
Those words keep playing in my head, a taunt from another life, one I might have had if I’d made different decisions.
Fuck hindsight.
Letting my head drop, I stretch my neck and close my eyes, willing my anger to recede before I make my way back to the bedroom. It won’t do me any good to lie down if I’m amped up. I won’t sleep—not that I do much anymore.
After a few minutes of slow, deliberate, deep breaths, I finally push away from the window and head around the condo, flicking off all the lights, triple-checking the front lock, and throwing the two newly installed extra deadbolts into place.
My feet barely make a sound down the eerily quiet hallway, and I pause outside the guest room, listening for any sound from Allie or Benjamin, ready to take him if she needs some time to shower. But the soft sob that slips under the door isn’t from the baby.
I’ve heard her cry so much over the last month that you’d think I’d be used to the sound, used to what it does to me, but it’s worse than Benjamin crying.
He usually just needs a clean diaper or to be fed or snuggled. All very easy to accomplish successfully. For Allie, there’s absolutely nothing I can do to ease her distress.
But it doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.
I rap my knuckles on the door lightly and crack it. “Al?”
The darkness of the room—only broken by the light streaming out of the cracked bathroom door—envelops me. I listen for a moment, and another sob comes, along with the sound of rushing water.
Shit.
Leave her alone, Pope.
Let her be.
That would be the smart thing to do—to walk away and give her space—rather than further insert myself into a situation I might only make worse. But the anguished cry that comes next is so bone-deep that my heart physically aches for her and drags my feet forward toward the bathroom door instead of away from it.
I peek into the bassinet on the way, relieved to see Benjamin sleeping through his mother’s meltdown.
Don’t do it, Pope.
Don’t go in there.
I know what will happen if I do. I know seeing Allie like that will break me and make me question everything, but I can’t stand to hear her suffering anymore.
Pushing aside all the reasons not to, I nudge the door the rest of the way open and step into the jamb.
She stands under the spray, face lowered into her hands, her form obscured by the frosted glass and steam filling the bathroom. Tortured sobs slip from her throat and echo off the tile.
“Allie?”
* * *
ALESSANDRA
Pope’s voicecomes to me through the dark cloud of anguish surrounding me. A beacon of light in the inky blackness of my total despair. A lifeline thrown into this moment of absolute weakness.
“Are you…” He takes a few steps into the bathroom, nudging the door closed behind him so we don’t wake Benjamin—assuming I haven’t already with the violent bawling that seems to have overtaken my ability to breathe.
“Pope…I…I can’t…I can’t…”
Any words I hope to say get swallowed by my next sob.
I try to fight it, to rally against the pain that never wants to let me go, that I manage to keep contained when the others are here, but it always engulfs me the moment I’m alone.
But it’s a hopeless effort when I’m already drowning in it.
Pope pulls off his shirt.
Kicks off his shoes.
Tugs off his jeans.
The frosted glass door slides open, and he steps into the shower in his boxer briefs, all long, lean muscle and the promise of strong arms to hold me while I’m caught in the twisted metal of the mental train wreck I’ve been trying to avoid all day.
It takes him less than a second to close the door and pull me against him, cocooning me in his embrace, enveloping me in the safety he’s always provided me.
My hands pinned against his stomach, I bury my face in his hard chest, releasing the full-blown blubbering, devolving into the hysterical mess I’ve been trying so hard not to let anyone see me become.
He rubs his palms over my bare back, the rushing water pouring over us, a waterfall washing my tears down the drain, but that does nothing to actually relieve any of my pain.
“Shh, Teeny, it’s okay. Everything is going to be all right.”
His whispered words against my ear somehow pull a little of the fear that’s threatening to cripple me and lift it from my chest, even though I know they’re placations, not anything he can promise.
No one can.
Not when I’ve created this clusterfuck that seems never-ending.
Sliding his fingers under my chin, he lifts it until my eyes meet his. “I know it feels like things are hopeless right now, but they will get better.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
He nods, the corner of his lips curling slightly. “I do. Don’t you remember what I told you about the future?”
It was such a long time ago. I couldn’t have been older than eight, making Pope nine at the time. But the memory appears as vividly as if it happened only yesterday.
“You said you were going to invent a time machine so you could go to the future and get the cure for every incurable disease in the world…”
He grins at me. “I didn’t get that…but I did see that things will work out exactly as they’re supposed to. You are going to be happy, and you’ll raise your beautiful son to be an incredible person like his mother.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. “You’re so full of shit that your eyes are brown…”
Pope issues a low chuckle that vibrates through my chest and fingertips, flowing through my body to all the places I probably shouldn’t let it. “You haven’t said that to me in years.”
“I know.” It used to be one of my favorite jibes, but somewhere along the way, my anger at him overtook the easy rapport we always had. “There are a lot of things I haven’t said, Pope, ones I should have. I’m sorry for—”
“You don’t owe me an apology, Allie. I gave you every reason to hate me and think the worst.”
Reaching up, I trail my fingers along his strong jaw and up across his lips. “Yes, you did. But I know you, Pope Clarke. I have always known who you were at your core, and I should have known none of that was really you. Believing you could be that person I imagined you to be was a massive error on my part. One I know I’ll never be able to remedy.”
Pope shudders, his toned body moving along mine, igniting that same fire deep within me that he always used to every time we touched. He lowers his head, his temple pressed to mine, and pulls me tightly to him, clinging to me like he needs me as much as I do him.
The longer he holds me close, the heavier his breathing gets, his hard chest rising and falling against my palms, brushing against my skin. My nipples harden, and I press my thighs together against the sudden throbbing between them.
Of all the men I’ve been with over the years, the ones I thought would be my protectors, my confidants, who would right all my wrongs and bring me that type of pure joy people always talk about when it comes to love, Pope Clarke is the only one who has ever actually tried.
And my body remembers it as much as my heart does.
“Pope…”
He shakes his head, his temple still pressed to mine, keeping me close but not budging an inch—almost like he’s afraid of what might happen if he moves. “Don’t, Allie. Please don’t…”
The desperation in his voice matches that currently building inside me.
For release.
From this seemingly endless waiting game.
From the pressure coiling inside me that might snap me in half.
From the battle I’m always fighting between doing what’s right and doing what everyone expects of me.
From this need to feel alive again when it seems like I’ve been walking around half dead since even before Benjamin was born, letting the harsh reality of my situation affect my ability to truly live.
From the attraction and feelings I’ve tried to pretend were long dead for this man when they’ve always been there, building under the surface of the hostility I wore as a shield against him.
I score my nails down his wet chest and over his rock-hard abs, his smooth, taut skin like butter under my fingertips. Pope issues a low groan, his hands slipping between us and wrapping around my wrists to stop me from going any lower.
His body trembles against mine, his grip tightening around me as his hard cock strains against his briefs and presses into my belly. He tilts his face toward mine until his lips are a mere hairsbreadth away. “We can’t, Al. Even if it wasn’t a terrible idea—which it absolutely, positively, undoubtedly is—you won’t be medically cleared for another two to four weeks—”
He isn’t wrong about it being a bad idea, knowing how much more it will complicate things, but in this moment, standing under the hot shower spray with him, I just don’t give a damn about any of it.
“But I feel fine. I want—”
Pope feathers his lips over mine, silencing my plea. A fleeting glance. A tease. A little taste of what only Pope can give me. “I know what you want, Allie, and I can’t give it to you…”
He isn’t only talking about right now, and we both know it.
But with both of us straining to find control, it’s a losing battle.
He kisses me again. Harder this time. Still slow. Almost sweetly. Reverently. Like he’s trying to make up for the painful words he just said. And when he pulls his head back from mine, a fire blazes in his eyes, igniting them with flecks of gold and a heat I don’t know if I’ve ever seen there before—except maybe the night our lives changed forever. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t give you what you need right now.”
A shiver of anticipation rolls through me, and goosebumps break out over my skin despite still standing under the hot spray. Those same damn butterflies I felt in my stomach the first time Pope kissed me in high school flutter back full force, making me tremble against him like I’m that inexperienced virgin with a crush on the boy I shouldn’t be with.
He kisses his way across my cheek. Down my neck. Over my shoulder to my collarbone. Then dips to my breast until he flicks his tongue across my nipple, sending a jolt straight to my already throbbing clit.
“Oh, fuck!”
My nails bite into his pecs, earning me a low rumble of pleasure from him before he repeats the move. I’ve never been particularly sensitive there, but it appears pregnancy and breastfeeding have changed my body in a lot of unexpected ways. He gives my other nipple the same treatment, his large hand cupping it as another wave of need rolls through me.
I cling to him, my hands slipping up over his broad shoulders to the back of his neck. Pope’s sinful mouth works across my body, slowly traveling south, driving me insane with each hot breath, soft press, and delicious lick.
He stops on my lower stomach, giving it worshipful attention, and I dig my nails into his shoulder blades. Another low, rumbling groan of pleasure pulses against my belly, making my hips buck toward him. He catches them in his large hands, squeezing them and urging me to step backward until my shoulders and ass hit the cool tile wall.
Warm cognac eyes gaze up at me, the shower spraying against his back, water droplets clinging to his long eyelashes, looking like a man with one clear goal in mind—to absolutely destroy me in the best way possible.
It’s what I need.
This.
Him.
A goddamn release from all this pain I can’t seem to find anywhere else.
Pope slips his hands between my thighs, urging them open, exposing me completely to him. But I don’t feel embarrassed like I thought I would after having Benjamin.
Not with him.
Not seeing the way he looks at me with carnal hunger and unadulterated desire.
He doesn’t waste any time, dipping his head to run his tongue through my arousal. My hips buck against his face, and I grip his shoulders, trying to keep myself upright, when my legs start to shake immediately. He spreads me open, focusing on my clit, flicking and lapping and languidly dragging his tongue over it with pinpoint precision.
Jesus…
This isn’t the boy I was with ten years ago.
This is a man.
One who is bound and determined to get me off and watch me come apart in his arms.
The pleasure shooting through me makes it impossible to think, to reason. All I can do is feel. His hands between my legs. His mouth on me. The scrape of his facial hair against my inner thighs. His expert tongue and lips devouring me…
He skillfully works me up, alternating between intense, hard sucks and light, almost teasing licks. Each time I come close, start to feel that heat building low in my belly, he backs off slightly, leaving me hanging.
My pussy clenches, wanting more, craving what I can’t have right now, and I scratch my nails over his shoulders, releasing a frustrated groan. I grind myself against him, trying to force him into the right spot, desperate to get him to take me all the way.
“Shhh…” He grips my hips tightly, holding me in place and still. “I’ll get you there, Teeny. It will be worth the wait. I promise.”
There he goes again—making promises.
But this one is different.
I believe him now, trust in his words, have faith that he would never leave me dangling on the precipice like this.
Pope doesn’t have it in him to torture me like that, even though every day for the past ten years has felt like torture, believing what I did about why he broke things off.
Believing the lie.
Tears burn my eyes and trickle from them, mixing with the spray from the showerhead as he greedily works me over, finally going full force and pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
That delicious low burn starts again, and so does something else—that warmth somewhere deep inside me only Pope has ever reached—and I finally come.
The orgasm doesn’t slam into me the way others have.
It isn’t fast and hard.
It doesn’t knock me over.
It does so much more than that.
It’s more like being consumed.
Like something is physically absorbing me and wrapping me in pleasure, holding me there, in the bright prism of light. Safe. Where nothing and no one can touch me except the man with the blissfully talented mouth dragging my orgasm on and on…
He releases a satisfied groan against my wet flesh, and a gasp falls from my mouth, echoing off the tile with the sounds of the rushing water. The ecstasy coursing through me seems to never end, rolling on and on, flooding my veins and filling my head with the perfect haze I haven’t felt in far too long.
My orgasm starts to ebb, and I suck in a ragged breath, trying to fill my lungs as Pope starts driving me toward another.
“Pope…oh, God…I can’t…”
“You can.”
I close my eyes and drop my head back against the tile, grinding against him, thrashing in his hold—simultaneously wanting more and needing him to relent his hyperfocus on my over-sensitized flesh.
But he’s right.
Another orgasm hits me fast, still trailing on the echo of the first. This one blindsides me with its quick and relentless buzzing energy that lights up each nerve of my body and makes me buck against the wall and Pope’s mouth.
And he just keeps going.
Sucking my clit and flicking it relentlessly.
Kissing every inch of me and lapping up my release.
Ensuring I’ll be wrung out and a boneless mess by the time I come back down again.
The moment it starts to release me from its clutches, I sag, my muscles no longer responding, my brain enveloped in a foggy, messy, post-orgasmic cloud.
Pope’s strong arms wrap around me as he pushes to his full height, and I manage to get my eyes to open. He’s watching me carefully, licking his lips like he doesn’t want to miss a single drop of my release, and leans into me, pinning me against the wall, his semi-hard cock wedged between us.
I glance down, the evidence of his own orgasm spread across the waistband and top of his briefs. “Did you—”
Jerking my gaze to meet his, he raises one dark eyebrow and gives me a satisfied grin.
“I haven’t come in my pants like that since the last time you let me do this to you.”
Jesus.
“But…I didn’t even touch you.”
He presses his lips to the corner of mine softly. “You don’t need to, Al. Having my face buried in your pussy and tasting you come was more than enough to make me come a thousand times over.”
Dammit.
Why does he have to say things like that?
Tears pool in my eyes again, and the look in his instantly shifts to concern. He takes my face in one palm, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
At least, nothing that can be changed.
His lips twitch. “Liar. Are you feeling better?”
Better?
Better than the complete sniveling, hysterical mass of panic I was when he found me—absolutely.
I needed this—the release, the embrace, the care and affection.
But now something worse has replaced all that turmoil I felt before Pope came into the shower—the realization that I’m still fully and madly in love with Pope Clarke and I can never really have him.