Chapter 42
42
H e felt her hands sliding up the front of his shirt, brushing past all the buttons. She found the tie he still wore.
His eyes closed as he felt her fingers tug at the silk. Like a magician, she had it off him faster than he ever could. Then his shirt was unbuttoned, tugged from his pants, and pushed away.
Her touch was like hot whiskey seeping into his veins and calming everything. She was need and desire personified, even if she was in a t-shirt and cut-off jeans. Jesus she was hot, and still wearing too much clothing.
Her shirt gave way under his ministrations. Carlisle lifted her arms readily, letting him peel it off her and standing in front of him, just in her bra. It was white and just shy of utilitarian. She’d been in the garage packing boxes all day, checking labels. She probably needed her neck rubbed.
But they both needed something else rubbed more. He felt the side of his mouth start to lift. Yet her fingers found the hem of the t-shirt he’d worn under his nice work shirt. She lifted it off him.
He wasn’t as smooth as she was. He’d let her do it before—take the shirt all the way off. His immediate reaction was still to pull back, though he knew that would hurt her. He wasn’t hiding anything from her, there was no need to try.
If she sensed the awkward flinch from him, she ignored it and simply tugged at the shirt again. This time he let her. He lifted his arms like she had, even if her hands didn’t reach all the way over his head. Helping her tug it off, Simon stood there before her knowing she could see everything. All the scary parts of him. All the fear. All the shame.
She ran her hands along the top of his shoulders, skimming the parts that still had smooth skin. The way Stephen had placed the burns—Simon had only figured out later—was so they could only be seen certain ways. Easier to hide what he was doing.
Forcing himself to acknowledge it this time, he asked, “Does it bother you?”
“It bothers me greatly—” he felt himself stiffen, because this was exactly why he hadn’t wanted her to see it, “—that they exist. That it happened to you. But it’s like my accident: It’s part of who we are now.” She looked up at him. “I like who you are.”
If he hadn’t fully turned to liquid before, he did now. His throat clenched and his eyes stung. He spoke so he didn’t break in front of her. “You can touch them, they don’t hurt.”
“They shouldn’t.”
So clinical.
But she pushed onto her toes again, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close. Her mouth fused to his, tongue searching, her breasts pressing into his bare chest. She dragged him into whatever vortex she was creating, his shame floating away like puffs of smoke, disappearing in the haze of need and want.
Her fingers were at his pants, tugging at his belt while her mouth traced the contours of his collarbone. The moan he heard was likely his. He popped the snap on the front of her jeans, even more turned on when she stepped out of them .
Her underwear and all his reason gone, she looked up at him, eyes wide. Then she glanced over her shoulder.
The windows weren’t open, but the sheers would allow anyone a gauzy porno if they came close.
“Here.” She tugged his hand, and he almost tripped, not realizing his pants were at his ankles. Stepping out of them, he followed along until she had him tugged to the end of the dining room table, both of them naked. But at least the curtains here were closed.
She kissed him again, and he felt his guard—up for days—finally dissolve away.
He touched her, thrilling at the sounds she made when he lifted her breasts, brushed the hardened nipple with his thumb, took the peak into his mouth and tugged. She was leaned back across the table, his fingers finding her wet and ready before he knew what he’d done.
Her hand clasped around his cock, stroking him until he stepped back. “I’ll . . .”
What? Come in her hand. That was a problem. “I?—”
Words were hard. He wanted to part her legs wider, lift her feet from the floor, brace her against the table and sink into her heat. She was home. He loved her and he didn’t know how to say it. He couldn’t promise anything that went with that. And he couldn’t even ask for a damn condom right now.
“Hey.” She grinned at him, grabbed at his hand and pulled it to the edge of the table.
He didn’t understand. With more force, almost pulling him off balance until he tumbled on top of her, she directed his fingers under the edge of the table. Plastic? Foil?
His eyes flew wide as he grabbed for the condom taped there.
She shrugged at him. “Two can play that game.”
Holy fuck . He’d thought he couldn’t get any hotter but spontaneous combustion was becoming an option. At least he would die happy. But, wait.
“So you had a fantasy about the table?”
She licked her lips. He wasn’t touching her. If he did, he would go off. She nodded.
“Show me.”
Her eyes darted to the side. The confident woman who told him how to run his life, who started her own business out of her garage, and did it when she wasn’t able to do anything else, looked shy and uncertain.
“Please.”
One side of her mouth lifted, and she turned around, placing her hands on the surface of the antique. Oh damn. Thank God she liked sturdy pieces.
He had the condom on before he even thought about how to do it. Then he stepped up behind her, reveling in the heat that radiated from her body as she waited for him to touch her. So he did.
He touched her until she writhed in his arms. He cupped her breasts and played with her until she arched into him. He stroked her until she begged, her ass snug against his erection. He made her need him until he needed her more.
Then he grabbed her hips, thrilling at the way she lifted for him, and drove home.
Just the feel of her, hot and wet around his cock, made him cry out. For a moment, he knew the neighbors could hear that if they were listening. Hadn’t they met because her house was not very soundproof?
But she lifted just a little higher on her toes and pushed back against him. This time it was his cries the neighbors would hear. He had no control left. Simon dug his fingers into her hips, holding her at the right angle, sliding back out and driving in until they both combusted. Until he was wrung out and could barely stand. Until she collapsed forward, lying across the table like a spent goddess.
He stumbled backward, hitting the window sill, hands braced to keep himself upright as his heart pounded in his chest.
Shit.
He loved her.
He loved her more than he would ever love anyone else, ever again.
And he couldn’t tell her.