Chapter Twenty-Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lanie
T he drive to his place was a breathless, aching promise, every mile thick with anticipation. Mark’s hand gripped the wheel, his jaw tight, his pulse visible at his throat. I should have been breathing slower, calming myself, but all I could think was: This is Mark. My Mark. It was like stepping back in time.
The moment he parked, he was out of the truck and at my door, opening it with a tenderness that made my heart lurch. I stepped out, my fingers curling into his as I drew a shaky breath. There had been men before—but none like him. None who had ever mattered this much. I told myself to meet his eyes, but I only made it as high as his throat.
“Lanie?” he asked softly, voice rough with something unspoken.
I forced a shaky smile. “Don’t ask if I want this—I might panic, bolt, and hate us both tomorrow for ruining everything.”
He pulled me against his chest, tucking me beneath his chin. His heartbeat was steady, but his grip tightened, like he was anchoring himself. “I’d say don’t be nervous, but I’m freaking out inside too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always have with you.”
I held him tighter, as if that alone could keep me from falling apart. “I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex—not a lot, not a little—” I stopped when he chuckled, the deep sound vibrating against me. “You’re not supposed to find that funny.”
“I don’t,” he said, voice thick. “It’s torture picturing you with anyone else. But I’m remembering the last time you were this rattled—spouting prom pregnancy stats. Some things haven’t changed, and that grounds me.”
I let out a breathy laugh, resting my head against his chest. “Before we go in, I need to ask you something.” My throat tightened. “It matters.”
He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Ask me.”
“Who did you build the house for?” The words spilled out in a rush, my face heating with embarrassment.
Fire flared in his gaze. “You, Lanie. It’s always been you.” His grip tightened, like letting go wasn’t an option. “Even when you were in Portsmouth.”
“But you were with others,” I whispered, my heart stuttering.
“I was.” He cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “But not one of them belonged there. Not like you do.”
The air shifted, heavy, charged. I wanted to believe him. I needed to.
“Do you want to go inside?” he asked gently, his voice a husky rasp. “I want to lay you out on my bed.”
I shivered, but words still wouldn’t come.
He bent closer, teasing. “Or fuck you on the steps.”
A startled laugh broke from me, the tension splitting just enough for me to breathe again. “Those are my only choices?”
His lips curled. “There’s always the truck. The woods. I have a hammock out back, but those swoop weird.”
That teasing glint in his eyes grounded me. This was still us. Still Mark.
Just as I began to open my mouth, he pressed a finger to my lips. “Don’t call me an idiot unless you want me to finish first. Idiots don’t know how to savor a woman—rev her up, make her beg, lose control again and again.” His jaw set in a sexy challenge.
Heat bloomed under my skin. “What should I call you, then?”
“How about you take off that shirt while I think?” He unbuttoned his own, letting it fall to the dirt, baring that broad, muscled chest I had dreamed of.
My breath caught. I wanted to taste him. I shouldn’t—so, of course, I did. I rose on my toes and dragged my tongue from his collarbone to his ear, then dropped back, flushed. “Your turn.”
With age came confidence. I pulled my shirt off slowly, smirking as his eyes darkened. “Like what you see?” I teased, letting it drop. Then I unhooked my bra, letting it slide from my arms with a grin. “Fair?”
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly until my breasts were level with his mouth. This wasn’t a boy—this was a man who knew exactly what he wanted. He nuzzled, nipped, his tongue tracing a heated path along my abdomen.
His hands slid lower, teasing over my jeans before he sank to his knees. My breath hitched. “Mark—”
“Shh,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”
Heat pooled low in my belly as his hands skimmed up my legs, peeling my jeans down, his movements slow, reverent. He kissed each inch of skin as it was revealed, worshiping me with his mouth. When his tongue finally touched me, a slow, deliberate stroke that sent heat spiraling through me, my pulse raced as I gripped his shoulders for balance.
When I slumped, boneless, against the truck, he pressed a final kiss to my hipbone, then rose, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. “Inside,” he murmured. “Where I can take my time with you.”
Halfway up the stairs, I whispered, “We’re going to have to go outside later to get our shirts.”
He let out a deep chuckle. “That’s not where my mind is at.”
“No? Wonder what might be distracting you,” I teased, grinning against his shoulder.
“Just every inch of your body,” he growled, kissing the top of my head.
I had no objection to that.
He stepped into the bedroom, setting me down gently onto the bed, his eyes burning with something deeper than desire. He hovered over me, brushing his fingers along my jaw. “It’s always been you, Lanie. Always.”
His mouth found mine again, slow and reverent. That tongue, those fingers—everywhere, pumping, teasing—each stroke a promise, erasing years of distance, stitching us back together. “Finally mine,” he whispered against my skin.
I whimpered because I was his… had always somehow been. “Yes. All yours.”
He raised his head and grinned, pure male triumph. “Say it again, say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I panted. “Just don’t stop.”
He swirled a finger lazily. “Oh, I won’t.”
“How about we fuck until neither of us can walk?” he whispered between kisses. “We have years to make up for.”
“Sounds… time-consuming, but wonderful.”
His mouth claimed me, inch by inch—ankle to hip, then teasing my sex—until I writhed, hands in his hair, climaxing with a breathless, “Why were we not doing this all along?”
“We needed a little space? Like a decade to figure it out?” I teased, meeting his gaze with a smile.
He lifted me, rolled over so I was above him, thrust up into me and I rode him—slow at first, then wild, his whispers lost in our breaths and the slap of skin. We came together, his words echoing in my head: “Lanie, it’s always been you.”
I tumbled down into his arms, then rested my head on his chest. Our ragged breathing slowed in unison. It was enough to make me forget about Portsmouth and all the questions I had.
“Hey,” he said gently, his lips brushing across my forehead. “There’s one thing we should discuss.”
I tensed against him, but braced myself. “What is it?”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Which one of us should head outside to get our clothing?”
I huffed out a breath of relief, then gave his side a little pinch. “You’re such a jerk.”
“While you’re down there, could you get me a slice of pizza?”
I laughed. “While you’re down there, could you get me a glass of water?”
The look he gave me nearly reduced me to tears. Did he really always feel this way about me? How had I missed it? “I might have some cookies. Is chocolate chip still your favorite?”
“You remember!”
“Of course I do.”
“I do love cookies.” We sat there in a moment mixed with sated passion and memories. I traced the strong line of his jaw, rough with stubble, my fingers tingling as he gave me a dramatically big kiss, his lips warm and firm against mine. “Wish I had one right now.”
“Oh, you’re good. I’ll go.” After one final kiss, he stood in all his naked glory beside the bed and grinned down at me. “Lanie, I’m glad you’re back.”
And just like that, something between us healed. “Me, too,” I whispered, pulling him down for another deep kiss. “Get back over here. If you can still walk, we’re not done yet.”
I did not have to say that twice.