Chapter 4
chapter four
Bitter Sweet Symphony – The Verve
JUSTIN
As Lainey settled against him, the past roared into Justin’s mind while the present roared into his body . Anger simmered beneath the surface, the staggering realization that he still had feelings for her.
Naturally, everything involving Lainey Prescott was as tangled and turbulent as before.
She’d pushed him away for reasons that, as an adult, he finally understood. Reasons with a purpose . Honorable, in their own heartbreaking way. Nevertheless, he could only negotiate with his need. Keeping him on his toes, this blind hunger unlike any he’d experienced.
And he’d tried, industriously, to forget her.
Now, he would take . Give . No debating, no mourning over the goddamn past, no talking himself out of her. Fate didn’t matter, not when this was likely to be nothing more than a fleeting, sensual second in time.
Decided, Justin threaded his fingers into her incredibly adorable hair, tilting her head, and guiding her lips to his. They parted on a sigh, and he nearly melted at the thought of the whimpers, the pleas, the moans he could draw from her.
He hungered for her like he’d never hungered for anyone in his life.
He only wished this realization didn’t scare the shit out of him.
Drawing back, his gaze roamed her face. Stopping time, as if he could. A strip of sunlight rolled over her, gilding her hair in gold and deepening the flush on her cheeks. When she opened her eyes—her sexiest fucking feature—they glowed, sultry, exotic, and as gray as smoke.
He dusted the curves of her body with his fingertips, recording the changes time had wrought. The girlishly thin tomboy had given way to the alluring woman standing before him. A wave of unexpected longing surged through him.
He’d missed watching her grow up—and she’d missed watching him.
Cradling his face, she stirred against him, and he leaned to adjust for their height, bringing them hip to hip. He groaned, the sound low and rough, his need sharp as his cock hardened against the button fly of his jeans. Her heat seeped through the thin fabric of her running shorts, and he imagined stripping them off, dropping to his knees, and feasting .
“Whatever you’re picturing, do it,” she whispered, her tongue tracing the curve of his bottom lip.
“I will,” he promised, then slanted his mouth over hers.
This was going to happen. Fate had reunited them. He’d known it from the moment she walked back into his life.
His heart knew it, anyway.
His head wasn’t so sure.
Her palm skimmed down his back, fingers slipping into the frayed hole at the waistband of his jeans, teasing bare skin. The touch sent fire licking along his spine.
“Anything on under there?” she asked, breathless.
Justin shook his head and, taking her by the elbows, backed her into the wall. Her hoodie zipper was halfway to her waist before he even had time to think, her small breasts bare, nipples pink, perfect, and already erect.
Begging for his touch.
It was a breathtaking discovery— she wore nothing beneath.
Nothing but heat and invitation.
He blew on one pebbled nub, then the other, his cock twitching as her head dropped back in pleasure. His lips followed where his breath had been, then his tongue, then his teeth. Gentle, but when she asked on an achy whisper, not so gentle. Until he wondered if his steady grip was the only thing keeping her from melting to the floor.
Her lids fluttered. A muffled whimper escaped as the grind of their bodies hit a fever pitch, sending a sharp, blinding spike of lust through him.
If she wanted him, he wasn’t above fucking her right there, standing in his kitchen.
Working his hand inside the waistband of her shorts, his fingers met her slick heat, the glistening folds welcoming him back. She moaned, her lips parting on a soft breath. Her cheeks were flushed, her chest rising in shallow gusts.
He stared, captivated. What a beautiful woman she’d become .
And she felt familiar, in that haunting, heart-clenching way that made it hard to breathe. He rarely involved his heart in sex. So he shoved aside the unsettling sensation of falling…of landing somewhere he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly left.
Stay in the moment, Justin. Nothing more.
He stepped in, his lips at her ear. “Remember the first time I made you come? In my bedroom, after the ballgame? God, you were the most incredible thing I’d ever seen in my life. We had less than an hour before my father got home, and I thought I’d die from wanting you.” Parting her lips, he sank his finger inside her, then began to stroke. Steady thrusts as she clenched around him. Her hand rose to grasp his shirt, the other sliding low to clutch his hip and draw him in. “Now you’re a stunning woman, Lain, and I’m dying all over again.”
He worked another finger inside her warm folds as remembrance took over. He recalled what she’d liked. Deliberate, thorough, patient, fingers curling to caress a spot he knew held the key to unlocking her pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered on a tattered gasp, her teeth sinking into the tender skin at the curve of his neck, his back arching into the move. “ Don’t. Stop. ”
She slid her hand to the front of his jeans, and he was honestly afraid he would embarrass himself if she hit her target. So he caught her wrist, kissing her as he worked his finger deep inside her. “Let me. For now, just let me.”
The kiss deepened as they battled, passion flooding every shadowed corner of his kitchen, echoing beyond its walls and circling straight back to his heart.
What if they were fated, as he’d once believed? What if that reckless boy who’d loved without hesitation had been right all along?
Lainey groaned, her lids fluttering, her hips rocking against his hand. She was wet, tight, and so fucking incredible. He glanced over her shoulder, measuring the distance to his bedroom. Too far. The couch? Closer. Hell , the kitchen counter’s height was damn-near perfect.
Except, she was close, and from the way she responded, he suspected it had been a while for her. He could have told her—but he wouldn’t—that it had been a while for him, too.
He wasn’t letting her leave this room without falling apart first.
Therefore: priorities.
“Relax, sweetheart. Let’s get a quick one out of the way,” he said, even as the image of her shorts around her ankles while he knelt between her legs powered through him like a freight train.
Why not now?
Deciding it might be the best idea he’d ever had, Justin kissed his way south. He paused only long enough to suck her hard-as-hell nipples, then trailed his tongue down her toned stomach—halting when he hit the zipper of her hoodie. Grinning, he flicked it open and dropped to his knees in front of her.
The pounding of his heart nearly drowned out her whispered plea to keep going.
Almost .
He had a finger hooked in her waistband, tugging her shorts down, when the wall phone started to ring. A leftover from the ’70s—a kitschy, glaring tangerine—it was a relic he liked enough to keep.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing his scalp as she drew him closer to her heat. She smelled like female ambrosia—ripe, sweet, utterly addictive.
“Ignore it,” she whispered.
From his crouched position, he looked up, thoughts bubbling like he was underwater.
Her sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, breasts bouncing with each breath, the flaxen ends of that daring haircut dusting her jaw. Her eyes had deepened to the color of wet ash, darker than he ever remembered seeing them.
No orgasm yet, but she looked well-loved.
His body was overwhelmed with need—and that, he could accept.
But his heart…
Justin sat back on his heels as his answering machine clicked, catching the call. What the hell was he doing, considering something this intimate with a woman he barely knew anymore? He wasn’t a one-night-stand type of guy—at least, not often—and this was definitely one-night-stand behavior.
He never would’ve moved this fast unless something deeper was pulling him in—especially after what happened the last time.
His relationship with Lainey Prescott had nearly destroyed him.
Reading his indecision, a tiny furrow appeared between her brows, and Lainey pulled her hoodie together with shaking hands.
Rising to his feet, he stepped away from her— apart from her—and glanced frantically around his kitchen. The past and present tangled in his mind, a sudden fury. This wasn’t his parents’ house. It wasn’t her father’s cottage. Or the backseat of his Rabbit.
He wasn’t some stupid kid in love for the first time. The only time.
He wasn’t in love.
He. Was. Not. In. Love.
Justin’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He ran a hand through his hair, her scent clinging to his skin, seeping into his lungs—rich, intoxicating, unmistakably her. He felt off-balance. With himself. With everything.
He’d just broken every rule he’d written about this woman for the past thirteen years. He was a fool, and Justin True no longer suffered fools lightly.
“There you go,” she whispered, fumbling with her zipper, wrapping herself up and out of view. “I can see the wheels spinning. It feels like I’m standing on that sagging porch again, holding a box of cassettes.”
Anger lit his mind like a live wire, sparking all the things he wished he’d said before. He dropped his head into his hand—lost, vulnerable, alone. Everything he didn’t want to be. Everything he hated .
But age had given him a measure of wisdom. And courage.
So, instead of saying something cool, proud, or strong, he told her the goddamn truth.
“You left, Lainey. Ran away. And when you did, you took my fucking heart with you.” He turned, praying she’d go before he begged her to forgive him for not chasing after her, for not following through on this dare. Because if she was still standing there when he looked back, he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to let her go. “I don’t think I can survive that again.”
She walked out, and like the last time, he let her.