Chapter 28
Marcy
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
He hesitates. “Marcy—”
I don’t wait. I press my mouth to his. His lips part against mine, and the light from the kitchen dims behind my closed eyelids.
My fingers find the collar of his shirt, the fabric warm from his skin.
The scent of him—soap and something like cedar—fills my lungs.
His thumb traces a circle at the small of my back, and I arch toward him, eliminating the space between us.
A shiver runs from the base of my spine to my shoulders.
When he pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes are dark, pupils wide, and I feel the tremor in his hands as they steady me.
I haven’t felt this in so long—this flutter beneath my ribs, this dizzy rush that makes me forget the shadow from just minutes ago.
“Marcy—” Landon cups my cheek. “We don’t have to—”
“Yes.” I get to my feet. I turn away, taking a few steps to steady the pounding in my chest. I stop in the middle of the kitchen and turn. “Yes. We do. At—at least I want to. I want this. I want you. I don’t want to think about anything but what you make me feel.”
His eyes search mine as he stands. He cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my lower lip.
The kitchen light catches the gold flecks in his irises.
He swallows hard, then leans down until his breath warms my skin.
My heartbeat stutters as his mouth finds mine again.
His fingers trail fire down my arms, settling at my hips with a grip that makes my knees weak.
He presses against me and I take a stumbling step back, the counter edge digging into my back.
Landon pulls me against him, his tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I taste mint and coffee.
A sound escapes me—half gasp, half plea—as my hands find his shoulders.
Suddenly I’m weightless, lifted against him, my thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The kitchen counter is cold beneath me as he sets me down, a jar of utensils toppling with a soft clatter. His palms slide up my sides, callused fingertips catching on the cotton of my shirt.
I break the kiss with a gasp that echoes in the quiet kitchen.
My lungs can’t seem to fill. The room spins slightly, like I’ve stood up too fast. Landon’s pupils have swallowed the green of his irises, and a muscle in his jaw twitches.
My fingers find the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as they grip the smooth granite.
The refrigerator hums in the background.
A drop of sweat traces down my spine despite the chill in the air.
A shiver races through me, fear and exhilaration coursing together.
Landon’s hands press flat against my waist, grounding me, but it’s the heat in his gaze that sends fire pooling between my thighs.
I can barely think straight, my body humming with need as he leans closer, his lips barely brushing mine again, teasing, before they slide down my neck.
“Is this really what you want?” The words vibrate against my throat where his mouth hovers, each syllable burning into my skin.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as electricity shoots through every nerve ending. “God, yes,” I gasp, the confession torn from somewhere primal and desperate inside me, my hips pressing forward of their own accord.
He groans, a sound that vibrates through his chest against mine.
His fingers find the hem of my sweater, trembling slightly against my skin.
I lift my arms in silent permission, feeling goosebumps rise as the fabric slides over my ribs, my shoulders, my wrists.
The air hits my exposed skin, and I resist the urge to cross my arms. His breath catches audibly.
His gaze drops, lingers, then rises to meet mine again, pupils so dilated his eyes appear almost black.
“Fuck,” he whispers, the word hanging between us like a prayer.
My fingers tremble against the cool plastic buttons of his flannel, missing the first hole twice before Landon makes a sound low in his throat.
He grabs the shirt by the collar, yanking it upward in a single motion.
The fabric hits the floor. Under my palm, his heartbeat hammers like something wild caught beneath his skin.
I trace the ridge where his chest muscles meet, goosebumps rising in the wake of my touch.
Dark hair, coarse beneath my fingertips, narrows into a thin line disappearing beneath his belt buckle.
My fingers continue exploring the terrain of his body, tracing the hard lines of muscle that ripple beneath my touch. Each shift of his chest sends heat coursing through me, igniting a fire that leaves no room for hesitation.
"Marcy," he breathes against my collarbone, the syllables vibrating through my skin like a tuning fork.
My name in his mouth draws me forward until our chests press flush together.
The kitchen air thickens with the scent of his skin—salt and cedar—as I catch his bottom lip between mine.
His fingers trace my ribs, each one a piano key playing notes that travel straight to my core before gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
When they slide up my bare back, his calluses catch on my skin like tiny sparks.
"Landon," I whisper, my voice breaking on his name as his teeth graze the hollow of my throat. My fingers twist into his hair, tugging him closer.
His breath hitches. The careful restraint in his eyes shatters. His hands find the hem of my skirt, bunching the fabric in his fists until cool air hits my thighs. His gaze drops, darkens. The muscle in his jaw twitches once, twice.
"Christ," he breathes, the word half-prayer, half-curse. The pad of his thumb traces the edge of lace, and a breath rushes from me.
My hips rise involuntarily. A whimper escapes me as his fingertips brush where I'm aching, the thin fabric between us suddenly unbearable.
His lips brush my earlobe, his voice rough. "Tell me what you need."
"You," I gasp, the word barely audible over the thundering pulse in my ears. My fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave half-moons in his skin.
His teeth graze the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, sending lightning down my spine. "Show me where," he whispers, his breath hot against my collarbone.
I capture his wrist, guiding his palm up my inner thigh. The counter edge digs into my lower back as I arch toward him.
His eyes lock with mine, pupils blown wide. The corner of his mouth lifts in that way that makes my stomach flip. "Let me see all of you."
My fingers fumble with the clasp of my bra, trembling. The straps slide down my arms, cool air pebbling my skin. Landon's breath catches, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.
A curse falls from his lips as his fingertips trace where lace meets skin. That first brush of contact blurs my vision, my hips arching off the counter.
His mouth captures my breast, hot and demanding. The wet heat of his tongue circles my nipple as he slides a finger inside me with agonizing slowness. The dual sensation steals my breath, pleasure spiralling outward from two points like ripples across still water.
I moan—a sound I barely recognize—and pull my feet up to the counter's cold surface. My thighs tremble as they fall open, surrendering completely. My head falls back against the wooden cabinets with a soft thud, hair catching on the metal handles as stars bloom behind my closed eyelids.
"Is this what you want?" he whispers against my heated skin, shifting his attention to my neglected breast. The wet heat of his mouth closes around my nipple, sending electric currents straight to my core.
I can only whimper in response, my back arching off the cold granite as he slides a second finger inside me. His fingers curl with deliberate precision, finding that textured spot that turns my bones to liquid. My thighs tremble uncontrollably against his hips.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he groans against my flushed skin, his voice rough with desire. His eyes, dark as forest shadows, drink me in. "Trusting—open. The way your pulse flutters here—" his thumb brushes my throat, "—it's fucking beautiful."
Before I can respond, his knees hit the tile with a soft thud.
His warm breath ghosts across my inner thigh for one suspended heartbeat before his mouth claims me.
I cry out—a sound that echoes off the kitchen walls—as his tongue replaces his fingers with devastating precision.
The flat of it drags slowly upward before circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that blurs my vision at the edges.
He groans against me, the vibration almost unbearable, as his hands grip my thighs to pull me closer to the counter's edge.
His beard grazes the tender skin of my thighs as he devours me with single-minded intensity, like a man who's crossed a desert and found water.
"Landon—" I gasp, my fingers twisting into his dark hair, knuckles white with desperation as I pull him impossibly closer. "Don't stop."
He responds with a primal growl against my sensitive flesh, his tongue circling my clit with devastating precision. "Let go, Marcy," he murmurs, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through my core.
I'm dying, dissolving, my body a live wire of sensation.
My heels dig into his shoulder blades as my spine arches off the counter.
The pressure builds like a storm, my lungs burning as I forget to breathe, my free hand clawing desperately against the slick countertop for purchase in a world spinning off its axis.
I shatter, my cry echoing off kitchen tiles as waves of pleasure pulse from my core to my fingertips. My vision splinters into prisms of light, muscles clenching around his tongue as my thighs tremble against his shoulders.
Landon's tongue slows but doesn't stop, drawing out aftershocks that leave me gasping.
When he rises, his lips glisten in the half-light.
The taste of salt and musk mingles between us as he claims my mouth, his stubble rough against my flushed skin.
His arms slide beneath me—one at my back, one under my knees—and I'm weightless against his chest. Three strides carry us to the bed, where my mattress dips beneath our combined weight, sheets cool against my overheated skin.
The metallic slide of his belt buckle cuts through my ragged breathing.
Denim whispers down muscled thighs. My lips part involuntarily as he stands revealed—the pronounced vein running along his length, the bead of moisture at the tip, the way he twitches under my gaze.
His eyes, nearly black with desire, search mine.
"Yes?" His voice cracks on the single syllable, asking permission.
My fingers find his wrist, tugging him down as my hips arch toward his. "Yes."
His body covers mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress as he positions himself.
The blunt pressure against my entrance makes my breath catch.
He pushes forward—just an inch—and my fingers dig into his shoulders as the sensation hovers between pleasure and something more complex.
His jaw tightens, a vein pulsing in his neck as he fights for control.
"Landon—" My voice breaks on his name, my back arching involuntarily.
His forehead drops to mine, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us. Sweat beads at his temples as he sinks deeper, the stretch of him making my vision blur at the edges.
His lips brush my hairline, his voice a ragged whisper. "Tell me—"
I lock my ankles behind his back in answer, drawing him impossibly closer. "Don't stop."
A tremor runs through his arms as he withdraws slightly, then rocks forward. The mattress creaks beneath us as he establishes a rhythm that makes my toes curl against his calves.
The bed frame scrapes against hardwood, each rhythmic sound marking the increasing urgency of his movements.
My head sinks deeper into the pillow, his name escaping my lips in broken syllables.
His breath comes hot and damp against the hollow of my throat, stubble grazing sensitive skin as his fingers find their way between us, circling with deliberate pressure.
My body answers before I can form words, muscles tightening around him in a way that pulls a raw sound from deep in his chest.
"Let me feel it again," he whispers, voice strained against my ear. “Let me feel you let go.”
My fingernails leave crescent moons across his shoulders as the sensation builds like a wave gathering height.
The room dissolves into fragments of shadow and light, my consciousness narrowing to where we're joined.
A sound I barely recognize as my own echoes off the walls as everything fractures into white-hot pleasure.
Landon's rhythm falters, his lips pressing desperately against my pulse point as his movements become erratic.
The headboard connects with plaster in a staccato rhythm until he goes rigid above me, a shudder running through him as he buries his face against my neck.
Landon collapses, his breath ragged and warm against my collarbone, and I cling to him, my fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair.
I revel in the sheer weight of the moment—I'm still quivering beneath him, aftershocks of ecstasy pulsing through my veins like wildfire.
His breath warms my skin, his weight a comforting anchor that makes it feel like the world has righted itself, if only for a moment.
The remnants of pleasure linger, a delicious haze that blurs my thoughts as my fingers stroke through his hair, drawing him closer.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending fresh shivers down my spine as he lifts his head to search my eyes. The raw intensity in his gaze sends warmth flooding through me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “This—this was perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, shifting off me and pulling me against him.
His palm drifts up and down my back in slow, absent strokes. No words. No promises. Just the kind of silence that feels like trust. He murmurs my name, barely awake, and presses a drowsy kiss to my hair. The simple, unguarded tenderness of it makes my chest ache.
I close my eyes and let the sound of the wind wash over us. For tonight, this is enough—his heartbeat, the warmth of his arms, the shelter of this moment.
But just as sleep begins to pull me under, I hear Brett’s words echoing in my mind: “Remember this face; it will be the last one you see.”