Chapter Nineteen #2
“Not really. I went to get you something that seemed right. And the necklace was there. It was perfect for you. From what
I know about you. It spoke to your strength and the tattoo when . . . I don’t know how to do any kind of feeling.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“No. You didn’t.”
“For what it’s worth, it’s a beautiful necklace.”
“Thank you. Can I try again?”
She could just get mad. She could throw the woodchuck at him. She could tell him that he had behaved badly and she didn’t
want to let him walk it back, because it wasn’t fair.
But then he might leave. She didn’t actually want that.
“Go ahead. Try again.”
He moved toward her, reached behind the back of her neck and took the necklace off of her.
“Denver . . .”
He looked at her, his gaze serious. “Sheena, yesterday I saw another example of you taking care of everybody else, and nobody
taking care of you in quite that same way. And I couldn’t bear it. I wanted to do something to make sure that you had as good
as you gave. I went and I found this. I think it’s perfect for you. Because it’s like you. It’s an eternal vine and flower.
Like your ink. Like you are. So I wanted you to have it. And I can’t say that it’s a promise or that it means anything. Because
you know this whole thing is . . . uncharted territory. But I can say that whatever becomes of us, this is the truth of you.
And it’s how I see you. If nothing else, I want you to know that. That I see you.”
She found it hard to breathe. Because that was the nicest thing that anybody had ever said to her. She wasn’t sure it was
entirely true. She had always hoped that she was that unkillable flower. But tonight she had felt easily crushed.
A consequence, she thought, of cultivating this life where the presence of a man mattered so much. And it did. It mattered
so much.
And this . . . this gift from him, it wasn’t a promise. It was more of that honesty that scraped against her skin like a blade.
But she couldn’t fault him for that.
Well. She could. But it would be foolish.
He hadn’t lied to her. Not at any point.
But then, deception was never really her trigger. It was not being loved enough.
“Turn around,” he said.
She did, slowly. Just like outside. But this time, he was the one that swept her hair to the side. This time, he moved the
necklace around slowly, the feel of the metal on her skin almost erotic as he slowly did the clasp.
She turned around, and his eyes were hot on hers. Right then, she felt equal parts despair and need.
Would it always be like this with him? Would it always be bliss, followed by complicated sex that left them raw enough to
add some edge to that happiness? And then fights, with moments of making love to erase all of the anger. To make it sweet.
It was exhausting.
There were so many feelings between them all the time, and neither of them had the vocabulary to figure out what they were.
Speak them out loud and turn them into some form of sense. It was always tearing off clothes and short, ragged breaths.
It was always kisses that said more than words, and climaxes that brought about the kind of oblivion that felt comforting
in a familiar sort of way.
Because this had become familiar. Because they had let it become their language.
And she couldn’t put a stop to that now.
Because right now, she wanted him. Right now, she wanted to affirm whatever this was.
Right now, she wanted to get back to who they were, and what they knew.
He kissed her. Hard and deep, and she surrendered. Because she needed to. Because she needed to speak this language. The one they both knew fluently. She needed to feel like she understood him again. More than anything.
It felt risky to do it right here in the bar, but it also felt right. What they hadn’t done at Smokey’s, even though they
had both wanted it.
He started to pull at her clothes, and she helped him discard them, flinging them down to the floor, not caring where they
landed.
She tore his T-shirt up over his head and paused to admire all the glory that was Denver King.
Broad shoulders that had carried the burden of everyone and everything for years. Broad shoulders that bore the weight of
the sins of his father, and continued to do so, no matter how much he tried to atone.
She didn’t bear the burden of her father’s sins. She bore the weight of his apathy.
And it was heavy.
She couldn’t even imagine how heavy it was for Denver. But she didn’t know how to help him carry it. There was an attempt.
She tried to do things to care for him, just like he tried to do it for her, but they were both so imperfect. Misshapen little
puzzle pieces trying to find a way to fill space that they hadn’t been made for. Or maybe they had been at one time, but they
had been so mangled by their experiences that it was all impossible now.
She couldn’t say for sure.
But she knew that she loved kissing him. She knew that she loved the feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She knew
that she loved that salty taste of his skin.
So she licked her way down his chest, down his abs, so that she was kneeling in front of him, working his belt, undoing his
jeans.
He groaned as she freed him, running her tongue from base to tip. Before taking him all the way.
He was definitely the biggest man she’d ever been with, but she was highly motivated, and she had a certain set of skills.
She wrapped her hand around the base, took him all the way, impossibly, before letting him slide out slowly.
Over and over again, until he was shaking.
Maybe there couldn’t be anything else. Maybe there wasn’t any more in either of them.
Maybe this was as deep as it got. Absolutely no pun intended.
But it felt like something. That she was the only woman to ever have him for this length of time. That she was the only woman
who had ever gotten to know every little thing he liked.
She knew that when he was thrusting deep inside of her if she licked his neck, he would shudder. Shake. That it would take
him closer to the edge. She knew that he’d just about lost it entirely when she swallowed his cock down her throat. She knew
that he liked it when she made eye contact with him while she did it. So she looked up at him now, and watched him grit his
teeth, the tendons in his neck standing out with effort as he tried to keep control.
She didn’t want his control.
She wanted his surrender.
But he was so careful to never give it. Not until he was good and ready.
That was the problem. They were so very much the same. And everything was a power struggle.
Because between them, what else could it be?
They had both spent their lives relying on their strength.
Giving it up wasn’t something they could fathom.
But maybe that was the key. Maybe that was what she had to do. Maybe that was what had to change. She could keep on fighting him. Keep going toe to toe. Keep on meeting him for every challenge.
But what if she simply . . . didn’t?
When she gave herself to him instead?
What would that change?
Her heart was thundering fast, and she licked him one last time before standing up slowly.
Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Deep.
Soft.
Not as a challenge. Not as a gauntlet being thrown down. But connection. Their mouths meeting, and to the best of her ability,
her soul attempting to touch his.
He lifted her up onto the bar top, and brought her to the edge of it. “Sheena,” he growled against her lips.
“I don’t have a condom.”
Her heart clenched. “I’m on the pill.”
That was trust. It was letting go of a lifetime of being shielded. She had never let a man . . . Ever. Hadn’t even wanted
to. The very idea totally freaked her out. No barrier. Taking part of him like that.
But not Denver. No. She wanted him. She wanted this.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she whispered. “I’m totally sure.”
He pressed the head of his arousal to the slick entrance of her body, and began to move forward, inch by excruciating inch.
He didn’t claim her in one thrust as he often did. It was like he was savoring it. The feeling of taking her like this.
She let her head fall back, but only for a moment, because then she couldn’t bear to not be looking at him.
He was too beautiful.
Inside of her like this, lost in his own pleasure. In his own need too.
Denver.
She just wanted him so badly. All the time.
There was no end to it.
It was something. Something more even than this. Something deeper.
Those feelings she didn’t have words for.
A grounding, dark need that rolled through her like thunder. All the way down to her soul.
To the most vulnerable, needy part of her.
A place she had tried to shut off a long time ago.
Because life was relentless and loss—in all of its forms—was just too painful sometimes.
Because the trail was too sharp, and if you were soft, then it cut too deep.
But this . . . This was deep. This was real.
And she wanted more. More.
She wrapped her legs around his back, urged him on. Whispered in his ear, she wasn’t even sure what. Because she didn’t even
know what she was feeling. All of the words in her mind were nothing more than endless impressions of need.
Nothing more than everything.
That was all.
And right then, his thrusts began to get harder, faster. He looked into her eyes, and she felt it. Just as she felt him. Sliding
deep, touching those hidden parts of her. And she was very, very scared in that moment that she had completely unmade herself.
That she had gone to that stubborn plant and compromised the roots in some way. Began feeding them with the vitamins that
it was now dependent on. So that what was once wild had now been domesticated. Because what would she do without him? Without
what he gave her?
When she had never had it, she didn’t know. And what you didn’t know couldn’t break you.
You couldn’t miss it.
You couldn’t want it.
Couldn’t need it.
But those thoughts were lost, and a storm of need surged as he began to fray around the edges, as his control began to break.
She flexed her hips forward, trying to take him deeper.
He growled. She could feel him, different than all the other times before. And maybe it really physically felt different.
Or maybe it was just trust.
Maybe it was just that next step.
But she couldn’t fear it. Not right then.
He cupped her face, and kissed her, while he held her tight with one arm around her waist, continuing to take her deep and
hard.
And as she felt his control slip away, she let go of hers.
Their climax hit at the same moment, her internal muscles pulsing tight around him, as he spilled himself into her.
There were no words for it. Well. There were. Profanity. But that was about it.
“Come home with me,” he said.
“Okay.”
She didn’t have any resistance left inside of her. And even if she did, she didn’t want it.
She just wanted him.
She held him for a long time after. Or maybe he held her. And then finally, they got dressed, and went back to his place.
She tried to ignore the feeling of home she felt when they walked inside.
And if she slept better in his bed than she had in her own last night, she tried her best not to think about that either.