Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
THIS IS WHAT I NEEDED
LOLA
We’re quiet as we walk to his cottage, and I wonder if he’s changing his mind, but then his hand finds mine in the dark, and our fingers thread together. When he opens the door, I take in the cottage.
“So pretty,” I whisper.
The air feels thicker in here. The faint trace of Tully’s cologne clings to my skin from dancing with him, and I want to be wrapped up in it. My heart is slamming so hard.
Our eyes catch, and I close the last inch, rise on my toes, and kiss him.
Desperately, like I’ve been needing to for years.
He groans in my mouth, his hands finding my waist, and he pulls me flush against him.
My silky dress slides under his hands, and my body arches into his, remembering every contour and wanting to investigate the new.
His fingers thread into my hair, tugging just hard enough to sting, and it’s like a match is struck.
We break apart, only because we need air. My forehead rests against his, our breaths ragged.
He backs me against the wall without a word, hands firm on my hips, and then his mouth is on my throat.
I gasp when his teeth scrape that spot just below my ear, the one he always knew would make my knees buckle.
It’s been five years, and he still remembers.
My fingers fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, because if I don’t, I might fall apart.
“Tully—” His name comes out broken.
I hate how needy I sound, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent too long pretending I haven’t ached for this.
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s something else there too—something raw and careful.
“Say it again,” he murmurs against my collarbone, already sliding the straps of my dress down my shoulders. The silk drifts to the floor in a whisper. “My name. Like you used to.”
“Tully.” It’s a plea this time. “Please.”
He makes a low sound in his throat—half groan, half relief—and lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, ankles locking at the small of his back. I unhook my bra and toss it, and he curses when he glances down.
“Holy fuck,” he says, when he sees my nipple piercings. “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The friction of his belt against my lace makes me whimper. He carries me to the bed, and we collapse together, a messy tangle of limbs and heat and everything I’ve tried to bury.
His jacket hits the floor. Shirt next—buttons popping because neither of us has any patience left.
My hands are greedy, relearning the hard planes of his chest, the ridge of a scar on his left rib from colliding with another player’s blade, the tattoos I haven’t seen yet.
He’s even more gorgeous than I remembered.
So beautiful it hurts. I trace the line of hair down his stomach and love the way his muscles jump under my fingertips.
When he hooks his fingers in my underwear and drags it down my thighs, I lift my hips to help. The cool air hits my wet core, and I shiver. He pauses, just looking at me spread out beneath him, and his eyes cover every inch like he’s memorizing me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the anchor tattooed on the inside of my wrist. And then his tongue traces the flowers on my arm.
He leans back, and his fingers trail over my compass rose and the flowers on my thigh.
His tongue flicks my nipples and catches the tip of the right barbell.
The sudden cool-warm contrast makes me gasp.
He does it again, slower, then closes his lips around the bar and nipple together, sucking gently.
The tug is exquisite—sharp pleasure that shoots straight between my legs.
I arch into his mouth with a soft moan. “Tully…”
He hums against me, the vibration traveling through the piercing and deep into my breast. His hand comes up to the left side, fingers finding the other barbell.
He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger—slow, experimental—then gives a gentle pull.
Every tug sends fresh sparks downward, pooling hot and urgent between my thighs.
I’m soaked and aching. He switches sides, tongue swirling around the left barbell before he bites down lightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make me cry out.
Then he pulls back and blows cool air over the wet metal. I’m panting now, shameless.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to mine while his fingers keep teasing both piercings in lazy circles. “So fucking perfect. These make everything sharper, don’t they?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
Then he leans in closer, his eyes narrowing, and I lean up to see why he’s paused.
“What does that say?” he asks. His breath catches when he sees the word high on my side. “Trouble,” he whispers.
He bends down and kisses the word so gently, tears fill my eyes. He looks up at me, and I wish I could bottle up the smile on his face.
Oh, this is going to hurt so bad tomorrow.
Then he shifts down until he’s between my legs, lowers his head, and puts his mouth on me.
I lift off the bed with a choked cry. His tongue is slow at first—teasing circles, gentle pressure—then firmer, hungrier.
One hand pins my hip to the mattress, and the other slides up to lace his fingers with mine.
I’m trembling already, thighs shaking around his shoulders.
He knows exactly how to build it, how to keep me teetering right on the edge without letting me tip over. He still reads my body so well.
“Tully—God—please—” I’m begging now. My free hand fists in his hair, holding him there.
He hums against me—vibrations straight to my core—and finally, he sucks hard. When his finger tugs my barbell at the same time, I come with a broken sob, hips jerking, vision whiting out. He doesn’t stop until the aftershocks fade, licking me through every last tremor.
Then he crawls back up my body, kissing every inch he passes—stomach, ribs, the underside of my breast, and my nipples, one by one.
When he reaches my mouth, I taste myself on his tongue, and it makes me dizzy all over again.
I reach between us, fumbling with his belt, his zipper. He helps, shoving everything off.
His cock bobs against his stomach, hard and hot. I stroke him once, twice, and he hisses against my neck.
“Lola—”
He lifts off of me and stares into my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
He grabs a condom and slides it on. He notches at my entrance, pausing in case I change my mind. I wrap my legs tighter around him, my heels digging into his ass.
“I’m sure,” I whisper.
He pushes in slowly, stretching me until he’s seated deep. We both groan—long, ragged sounds that mingle in the dark, and for a second we stay like that, our foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.
When he starts to move, it’s not gentle anymore. It’s years of hurt and desire poured into every thrust. Hard. Deep. Possessive. My nails rake down his back, and he growls, hips snapping faster. I meet him stroke for stroke, rolling up into him, chasing that perfect angle.
He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder and goes even deeper, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I’m loud, but I don’t care.
“Tully—I’m—”
“Come for me,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you.”
His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and it’s more than I can take.
I shatter again, harder this time, clenching around him so tight he swears under his breath.
My name spills from his lips like a prayer as he follows.
His hips stutter, and he buries himself deep as he pulses inside me.
We collapse together, slick and trembling. His weight pins me to the mattress. I wrap my arms around him, fingers threading through his hair, holding on the way I’ve wanted to for so long.
Minutes pass, neither of us wanting to break the spell. Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I’m tucked against his chest. His heartbeat thunders under my cheek—fast and unsteady, just like mine.
He takes care of the condom and is right back, his arms tight around me. His lips brush my forehead, and I tilt my head back so I can see his face. His eyes are soft now, unguarded. He studies me for a long moment.
“Well, that was even better than I remembered,” he says. “And we were always unbelievable together. At least, to me, we were.”
“To me too,” I say. “And yes, that was even better. Must be the island,” I tease, trying to bring some levity to the conversation because I think I might cry if I don’t.
Outside, the wedding music drifts up faintly.
Inside, my body tight against his, I’m right where I want to be.
Our breathing slows down. Tully’s arm is heavy across my waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my lower back.
I feel sticky and gloriously used. My thighs are slick, my muscles pleasantly sore, but the ache between my legs is already shifting from satisfied to hungry again.
I shift against him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “I need to clean up,” I murmur. “Bathroom.”
He hums low in his throat, reluctant to let go. “Me too. Want company?”
The offer is casual, but the way his hand slides down to cup my ass says it’s anything but. Heat flares low in my belly.
“Yeah,” I say, voice husky. “Give me three minutes and then come find me.”
We untangle slowly. He stands first, steadying me when my legs wobble for a second.
Naked, he’s all long lines and muscle, the faint red scratches I left on his back standing out against his skin like badges.
I love seeing proof on his body that I was there.
He grabs a fresh condom from his suitcase and flushes slightly when I lift my eyebrows.
“Dax showered me with condoms last night…so I’d be prepared tonight.” He holds up his hand. “Not that I expected this.”
He tucks a condom into my hand with a crooked smile.
“You can hold on to this for me,” he says.
I close my fingers around the foil packet, pulse kicking up.
He stays in the bedroom while I go into the bathroom and set the condom on the counter. I take care of business and wash my hands, then laugh as I try to smooth down my sex hair.
I turn on the shower, letting the water get warm.
Tully moves into the tiny room with the toilet, closes the door, then walks out a minute later to wash his hands.
He leans against the counter, watching me, his eyes dark and appreciative.
I turn to face him, and he’s already half-hard again, thickening under my gaze.
I step closer, trail my fingers down his chest, over his abs, and wrap my hand around him. He twitches in my palm.
He puts his hands on my hips and guides me into the roomy shower, the water cascading over us.
He lathers my breasts, my back, and between my legs with careful, teasing strokes that make me gasp against his mouth.
And then he kisses me slow and deep while soap suds slide between us.
I do the same, soaping his chest and his cock, stroking him until he’s fully hard and groaning into my neck.
I can see his tattoos better in here, and I rinse them and kiss each one before lifting up on my toes to kiss his mouth again.
He spins me so my back is to his front, one arm banding around my waist, the other sliding down to cup me. Two fingers slip inside, and my head falls back on his shoulder.
“Tully…”
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against my ear, teeth grazing the lobe.
“I want everything. I want you. Inside me. Now.”
He reaches past me and grabs the condom from the counter. Water streams over his shoulders as he tears it open with his teeth and rolls it on with quick, practiced movements. Then he’s pressing me forward, hands on my hips, bending me just enough so I brace my palms on the cool tile wall.
He teases me with his tip—shallow, shallow, then one smooth, deep plunge that buries him to the hilt. I cry out, the sound echoing off the walls. The angle is perfect, hitting every sensitive spot. Water pounds down on us, warm and relentless, as he starts to move.
Each thrust rocks me forward, and I push back to meet him, taking him deeper. His hand slides around to my clit again, his rhythm just right. I feel him everywhere, and the sensation builds fast, coiling tight in my core.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, voice rough. “So fucking perfect.”
I’m beyond words now—just moans, gasps, his name broken on every exhale.
He shifts his angle slightly, and I shatter first. It sneaks up on me, hard and sudden, and I clench around him in pulsing waves.
My knees threaten to buckle, but he holds me up, arm locked around my waist. He drives through my orgasm until he’s right there with me.
He comes with a low, guttural sound, hips slamming forward one last time, pulsing hard. We stay like that—panting, water streaming over us—until the aftershocks fade.
He eases out carefully and disposes of the condom. Then he turns me around and pulls me into his chest under the spray. We just stand there, holding each other, letting the water rinse everything away.
Eventually, he shuts off the shower and dries me slowly. I do the same for him. Once we’re both wrapped in plush hotel robes, he lifts me onto the counter, steps between my legs, and kisses me soft and slow.
“Bed?” he asks against my lips.
“Bed,” I agree.
We don’t make it far. Halfway there, he scoops me up, carries me the rest of the way, and drops me onto the mattress with a grin that promises we’re nowhere near finished.
The night is still young, and we have a lot of time to make up for before morning.