Chapter Seventeen #2
He waited until she had crawled under the covers and switched out the light before he joined her.
He wore a T-shirt and boxers, and the sheets were cool against his bare legs.
Roxanne curled on her side, her back to him.
He lay on his back, a few inches separating them.
“Good night,” she said, her voice already blurred with the beginnings of sleep.
“Good night.” He closed his eyes, sure he would never go to sleep with Roxanne so close, but the events of the past few days had drained him, and slumber soon pulled him under.
Roxanne woke to soft warmth. She sighed and settled more firmly under the covers, pressed against something warm and firm.
She opened her eyes, shocked awake by the realization that she wasn’t alone in this bed.
Someone—a man—was with her. Someone who had one arm firmly around her waist, pulling her tight up against his erection.
“Dalton?” she whispered. She had a vague memory of them crawling into bed together before sleep engulfed her.
“Hmm.” He nuzzled against her. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
In fact, she liked it a lot. She put her hand over his at her waist and adjusted it to rest on her breast. Automatically, his fingers shaped themselves to her, and squeezed her gently.
She let out a breathy sigh and squirmed against him.
His hand stilled. “Roxanne?” he asked.
“Good morning.”
He took his arm away and tried to scramble back. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean. I mean . . .”
She rolled over to face him and grabbed his hand before he could exit the bed altogether. “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t leave. I was enjoying myself.”
To his credit, he didn’t hesitate, but slid over to pull her close once more. “You feel amazing,” he said.
“All I wanted while I was trapped in that trailer was to get back to you. To show you how much I love you.” She kissed the side of his neck, and slid her hands over his abs and up his chest, pushing his T-shirt out of the way.
He sat up and pulled off the T-shirt, then reached for hers. “Not that you don’t look sexy in it, but right now it’s in my way.”
She laughed, and stripped off the shirt, then pulled him to her.
They knelt facing each other, and she cradled his head in her hands as he lavished attention on each breast in turn.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched her back, sensation vibrating through her with every stroke of his tongue.
She moaned and he looked up at her. “Tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like,” he said.
“You’re doing great.” She pushed his head back down. “Keep going.”
He slid down, trailing kisses to her belly button, then lower still.
He helped her out of the shorts and made a pleased sound when he saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Soon his mouth covered her center, the area becoming the focus of all his attention.
She eased down onto her back and he shifted with her.
She had a glimpse of his erection tenting the front of his boxers, a teaser of things to come.
And then she stopped thinking about anything as his mouth went to work on her in earnest. He was nothing if not attentive.
And thorough. While his mouth worked, his fingers weren’t idle, stroking in and out of her, until the building tension had her vibrating beneath him.
She brought her hands to her breasts, touching herself, swamped by sensation.
Her climax surprised her with its intensity, wave upon wave of sensation rocketing through her. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away, but a sound like a sob still escaped her.
Dalton was at her side almost instantly, looking at her with alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She cradled his face in her hands and smiled at his blurry image, still blinking back tears. “You did everything so right. I’m just . . .overwhelmed with how wonderful it is.”
He pulled her close and held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. But she didn’t pull away. She wanted to be this close to him.
After a few moments, he began to move against her, his hands tracing patterns across her hip and lower back, his erection nudging at her entrance. She lifted one leg and invited him in.
But instead of accepting the invitation, he leaned back and groped at something on his bedside table. A second later, he held up a condom packet. “Bet you thought I forgot.”
She laughed and held out her hand. “Allow me to do the honors.”
She loved the feel of him, hard and hot in her hand. But she loved even more the glazed look in his eyes as she fit the condom to him, the little gasp that escaped him when she squeezed him.
Their eyes met and that overwhelming feeling of being so cherished and cared for—and of wanting to cherish and care for him—returned. She pulled him to her once more and this time they fit together easily and began to move in a rhythm that seemed to light up every nerve ending in her body.
They kept their eyes open, reading the passion in each other’s eyes, moving faster, then slower, then deeper, until they were both panting and trembling.
He bent his head, focused now, thrusting harder.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation.
His body tensed and his climax shuddered through them both.
She wrapped arms and legs around him and rocked with him until he was spent.
He got up and went into the bathroom, and emerged smelling of mint toothpaste. He slid into bed and lay beside her, cradling her head on his shoulder.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this happy. She thought he was asleep and started to slip from beneath his arm, but he clutched at her. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She went to the bathroom, cleaned herself and brushed her teeth and her hair and returned to find him awake, hands behind his head, watching her as she walked, naked, to the bed. “I could get used to this,” he said.
“Hmm.” She pulled back the covers and nestled in beside him. He put his arm around her.
“I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you for weeks now.”
“I’ve known it for weeks, too,” she said. “I was just afraid to say it. Love seems so fragile.”
“It isn’t fragile,” he said. “It might be the strongest thing there is. At least that’s what it feels like to me.”
“Can you deal with someone with so much baggage?” she asked. “I’ve had a lot of therapy over the years but there are still things that live in my head that come out sometimes.”
He raised himself up to look her in the eye.
“I love you. That means all of you.” He shaped one hand to her breast. “Not just the sexy parts or the smart parts or the funny parts or the talented parts. All the parts make you you—that includes your baggage. And I’ve got plenty of faults of my own. Can you put up with those?”
“I want to try.”
“Then let’s try.” They kissed to seal the promise, a simple kiss full of tenderness tempered with passion. A promise she hoped to keep.
Her phone jangled from the table beside the bed. She picked it up. “It’s the sheriff,” she said, reading the screen.
Dalton sat up again and watched as she answered the call. “Hello?”
“Roxanne, this is Sheriff Walker. I wanted to let you know we found Sarah Michaelson at Kara’s tiny house. She was locked in a closet, but she’s alive and with her parents right now. She’s going to be okay.”
The tears flooded back. Dalton had to take the phone from her and tell the sheriff they were thrilled to hear about Sarah and would be in touch so Roxanne could give her statement about everything that had happened with Ledger and Kara.
Then he held her while she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I’m just . . .so overwhelmed.”
He stroked her hair. “Maybe you’re remembering another little girl,” he said. “Another girl who escaped Ledger and went on to survive and grow into a wonderful woman.”
She sobbed harder at his words, and held on tighter. She was never going to let him go. Never.