63. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
H e kisses me.
And my heart stammers.
All thoughts of Shane and the awful things he’s done disappear as Ambrose’s tongue moves on mine. His hands pulling me in, our bodies melding.
A moan slips past my lips, and he tastes the need I feel. Pushing me back, something flashes in his eyes as they open for a second, landing on me.
My heart races, seeing his hunger, chasing it. Fingernails scrape his skin, needing him closer, needing this forever.
Legs trail up over his thighs, and his fingers slide up them, hoisting them over his hips. My throbbing center shamelessly drags over the bulge between his legs, and I moan again. My mind shuts down to everything but him, desperately wanting him to keep me in this place where only we exist.
And then it’s over.
He pulls back, leaving me in my sleeping beauty stupor that’s wrapped so tightly around me. One kiss woke me up to the person whom I’ve fought cravings for the longest time.
I stare up at him, mouth open in welcome for oxygen I can’t find in this tiny room.
The glow appears in front of me, making it easy to read his message.
You don’t threaten to kill people you feel like that about.
Those words pull me up, until we’re sharing breathing space. But no air kisses his lips until a tender hand rubs between my shoulder blades.
That first stuttering breath draws me closer. My eyes on his, on that little cluster of freckles on his iris that resembles a love heart, shining in the light of my phone.
I can’t pull my eyes away from him. Silent pleas fall between us as my eyes request an answer to why he stopped, why he pulled back, why he didn’t keep going.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and Ambrose has the purest soul, the most troubled and in need of soothing. The need to send a message the same way he did overwhelms me.
My gaze drops to the fullness of his mouth, desperate for another taste of him.
A trembling hand clasps his face, and I tilt my head for our mouths to meet.
His hand on my back pulls me in, and I fall into him.
My mouth on his, my hands on his face, on his tight and tense body.
His perfect tongue flicking just inside my mouth.
The kiss, like the last, is too familiar. It feels like home.
His lips lift into a smile, and his chest expands with warmth.
I feel it all, pressed fully to him, not an inch between us.
Pushing myself into his lap, I wrap my legs around his waist, and now, he’s the one to moan.
Both of my hands envelope his face, touching scars and the man below that I love and want so much.
That thought terrifies me because there was no control, no prevention for it being in my head.
My hips rock over his groin. His grip moves to my hips and tightens, his kiss deepening.
It feels indescribable to be this wanted, needed, loved…
My eyes flick open to the image of his long, dark lashes fanning out against his skin. The red paint on his lips smudged up his handsome face as I sink backward at the sight of him, pulling him with me.
“God, I missed you.” My best friend. My big brother. My protector. My everything.
His mouth finds mine again. A new aggression leads his tongue as it teases mine, hungrily tracing every curve of my mouth. Those innocent nerves playing between us are long gone. All that’s left is heat. His hips lean into me, driving me closer to the edge—to a place we can’t come back from.
Reaching for the hem of his T-shirt, my knuckles brush his abs as the cotton is yanked from my fingers.
His head shakes, his skilled tongue slipping out of my mouth.
Wild thoughts run through my head. Does he not want this? Is he more comfortable without his scars on display? Even with me.
His soft lips move away from mine, and a gentle nibble is the parting gift. Thoughts try to creep back into my mind, but I don’t welcome them as kisses trail down my jaw and strong hands move up my thighs.
I keep my fingers on tensing stomach muscles that feel too good. I have to touch him. The feel of his skin is my distraction from the dark place in my mind that tells me this is wrong and from the whistling fireplace that echoes the storm outside.
His touch moves inwards, knuckles brushing over my tiny shorts. Eyes flicking to me, asking if he has permission to take things further.
Please… please let me stay here in this place with you.
His eyes twinkle in a way I’ve never seen before. His fingers wrap around the thin material of my shorts, dipping inside.
Grazing my pussy, those fingers caress my clit, moving down to my entrance. Circling the two as I buck my hips toward him.
A kiss lands on my lips, eager and desperate as he pushes inside me. His hand ceases to move at his first knuckle. His mouth parts ways with mine, and the way his breath stutters against my wet lips makes me cold with the fear that he’ll pull away.
“More, Ambrose,” I beg.
His head shakes, and his eyes close. He wages an internal war between morals and desire.
I ignore everything inside me that tells me this is wrong. The memory of my parents. Shane and the buzzing of my phone that tries to interrupt this moment.
That vibration snaps Ambrose from his trance, and his finger moves again, pushing deep inside me, and moving in a way that just brushes my G-spot.
My back arches off the sofa cushions, and I feel myself grow wetter.
Raspy moans slip out of me, dancing around his tongue that drifts back to my waiting mouth.
His firm bulge presses into my leg, showing me his need without asking for anything.
Stretching my hand between us, I find his cock straining against his sweats, the material pulling so tightly over that area due to his size.
I want him. I want that.
His hand slows again, thoughts somewhere other than this moment.
It hurts.
Pain stabs into my chest.
Craving his attention, I trail my hand higher, to that perfect V that distracts me so much from my own thoughts.
My skin on his brings him back to me as fingers roam. Our kiss getting messy as I slip my hand lower.
Seeing him in the shower yesterday woke up feelings of indescribable lust, need, a longing I couldn’t fight. Being here with him now, our hands on parts of us we shouldn’t touch, electrifies every feeling I’ve ever had for him.
I rock into his hand, and his pace picks up. His finger curling a little deeper inside my pussy as my hand drops into his pants. The tip of my fingernail traces along the edge of his rim, and he shudders.
He breaks away, instantly, his finger leaving my soaking pussy. A fast hand wraps around my wrist, my wetness sticking us together.
His head shakes, fast and to the point.
He doesn’t want me touching him.
One hand moves to his face, and I smooth over pretty scars that sit below the makeup he’s plastered on, even today, when he hasn’t felt well.
“This isn’t wrong, Ambrose. If we both want it, it isn’t wrong. What I feel for you can’t be.”
Disagreement is shown in one simple move, as his head moves again.
“Ambrose,” I plead, voice heavy with need.
His eyes find mine, the orange hues from the fire glowing on us at this angle.
Just you then, he mouths.
“No… us. It should be us.” I slip away from his grip, and he lets me, trusting me more than ever with a single nod.
Pushing his sweats down his strong thighs.
His chest pounds, rising and falling as I expose him to me.
I touch him again, my hand smoothing down his length.
That touch becomes a stroke. Tip to base and back again.
I tease his length, lingering at that sensitive rim, circling, and guiding my thumb over his slit.
Precum leaks out onto my thumb, and I use it to lubricate him, moving my hand faster and faster. Tighter and harder.
He moves back over me, fast breaths kissing my lips before his tongue slips past them.
His fingers sneak back into my shorts, pulling them away from my wetness. I gasp as he pushes two inside me, sliding deep into my pussy. His thumb lingers at my clit, adding pressure I can’t take as his digits pump inside me. My hand continues working his length.
Both of us moan into each other’s mouths. My free hand moves to his neck, to the most brutal of his scars that pulls with each movement of his neck muscles. My kisses drop there.
Lowering his body, his free hand moves to my face, touching me tenderly. It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. What I need. What I’ve never had.
My body responds, tight muscles pulsing around his fingers as they curl in the most perfect way.
“Oh, yes,” I breathe out into his hot skin.
The pleasure ramps up, the most intense feelings I’ve ever experienced. Tears sting my eyes, and a warmth spreads through me.
Nudging me into place with his nose, sensual kisses trail from my jaw to my ear. He suckles there, sending shivers down my arched spine.
A whisper fills the air, “God, I want you so fucking much.”
Hearing his voice, thick and sex-laced and in an accent so different from mine, snaps my head to him.
My wish to see him isn’t granted as my eyes roll.
The sofa dents as my heels dig in, and my toes curl. Two fingers continue to slide in and out of me. His thumb still teases my clit, making me wetter and wetter. A sloppy sound lingers in my ears over the crackling fire.
“I’m yours,” I stutter, losing all sense of everything around me except the feeling between my legs and his cock that my hand clenches around. It twitches to my words.
I can barely breathe. He can barely breathe, each breath catching in our throats.
“I’m going to come for you,” I pant, breasts tapping him through our clothes.
“Fucking do it. Prove you’re mine and come for me.”
I’ve always been his.
I scream out something that sounds slightly like his name, and it echoes around the room.
My pussy clamps hard on his fingers, that building pressure inside me releasing as my body shudders in the throes of the orgasm he’s given me.
Moans fill my ear, and something sticky covers my hand and thigh. I glance between us, seeing the creamy white cum staining my shorts.
A pink flush sits on Ambrose’s skin, shining through the white, sweat-streaked paint. He attempts to sit up, putting distance between us that I’m not ready for.
My fingernails jab into him, keeping him and the musky scent of arousal on me. I let my lips drag over his skin, watching a little more of the paint fade away.
Another buzz from my phone interrupts the moment.
“Are you gonna answer him?” Ambrose rolls to my side, and I go with him. “It’s buzzed a few times.” Taking a hand to his straining throat, he massages the area.
I shake my head, staring into his eyes.
I touch his shoulders, his cheeks, his hair, brushing sweaty strands from his handsome face.
Stretching over him, I reach for the magic eight ball and ask it a question that I think will lighten the mood and lift any awkwardness before it settles. “Have we ruined the sofa?”
A laugh slips out of me, seeing the words most likely float to the surface. “I guess we should get some rest, seeing as we’ll need to clean it tomorrow.”
Ambrose takes the ball from my hand, his own question ready as he shakes it violently.
A strained voice asks, “Is Dollie gonna stay here with me tonight?”
His eyes narrow a second later, and he sets the ball down. “Damn thing doesn’t know what it’s talking about.”
“Why? What did it say?” I push myself up, fluffing the pillow behind me as I drag it into my desired place.
“That I don’t have a chance.”
Another laugh slips out of me.
Keeping myself facing away from Ambrose, even now as the firelight dims to nothing, I ask another question, “Do you still want me?”
“I need you.” He moves in a little from the edge and the possibility of falling, stealing the pillow I set for us to share. “I’ll always need you. So, get down here.”
A big smile fills my cheeks, and I ignore another buzzing message.
I don’t know what I’ll tell Shane… how I’ll end the relationship, but I know I have to because I can’t even think about being any more than inches away from Ambrose right now.
A new wave of fear washes over me. Shane could get angry, and I could get hurt.
It was worth it, that one moment with the person I truly love.
But Ambrose could get hurt, and nothing in the world is worth that. If they end up in a fight, will he be sent away again?
That’s my biggest worry now.
I attempt to squish myself into the tight gap between Ambrose’s body and the back of the sofa, knowing I’ll feel better so close to him.
Gripping fingers that still smell like me pull me on top of him, and I pray he can’t feel the tremble rattling each limb.
“Won’t this be uncomfortable for you?”
“No, I want you on me.”
His hands keep me in place, smoothing through my hair as a silent tear is pushed from my eye by worry.
Swallowing down all my fear, I make myself comfortable. My ear takes in the sound of his rattling chest, and my favorite sound in the world sings to me beyond that.
The lullaby that’s his heartbeat.