Chapter Twenty-Four
It is not a gentle brush of lips this time.
This time, when she kisses him, he captures her mouth with his, hot and hard and certain, his hands moving to her waist, fingers digging in.
He tastes of salt and sea and him, and God, the relief to finally have his mouth on hers.
She moves her hands to his hair, angling his head down towards her.
She is not cautious, not this time. She only wants more.
He mutters a soft oath against her lips as she pushes against him, feeling the wet of his clothes clinging to her.
It’s not enough. She runs her hands down his back, nails lightly scraping against his shirt.
His mouth moves to glide down her throat.
She lets out a moan as she tilts her head to give him better access to her neck, her fingers tightening their hold on his back.
And then he lifts her, quite literally hoists her up, and she doesn’t even have time to gasp with the shock of it, because as she hooks her legs around his waist, he is kissing her again, moving to press her back against the rock.
The feeling of him between her thighs sends a rush of heat to her core.
She is practically clawing at him, hands coming to his front to run up under his T-shirt, feeling smooth, hard muscle.
He shudders at her touch, bites her bottom lip softly and presses her back further against the cliff.
She can taste it, the same urgency in him, and wonders if that feeling is why he jumped in the first place.
If this has been simmering underneath the whole time.
Need stretches out in every direction as his tongue sweeps hers.
She doesn’t think she’s ever felt like this – it’s overpowering, all-consuming.
His hands are on her waist, still holding her up, but his thumb sweeps a taunting circle just under her top. Her world narrows to that point of contact.
‘Ash,’ she murmurs a plea against his mouth.
His grip tightens still further – hard enough to bruise. But the sound of his name on her lips seems to remind him of something. He eases back, just a little, so he can look at her. His eyes are almost black.
He swallows. ‘Maybe we should … take a beat.’
She nods, although taking a beat is not what she wants to do right now.
Not what he wants to do, either, from what she can feel pressing against her.
He leans in, kisses her again, slower this time.
Kisses her jaw, her throat. She can feel the throbbing between her thighs, and her legs tighten their hold on him.
Her skin is too hot, too needy. She shudders as he bites, gently, where his mouth travels.
‘You taste like I dreamt you would,’ he murmurs against her skin.
Everything inside her twists and tightens. ‘Dreaming about me, are you?’ The wry tone is somewhat ruined by the fact that she gasps when he kisses the spot between her collarbone and neck.
‘Oh, you have no idea.’ His voice is low, strumming a too-tight string in her core. He stops what he’s doing, his gaze finding hers again.
‘We should …’ She gestures in the vague direction of the cottage. Because he’s right – they probably do need to think this through.
‘Yeah.’ His gaze drops to her mouth, returns to her eyes. ‘Yeah, okay.’
He lets go of her, allowing her to get her feet on the ground again. His own feet are still bare, shoes long since forgotten about. Her clothes are almost as wet as his now.
They don’t touch as they make their way back to the cottage. She’s not sure if he doesn’t reach for her for the same reason she’s walking a careful distance away from him. Because she’s not certain she’ll be able to stop this time if she touches him again.
When they get back, they take it in turns to shower, and she says she’ll make dinner. She needs something to do to distract herself, and they are too far away from anything to contemplate eating out. She chops asparagus and starts to fry onions and garlic, preparing to make a light pasta dish.
It is cooler now, a slight breeze drifting through the open back door.
She’s half watching the sunset from the window, the sky changing from blue to orange and reds, when she hears footsteps coming into the kitchen.
The back of her neck prickles in anticipation, even before she turns to see Ash in the doorway.
His hair is damp and he’s clean-shaven. He’s barefoot, dressed in jeans and a fresh top.
The corner of his mouth crooks up when their gazes meet.
‘Hey.’ Her pulse skitters at the sound of his voice.
Get a bloody grip, Lissa. She focuses on the pan, figuring that’s safer.
‘So I got you a birthday present,’ he says.
She frowns, looking around again as he moves towards her. ‘You do know my birthday was months ago, right?’
Though of course he knows. Happy birthday, Lissa.
‘I do,’ he confirms. ‘But you were being all weird then. So I’ve been saving it.’
‘Until I’m good?’ The words are out before she can sense-check them, and she inwardly cringes at how it sounds. Like she might be trying to flirt. Is she trying to flirt? Is she really this bad at it?
But he only smirks, radiating confidence. ‘Something like that.’
He holds up a small box, which she hadn’t noticed before now – too distracted by, well, him. She turns down the hob, then takes the box with slightly hesitant fingers. She was a total bitch to him, cutting him off like she did. And still he bought her a present. Still he thought of her.
She opens it, feeling his gaze on her face, watching.
She swallows in the moment before she sees what it is, worried about showing the wrong kind of reaction.
But then all she can do is stare. At the earrings inside the box.
Not her usual style, which is studs, with the occasional hoop if she’s feeling out there, but huge dangling earrings, gold, with big blue spheres giving way to red at the bottom.
They are nothing like anything she would buy for herself.
And for that very reason, they are totally perfect.
‘Thank you,’ she murmurs.
‘They’re how I see you.’ He shrugs. ‘Bright and full of colour.’
And oh God, how is she supposed to stop herself when he says things like that?
She lifts on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
She inhales the scent of him. Earthen, grounded, despite his somewhat erratic behaviour at times.
As she eases away, he takes hold of her arms, gently holding her in place.
‘I’m sorry about earlier.’
She cocks her head. ‘Which part?’
His lips curve in a smile that makes her toes curl. ‘Which do you think?’ His voice has dropped to that low tone, the one that makes her insides shiver.
She shakes her head. She’s not sure she wants to think about it again, the feeling she had as he went over the cliff. The certainty that something awful was about to happen.
‘I didn’t really think it through,’ he continues.
‘No,’ she agrees. ‘I got that.’ Then again, she wasn’t thinking too clearly when she kissed him, either.
She bites her lip. ‘Your dad said …’ She trails off, not sure if she’s crossing some sort of line here.
But they’ve always been able to talk to each other, haven’t they?
‘He said that maybe you do all this stuff because you don’t want to be like him. ’
He contemplates her. ‘Maybe that’s true.’ She doesn’t know why she’s surprised how easily he admits it to her. He’s not exactly a half-truths kind of guy, is he?
He lets go of her arms, lifting a hand to run it through his towel-dried hair. As he does, his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of hard, toned muscle beneath. She tries not to look. Tries not to remember what it was like to have her hands there earlier today.
‘It’s just,’ he says, ‘do you ever get the feeling that life is … I don’t know. Fragile? Like it could be taken from you at any moment?’ She nods slowly. ‘Right, so I guess I’m just trying to make sure I have all the best experiences before that happens.’
She hesitates, then nods again. ‘I think I get that.’ She’s carried it with her, that innate feeling he’s talking about, since Chloe.
Maybe even before that, because of something on a far more subconscious level.
Because a part of her remembers death in her previous lives.
For her, it presents differently – as the need to be cautious, protect herself, stay healthy.
So she doesn’t necessarily agree with how he deals with it, that feeling. But she does understand it.
He’s watching her as he places his hands either side of the counter and leans in slowly – a question.
It is a slow sinking this time, when he kisses her.
His nose skates down hers, one hand moves to cup her neck, his thumb tracing a small circle there.
Her skin goes hot and needy from the brush of his tongue against hers.
A stupid gasp escapes her as his teeth catch her bottom lip, and he moves closer to her at the sound, pressing her against the counter.
Her spine arches, every muscle in her stomach trying to draw closer to his.
He moves his attention to her throat, and she groans, her fingers digging into his back.
With the sound of it, he hoists her up again, sitting her on the kitchen counter in a move that sends a breathless laugh through her.
A laugh that is cut off as his hands travel up her calves, to her thighs, underneath the dress she’s wearing.
His gaze meets hers, sparking as he bends down to kiss behind her knee, higher up on her thigh. Her breath is uneven, her mind on fire.
But still she manages to think. ‘Wait,’ she says, her breath hitching.
He pauses, but keeps his hands on her legs, like he’s about to spread them.
The space between her thighs heats. But she doesn’t feel embarrassed.
His eyes are practically black, and the sight of that – of knowing he wants this just as much as she does – sends a thrill tumbling through her.
‘Wait?’ he asks. And he would, she knows. He’d stop.
‘I just mean … We can’t have sex in the kitchen.’
His mouth pulls up into that crooked smile she loves. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, it’s not our kitchen for one.’
His smile deepens and he steps in closer, right between her thighs. She slams her hands up to his chest to stop him. He places his own hands over them. ‘And what about dinner?’ she asks, almost a squeak.
His smile changes, becomes something different. Hungrier. He reaches around her to switch off the stove. And despite the fact that his arm barely brushes her side, her nipples pinch in anticipation.
‘Later,’ he murmurs. A promise of some kind.
Then he lifts her, as easily as he did on the beach, and quite literally carries her to the bedroom.
‘How are you doing this?’ she laughs. ‘I’m not that light.’
He grins. ‘You’re not that heavy, either.’
She doesn’t even notice which bedroom they’re in, couldn’t tell you if the walls were blue or green, if the decor was modern or old-fashioned. All she can concentrate on is the feeling of his hands on her thighs, and the way he is looking at her – a way that makes her want to touch him.
He sits her gently on the end of the king-sized bed, and draws down the strap of her dress, kissing her shoulder. Her whole body buzzes at the feeling of his lips on her bare skin.
She drags her fingers through his hair as his own hands travel up, under her dress, bunching it at the waist. She moves her hands to his long, lean torso, tugs at his T-shirt.
He’s grinning as he helps her take it off.
She acts on instinct, leaning in to lick a column up his core, over muscles that feel tight enough to snap.
He shudders, and she loves it, the feeling of power that flows through her.
‘Fuck, Lissa,’ he hisses out. And he is pushing her back, lifting her dress up and off her, his thumb sweeping the outside curve of her breast. Every nerve ending in her body lights up. She raises her hips, grinding them against his while her heart pounds into his urgent touch.
She hears the hiss of his belt buckle and sits, helping him out of his jeans.
There is no awkward fumbling, no hesitation.
She knows dimly that this is not how the first time with someone is supposed to feel, but she closes her eyes, giving in to sensation as he pushes her back onto the bed, his fingers travelling up her inner thighs, electricity pulsing in their wake.
Because tonight, she doesn’t want worry and the what-ifs to eat away at her until there is nothing left. She wants to feel strong and needed and powerful – and she does, with him.
‘Fuck, Lissa,’ he says again, slipping one finger inside her. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.’
Her hips move against him even as she reaches between them, thrilling at the feeling of him in her hand.
His head bows into her shoulder and he kisses her collarbone as his fingers move inside her, thumb circling around her clit.
She whimpers as the pressure inside her builds, her muscles clenching.
And when his thumb presses down, she cries out as pleasure skitters down her spine, the first wave of release tearing through her.
His eyes are on hers, black, as he watches her. She breathes his name, not sure what she means by it, as she takes him and guides him into her, groaning at the weight of him on her. She runs her hands down his back, and as he begins to move inside her, it’s like her edges seem to blur.
‘Look at me, Liss,’ he murmurs.
She didn’t realise her eyes were closed again, but she opens them to find him staring right back at her. The sight of him looking at her like that is enough to send another pulse running straight through her, even as she bows up, meeting his rhythm.
You, she thinks. Always you.
She says his name as she comes again, almost like it’s a spell. He captures her final cry with his mouth, linking their fingers together above her head. And together, they shatter.