chapter 13
Albany
Warning.
I pressed my hands against the cool gray tile and ducked my head under the rainfall showerhead, reveling in the feel of the hot water against my scalp, flowing down my back.
Danger.
The man behind me coaxed me to yet another orgasm with his fingers. One massive arm wrapped around me, holding me close to his hard body.
“Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he muttered against my skin, sinking his teeth into my shoulder.
Damn, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
It was the truth, though. In this moment, when the storm was raging outside and inside, I never wanted him to stop.
His hands were everywhere, gliding down my back, over my ass, cupping my breasts.
His mouth … He was a wizard. He must’ve licked every inch of my body, kissed every wrinkle, every stretch mark.
And his dick … so thick, so hard. Admittedly, I hadn’t had a good look at it because I was preoccupied with how he filled me up. The perfect fit, like I was made for him and him for me.
Then, he was gone, taking the heat of his body with him.
Yes, I whimpered, reaching for him like a damn fiend.
Before I could turn around, he was back, pressing his erection against my back, assuring me that he wasn’t going anywhere. He flicked his tongue over the back of my neck, then kissed a trail of wet kisses over my shoulders.
My head fell forward on a sigh as Wes inched inside, winding me up again with his impressive fuck game.
Time and experience had been good to him.
Sixteen-year-old Wes was sweet, but he wasn’t like this Wes.
Virile and demanding, yet gentle and giving.
In a few short hours, he’d mastered my body, in every way I could imagine.
We’d made love from the kitchen counter to the wall in the hallway, now in the shower.
After tonight, I’d never be the same. That much I was certain. But the past between us was complicated. My heart was under lock and—
I groaned. “Shit.”
He’d fucked me out of breath, because it was a struggle to take in air, to see, to hear, to feel anything but him. My knees gave out when he slammed into me hard. But he was quick on his feet, turning me around, lifting me up, and sinking inside again.
I cried out as pleasure rippled outward from my stomach to my extremities.
“So good,” he muttered. “Tell me …”
I knew what he wanted. I knew it the first time he asked me outside. Which was hot, by the way.
Us.
A damn thunderstorm.
My arousal had reached a pinnacle, something I couldn’t come down from. I felt the same way now, like I was floating on a cloud of bliss, ruined for anything or anyone else.
“Oh God,” I whispered, digging my nails in his scalp as he moved, slow, then fast, then slow.
He was tearing me apart, driving me crazy in the best way, then fusing me back together. I’d lost all control, and I was hopeless to stop the destruction. But …
“I’m coming,” I announced, as my orgasm ripped through me, shattering me into tiny pieces.
Wes gripped my chin with one hand, sucking my tongue into his mouth as he succumbed to his pleasure.
We stayed like that for a moment, tangled in each other.
Seconds later, the shower stopped, and I was flying.
Soon I was lying flat, engulfed by the soft fabric of his comforter as he dried me off with a plush towel. Slowly.
The simple touch of his hands to my body lit the smoldering fire between us again. But instead of making love to me again, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Sleep,” he commanded against my ear.
His words had the opposite effect as my body tensed. The haze was fading fast and my mind started drifting to tomorrow. What would happen when I woke up? Could I handle it?
I need to go.
“Bug,” he muttered against my skin. “Tomorrow is another day. We don’t have to make any promises.”
I swallowed against the hard lump in my throat. The tenderness he’d shown, the way he’d taken care of me tonight, nearly made me lose my composure. But …
I’m so sleepy.
Torn, I considered slipping out in the middle of the night—after he fell asleep. There would be no awkward goodbyes, no weird solution to the problem, no morning wood, no repeats.
As my eyes fluttered closed again, I cemented the deal with myself. Sleep now. Escape later.
I woke with a start, my eyes frantically searching in the dark for anything that seemed familiar. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the bed was empty. Where the hell is Wes?
The bathroom door was ajar slightly, providing a sliver of soft light in the massive bedroom. Scanning the area, I took in the rich mahogany wood, tall ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and dark furniture.
Briefly, I wondered if a woman had decorated the space. It felt too sleek, too modern. Jealousy flared to life, starting low in my belly and spreading upward to my heart.
I let out a heavy sigh, raked my fingers through my still damp hair. I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked a hot mess.
Where are my clothes?
My eyes caught the white fabric of my hoodie draped over a chair in the corner. I scooted off the bed and tiptoed to the chair. My shorts were nowhere to be found, so I slipped my hoodie on and zipped it up.
“Where are you going?”
I jumped, clutching my chest. “Oh shit.” I tried to steady my breath. “You scared me.” My eyes landed on him, seated in another chair on the far side of the room. “What are you doing over there?”
He stood, setting a glass of amber-colored liquid on a small table. “Waiting for you to wake up and try to leave.”
A blush worked its way up my neck as I assessed him, looking like a glorious specimen of lean muscle. The low light from the bathroom gave me a view of his large, naked frame.
“Do you just drink liquor without any clothes on?” My voice came out raspier and more unsure than I’d hoped. “I mean, I’m sure you have some joggers or something.”
His low chuckle awakened the part of me that wanted him to throw me on the bed and make love to me again. “I prefer to sleep like this.”
Swallowing, I nodded, fingering the edge of my hoodie. “Okay, well … I better go.”
Wes disappeared into what I assumed was a closet and returned seconds later in a pair of black joggers.
Damn, he looks just as good in those.
I stiffened as he approached me. “Wes, I—”
He handed me a pair of shorts. “Take these. I don’t want you walking down to your place like this.”
Without a word, I slipped the basketball shorts on. “Thanks,” I grumbled.
Strangely enough, I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even muster up a fake smile. Because if I talked to him, then I wouldn’t want to talk. I’d want to stay. I’d want to spend more time wrapped around him.
“Bug,” he said, his voice low and dangerously seductive.
Damn it. It should’ve repulsed me, to hear him call me that name. Instead, it made me feel everything good about us and none of the bad.
All those years of resentment. All the anger, the hurt … I still wanted him. Tears filled my eyes, and I plopped down on the bed. “When you left, I was sick,” I confessed. “I literally couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t function. It wrecked me, Wes.”
He kneeled in front of me, squeezed my thighs. “I’m so sorry, Bug.”
The first tear fell, giving the others permission.
I didn’t bother wiping my face, though. “I don’t want to be in that position again.
” I wet my lips, tasting my salty tears.
Evidence that I was still fallible, that I’d willingly walked into this hell because I wanted to know what it felt like to be with him again.
I’d betrayed my vow to myself, and now I was paying for it.
“What can I do?” he asked, searching my eyes.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
He brushed a thumb under my eye, cupped my face in his palm. “I want to say so much to you, but …” He kissed me tenderly, almost reverently. “Excuses don’t change what happened.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “I enjoyed tonight. But this can’t happen again. I’m just starting to feel like myself after my divorce. Being with you will only hamper my progress. I’ve fought too hard, too long, to move forward. I don’t want to look back.”
He nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
The way he’d acquiesced so quickly irritated me.
Because he’d just literally transported me right back to the carriage house.
Naked. Wanting him. Ready to give him every part of me.
Only for him to walk away without a fight.
The difference was, I would’ve fought for him back then. But not today. Never again.
My shoulders fell on a sigh. “Yeah.” I stood, staring down at him. “It’s what I want.”
When Wes peered up at me, I was struck by the fire in his eyes. He frowned. “Is that it? You’re going to walk away.”
Something had shifted in the atmosphere. We were at the point in the conversation where we would either start fighting or start fucking.
“You don’t want to go,” he added, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he was angry. He was angry?
Brushing past him, I muttered, “I need to get the hell out of here. Bye, Wes.”
“I get it,” he called.
I froze. “Get what?”
“You don’t want to get hurt. But don’t run from this.”
Whirling to face him, I yelled, “Stop. I”—I smacked my chest hard for emphasis—“am the not one who ran away.”
He approached me, unfazed by my rage. “You’re afraid.”
“You’re damn right I’m scared. And I don’t like feeling that way.”
“Then don’t. Bug, we can work—”
I shook my head. “No. This can’t work.”
“It will work. It worked tonight.”
“Sex. Sex works. But other than that … I don’t trust you!” As if I wasn’t vulnerable enough, a sob broke through as more tears streamed down my cheek. “You broke my heart.”
His eyes connected to mine. The emotion shining back at me was unmistakable. Shame. It was so real, so raw, I almost went to him. Almost. “Please,” he whispered.