Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Moore
Luke was going to kill him.
But at least he’d die happy.
Two different versions of himself were kissing Colleen, his geeky fourteen-year-old version and the man he was now, and both were enjoying the hell out of the moment.
Because he’d finally done it.
Freedom came in so many different forms. Trapped in a life he didn’t choose, because of a stupid mistake he made his senior year of high school, he hadn’t felt free since, well…
Since that last night at the Luview’s house, all those years ago.
Colleen’s embrace, her kiss, the eager way she moved against him, matching him kiss for kiss, stroke by stroke–it added a new layer to their familiarity, made his heart lift, his body harden, and his soul fly.
All these years, he’d wondered.
And it took nearly losing her to finally take a chance.
Lost in the kiss, he became pure sensation.
The pressure of her knee against his thigh.
Fingertips grazing the swell of her breast. The silk of her hair against the back of his hand.
The taste of sweet breath in his mouth. The scent of woodsmoke as he inhaled warmth.
The ticking sound of icy snow against the window glass.
The moan of pleasure from the back of her throat.
Keenly aware that they were scantily dressed, so close to being nude, he held back, hands playing in safer zones. But the curve of her ass was too appealing not to cup as she kissed him harder, more fiercely, with more need than he ever expected until finally, she broke away, panting.
Eyes boring into his with a taunt that was purely Colleen, she declared, “Why did you wait so long to do that?”
“What?”
Mouth twisting into a smirk, her eyes searched his for answers to questions he suspected mirrored his own. Then her smile faded.
“What was that?”
“A kiss.”
“Moore.”
“I don’t know. What do you want it to be?”
“So this,” she said, nudging his erection with her hip, “is just simple biology?”
“Huh?”
Blinking rapidly, she seemed to weigh out what needed to be said next. It gave him a chance to just look at her, in all her beauty. Colleen had no idea how truly gorgeous she was. Beauty could be defined in so many ways, but she was stunning across the spectrum.
Across all the years.
Every single frustrating one of them.
“You took off all your clothes and climbed into bed with me to warm me. That’s basic rescue technique.”
“This,” he said with his own matching nudge, “isn’t part of some first aid kit.”
Uncertainty made her freeze, and his own inner state scrambled to catch up and get back on the same frequency. The rum had loosened him up, ripping the racing thoughts about what almost happened back at the pond out of him and throwing them aside.
It also made it hard to want to do anything but make love to her.
But that wasn’t just the alcohol.
It was so much pent-up yearning.
“What are you saying?”
He leaned in, tracing her jaw, fingers moving to tickle her earlobe as her eyes flared with possibility.
Throwing caution to the wind–the literal, howling wind that forced them inside, into this warm, isolated paradise, a no man’s land where he could suspend reality and simply be himself with the woman he most wanted that with–he kissed her again.
And again, until he pulled back and said roughly, “I’m saying this, Colleen.
” Hand going to her breast, he took in the fine line of her body, so precious, so taboo.
Every part of him was driven to keep moving forward, keep showing her more and more of what he felt–but at the same time, a voice in his head screamed to stop.
He ignored it. Other parts demanded attention.
It was time for their turn in the driver’s seat.
“I like this,” she responded, biting his lower lip.
Her arms wrapped around him, hands roaming down his shoulders and back, palms at his waist, then a caress of his ass as she grew bolder.
The way she kissed him drove him mad, a nip of her teeth on his lower lip tugging for a second, then her tongue dancing against his.
Breathy sounds so feminine, such a surrender that he could barely contain himself, filled this new world he’d entered with her.
They were best friends in a new land, exploring uncharted territory. Each kiss was a first. Each touch was a beginning. Every line crossed was the border to a new country with a language that had to be learned.
Their tongues worked hard as they kissed their way to fluency.
Reaching for the front clasp of her bra, he stopped himself, mouth smiling against hers.
“Colleen? May I?”
Breath caught in her throat as she made a little gasp, her hair in her face, draped over eyes he’d seen thousands of times over the years–scores of thousands–but now the light in those eyes was burning for him.
Another first.
“You’re asking permission?”
“I am.”
“How could I say anything other than yes?”
“You can.”
Her hands went to his face, palms on his cheeks, holding him still as she searched his face. “Don’t stop now. Please, Moore. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Confession may be good for the soul, but he knew how painful her admission was. Colleen lived behind a very high, thick emotional wall, a fortress of sorts, and he’d always been honored to be part of her inner circle.
Though it was never quite enough.
“Trust me, Colleen, I do. I know damn well how long I’ve wanted it. Now let’s stop talking about it and–”
“Shh.” Her index finger pressed against his lips. “Yes. Permission granted. You said earlier you wanted to be free. Be free with me, Moore. Be free.”
The clasp was simple, a twist of the wrist, but it was symbolic as yet another line was crossed, yet another step taken that could not be undone. So much that lived in his imagination, pure and controlled by him alone, was about to be unleashed.
Every time they touched, it was less his own and more...
More theirs.
They had no blueprint, no steady set of rules, no carefully outlined convention for what happened next.
His hands were making love to her skin, his mouth licking strokes of love, his body finally allowed to use more than just his voice and platonic hugs to connect with this woman who was as much a part of him as anyone else.
Because she’d been part of his life when he’d needed it most.
“Colleen,” he whispered as he kissed her neck, the sweet hollow spot below her earlobe so soft. “What do you want?”
“Everything,” she whispered, and he began to give it to her.
“You have high expectations,” he replied between kisses.
“You’re a hard worker, Moore. Show me what you’ve got.”
And he did.
Nineteen years’ worth was a heavy emotional debt, but he began to pay it.
One kiss, one stroke at a time.