Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AGNES
We barely made it through the door.
Graham kicked it shut behind us, and the sound of the latch clicking into place was swallowed by the desperate noise I made when he lifted me off my feet. My back hit the door, the wood solid and unyielding, and I wrapped my legs around his waist again as his mouth found mine.
This kiss was different from the ones at the standing stones. Those had been frantic and desperate, full of years of longing finally breaking free.
But not this one.
No, this one was deliberate.
His kiss claimed me, seared through me, both a promise and a reckoning.
Bloody hell, but I’d been his all along, hadn’t I?
His tongue swept against mine, tasting, exploring, and I melted into him, no longer having any strength to fight what my body, hell, my heart, my soul, my bloody everything craved.
Graham’s hands gripped my thighs, pinning me, and once again I was made aware of our size difference.
He was just so … muscular. Everywhere. It was impossible not to feel the strength in his arms, his barely leashed power in the way he pressed me against the door.
Graham had always been big—tall and solid—but I tried to never let myself think about how he had felt, all those years ago.
I’d failed, of course, and I was delighted to find that my memories paled in comparison to feeling the reality of his body pressed against mine once again.
“I’ve ached for this.” His teeth sunk into my lower lip. “Every day for years, I’ve dreamed about having you again.”
“I—” I moaned as he sucked lightly at the sensitive skin at my neck, his beard scraping my skin in the most delicious way.
He pulled back, his gaze intense and hungry.
The man looked almost feral. “You’re everything to me, Agnes.
Can’t you see that?” He hitched my body closer to his, so no space separated us.
“I fall asleep thinking about all the ways I want to have you again. Every inch of your skin I want to taste again.”
Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly. “Every inch, huh?”
“I’m a very thorough man.”
He kissed me, deep and consuming, and I think I forgot how to breathe for a moment.
His hips pressed forward, pinning me more firmly against the door, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted me.
The hard length of him pressed against my core, separated by too many layers of wet fabric, and I rocked against him instinctively, desperate for friction.
Graham made a strangled sound in his throat.
“Bloody hell, Agnes.” His forehead dropped to mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Just wait. Wait. Or I’ll embarrass myself before we’ve even begun.”
“You’d think you’d have learned some control by now?”
He laughed—a rough, broken thing—and kissed me again. His hands slid from my thighs to my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I hoped they would bruise. A baser side of myself wanted to carry the marks of this night on my skin, proof that it had really happened.
“I need to see you,” he said against my mouth. “I need to touch you. All of you.”
“Aye, Graham, you as well. I’m desperate for you.” I was already tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He pulled me away from the door, still holding me like I weighed nothing, and carried me through his flat. I’d been here before, but it had been ages. I tended to stay out of private spaces with Graham if I could.
Because of exactly this.
His bedroom was dim, the only light coming from the streetlamps that had winked on outside the window. He set me down at the foot of his bed and stepped back, his chest heaving.
“Let me look at you.”
I stood there, dripping onto his carpet, my wet clothes clinging to every curve. I should have felt ridiculous. Instead, Graham made me feel like the most desirable woman in the world.
“I’m a mess,” I said.
“You’re perfect.”
He tugged his dripping coat from my shoulders and then reached for the hem of my shirt and peeled it up over my head with aching slowness. The fabric clung to my skin, reluctant to release me, and Graham’s knuckles brushed against my ribcage as he worked it free.
I shivered, and not from the cold.
The clothes hit the floor with a wet splat. Graham’s eyes dropped to my breasts, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
I glanced down and almost groaned. Of course I had my basic everyday bra on. It was nothing special—plain white cotton, practical rather than pretty—but it had gone sheer in the rain, the fabric clinging to my breasts, my nipples clearly visible through the wet material.
But Graham stared at me like I was wearing the finest silk and lace.
“Agnes.” My name came out reverent, almost pained. “God, look at you.”
He reached out and traced one finger along the edge of my bra, following the curve of the fabric where it met my skin. My breath caught. Such a simple touch, barely there, and yet it sent ripples of lust throughout my body.
“I’ve craved this,” he said softly, his finger continuing its slow exploration. “Just this. These moments where it’s just you and me, the outside world forgotten.” His finger dipped beneath the fabric, brushing the upper swell of my breast. “I fantasized about putting that look on your face again.”
I gasped as his finger found my nipple, hard from both the cold and his touch, and I shivered as he thumbed it gently, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What look?” I asked, arching into his hand.
“The one that says no man can bring you pleasure the way that I can.” He wasn’t wrong.
I’d tried on a few occasions, but without the connection I’d had with Graham, the act had been merely scratching an itch.
Even when I’d been lying to myself, a part of me had always known that no person would love me like Graham.
He reached around me and unclasped my bra with practiced ease. It fell away, and the cool air hit my bare breasts, making my nipples tighten further.
Graham’s breath left him in a rush.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “Absolutely perfect.”
My breasts weren’t large, I fell more into the pert and perky category, but Graham’s reaction to them made me feel like they were exactly right.
For him. He cupped them in his hands, gentle, reverent, looking for all the world like a man about to worship.
Bending forward, he pressed a soft kiss directly between them both, and I gasped at the contact, needing more of him.
“Graham?” I murmured.
“Aye, lass?”
“I need—”
My words cut off as he turned his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
The sound I made was embarrassing, a high, keening cry that I couldn’t have held back if I’d tried. His mouth was hot against my cold skin, his tongue swirling around the tight peak, and I grabbed his shoulders to keep myself upright.
“Graham—”
He didn’t answer. Just switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention, while his fingers continued to work the first. He licked and sucked and gently bit, and I dissolved into a trembling mess under his touch.
“Please,” I heard myself say. “Please, I need—”
“What do you need?” He looked up at me, his mouth wet, his eyes dark. “Tell me, Agnes. I’ll give you anything.”
“More. I need more.” No, it wasn’t the most articulate of demands, but I could barely think my own name at this point. My body trembled with need, with years of pent-up lust, and being articulate had suddenly become an almost insurmountable task.
He smiled—slow and wicked—and sank to his knees.
His fingers found the button of my jeans and worked it free.
The zipper followed, and then he was peeling the wet denim down my legs, his lips pressing kisses to each inch of skin he revealed.
My hip. My thigh. The delicate skin at the inside of my knee that had shivers dancing across my skin. The curve of my calf.
By the time he got my jeans and shoes off—a process complicated by the wet fabric and my shaking legs—I was ready to combust.
He knelt before me in just his unbuttoned shirt and trousers, and I shivered at the expression on his face.
It was as though I was something to be cherished.
His hands slid up the backs of my legs, over my bum, and settled at my hips.
His thumbs traced circles on my hipbones, just above the edge of my knickers.
“These too,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. The fabric slid over my thighs, my knees, my ankles, and then I was standing before him completely bare.
Graham sat back on his heels and just looked at me.
The silence stretched. I fought the urge to cover myself, to hide from the intensity of his gaze. It was as though he wanted to devour me. Like he was memorizing every curve and hollow for later study.
“Do you have any idea,” he said, his voice almost a growl, “how long I’ve wanted to see you like this again?”
“I have a loose idea.” My voice was rough with need.
“Years.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my hip. “I’ve wanted you since before I knew what wanting was.” Another kiss, lower, on my inner thigh. “You’ve always been it for me, Agnes. I hope you know that.”
“I—” My voice broke off into a gasp as his mouth moved higher.
He kissed along the crease where my thigh met my body, so close to where I needed him but not quite there. His breath was hot against my center, teasing, and my hands found his hair, fingers threading through the damp strands.
“Graham, please—”
“Please what?”
“You know what.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I looked down at him—this man kneeling before me like a supplicant, his eyes blazing with desire—and felt my last wall crumble to dust.
“I want your mouth on me,” I said, shaky with need. “I want you to taste me. I want you to make me come.”
Heat flickered in his expression and then he leaned forward and gave me exactly what I’d asked for.