Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)

He took her hands and dragged her torso to his, grunting as the hot silk of her covered him, easing inside her, mouths open on each other’s, gone deaf, gone insensible from the need to thrust, knowing only the crash of their energies, the force of their joining until the cloud burst, the white blasts and the star was made.

And he knew what he needed to do.

They washed each other in her tiny shower, an excuse to stand close, to keep touching, and he told her about London, about trillions of frequent flyer points he’d never be able to use up, about wanting her to have the chance to talk face to face with Hamish. The idea confused her.

“Why would you do that, and I don’t mean the airfare. Why would you want me to see him again?”

“Because you need to. I know you’ve talked.”

She put wet hands over his ears. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

“You wanted to keep it from me.”

She shut the water off and dumped a towel on his head. “You had enough going on. I didn’t want you to think I was secretly fixating on my ex-husband.”

He scrubbed the water from his hair, passed the towel over his face. “Are you?”

She bit him. Not softly. Teeth to his bicep. He’d heard enough of her private conversations to know it was more tangled than that. To know it was a mass of contradictions and feel

ings, all of which he had no business in, least of all now.

“I don’t know what to think about Hamish. I don’t know if I can believe what he says. He sounds the same but what he’s saying is different.”

“Which is why I think you should see him.”

“You are the strangest man.”

“You’re just working this out now?”

“I don’t get why you’d do this.”

He reached out, hand to her shoulder, slid it around her waist and brought her back against his front. He breathed deep of her shower freshness, her green tea shampoo, her freesia sweetness and she leaned into him with a sigh. “I want you to be happy. I want you to be strong and free and not carrying around past regrets.”

“You sound like Carmella.”

He sounded like a desperate man who knew Georgia would have reason to take his words and all his actions as false. He turned her head to kiss her. He shouldn’t have but his greed knew no end.

When she broke away with a happy chuckle and a shove, it galvanised him, “Let me get you an airfare.”

She came back to his side, her lips to his neck. “Only if you have enough points for both of us.”

Georgia phoned Hamish. Damon could hear the suspicious delight in her voice and held his breath, there was always a chance Hamish didn’t want this. Hamish did.

Damon made the booking. First available and got lucky. A flight the next morning. They spent that night at his place. Taylor made herself scarce. Georgia made herself impossible to resist. She wasn’t finished assaulting his senses, eroding his will. She insisted on undressing him, pushing his hands away, stopping him from helping. She had him naked and desperate for her, so hard it hurt, before she let him touch her, strip her, slide against her.

“God, your skin.” It made his feel electric, snap with it, fizz with it. He put his nose in her hair and she sighed her joy. He could smell her excitement, feel it ripple on her. Her nonsense articulations were connected to his sympathetic nervous system. They spoke to his arousal, drawing it out, urging it on. But it would be too quick if he didn’t slow them down and he wanted this to take all night, take all time, all motion and make a study of it, preserved for his repeated replay.

He pushed away from her, both of them panting. She laughed. “Too much for you.”

“Too quick for me. You’ll have me wrecked before I can enjoy myself.”

She twirled a finger around the head of his cock. A surprise attack that made him gasp. He made a grab for her hand and got air, then her hand to his shoulder, as she climbed across his lap, sitting on his thighs.

“A little bedtime story might slow things down for you.”

He laughed. “Might rupture something.” His volume failed on the word rupture. At day’s end his voice was a tattered filament of sound, at times more a suggestion than a reason to be heard.

“Once upon a time,” she started.