On stage, men have played beso
tted lovers opposite me. I know the expressions that are supposed to indicate caring, desire, appreciation. Jake’s neck and chest are flushed. He’s still kneeling there in his jeans and heavy boots, watching me. But no man has ever worn that expression for me.
I’m torn between revelling in this moment and fleeing from a nameless weight settling in my chest. I only now wonder whether losing control may be dangerous.
‘Maya—’ It’s a whisper and order.
Slipping from the couch onto the floor where I can kneel across from him isn’t a surrender. Reaching for the buckle of his belt, coaxing him to lift up so I can unbutton his jeans is simply done from my desire to change his expression. Pulling his wallet from his back pocket and finding a condom doesn’t mean I need to feel him pressed against me, inside me. It just means I understand my body. It means I can empathise with his need to forget. That’s all this is.
Please, let that be all this is.
***
I am so fucked. I knew it the moment Maya opened her door and frowned at me. Her dark hair was loose, a curling halo around her head. Even in the dim lighting, the warmth of her skin was a flame in the face of my sterile existence. I felt more alive arguing with her than when I ran into that burning building.
I almost lost it when she came. I’m about to lose it now.
She’s so focused on undoing my jeans that she gives me a moment to watch her. Straight nose, long eyelashes, a light dusting of barely-noticeable freckles across the top of her cheeks. So much intelligence. So much life. She’s an angel with the lips of a sinner.
I groan when her warm fingers free my cock. She strokes me and I force myself to not pump my hips up against her hand. As if she knows how deeply I need to feel her body squeezing down on me, she tears open the condom package and rolls the latex down. She rests her hands on my shoulders, balancing so she can lower herself onto me.
My abs clench when I’m surrounded by her slick heat. Grabbing her hips grounds me. Her legs wrap around me and she lifts herself, using my body for purchase before she slides back down. This isn’t frantic, hungry sex. This is slow, deliberate, and still not enough. When this night’s done, there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to deny the way the world’s shifted.
With every movement, she shatters me. I bury my face in her neck, tasting her skin, hugging her tighter to my chest, unable to let her go. This is real. She is real. Alive and vibrant and here in my arms.
The back of my eyes prickle. I squeeze my eyelids closed. I kiss her neck, listen to her ragged breathing and soft moans as she uses me for her pleasure. I feel her hands slide over my shoulders and her arms tighten around my back, hugging me back.
She’s close. Her muscles tighten around me and my spine straightens as I fight for whatever control I have left. She notices.
‘Even now?’ she pants in my ear.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ I never want to hurt you again.
‘You won’t.’
That’s all it takes. She’s on her back and I’m pounding into her, desperate for something I can’t even name. My fingers dig into the carpet above her shoulders, my forearms bracing her in place. I can’t bear to look her in the face, not when I’m being so needy—
Her hand curves around the side of my face. My pace falters despite my best intentions. I keep my eyes closed, even when she forces my head to turn back toward her. ‘Jake,’ she whispers. ‘Look at me.’
I open my eyes. Something drops on her cheek, splashing against her skin. That’s impossible. I don’t cry.
‘Damn it,’ she says. But her voice is gentle and her eyes are soft. ‘Why’d you have to be a good man?’
I come violently, orgasm exploding through me and destroying what muscle control I’ve clung to. I collapse onto her, groan of satisfaction still fighting its way out of me. But the next breath I suck in transforms, twists into a gasp. My throat’s tight and I have to suck in another breath when a sob wracks me and steals the air in my lungs.
She stops me from crawling off her. She sits up. Her arms band my shoulders, her legs wrap around mine. She doesn’t say a word when I lay back down and bury my face in her hair, cheek pressing against her temple, and cry for the first time in nearly a decade.
She just holds me as my world falls down.
Chapter 7
My arm’s numb. I’m not sure how long we’ve been lying here. Jake’s body is still sprawled over me. He’s shifted in his sleep though so his weight rests on his hip. His face is buried in my hair, his breathing steady, but ragged.
Some dim, quiet part of my mind says I should be worried about cleaning us up, about getting off the floor, but those thoughts are silenced by the memory of Jake’s stoicism breaking. I’ve never seen him like that. Human, I mean. He’s always been this untouchable figure. A broad shouldered, stern-faced presence standing ominously in the background. Not this exhausted man who, even in the height of his raw passion, was most concerned for me.
My fingers trace the length of his arm. He’s functional muscle, biceps thickened from years of use instead of cut from hours in the gym. The light blond hair is soft, missing in smooth patches where burns or scars mar his skin. His hands fascinate me the most.
Long fingers with callused knuckles. Scars and small cuts creating a chaotic pattern. Trimmed nails. A man’s hands. Strong hands that can destroy a building to reach a fire or draft an unconscious woman to safety. Hands that are so tender with me.