Her nose wrinkles. “Ten years older?”
Lowering her hand, I reach out and slide my finger under the strap of her dress. It drops down her arm, exposing her breast. My lips heat, and I lift my hand to touch her. Her breath catches in a soft gasp as I cup the weight, sliding my thumb over the tightening nipple.
“They’re larger,” I say in the same quiet voice.
I lift my other hand to do the same, lower the strap, expose her breast. Only this time the entire dress drops to the floor. The blood rushes below my waist, and my cock rises.
My eyes are fixed on her body, her beautiful curves in my hands. Her hips are more rounded. “You were only a girl when I painted you last time. Now you’re a woman.”
When I look up, I see her eyes are dark. Her lips are parted, then the bottom one is clutched below the tips of her white teeth. “I want you inside me.”
Fuck. My hand drops between her legs, and she moans softly as I touch her.
“You’re so wet.”
“Please…” she hisses.
I don’t have to be asked twice.
I quickly shove my jeans to the floor, allowing my cock to spring free. She grasps it, pulling gently, sliding her thumb over the damp tip, blowing my mind. I can’t wait to carry her across the hall to my bed. I grasp her hips, lifting her off her feet, and push her back against the nearest wall.
“Oh, God!” she gasps as I lower her body, sinking my throbbing dick deep into her clenching heat.
We’re instinctual and hungry. My hips thrust up as her thighs push against my pelvis. Her breasts bounce, and she moans, digging her fingers into my shoulders. I can’t hold out any longer as the fierce orgasm spirals up my thighs, tightening my pelvis, and shooting out of me.
“Ember,” I groan against her neck, pulsing deep.
In that moment, all uncertainty is gone. This is my future—us, here, together. It’s the only thing I want.
Sixteen
Ember
Having Jackson Cane in my life again is like waking from a ten-year sleep. It’s like touching a match to the ashes lying dormant in my soul and suddenly being surrounded by light and warmth and protection. It’s like stretching up to ride the wind or folding inward and becoming the fire.
Last night I lost the battle of resistance. I surrendered to the deep need I’ve been fighting since he returned. His touch awakened all that had gone quiet in my soul when I lost him…
Only, I didn’t lose him.
Last night I was able to put these questions aside and luxuriate in the decadent satisfaction of reunion. Jackson touches me like no one ever has. He coaxes the sleeping goddess awake. When we touch, I remember all the first times. He’s my teacher, my lover, my friend, my everything. When he says I’m his, my soul rings with assent.
I am his.
He is mine…
And he wants Coco.
He’s not put off by her. My jaw tightens at the memory of the cruel words my mother spoke.
Lies, always lies.
The lies end now.
Wyatt is trimming the box hedge around the perimeter of his yard as I ride my bike toward my mother’s house. I pass Kay Johnson on her knees in her front flowerbed, striking the stereotypical ass-in-the-air pose.
With each push of the pedals, an ache of satisfaction echoes deep in my core, and it makes me smile remembering making love last night, so many times. Nothing has changed between us. If anything, our passion is hotter than ever…
Now it’s time for truth.