She lay back on the rug, her hair wild around her. She wore a black bra with a little bit of lace and it was—relatively speaking—a tiny bit sexy. But on her it was a knockout punch. She licked her hand while he watched and wrapped her fingers around his dick again.
“You’re making me crazy.”
“Good,” she whispered. “I like you crazy.”
Finally, he got the condom open and knocked her hand out of the way so he could slip it on. He reached under that skirt and pulled off her underwear. He tossed it toward the corner with his dirty clothes. And he got down between her legs, there on the floor, at the edge of his willpower.
He didn’t like looking women in the eye when he slid inside of them. He feared what his face would reveal, and he was scared of what her face would reveal, and the intimacy was just too much.
But he caught Helen’s eye and there was no looking away.
There was no protecting himself or hiding.
It was them and moonlight and a moment so profound he could only live in it.
Her eyes went wide and her chin arched up, her neck long and graceful in the moonlight. He slid his hand over it, felt the pulse of her heart against his fingers, the heat of her skin. She was tight. So tight he worried he might hurt her. And he was careful, and it took two lifetimes to do it, but he was finally deep inside of her.
He dropped his head against her chest. Kissed the rise of her breast, pulled her nipple into his mouth through the lace of her bra.
She hissed and arched into him, her hips shifting. Fucking him without fucking him and he pressed his head into her harder. Holding her there. Holding himself there.
“Micah,” she breathed. Twisting against him. “Please.”
His control shattered and he started fucking into her. Tiny little movements because he couldn’t stand sliding out of her. Didn’t want to lift his body away from hers. It was excruciating bliss.
This wasn’t going to last long, so he slipped his fingers between them to help her over. But her fingers were already there, working her clit, and suddenly that he wanted to see. Needed to see.
He sat back on his knees, pulled her up closer. One hand braced on her stomach, the other on her knee.
She stopped as if suddenly embarrassed that he was watching.
“No,” he said. “It’s so beautiful. Keep going.”
“I’m gonna—” She gulped as she stroked herself. Hard and fast.
“Me too.”
He felt her squeeze him. A red flush crawled up from her chest, across her neck to her face. A scream got strangled in her throat and she clutched at him. Pulling him into her as she came against him. They were locked together on that floor, without boundaries or sense. They were something that never should have happened and somehow felt inevitable all at the same time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Once he could feel his body again, he became aware that he was pushing her into the rug with all of his weight. He began to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him go. “Stay,” she whispered. “Just…a little longer.”
He tried to brace his weight so he wasn’t on top of her, but she wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on.
“I don’t want to squish you,” he said into her hair.
“I just want to feel you everywhere for one more minute.”
How could he argue? He gave her more weight, not all of it, but enough to feel her hip bones. “You just feel so good,” she whispered. And he nodded.
You feel very right.
He bit back the words because this was a goodbye scene. Not the start of something.
Hurting you won’t change a thing.
She’d said it herself, and then he’d stolen the words from her.
“I’ll be right back.” He held the condom and got to his feet, feeling like his muscles were made of rubber bands and his brain was full of sparks. He shut the bathroom door behind him and turned on the light. He got rid of the condom, pissed, washed his hands, splashed water on his face.
Tell her, he said to his reflection. Just tell her. It was time.
He could make a million donations to Haven House. His portion of the profit that band made. He would tell her this was how he processed things. He took in pain and turned it into music—but that made him sound like an asshole. He would tell her she inspired him.
And that he was sorry.
And that he hoped that maybe instead of this being the end of something, they could turn it into the beginning of something else.
I love you. I know it seems fast but it also feels like fate. I love you and I think you love me too.