“You think I’m fucking you out of pity?”
“I think you realized how much you want me, and you’re finally letting down your guard.”
“I don’t have a guard.”
“That’s the lie of the century.” He kissed me and I moaned into that—then felt him press himself against me, and slowly sink inside.
I gasped as he filled me and a shiver ran down my skin. Oh, god, it was incredible, he fit me deep, spread me wide, and he took me, slowly at first, so slowly, my hips rocking back against him, riding along him, moving in rhythm with him, but it went faster, as my pants turned into moans, and faster, and harder, as we lost ourselves in the moment, and there was only him and pleasure.
His hand hit my ass hard, the palm making a loud slap, and he pulled my hair, rough and desperate, and I pushed back along his shaft, wanting more, feeling so greedy and wild for it, feeling so awake and alive for the first time in a long time.
“I love the way you look at me,” he whispered, “when I sink inside of you. It’s like you can’t believe how it feels, how I fit, and I want more of that look.”
I stared at him over my shoulder and he growled, taking me rough, and I gasped as his hands teased my breasts. “As much as you want,” I whispered.
He pulled me away from the wall and we tumbled onto the couch. I straddled him, and his hands guided my hips back, then down, and I rode him like that, biting down against his shoulder. I felt sweat drip along my skin as I went faster, faster, building momentum. He grunted his pleasure, his hands on my body, on every inch of my skin, my breasts, my ass, my legs, my lower back, my hair and cheeks and lips. I sucked his finger and stared into his eyes, working my hips faster, faster, getting so close, moaning, gasping, biting.
“Come on, Fiona,” he said, fingers dimpling my hips. “Come on, girl. I want to see it, I want to feel it. You hide so much from me, and now I want to taste it all.”
“Oh, fuck,” I said, curling my spine, leaning toward him, kissing him hard as I rode faster, rolling forward and around.
“I can’t get enough of your hips, your mouth, your hands. I love the way you gasp, and moan, and whisper my name. Goddamn, Fiona, you drive me insane.”
I kept going, faster, staring into his eyes, and I felt it there, blooming between us, and it overtook me suddenly without warning. I came then, gasping, sweating, shivering, and he held me, buried between my legs, held me and took me. As I finished, he turned me, put me down on the couch, and pinned me with his gorgeous body. I wrapped my legs around him and felt him shudder, and moan into my ear, then fill me, fill me up, his back stiffened, a moan on his lips.
We finished together, sweating and dizzy. I lay there staring up at him, legs in his lap, as he sat sprawled with his legs open and his arms up above his head.
“Well, shit,” I said. “How about that.”
He laughed and looked at me. “How about it.”
“I didn’t expect—” I stopped myself and shook my head. “Okay, I expected it.”
“We both know what you meant when you asked me up.”
“I guess you’re right. I mean, seeing you like that— beaten up—” I stopped myself.
He smiled a little, and his fingers traced a line down my collarbone, down my breasts, along my hard nipples, and down to my stomach. I grimaced as he touched my scar, and I pushed his hand away.
He hesitated and watched me. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No.” I covered it with both hands and turned my face away. I wished he’d stop looking at me.
“It was an accident, right?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Dean. Please.”
He grunted softly. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but I want to. Just so you know. I want to know what’s been keeping you so far from me.”
I shifted and rolled away, getting off the couch. He watched me, his eyes tracking my movements, and I felt so exposed. I grabbed my clothes, my dirty old scrubs, and pulled them on, desperate to cover myself. I lingered near the door, biting my lip, angry with myself for letting that ruin the moment and angry with him for bringing it up.
“Maybe we should—” I started, but he stood and shook his head.
“No, you’re not closing down on me now.”
I smiled a little and looked to the side. “I’m not sure you have much say in that.”
“Fiona.” He stalked across the room to me and pressed a hand against my cheek.