‘Christ, Lexi...’ I groan the words and I’m transported back over a decade, to when she perfected the same move, and the old merges with the new. ‘Like that...just like that.’
She smiles around my tip. ‘I know—I remember.’
She’s with me in my bedroom at my family home, having sneaked in during the hour before dinner. We’re learning what makes each other tick, what tips each other over the edge. Christ, so many firsts, so many mind-obliterating experiences—is it any wonder I never moved on from her? Any wonder that she is my life, my soul, my everything?
And then my mind quits as my balls contract, tingling with my imminent release. I’m trying to warn her with the tightening of my fingers in her hair, my body clenching as I struggle to speak, but she doesn’t let me go. She does what she always did. She drinks me down, every euphoric pulse disappearing into her, and it’s like no other pleasure I have known.
I haven’t been a saint. She knows that, I’m sure, and I know it. But no one has ever come close to her, and as I caress her hair and gaze down into her triumphant gaze I believe she knows that too.
‘You are a minx,’ I whisper.
‘Better the minx you know, right?’
Oh, my God, yes.
I shake my head and stand, pulling her up against me, breast to breast, cheek to cheek. ‘You will stay?’
She nods. ‘For now.’
I don’t know what ‘for now’ means, but it’s enough for me. In this second, it has to be. I comb my fingers deep into her hair and clutch her closer as I kiss her shoulder and inhale.
It has to be enough.
CHAPTER TEN
JUST AS HE carried me to his hot tub, Cain carries me to his bed, and despite every warning in my brain telling me to leave, that it’s gone far enough, I’m too loved up. And I use ‘loved up’ in the loosest sense of the term—because I can’t be in love with him again.
I’m just emotional because of all that he’s said, raking up the past, the role I unwittingly played in it. Not to mention the crazy rush of desire and endorphins that have lain dormant all these years.
He lowers me to his bed and I’m surrounded by luxury: soft sheets that welcome me in, envelop me; low, deep music that plays a strumming rhythm in tune to my heart, and him—oh, God, him.
He’s naked and striding towards me, a filled champagne flute in hand.
‘Cain...’ I shake my head at the glass. I don’t need any more alcohol. I only need him. His mouth, his fingers, his—
‘Drunk too much already?’
I laugh. ‘No, but I only need you.’
He smiles, and it’s so full of feeling my breath catches.
‘Indulge me.’
Oh, God, how can I not? He’s my past, my present...my future?
It doesn’t matter how locked-down my heart is—he still has the power to crack it open and break it if I let him.
He leans over me on the bed, the glass hovering between us. ‘Drink.’
It’s a command, not a question, and I raise my mouth and angle my head to take a sip. It’s cold...ice-cold. The tiny bubbles fizz over my tongue in a sensation far more powerful than it was at the presentation meal, and I wonder if it’s because this is the real deal—the best money can buy—or if it’s just that my senses are heightened, desperate to cling to any sensation he delivers?
‘My turn...’
He takes a swig, but I don’t see him swallow. Instead he lowers his head—not to my lips, but to my breast. He surrounds the peak with his mouth, ice-cold bubbles fizzing over the sensitised flesh, and I cry out, my hands flying to his hair.
Oh, yes.
How can it feel so good? So intense? So soon?