She used her hands, stroking him against the rhythm of her mouth, and he really seemed to like that. So she did it some more.
Until he pulled her away, his hands clumsy. His face was stony. She watched him, spellbound, her body aching, as he kicked off the rest of his clothes and turned toward her—a different Jack.
A Jack with all that urbane intelligence turned off. A Jack without the distance his brain put between himself and the rest of the world.
He was focused—a hundred percent—on her.
He tore off her pants, yanked down her underwear, and the violence was exhilarating. She’d pushed him to this place, where he barely had control. Where that powerful brain of his was negated by the needs of his body.
He spread her legs and rolled on top of her. He eased his fingers between them and she knew he was gauging her readiness.
And she was. More than ready.
When his fingers touched the wet heat of her, he kissed her. Hard. As if he were just so damn glad.
He shifted again and when he thrust inside of her, she screamed in welcome. The sound tearing out of some hidden place inside of her. She relished his lack of control but, in truth, was scared of losing her own.
She pushed against him for a second, trying to find room for herself, the distance she needed to keep herself safe.
“No, Mia,” he said, forcing her to look at him. He pushed high and hard inside of her and she gasped, choking on pleasure. “Don’t pull away. Not now.”
“Jack—”
“This is us. Right here. Right now,” he said, his eyes boring into hers as he started to move inside of her. It was so beautiful she nearly cried.
Us, she thought, matching his rhythm, his violence.
Distance? Safety? The need was gone, the urge erased.
He bent his head, found her nipple with his mouth. His lips and tongue. He thrust and kissed and sucked, driving her someplace she’d never been. Hadn’t even known existed.
She bit her lip against a thousand screams. She closed her mouth against the I love you and the I need you and please, please don’t leave me that clawed to be free.
Pleasure, thick and heady, rolled through her, gathering speed, pulling at every cell. For a second she was scared, scared of letting go quite this much, but then Jack slid his fingers through hers and buried his face in her neck.
“I love you,” he whispered, and she exploded.
16
The house was quiet, but Walter knew Sandra wasn’t sleeping. He’d heard her in the kitchen, her soft footfalls leading to the living room.
He waited a few moments and then went to find her.
“Walter?” Her voice was a sweet caress.
Fight for what you want, he told himself.
“Evening, Sandra,” he said.
“What’s got you wandering around so late?”
“I was…” He stopped the lie on his lips.
Fight, he told himself, and he didn’t know exactly how to do that, so he figured he’d do what he did with Jack. He’d start with the truth.
“I was looking for you,” he said.
His eyes adjusted to the light and he saw her curled up in the couch, wrapped in that blue shawl. She looked like a robin’s egg and he wanted to pick her up, hold her in his arms.
“Well, you found me,” she said, and he heard something different in her voice, something that turned that smile of hers into a lie. Sadness.
She’d been sitting here crying.
“Are you all right?” he asked, sitting down beside her, so aware of her leg next to his, inches away.
“I am, Walter,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I am fine. I think, maybe, being in this house is harder than I thought it would be.”
His heart tripped and his fight for what you want pep talk died a scared little death in his throat.
“You miss your husband,” he whispered.
“I do.” Her voice cracked. “I do.” She took a deep breath and began to stand up. “I should go,” she said, but he put his hand on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin under the blue fabric of the shawl. He wanted to hug her, pull her into his arms, rub his hands down the thin, elegant curve of her back—give and take whatever comfort they could give each other.
He’d been frozen for so long, since way before Jack was even born.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Sandra,” he whispered, but she shook her head, the tension ratcheting up until it felt like the whole roof might blow off.
“Please,” he whispered, wanting to take away her pain.
“I’m so mad!” she yelled, and he was so shocked he reached for her, but she slapped at his hand and the eyes she turned on him were livid. “I’m so mad at you,” she hissed.
“Me?”
“This was my home. I cared for it. I cared for every person in this house and you let that woman—” She stopped, shaking her head, gathering herself together. “I’m sorry, Walter. It’s been a long night and I think I should just go.”