Home Again

She started to unbutton her sweater, and he grabbed her hand. The minute he did it, he felt like a fool. He tried to smile it off, but she’d seen the truth in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it, Mad,” he whispered, humiliation a cold stain in his stomach.

She didn’t smile or pretend not to understand. “Your doctor advised you that you could resume sexual relations whenever you felt… up to it.”

A smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “I have to admit, it turned me on when she said it.”

“And how about now?” she asked softly, unbuttoning his shirt.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait…”

She smiled and undid another button. Her hand splayed across his che

st, each finger as hot as a brand on his flesh. “Should we?”

He couldn’t concentrate with her doing that. He felt her fingers, working nimbly on his shirt, her fingernails scraping the tender flesh of his chest. She peeled his shirt away, revealing the bright red scar.

He felt a moment’s hesitation, an uncertainty. It meant so much, loving her, and he was afraid he couldn’t do it. Afraid his secondhand heart would just give out.

She pressed onto her tiptoes and kissed the very top of his scar. Her lips were warm and pliant against the new flesh, and he shivered in response. He couldn’t hold himself apart from her. He wanted to crush her to him, bury himself deep, deep inside her, so deep he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.

With a groan, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a passion he’d never felt before. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe for wanting her. Slowly he lowered himself to the bear rug, and she followed him, her fingers still working on the buttons. When they hit the rug, she pulled his shirt off and tossed it away.

He wrenched her soft green sweater off and threw it over his head, then he unhooked her bra and let it slide through his shaking fingers to the fur.

She knelt on the rug before him, her breasts glimmering and perfect in the firelight. She reached up to cover them.

“The baby—”

He pulled her hands away and studied the tiny, silvery lines she was trying to hide. He could tell by looking at her that she thought she was damaged somehow, that her woman’s body couldn’t compare to the girl’s he’d loved before.

Very slowly he leaned forward and cupped her small, round breasts in his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, bending down to kiss the soft swell of one breast.

She shivered and released a tiny moan, then arched slightly toward him. He took a nipple in his mouth as he unbuttoned her jeans and pushed her down onto the rug.

He eased the pants off of her, then the underpants, until she lay there, glistening with firelight, her naked body stretched out before him, wearing nothing but a pair of fuzzy socks. He dug deep in his pocket for a condom and pulled it out, tossing the little foil packet on the floor. Drawing back, he yanked off the rest of his clothes and threw them toward the door, then he came down beside her, kissing her again, stroking her body until she arched toward him and pleaded in his ear. Quiet, breathy words that strained his self-control.

He drew back, breathing hard. His heart pumped in an irritatingly calm rhythm, reminded him that nothing about this was normal.

“I don’t know, Mad,” he whispered brokenly.

“Don’t worry.” She took the condom packet and ripped it open, letting the bits of foil fall to the floor. Smiling, she reached down. Her fingers closed around him, squeezing, stroking. “You seem okay so far.”

Her hand was working magic. He moaned, closed his eyes.

“Should we keep going?” she breathed at his ear, licking the sensitive flesh of his lobe.

He felt drugged. It was all he could do to nod. His throat was too dry to form words. He felt her slip the condom in place and smooth it down, down the shaft.

With a groan deep in his throat, he rolled over and kissed her. Long, electrical kisses that sent him spiraling over the edge. He felt her take hold of him again, guiding him toward her, inside her.

He almost came right then, but he held himself back, biting down hard on his lower lip. She clung to him, whispering his name, her hips grinding, thrusting against his. They fell into a rhythm as old as time, but it felt new to Angel, so new. With incredible effort, he held his need in check, bringing her closer and closer to the brink….

He felt the tiny pulse of her climax and he was lost. His own release was a shuddering explosion. Afterward, he thudded down on the rug beside her, his breath coming in hacking gasps.

“It was never like that when we were teenagers,” he said.

She smiled, snuggling closer. “Not quite. It was more like ‘Beat the Clock’ back then.”

They laughed together and lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, remembering so many things. He rested his cheek on the swell of her breast and studied her naked body in the writhing, golden firelight, tracing the flat surface of her belly with one finger. She was so beautiful…