Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

He wraps one arm around my backside, lifting me so he can pump with more force. His mouth contrasts with those firm thrusts, teasing my clit with gentle licks until I grab his head and push down in a desperate bid for satiation. Then I’m overcome by ecstasy, my body quaking as my hand on his hair gentles. I hear myself whisper, “I love you.”

When I open my eyes, I find him stroking his stiff sex. His gaze grips mine. It’s unapologetic. He looks as if he feels nothing for me. No emotion—only lust. Still, I need him. I’ll take scraps.

I rise on my knees and kiss his mouth. I kiss him even though he tastes like nightmares and he smells like Holly. I feel ill but also rapt as I hug an arm around his neck, stroking his warm nape as our kisses deepen.

Then he’s lying me down, spreading my knees as if he plans to take me in the way we used to. He’s looking down, away, as he presses his sex into me. When he lifts his head, his blue eyes are closed. He thrusts deeper.

As he starts to pump his hips, I stroke his arms…but I’m afraid to touch him, frightened I’ll drive him away. Instead I lock my hand around his thick forearm and focus on returning what he’s doing thrust for thrust, on tightening myself around him so my sex hugs his huge erection.

In return, he plunges deeper, filling me more fully than perhaps he ever has, as if on this, our longest, darkest night, gentleness simply won’t do. He grunts and groans, but he says nothing. Not once does he lean down over me and kiss my throat or stroke my hair.

I can feel it when he nears release; he thickens inside me, and then I feel a hot, soft, full sensation. That’s when I realize—there’s no condom. Worry cinches my chest, but it’s there then gone, lost in the rush of ecstasy as I topple over my own ledge.

I open my eyes as he lifts his head and his eyes hold mine. Where before, when we made love in this position, I could see his feelings in his face, tonight there’s nothing. He’s no warmer toward me than a stranger might be.

Wordlessly, he separates our bodies. With a final glance at me, he moves down off the bed and bends to pluck his clothing off the floor.

Thirteen

Declan

“Is that it, then?”

I glance over at her. Then my shirt’s over my head. The floor feels like it’s moving. I almost fall over as I get my arms through the holes.

“Um, what?” I can’t see her. It’s dark in here, and kind of blurry. What did she say?

“So…you’re leaving, I suppose?”

A crest of panic hits the back of my throat. Sweat rolls down my temple. “Yeah.”

Where are my underwear? Fuck. I see them by a table and float over that way. I’m fucking drunk. She felt so good. Too good.

“Would you like company?”

I step into my boxer briefs and look back at her. I can feel my heartbeat in my eyes. They’re kind of pulsing, which makes it look like her long hair is blowing in the wind.

“Uh—” I clear my tight throat, try to make my voice a little louder. “Yeah.”

My shoulders start to shake…and then my chest and arms.

If she comes with me—

But I want her to.

I need her with me. Even though it’s that night. I’m leaving tomorrow. I can’t stay away from her on my last night here.

I nod—I can’t get my mouth to move—and then she’s getting off the bed.

“Wait here, if you don’t mind? I need my toothbrush.” My ears hear her words, but my mind’s not processing, so I just nod. When she disappears, I feel a slosh of horror. She went next door, my real voice tells Drunk Me.

I put on my pants…and then my shoes. I can’t get them tied, and when I try, my fingers tremble.

It’s cold outside. Cold…like the refrigerator. I had that thought in a dream, but now it’s here…and I’m awake. I feel my legs move like machines, and I’m there at the cabinets. It’s dark, but I can see the pale refrigerator at the room’s back corner. Every pharmacy has to have a refrigerator. She said she couldn’t get what I wanted, but why would she tell me if she could?

Just a little, and I’ll get through tonight better. I don’t want our last night to be like this. I don’t want June 20 to haunt me twice.

I walk to the refrigerator. My pulse is racing. If it’s here, I’ll get it. I could even tell her. But no. Why make her worry? Why let her know? If she sees me as a fucked-up addict, she won’t love me—and I need for her to love me till I leave.