Deep(35)
“I like the way my tongue moves around your real name. Beverly. I like the way it feels in my mouth.”
With the glass halfway to her mouth, she froze, pink rising over her cheeks. “Oh.” Despite her combative tone before, that word was barely a gasp. He waited, watching, keeping his face neutral, while she worked that out. When she spoke again, her voice was more assured but less sharp. “Why are you here?”
He wanted her company. Seeing her go back down the hall to her own apartment, this apartment, the morning before had been absurdly difficult. Seeing her go with such obvious relief had hurt his feelings. He’d stayed away the rest of Sunday, spending the day as usual, at Mass and then at Uncle Ben and Aunt Angie’s with his mother. He’d had work to do after. All of it kept him from thinking too much about the hurt he’d felt when she’d left.
But now he was here. He came around the corner and got close. She wore a long, straight, knit skirt, dark brown, and thin-strapped t-shirt in a color like the inside of a cantaloupe. White bra straps showed under the straps of her top.
Her hair, a fascinating blend of colors, obviously natural, that came to a sum of glistening reddish-brown, was loose and waved softly over her shoulders. Her blue eyes glittered with irritation and a little fear—but her wide pupils told him what he really wanted to know. She wanted him. Her chest, that beautiful chest, heaved erratically with her anxious arousal.
“How’re you feeling?”
It took her a beat to answer. Before she did, she set her glass down and took a step back. “Better. Still sore, but nothing like it was.”
“Good.” He lifted his hand to her face and brushed his thumb lightly over her scraped cheekbone. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
She hadn’t flinched at his touch, but she did at his words. He wrinkled his brow at her.
She answered his silent question. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”
“What?”
“That you’re sorry. I got the impression that you don’t apologize. In general.”
“In general, I don’t. In general, I don’t do things I regret.”
She laughed at that. Her laugh was wonderful, quiet and breathy, but still rich, tuneful. Nick’s balls clenched behind his already-hard cock.
“That’s funny?” He brushed her hair over her shoulder and left his hand resting there, his thumb on her pulse point. The beat against the pad of that digit was fast and shallow.
She cleared her throat. “Sort of, yeah. You must be a very careful person, then. I figure if I get through a day without having to apologize for something, then I didn’t have a very interesting day. Sometimes I just apologize on spec.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—just in case I did something that warrants an apology.”
“That makes your apologies pretty cheap.” He traced the length of her throat with his thumb.
She was doing well to keep up her end of the conversation. “They’re always sincere, but I think an apology should be cheap. How much does it cost to be sorry if saying sorry eases somebody’s mind?”
In his world, it could cost everything. But Beverly was not of his world. He stilled his hand. “I’ve never known someone who sees the world like you do.”
“How do you think I see the world?”
“In perpetual daylight. Sunshine.”
“And how do you see the world?”
“Midnight.” He kissed her. Bringing his other hand to the back of her head, he held her still and kissed her hard, giving her a taste of his darkness, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. She tasted of popcorn and wine and the faintest hint of fruity lip balm. She was stiff at first, not participating, and then he broke away and ducked his head, kissing the same pulse point on her throat he’d been massaging. When he bit down, she moaned and put her hands on his hips.
Returning to her mouth, he now found her responsive and eager, her tongue twisting with his, her moans and gasps filling his mouth. As turned-on as he could remember being in a while, maybe at all, Nick reminded himself that she was injured. He walked her backward until she stood against the refrigerator. He wanted to press into her, make her feel him, but knew he would hurt her if he did. So he dropped a hand from her head and let it fall slowly down her neck, over her chest, to take a breast. God, she was so soft. Her skin was like silk, her body firm but yielding. He wanted nothing more than to feel her around him.
He could feel the hard pebble of her nipple through her shirt, her bra, and he took it between his fingers and pinched. She tore her mouth from his with a cry. Oh, he liked that.