Searching for Beautiful(129)

In a flash, she recognized the thin line between pain and pleasure, survival and death. The choppy emotions were too much and he needed an outlet, something to hang on to and fight for. He needed something good and pure and real to replace the horror. Frantic to pull him back from the place where the demons lived, she surrendered to instinct.

“You don’t have to keep it together.” She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled. Pressed against him, feeling each muscle and the damp sweat glistening on his skin, she spoke fiercely against his lips. “I’m the one who loves you. Use me instead.”

Lust flared to life. He tried to push her away, but she clung to him like a wild thing, sensing the wall between them ready to crumble. “No, I’ll hurt you.”

She sank her teeth into his lip and dug her nails into his scalp. “Good. Fuck me. Take me. I’m already yours. This is what’s real, and good.” A low groan escaped him, and he grabbed her, hitching her high up so her legs wrapped around his waist. His breath came out in choppy gasps.

“Gen—”

“Right here, right now, with us. This is beautiful. Use me and remember that.” She took his mouth, pushing her tongue deep inside, drowning in the musky, heavenly taste of pure man. His whole body shook like he was held in the grip of a fever, and then he was kissing her back, chaining her to him with arms like iron bands.

They drank, feasted, writhed, the hunger driving them higher and faster. He staggered a few steps, placing her down on the weight bench, and ripped off her shirt. She grabbed his shoulders, arching, accepting the bite of his teeth on her nipples, the deep sucking of his mouth, the flick of his tongue. Ripping off her pajama bottoms, she lay naked and open on the bench. Tugging down his shorts, she wrapped her fingers around his erection and squeezed tight, wringing curses from his lips, scraping her nails over his balls until he pushed her back on the bench.

“Spread your legs. Hang on to the bar.”

She obeyed, desperate to give him everything she had. He lined up so he towered over her naked body, his hands cupping her breasts, his dick paused at her entrance. She felt swollen and needy, as if the first thrust of him inside would make her come.

“You’re mine.”

He drove in deep. She cried out as his piercing hit the magical spot. “Oh, God.”

He did it again. Grasped her knees and forced her up higher, so each slide in and out merged such intense pleasure it bordered on pain, and she tried to wriggle away. “Too much.”

“Not enough.”

Another thrust. Faster. Harder. Deeper. She shook her head but he refused her retreat, forcing her to accept all of him, the slap of their bodies and the frantic movements growing more urgent, sending her up so high she didn’t think she could ever get back down.

“Wolfe!”

“Come. Come for me, Gen.”

The orgasm milked every muscle in her body, squeezing mercilessly so her scream splintered the air and got smothered by his lips over hers. Her hips jerked helplessly as he spilled his seed inside, following her over, and the spasms kept going on and on and on . . .

She didn’t even realize she was crying until the deep sobs spilled from her lips. He murmured soothing words and scooped her up into his arms, cradling her while she cried for the boy he was, and the pain he endured, and the devastating way she loved him more than anyone in the world.

She cried for him, and for her, and the fear that tonight still wouldn’t be enough for him to love her the way she needed.

He held her for a long time. Finally, when she calmed, he led her back upstairs, tucked her into bed, and climbed in with her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her tight against him. She lifted his battered, scarred wrists to her lips and gently kissed them.

They slept.


HE WAS GONE.

Gen rolled over and stared at the wall. The morning light crept in. He’d made love to her two more times last night, transcending the physical. They’d entwined tight into each other’s souls, so close they were no longer individuals but burned together as one.

She’d never be the same. Never love someone the way she did Wolfe. Last night could’ve been the beginning of a new chapter. One where friendship was forged into love and a relationship to grow with.

Instead, Gen sensed last night was his final good-bye.

Slowly, she sat up. She winced at the slight bruises on her body, but no pain compared to the one in her broken heart. The scent of sex and musk rose to her nostrils. Somehow she had to find a way to reach him, or she would be forced to make the only decision left.

Give up on him.

Gen showered and dressed, making her way to the kitchen. Julietta juggled the baby on her hip, a spatula in her hand and the phone tucked beneath her ear. A rapid stream of Italian flew through the air: “Sono sulla mia strada. Rimanere li.” She threw the phone down. “Che idiota! Why must I deal with stubborn men?”