“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you here?” he said against her open lips. “How many times I’ve pictured you in my bed?”
Her lashes fluttered down, her mouth soft and exploring, making his head spin. “I wanted it to be me. When you were pleasuring yourself. I wanted to be the one touching you.”
“I wanted it to be you too,” he rasped. “So much so it hurt.” God, had it hurt.
One slim hand held on to his shoulder, the other hand stroking, pulling. He was silent, his eyes closed, just feeling. Feeling her hand love his flesh, explore it with bolder touches. Stroking.
Hands stroking. Always so gentle at first. Coercing, teasing. Cold sliced through him, twisting his guts. No, not now. Not here. And still he shuddered sickly, his mouth watering with nausea. His hands left her, found the sheet, and gripped tight. No. Not with her.
She knew, had to have felt his panic, for she stopped, her hand sliding to his hip. Hell, he hated the relief that coursed through him when she let go.
“Jack?”
He took a shaking breath and faced her. Concern was there, and understanding. He could not stand seeing himself reflected in her gold gaze.
The steady warmth of her palm at his hip seeped into his bones as she spoke. “I don’t have to touch you.”
“I want you to touch me.” His voice broke, weak and pathetic thing that he was. He sucked in another breath. “I need you to touch me. It’s… I closed my eyes and—” Hell. He didn’t want to say it.
But she knew. Of course she knew. She saw far too much of him. “Look at me, Jack.”
He could never refuse her.
She was beautiful. She’d always been lovely, but affection and tenderness transformed her into the most beautiful woman he’d ever see. Their gazes locked as her hand wrapped once more around him, giving him a little squeeze. Blood rushed back to his cock. It swelled and filled her hand as if it belonged there.
She stroked him, a long, assured glide. He grunted, his balls drawing up tight and his body going hot. Her eyes watched him. “Feels good?”
“Yes. God, yes.” His breath fractured.
Another stroke, down, then up, her thumb gliding over his swollen head. He grunted, arching into the touch.
She kept at it, steady, deliberate. “Look at what I’m doing to you, Jack.”
The sight of her slim, elegant hand wrapped around him, her skin so pale against his ruddy flesh, had him shivering, swelling harder.
“This is us, Jack,” she said as she worked him. “You and I, this is what we create.”
A choked, broken sound left him, and he burrowed his head in the crook of her neck. “Mary. Mary.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer. His body felt like cold stone, save where she touched him. Dully, his heart thudded against his ribs. “For however long you’ll have me, Mary. Whatever it takes.”
He wasn’t coherent, he knew. Yet she understood. Her breathy, tender reply felled him. “I suppose I’ll be keeping you then, Jack Talent.”
Her slim arm wrapped about his waist, and the soft mounds of her breasts pressed into his side. Lightly she traced a finger down the groove that divided his abdomen, the touch making him shiver.
“Why?” he croaked. When she first arrived, he’d expected her to rail at him about the apples, perhaps chastise him for violating her privacy, then go on her way, leaving him alone.
“Because, Jack Talent, I can no more live without you than you can without me.”
A shuddering breath left him, and he pulled her closer, tucking her half under him. “I don’t understand.”
“You always think too much, Jack.” Her voice was low, her fingers still exploring, gently soothing him. “Did you honestly believe that I wouldn’t find you worthy?”
Jack drew back to look down at her. He tried to speak and failed. Because she knew him, knew how broken he was. Shame over his cowardliness hit him. All this time he’d been afraid to confess to her, but in truth, it wasn’t simply the confession, it was the belief that she wouldn’t have him regardless.
“It’s all right,” she said again, then placed a small, light kiss on his chest. “Broken or whole, I will always want you.”
A choked breath burst from him, and he fell over her, his face burrowing against her soft breasts as he clutched her hips. “I love you.” He wound his arms about her, crushing her surely. He couldn’t let go. “I love you. Always. Constantly. Completely. With everything—” And then he could speak no more.
Mary wrapped her arms about Jack’s broad shoulders and held him as he held her. She could not help but marvel at how good he felt in her arms, his solid strength against her, surrounding her with his warmth.