Stirring Attraction(42)

Her right hand rested on the door and her left held the towel’s closure, nestled between her breasts. The faded scars, the healed wounds from where he’d sliced her forearms, stared back at him. Dozens of small cuts intended for her beautiful face. His anger welled. And he wanted to tear apart the man sitting in a Salem jail cell. How could anyone hurt her? His Lily? So beautiful, so sweet . . .

“Dominic?”

He lifted his gaze and met her blue eyes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t answer. I thought you might”—­need me—­“be waiting for me somewhere in the back.” Afraid.

“I was getting ready.”

He stole a glance at her toes. Bright pink polish caught the light. Knowing that she’d painted her nails for him . . . yeah, his need to get inside had nothing to do with worrying if she was having a panic attack.

“For you,” she added, drawing his attention up her towel-­clad body to her mouth. A smile teased her lips. “But thank you.”

“For trying to break into your house?”

“For coming back to me.”

“I’m not running away from you.” He moved closer and raised his arm. He placed his hand above hers on the door.

“Not tonight you aren’t.” She stepped back and tugged on the top of the white towel, pulling it free. It fell, forming a pool at her feet. “Would you like to come in, Dominic?”

Desire roared through him. But he held on to the damn door. When he let it go, when he unleashed his need to take her, claim her, make her his again, hell, he hoped this house could take it.

He let himself look at her, really look, now before he pulled her close. He remembered her soft curves, the feel of her skin. The four-­inch line on her right side—­that was new. And while it was healing like the others, it had cut deeper.

He moved on, taking in the swell of her hips, the blond curls he’d explored earlier, her thighs—­

“Dominic?” she asked softly as she shifted her weight and raised her arms, crossing them in front of her naked chest. “I know I’m not the same—­”

“I love how every inch of you looks and I always have.” He walked in, slamming the door behind him. He placed his hands on her hips and kept moving, backing her up against the wall. The archway leading to the living room stood to his left. The couch. The coffee table. But he couldn’t wait. He wanted her here. Now.

He ran his hand down over her hips. “I’m crazy about your curves. Always have been.”

His palms glided over her ass to her thighs. He lifted her up and her limbs obeyed, wrapping around him like they belonged right there clinging to him. He pressed her back against the bare surface, pinning her there as he slipped one hand down and withdrew the condom he’d slipped into his pocket earlier. He tore the packet open with his teeth. Then he reached down between them, freed his aching dick from his shorts, and covered himself.

“I love you just like this.” He ran his thumb over her clit, down lower. One swift stroke. And then he thrust into her. He gave her a second to adjust. But he couldn’t wait. Her legs tightened around him and he began to thrust.

“Just.” He pressed deeper. “Like.” He withdrew an inch and then another. “This.” And he flexed his hips. “Lily.”

HE CAME BACK.

Lily squeezed her thighs and dug her heels into the back of his shorts, still covering his ass. Her hand clawed at his T-­shirt. If she’d known, if she’d suspected they’d end up here, she would have demanded that he strip on the porch. She didn’t care if the neighbors saw. They probably already hated her for leaving the floodlights on.

But she’d started to wonder if he’d left already. It was only a matter of time . . .

He thrust harder, faster, and the wall at her back trembled. She tried to focus on the slide of his cock, the feel of his hands holding her legs as if it was nothing. Head back, eyes closed, she tried to hold tight to the moment.

But his desire roared like a beast that had burst in determined to awaken her own need.

“Do me a favor,” he growled. “Hold your breasts.”

He drew back and watched as she raised her hands to her chest and cupped the bouncing flesh. Her palms brushed her nipples as he pressed his cock home.

If only he considered this home, the place he belonged. . .

“That’s it,” he murmured as he reached between them.

His other hand still supported her bottom. And his body pinned her to the wall, rocking back and forth, but never leaving her room to fall. She heard a wine bottle tumble off the rack that shared this stretch of wall in the living room.

“We’re making a mess,” she whispered.