Written in the Scars(28)

He drops his grip on my wrist and clenches my hips with both hands. His lips are unrelenting, working mine with such precision, such skill, that it’s all I can do to follow along.

And really, it’s all I want to do.

Our kisses grow quicker, our breathing more labored. My head is spinning, shouting at me to stop the madness. My body, my heart, lobbying in tandem to stay put because this is where I’m supposed to be.

I can’t process the arguments. All I can do is fall into an easy rhythm, be played like an instrument in the hands of the man that knows it like the back of his hand. A man that’s played it a million times, that’s crafted how it plays by his touch.

My fingers find the back of his hair and I lace them through his wet locks. He growls against my lips, the heat of his breath tingling my mouth and eliciting a fire between my thighs.

His fingers dig into my hips, his body pressing mine into the wall. The intensity of the contact at every level makes me desperate for more.

Ignoring the tick of my subconscious that tries to remind me why I shouldn’t be here, my hands hurriedly find the hem of his shirt. It’s wet and heavy, and when my skin touches the defined lines of his abdomen, we both flinch.

My fingertips skirt his chiseled torso, his body rolling against my skin, itching for connection the same as me. In a swift movement, I find the waistband of his jeans and frantically undo the button. The zipper slips down over his hardened cock.

“Ah,” I moan as his lips finally leave mine and work their way to the skin just below my ear.

Before I can register it, my shirt is up and over my head.

“Fuck, E,” he breathes as he takes in my nude body. “Damn, baby.”

“Ty,” I whisper, my voice barely heard over the storm raging outside. It’s no match for the explosion happening inside me.

His eyes never leave mine as he slips off his shoes and jeans. I watch, pinned to the spot by the words he’s telling me without saying anything at all.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he whispers as the light in the bedroom flickers and the power goes off.

My hands shake as I reach for him in the darkness. He takes my hand mid-air, like he knew where I’d be, and guides me to him. Our bodies press together, skin to skin, our hearts thumping at the same frenzied pace.

“God,” he mutters, holding me tight against him.

“Ty?”

“Yeah?” he asks as his fingers stroke my back.

The war raging inside me tears me in half. For once in my life, I go not with what makes sense, but what makes me feel better.

This time, just this once, I’m going to give in. After this, I know what I’ll have to do and it’s been a long time coming.

I take a deep, shaky breath and go for it. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”





TY

The security light kicks on at the end of the hall, a soft glow that illuminates the woman in front of me. She watches me, her chest rising and falling quickly, her eyes wild even in the dimness. She looks so fucking beautiful.

Her hair is in a wild knot at the top of her head, her cheeks pink. Although I loved seeing her in my t-shirt and hope that means she was thinking of me, I love her more like this: bared, just for me.

It takes a split second for her words to sink in, and once they do, the fire in my gut is stoked into a raging inferno. Stalking the minimal distance between us that feels like a canyon, I pin her to the wall. My hands are on either side of her head, my cock pressed against her belly.

A small, quick intake of breath escapes her lips as she feels how hard I am.

“Feel that?” I ask, my lips brushing across her cheek.

She hums, tilting her neck so my lips find the crook of her neck. I drag the pad of my tongue against her skin, tasting the sweetness beaded from the anticipation of what’s to come.

She takes my left hand off the wall, dropping the back of it onto her shoulder, and with her hand wrapped around my wrist, trails it slowly down her chest, over her breasts. Her nipples are stiff, wanting to be sucked, and my cock throbs at the thought.

My rough hand draws down her smooth torso, gliding over her belly button. Her back arches off the wall, her eyes floating closed as a soft moan escapes her lips. I let her stay in control.

My hand is twisted so the palm is centered over the apex of her thighs. She takes one of my fingers and presses it against the opening of her pussy.

“Feel that?” she moans.

“Fuck.” She’s soaking wet for me, her body begging for my attention. I flatten my palm against her body, cupping her pussy. Two fingers press firmly against her opening, and I watch her head fall back against the wall. “Feel good?”

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t have to. I know how to work this woman better than I can work myself.