He yanked her hips back up without pausing in his assault. “Hold on to the headboard if you can’t take it.”
His arrogant demand did nothing to decrease her need; it might have even wrenched it higher. Wrapping her fingers around the wrought iron bars, she pushed back against him, finding the right angle and keeping it, until finally the climax rolled through her, sending her body into concentrated spasms of pleasure.
“Christ, this is all there is. This is everything,” he grated before thrusting one final time into her. His teeth bit into her shoulder with a growl as he came.
It took a moment for her to recover, eventually returning to reality when his arms circled her, pulling her upright and back against his chest. Softly, he kissed her shoulder where his teeth had been moments before and pulled her closer. He exhaled on a shaky breath and reached over to turn off the lamp, then lay them down together side by side.
A multitude of thoughts raced through her mind, but she didn’t give voice to a single one of them. She wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to begin even if she wanted to. Tonight, she’d gone home with someone she thought was an expert player, but she’d woken up next to someone else entirely. Someone she hadn’t been anticipating. The connection she’d felt, the response he’d wrung from her…she hadn’t been prepared for the depth of it.
Comforted by Daniel’s surrounding heat, she’d already started drifting toward sleep when she heard him whisper against her damp neck.
“Belong to me, Story. Even if it’s just for a little while.”
Chapter Eleven
In a flash of panic, Story looked down to ascertain whether or not she’d remembered to dress herself this morning. Jean shorts, check. T-shirt, check. Ignoring the curious look sent her way from the nurse’s station, she turned down the hallway toward Jack’s room.
After walking the entire twelve blocks to Lenox Hill Hospital only to realize she didn’t remember one single detail about it, she counted herself lucky that she hadn’t been struck by a speeding cab or fallen down a manhole. She held a now-cold cup of coffee, of which she’d forgotten to take even one sip.
Scenes from the night before consumed her every thought, beginning with Daniel’s nightmare and ending with his whispered words in the darkness. And in between, a whole lot of “not safe for work” material that made her blush, even as a main participant. His mouth on her breasts, the forcefulness of his words, the panty ripping.
She knew that taking last night and filing it away, only to be thought of late at night, alone in a bubble bath, would be the smartest route to take. Maybe even confide in Hayden about her night with Daniel over a good bottle of wine. She should not, should not, want to do it again tonight and tomorrow and okay, now!
Somehow she’d ended up in bed with the man mothers warn their daughters to stay away from. The kind of man fathers go after with a shotgun, their sobbing daughters trailing behind them in a wedding dress. She should have stayed away, because now that she knew what all the fuss was about, she would never be satisfied with anything less. He’d blindsided her, ruined her, and addicted her in one single evening.
Unfortunately, after drawing her in with seductive touches and blunt promises, he’d revealed a completely different man underneath. One she couldn’t categorize quite so easily. Someone harboring secrets. Pain. But she needed to view her connection to Daniel for what it was. A healthy sexual attraction being indulged in by two consenting adults. She couldn’t mistake sexual attraction, albeit a powerful one, for anything beyond a physical craving.
Pausing in the hallway before she reached Jack’s door, Story pressed her hands to her cheeks, certain that thoughts of Daniel had stained them bright red. It didn’t help matters that every step she took reminded her where he’d been, where he’d touched. The jean shorts and T-shirt she’d apparently chosen to wear today felt too tight against her sensitized skin. Getting hold of her rampant thoughts needed to happen immediately, before she walked into her father’s hospital room and blurted, “I had the most mind-blowing sex of my life—of everyone’s life—with your protégé last night. Three cheers for me! Oh, and how are you feeling?”
So not the best way to greet your heart-attack-victim father.
This morning, she’d rolled over to find Daniel’s half of the bed empty, but full-blown panic mode was quickly averted when she’d looked on the bedside table to find a paper bag containing a box of condoms and a sleeve of peanut butter crackers, turning her insecure panic to laughter. Then, discovering a voice mail from him on her phone, she’d listened to it twice before even getting out of bed, his gravelly voice conjuring a delicious tug in her belly. And okay, maybe she’d listened to it three times instead of two.
Hey baby, I just left your place. I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked too pretty lying there… We have a training exercise all day in Jersey or else I’d still be in bed with you, gorgeous. You know that, right? I wouldn’t disappear like that without a reason. Not with you. I’ll talk to you soon… And the next time you fall asleep on me, you’ll wake up to find me licking those tan lines. That’s a promise, Story.
Despite the shiver of pleasure she got from Daniel’s gruff message, she’d felt a flicker of alarm over his words. He was already planning on a next time. God knows she wanted that, too, but where did it lead? Only days since her breakup, she’d barely gotten her head back on straight. For all she knew, her overwhelming craving for Daniel stemmed from the need for closure after Fisher kicked her to the curb.
God, the more she thought about this, the better a stiff drink sounded. At least her thoughts had made the blush flee her cheeks and she could now enter Jack’s room without worrying about last night showing on her face. She pushed off the wall and rounded the doorway into Jack’s room.
Seeing her enter, he turned off the miniature television suspended over the bed and tossed the remote onto the table. “Story.” He smiled broadly. “You look well today.”
“Uh, thanks!” Don’t vomit. “So do you. Although I’m told you’re still refusing to eat the hospital food. You know, there’s not always going to be a uniformed officer around to do your dirty work, bringing you corned beef sandwiches on the sly.”
“What? Who told you that?” He looked the picture of innocence.
She dropped into a chair and crossed her legs. “One of the nurses.”
“Which one? The cute one with the glasses?”
Story raised her eyebrows in response.
“I can’t believe she sold me out. I thought we had an understanding.”
“She understands you need to change your diet and get healthy or they won’t clear you to return to work.”
“I don’t need them to clear me.” Grumbling, he pushed himself up on the bed. “Hell, most of the time I’m talking into a headset, anyway. Not a lot of strenuous physical activity involved there.”
“Keywords being ‘most of the time.’ I seem to recall three years ago, you got close enough to a perpetrator that you dropped said headset and wrestled him to the ground. Jog any memories?”
Jack look
ed at her in silence for a moment. “Sure, I remember. Ex-Army Ranger suffering from PTSD barricaded himself inside a church in Staten Island. The question is, how do you know about it? I doubt it made the news in San Diego.”
Actually, she’d been following Jack’s career most of her life. In addition to writing a best-selling memoir about life as an NYPD hostage negotiator, which she’d read cover to cover, not a month went by that he wasn’t mentioned somewhere in the news. Oftentimes, it felt as though technology was the glue holding her relationship with her father together. No need to fill him in on that minor detail, however. She forced herself to nod. “I might have checked in on you once or twice. You know, we have this fancy new invention called the Internet. Makes it pretty easy.”
Jack snorted a laugh, looking down at his hands. “I might not have been around while you grew up, but I sure managed to pass on the smart-ass gene.” He turned serious then, somber eyes meeting hers across the room. “I’m sorry. About the way things worked out.”
Uncomfortable with his apology, she stood and paced to the window. She hadn’t intended to have this conversation, but now that it seemed unavoidable, she needed to give voice to the question that had always haunted her.
“Why did you stop coming to visit?”
Having been so young when her parents got divorced, she barely recalled the time they’d lived together in one house, as a family. When she’d grown slightly older, she could remember Jack flying to California once a year, usually around her birthday. He would take her to the beach, buy her something, ask about school. She’d looked forward to it with joyful anticipation. Then one year, he’d stopped coming. Lynette explained countless times how busy Jack was in New York and she’d tried to be happy with his phone calls on Christmas, but she always wondered if she’d caused his absence.
Jack blew out a breath. “Well, Story. I honestly don’t have a good enough answer for you. Not that I haven’t had ample time to prepare one.” He lifted a hand and let it fall. “You were so young. Every time I came and left, it confused you further. Once I missed one year, it just never felt right going back.”