“I won’t,” I promised. And I wouldn’t.
But my heart ached for Derek. The more I learned about him, the more I realized that the problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he wanted, the problem was that he did know—he just didn’t like it. He didn’t want to want it. It wasn’t right in his eyes, it wasn’t natural, it wasn’t perfect. But he couldn’t make it stop.
It explained why he’d done what he did last night in the kitchen, and why he ran away afterward. It explained his excuses this morning. It explained why he said he hated himself.
I wished I could help him, but I had no idea how.
When we pulled into Derek’s driveway, I said goodnight to Ellen and thanked her again.
“Thank you,” she said. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I’d have to figure out how to take public transportation, so Derek and Ellen didn’t have to drive me everywhere. Maybe I could do that tomorrow. “See you then.”
I let myself into the house with the key Derek had given me this afternoon. All the lights were off downstairs, and the house was silent. After locking the front door behind me, I went upstairs, stepping softly to avoid making noise. Derek probably had to get up early for work, and it was nearly midnight. His bedroom door was closed.
What had he done tonight? Had he eaten dinner alone? Watched television? Worked? I thought about what Ellen had said, that maybe he was lonely, and wondered if it was true. Could someone as handsome and kind and sexy as Derek really be lonely? It didn’t seem possible.
After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and got in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My brain was buzzing with everything I’d learned. I reached for the lamp and turned it on, then picked up my notebook and pen, scribbling for ten minutes about what Ellen had told me and how I felt about it. Mostly what I felt was sorry and helpless. Derek was doing so much for me, and my staying here at his house could not be easy for him. Not only was I a constant reminder of something he wanted to forget, but if he wanted me half as badly as I wanted him, it was torture knowing we were only separated by one hallway and two closed doors.
When I was done, I put the notebook and pen back in the drawer and turned off the lamp.
Two minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
Nineteen
DEREK
Madness. It was madness inside me.
The way I wanted him. The way I needed him. The way I’d lain awake for hours thinking of him and promising myself I’d stay away.
It was madness that had me clutching at the sheets, as if they’d anchor me to the bed. It was madness that had me growing hard as I listened to him take a shower. It was madness that had me getting out of bed, opening my bedroom door, moving through the darkness like a ghost. It was madness telling me to knock, to seek out the truth, to know for sure.
What else could it be? When I’d left Gage’s earlier, I’d been resolute—nothing good could come of being with Maxim again. Nothing.
And yet here I was at his bedroom door, my heart pounding, my adrenaline rushing, my cock aching with need.
He opened it.
Rushing forward, I grabbed his head and brought my face close to his. “I can’t forget it,” I growled. “And I don’t fucking want to.”
Then I savagely claimed his mouth with mine, plunging my tongue between his full, firm lips, desperate to get inside him any way I could. He kissed me back just as hard, his hands stealing to my waist, sliding around to my lower back. It drove me crazy to think of his hands on my skin—strong, solid, masculine hands that would grab and pull and punish.
“Goddamn you,” I whispered, walking him deeper into the room. “Goddamn you for doing this to me.” Grabbing one of his hands, I put it over my cock, painfully hard and thick inside my pants. “Goddamn you for making me want more.”
“Let me give it to you.” He tried to reach inside my pants, but I pushed his hand away.
“No. Not this time.” There were things I wanted, and if I let Maxim get his hands and mouth on me, this would be over before it began. I wanted him to feel exposed this time. “I want to see you naked.”
He shoved down the boxer briefs he wore and stepped out of them. Immediately I put my hand on his cock, groaning at the hot, heavy length of it. He got even harder as I stroked him, and feeling him swell and surge inside my fist had blood pounding through me. He moved closer to me, his mouth traveling down my neck, his tongue warm and wet on my throat. I gripped him tighter, pulled at him faster. When he moaned, I felt the sound move through my body, and all of me vibrated with wanting him, as if my veins were live wires.
“What else?” He slipped his fingertips inside the waist of my pants. “What else do you want?”
“I want to touch you. Everywhere.” I let my hands roam over hard muscle and hot skin, barely suppressing the animal urge inside me to throw him on the bed and satisfy this fucking insatiable hunger gnawing at my insides. I dragged my lips and teeth and tongue over him, kissing his collarbone, biting his shoulder, licking his neck. I couldn’t get enough of the way he smelled—no flowery perfumes, no fruity lotions, nothing false or fake or feminine. Just the clean, masculine scent of soap and skin.
He untied the drawstring of my pants, and they pooled at my feet. His mouth sought mine as his hands slid down over my ass. As his tongue stroked between my lips, he squeezed my flesh and pulled me against him, trapping our erections between us. My breath caught, a growl rumbling deep in my chest as he rocked his hips, rubbing his bare cock against mine. I slid my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. The friction between us had my thigh muscles clenching, a firestorm building deep in the center of my body.
My God, was this really happening? I had to see it. Breaking the kiss, I looked down at the juncture where our bodies touched. It fascinated me—two male torsos, tight and firm and lined with muscle and veins; two thick, hard cocks standing at attention, darker than the skin on our abdomens—and I reached between us. A strangled sound escaped Maxim as I wrapped us both in one fist and moved my hand up and down, exactly like I’d jerk myself off, but a thousand times hotter because it was both of us. Our breathing was ragged and rough, and his fingers were digging into my sides. I imagined him leaving bruises, and it thrilled me. Yes. Leave your mark.