At the same time she heard the levelness in his tone and understood that his body might be growing hard, but his mind was still not affected.
“I suppose this is an affair then,” she said, feeling him give a small start of surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not a relationship with a future. It’s going to serve a purpose then end with neither of us calling or texting. You’re right. I haven’t had a lot of lovers and they’ve mostly been hit and runs. That’s why I don’t date much. I hate the part when I’m left feeling used. That’s why I don’t want to kiss you right now. I’ll just feel dirty after.”
“Ah, cara, you are very naive,” he said with a gentle laugh. “You’re in a position to use me. Stop being so nice and do it. You’ll feel terrific.”
She gave him her profile, staring into the dark, angry that he made being nice sound like a character flaw. Angry that her life had been destroyed. Angry that there was no substance to what was going on between them. She was an object. Nothing real or important. This was how her mother had felt all the time.
A self-destructive impulse rose and she tossed her hair as she looked up at him.
“Fine. We’ll kiss.”
It was too dark to tell whether his brief hesitation was surprise or something else, but his hand moved to cup her cheek and he bent, capturing her mouth in a firm, hungry possession without a lead-up. No delay.
Because they were lovers, she reminded herself as excitement tore through her veins. According to the illusion they were projecting, they were familiar enough with each other to throw themselves into a passionate kiss without preamble.
Heart pounding, she returned his kiss with all the emotions roiling in her. Fury, mostly. She let her hand go to the short hairs at the back of his neck and increased the pressure, drawing him down to her, hurting herself with the way she mashed her mouth against his, liable to leave both of them bruised as she scraped her teeth against his lips in punishment for all that he’d done to her. For all that the world was doing to her.
He grunted and his hand went low on her back, pressing into her bottom to pull her tighter into him, fingertips flagrantly tracing the line between her cheeks.
She didn’t protest. She shuffled closer, shoving herself aggressively into his frame, like they were combatants. She moved her hand to take a fistful of his hair, hoping his scalp stung while she moved her lips under his, mouth burning with avid, angry friction.
With another gruff noise, he lifted his head, let her catch one breath, then closed his arms more tightly around her, swooping into a deep, dominant kiss, tongue spearing boldly into her mouth.
Her reaction might have been frightening to her if she wasn’t so close to exploding. She needed this outlet, this contained space of banded arms keeping her from flying apart. She fought letting him take over as long as she could, flicking at his tongue with hers, trying to make him break, but he was too strong willed. Way stronger than her.
With a little sob, she finally capitulated, softening and letting him take control.
Her reward was a wash of delirious pleasure. Suddenly she felt what this kiss was doing to her. Her blood was hot, her erogenous zones sensitized and singing. His body seemed to envelop hers in sexual need. She was so steeped in desire, her knees folded.
She would have gone anywhere with him in that moment. Would have let him do anything. She wanted him to cover her and push inside her and take her to a place where nothing could touch her.
His assertiveness eased. His hand moved soothingly over her back. His damp lips tenderly caressed hers until they broke apart to gasp for air. He tucked her head under his jaw and held her ear against his pounding heart.
She rested there, trying to catch her breath, listening to his heart slam, feeling like she’d been running and now the ache of exertion was catching up to her.
He was hard, she realized, and she panged again with longing for this to be real, for them to make love so she could lose herself in mindless pleasure. She ought to find his desire threatening, she thought. Or offensive maybe. She didn’t move away from pressing against him, though, liking that evidence of his reaction even if it was strictly physiological. She stayed in that little cave of safety his arms provided, face pressed to his shirt, body sheltered from the wind by his broader one.
And she started to cry.
There was no stopping it this time. It wasn’t a grand storm, just a slow leak of tears that grew into a steady, unstoppable flow. Her control surrendered to exhaustion, like a drowning victim letting go and sinking beneath the surface. She clung with limp arms and leaned her weight into him as pulsing waves of suffering rocked her.