He deserved more.
This kiss he is controlling is everything I remember. Nothing has changed. Still the best damn set of lips I’ve ever had in my life, and my heart swells even larger as he continues to drink from me.
I become dizzy when Ladd abruptly tears himself away, his large hands moving to the sides of my head. He bends down almost nose to nose, eyes boring into mine. “Do you want this? Do you want more?”
“Yes.” I want everything he could ever to give me.
Anger flashes across his face, and I think he might push me away. “I shouldn’t give it to you. I should make you suffer, so you can have a taste of what I felt when you pushed me out of your life.”
It’s such a slap in the face that he doesn’t get how much pain I experienced, but I can’t be angry with him.
“I suffered too, Ladd,” I murmur.
If I expected a small measure of understanding from him that perhaps I was just as hurt as he was, I don’t get it. His expression remains bitter, and I know this will go nowhere.
Probably for the best.
But to my surprise, he kisses me again.
This time, it’s deeper, more frenzied, and his hands move from my face to my ass where he uses his brawny strength to pick me up. My legs wrap around his waist, and he walks me into the bedroom without ever removing his mouth from mine.
His intent is clear.
This is a recipe for something that could be disastrous. At a minimum, this might be a hate fuck. Not on my end, of course. I’m still madly in love with him, as much now as I was when we broke up. But he’s never forgiven me, so whatever he’s going to give me now is purely physical with no emotion attached.
I’ll accept that. I deserve no more.
Which is why I’m stunned beyond any understanding when Ladd sets me down and gentles his kiss. He takes his time undressing me, in between feathering his lips over the parts of my body that he reveals. Once I’m naked, he pushes me to the bed and treats me to a beautiful exhibition as he takes off his clothes. He’s angled slightly to the left when he removes his shirt, and my breath hitches at seeing his infinity symbol tattoo on his shoulder. I’d wondered if he’d kept it or would he have obliterated it from his body. Mine seems to tingle in recognition, which is ludicrous. We don’t have a connection anymore.
We only have this.
Neither of us says a word. I’m terrified it will send him running, and he probably has nothing good to say.
Ladd removes a condom from his wallet, and I try to school my features so as not to give away the pain that causes me. To know he’s casual about intimacy these days and carries one with him. Ladd and I were stupid the first time we had sex, madly fucking against the wall. Neither of us worried about STDs or birth control, and we lucked out that we’d each been careful in our prior sex lives.
But twelve years has passed. I don’t know much about this man anymore except one very important thing: if he was involved with someone else right now—perhaps the woman I saw pregnant with his child ten years ago—he would not be in this room with me tonight. I know in the depths of my soul Ladd would never cheat.
He crawls onto the bed, covering my body with his. I could never count the number of times we’ve been in this position before, my legs spreading naturally to accommodate him. He is a giving lover, no matter what his feelings deep down may be for me, and he treats me with care and reverence. His hands are gentle, fingers delicately probing. He is, as always, the adventurous man, and he knows all the spots to drive me crazy. It is only when he has me writhing and begging and pleading that he drives into me with commanding force. I call out, the sudden fullness in the beauty of the connection I have missed for over a decade.
The connection I’ve longed for, and dream to have again with him.
He gives me no time to accommodate his invasion but starts a slow, rhythmic pumping of his hips against mine. He’s a large man, but my body remembers him. It stretches and forms and accepts him deep inside.
Pressing his forearms to the mattress, he manages to keep most of his weight off me so I’m not smothered. His mouth moves against mine as he makes love to me.
But it’s not love.
Not really.
This certainly didn’t turn into the hate fuck I thought it would be, but this is nothing but mutual pleasure. At least for Ladd.