“I need you,” he groaned, dropping his head against her chest, his breathing labored. “But I need to know what you want. Tell me. Tell me, Imogen.”
She felt a sob in her throat and shook her head, but even then, she was reaching for him, drawing his mouth back up to hers. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what we are and I don’t know …”
“Me neither,” he kissed her gently now. “But I know it’s right. I know this feels better than anything I’ve ever done.”
She nodded, because that was exactly how it was for her, too. Something was pulling them together, binding them, and it had done so from the moment they’d met. “Take me to bed,” she whispered, and then she smiled, because the words were a key and somehow they opened a door to
confidence and certainty. “Take me to bed, now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Theo pushed through the door, kissing her, needing her, pushing at her shirt, balling it in his fists and lifting it up her body as he eased her to the ground. He pushed it over her head, and groaned as he buried his head in the valley between her breasts.
She smelled like vanilla and memory. It kicked him hard in the side as flashes of familiarity played at the edges of his mind. And along with it, the sense that he was coming home. His fingers ran over the lace fabric of her bra, finding her hardened nipples and grazing them with his thumb until she cried out. “God, I need this.”
His laugh was hoarse and he nodded, reaching around and unclipping her bra, freeing her breasts. They were round and filled his palms; her warmth spread through him.
“I told you this would be better than last time, but Hell, agape, I don’t know if I can take this slow.”
“Don’t. Don’t tease me. Give me everything,” she begged, pushing at her jeans and stepping out of them at the same time. Her underwear was sensible white cotton, nothing high-end nor seductive about it, but to Theo it was the sexiest damned fabric he’d ever seen. He gripped the sides in the palm of his hand and pulled it, pushing his hands inside and cupping her arse as he lifted her back up, wrapping her legs around him and finding a wall to push her against.
She swore softly into the kiss and he tasted the word and understood its desperation.
“Yeah,” he grunted in acknowledgement, and now, with her pinned to the wall, he took one of her breasts into his mouth, rolling her nipple and sucking the sweet pinkness of her, grinding his arousal against her, holding her right against him.
“Please,” she cried out, arching her back and he understood. He got her desperation.
He carried her to the leather armchair at the foot of his bed and stood her on it, but when he let go she wobbled and then laughed as he righted her around the waist.
He didn’t laugh. He caught her underwear again and grazed it down her legs; they were smooth and soft and more memories flooded him. His eyes latched to hers and he leaned forward and kissed her inner-thigh, somehow just knowing it drove her wild.
He was rewarded with the sound of her gasping and her fingers knotting in her hair and he knew what she needed. He lifted his mouth higher, dragging it along the soft, creamy flesh of her thigh towards the apex of curls at the top of her legs. His tongue slid across her skin and her knees buckled, so that she would have crumpled if his fingers hadn’t dug into her hips holding her steady. He held her as he kissed her, as his tongue found her sensitive cluster of nerves and tormented them, flicking against them, lashing them with promises of a pleasure he intended to deliver over and over and over again.
His own need to possess her was pushed deeper inside of him, because pleasuring her was making his whole soul float. The keening noises escaping from her throat were drums, beating hard and fast. He felt her tense and she cried out louder; he didn’t stop. He held her closer, so that his whole mouth could find her sweet sensitivities and he tormented them until she was quivering against him, her skin covered in a fine sheen of moisture.
Her fingers pulled at his hair and he smiled, stepping far enough away to see her. Her cheeks were flushed pink but there was a look of embarrassment in her face and he ached to wipe it away.
And knew of only one way to do that.
He pushed his boxers away, discarding them quickly, and then made a motion with his finger, indicating that she should step down and join him. The shyness lingered in her eyes even as she did as he said, gracefully planting her feet on the ground and stepping forward, until their bodies were almost touching.
“You drive me crazy,” he said thickly, pushing himself forward so that proof of his need was hard against her. “You know that?”
She nodded, but her eyes were huge and he kissed her then, showing her how badly he wanted her. She pressed her body to his, almost gluing it against him, and then, she pulled him, her hands on his hips creating a cascade of motion that saw them tumbling onto the bed, all limbs and desire. He fell on top of her but she pushed up, rolling them, so that he was on his back and she was straddling him.
“You remember this?” She asked, and there was a look of intensity in her face that spoke of her need. Her need for him, yes, but for the memories to return, more so. And if they were lost forever, to recreate them. “You loved this.” She dipped her head lower, kissing the dip in his throat, pressing her tongue to his pulse point then dragging her mouth lower, tasting his hair-roughened chest, the saltiness of perspiration that rolled her gut.
“I love everything about this,” he said seriously.
“Especially this?” And she sat higher before bringing herself down, taking him deep inside her heart, welcoming him with a low, guttural groan. It was as primal as he remembered, and better than anything he’d ever known.
“Especially this,” he threw his head back, grabbing her hips and holding her hard against him, keeping himself deep inside of her, so deep he was squeezed by all her muscles as she remembered his length and girth.
The world shifted.
Everything moved.
Heaven, hell. The oceans. Gravity. The very core of existence was blown away.
Theo felt it and he damned well knew Imogen did too. And recognition of just how right this was gave way to a sort of impossible rage. How had ever walked away from her? From this? And how had she let him?