In my mind’s eye, I see us standing next to the bed, her in the dress she wore to the Chris and Sara Merit gallery event, me in the same blue suit I have yet to fully remove. She’d just kicked off her shoes, finally coming down from the high of selling her art, her body calming. Me, I’d been reveling in her in my bed, and in our vow that “possibilities” were the new hard rule we’d follow.“I’m completely wiped out,” she’d confessed. “I think you are going to wish I was someone else tonight.”
Those words had jolted me, and I cupped her head and pulled her to me.“What did you say?” I’d demanded, but I didn’t give her time to reply. “That came from someplace I’d most likely name as Macom,” I’d said of her ex, whom I already knew used sex as a weapon against her. “I’m not him,” I’d continued. “And we are more than the sum of how many times we manage to fuck each other. And for the record. To repeat what I’ve already said. I don’t want anyone else.”
Her lashes lowered. “I think that was possibly the most perfect thing you could say to me right now.”
And in that moment, I’d remembered her comment about Macom competing with her, and I’d decided that Faith thinks her success comes with punishment. A problem I needed to fix. Ineedto fix. I had intentionally put her to bed without touching her. I come back to the present, to her mouth on my cock, pleasure with every stroke, pump, and lick, and I am so damn hard and close to release. I want it. Holy hell, I want it so fucking badly, and I have no doubt that she would take me to absolute completion and rock my world. But this, what we are doing right now, and why we are doing it, is exactly what Ididn’twant tonight to be for her or us.
Suddenly, my orgasm doesn’t matter, no matter how close I am to heaven, or sweet Jesus, how damn good it would be. “Faith,” I say, and despite my determination and intention to end this, her name comes out a pained near-growl. “Stop.” I slip my fingers from her hair, and cup the sides of her head. “Stop, Faith. Sweetheart. Stop.” She stills, as if the words and my touch finally penetrate her brain, and pulls her mouth slowly back until it’s no longer on my cock. But her hand still grips my erection, and I swear just the idea of removing it is torture.
Confusion flits across her beautiful, desire-laden expression, and I pull her to her feet and to me, my hand at the back of her head. “I’ve decided that your mouth on my cock is the best thing in this world, outside of my mouth on you while you come for me, and because of me.”
“Then why did you stop me?”
“Because you were on your knees for all the wrong reasons, sweetheart. I don’t need this to be with you, and that’s what you thought, wasn’t it?”
“You needed something. You were watching me.”
“And wondering how the hell it felt so fucking good just to watch you,” I say, relieved to speak the truth, and it is the truth. “Like I said. We are not the sum of how many times or ways we fuck, and that’s new territory for me. I’m trying to figure it out.”
“I’m trying to figure all this out, too,” she confesses.
“Does that mean you like being in my bed?”
“I like many things about you, Nick Rogers, that I didn’t expect to like, but yes. I do.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” I promise, scooping her up in my arms, her gorgeous, naked body pressed to mine. She is so tiny, and yet she’s seized my world in gigantic proportions, in ways I never thought any woman capable.
I stop at the side of the bed, setting her down on the mattress, and to ensure my control stays firmly intact, I adjust my cock back inside my pants. And I did so, just in time considering, she’s now scooted across the bed, and rolled to her side, to prop up on one elbow. Her breasts displayed, the curve of her waist, the rise of her hip, sexy as hell, and I’m hard as nails all over again. I toe-off my shoes and slide into bed with her, pulling the covers over us, and before she can protest, I’m turning her back to my front and pulling her close. And just the feel of her next to me, the sweet amber scent of her, consumes my senses, in every right way. The truth is this woman is everything I’ve known right in this world.
“Nick,” she says softly.
“Yes Faith?”
“Why are you not naked with me?”
“If I do that I’ll end up inside you.”
“And that’s bad why?”
“Because,” I say. “Tonight, I really want you to know that I see the beautiful, talented part of you, not just your body.”
She gives an insistent tug and twist, rotating to face me, her fingers curling on my chest. “If there is anyone in my life that I believe sees beyond the surface, it’s you.”
“And yet you thought I was upset because we didn’t fuck tonight,” I say. “Which means you don’t trust me, or us, yet.”
“It’s not about you,” she says, “or us. It’s about my own baggage that I wish didn’t exist.” She touches my cheek. “But whatever the case. I told you. I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”
“And I told you,” I say, “I know that, but the more evident that becomes, the more I seem to want to be that for you. And I don’t do the knight routine.”
“Well then, if you are going in that direction, and it appears that you are, then you should know that my knight, should I want one, would be inside me right now.” She leans in, her lips a breath from mine, her fingers tearing away the tie holding my hair in place, before her fingers are diving into the loose strands. “Be inside me right now, Nick.”
She presses her lips to mine, and the minute her tongue touches mine, I need her. I just plain need this woman, and I don’t hold back. I kiss her, and touch her, and it is not long before my pants are gone, and I give her what she wants, what I want. I press inside the wet heat of her body, my hand sliding up her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades, molding all her soft perfection to every hard part of me.
“Now I’m inside you,” I murmur, my lips closing down on hers, my tongue licking against hers, in what becomes a drugging kiss that has nothing to do with fucking, and everything to do with how much this woman is inside me. And I still don’t taste murder. I don’t taste lies. There is just hunger. Hers. Mine. Ours. And we savor it, and each other, with slow kisses, our bodies moving in a gentle dance. My lips on her shoulder, her nipple, her neck. My hand everywhere I can find skin. But it’s when she whispers my name, when she says, “Nick,” in that same way she kisses me, like I’m the only way she can take her next breath, that I knowI can’tbreathewithout her.
I tangle fingers in the silk of her blonde hair and pull her closer, her mouth lingering one of those breaths from mine. “What are you doing to me, woman?” I demand, but I don’t give her time to respond. I kiss her, and the instant our tongues collide, there is a shift between us, the hunger turning darker and more demanding, and I drive into her, pulling her against me, her face buried in my neck until she trembles into release. I quickly follow with shuddered finality, but there is nothing final about my desire for this woman.
I hold her close but force myself to release her and walk to the bathroom, returning with a towel I offer her. She’s barely slipped it between her legs before I’m behind her, pulling her back into my arms, wrapping my body around hers. Neither of us speak, but I can almost hear her thinking as hard as I’m thinking. I want to clear my conscience and tell her everything, but tonight is about her art. Tonight is about us sharing her life, a life.