His mouth returned to her body, kissing the centre of her scar then drifting lower, teasing her with its slow progress, until finally it brushed her sex, taunting her with the lightness of the contact, while his hands shifted to her thighs and separated them, his fingers hard and demanding in a way that contrasted perfectly with the gentle buzzing of his mouth.
She pushed her arms above her head, digging her fingers into the sheets – all she slept with in summer – tangling them in her fingers as an act of madness and hope, need firing arrows through her bloodstream.
Pleasure built and built like the cascade of water over a precipice. She surrendered to it, losing any inhibitions and worries and simply existing. She slipped over the edge of sanity, cried out softly, her voice filling the tiny space of her bedroom, ricocheting off the walls and dousing her, forcing her to acknowledge that she was at a crossroads in her life.
Desire dragged her in one direction. Even as sensations were rolling over her senses, pleasure defining her, he was moving, pushing a condom over his length and bringing his body back over her, studying her face as if to see if this was what she wanted, checking in with her, so she nodded, and smiled, because in that moment, the past, her lie, their daughter, the complexity of their shared future, were all a million miles away. Her bed was an island and they the only inhabitants.
He grinned as he pushed into her, but neither smiled then. It was too intense. Too much.
In the alley, it had been primal and animalistic, driven purely by instinct and need, but this was something else. She felt his body possess hers and knew him to be the father of her child, the only man she’d slept with besides Eric. She felt his possession as a physical mark being made on her soul, and suddenly, tears moistened her eyes. She blinked them away, as another wave built, pushing thoughts and awareness from her mind, leaving her free to simply exist on this tidal wave of euphoria.
It wasn’t that she’d forgotten how good he was. But years had passed, and the details had all faded into the recesses of her mind. Even her fantasies paled in comparison to the real deal. His touch was exquisite, every brush of his fingers just exactly what she needed, every movement just right. Hard and fast then slowing, drugging her with his gently rhythm until he moved faster, sucking on her sensitive nipples as his body roughly took hers, and the heat and need built to an unbearable crescendo until finally they exploded in unison, a silent, desperate, essential coming apart at the seams that neither could have predicted would be the end point for this night – after this day.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders as pleasure rocked her, holding him tight, holdingthistight, aware that there would be other complications and difficulties to navigate, but that they would always have this, and she was glad.
Afterwards, he disappeared for a moment, then reappeared wrapped in one of her threadbare bath towels – a tiny purple number that barely covered his hips. Their eyes met and the air between them sparked. She held her breath, uncertain and nervous suddenly.
What was he going to say? What wasshegoing to say, when she could barely think straight? Self-consciously, she reached for the sheet, pulling it up under her chin and tucking it there.
A droll expression crossed his face before he crab-walked to the other side of the bed – all the narrowness of her room would allow, and lifted the sheet once more, to allow his body space to slide onto the mattress, beside hers.
Her heart ratcheted up a gear. “Oh,” she said quietly. “You’re –,”
“Naked? Yes. I always sleep naked, remember?”
Of course she remembered. Heat stained her cheeks.
“I meant, you’re planning to stay over?”
The amusement dropped from his eyes and for a moment, there was only tension on his handsome face. “I want to meet her as soon as she wakes up.”
The sadness in those words plunged into her heart, all the more poignant for how blissfully happy she’d been moments earlier. Of course he wanted to meet Charlotte. It was actually incredibly forbearing of him to have waited out the night. If the shoe had been on the other foot, she’d have banged down the door and pulled Charlotte into her arms.
He reached for Abby and positioned her against his naked chest, holding her there, clamping an arm around her back and stroking the sensitive flesh between her shoulder blades.
She tried to remember that she was holding onto the simple, physical pleasure of what they shared but after the wave had crashed there came a reckoning, and a ball of tension began to tighten in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the wall opposite, listening to his rhythmic breathing, and wondered how the hell she’d wound up here – in bed with Grayson Fortescue, a mother to his child, even as he’d declared, only a month ago, that a child was the last thing he wanted (or words to that effect).
Panic and bile rose through her, so when sleep did eventually claim Abby, it was tortured by the past, haunted by their breakup.
He’d broken her heart.
Not a simple break down the centre, as was depicted with children’s artwork and best friend necklaces. He’d broken it good and proper, like dropping a fine crystal vase from the top of the Empire State Building. It had shattered into precisely ten billion shards. For Charlotte, it had begun to beat again, but the cracks were all still there, millions of them, straining against the weight of everyday life, straining against this. Every look, every touch, was putting too much pressure on an already broken organ.
He’d fooled her once before.
Not intentionally. She knew enough of Gray to know he hadn’t meant for her to get hurt. But that didn’t change the outcome a single bit. She’d fallen in love with him, and then he’d walked away. He’d left—so easily—without a single backwards glance. And God, she’d missed him. Not just his body, but his mind, his laugh, his voice, the way he’d looked at her as though she were the most important person in the world. She’d missed having him to talk to and walk beside, to hold hands with and hug.
Sadness gripped her, just as it had every single night since he’d left, and the fact he was back now, holding her tight, didn’t make a single difference. The damage had been done. He’d broken her heart, and it couldn’t mended – not by him, nor anyone. Not that he was even trying. Nothing here was about her heart. This was just sex, like before. If not her, it would be someone else. She meant nothing to him, no matter how great he could make her feel. That was what she had to remember. From honesty came strength, and she would need, more than anything, to remain strong.
Chapter7
DAWN LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH the small window, waking Abby gently at first. Slowly, and with a strange, buzzing sensation in her mind, and all throughout her body. She shifted, trying to work out what was different, and connected immediately with a hard wall of…flesh. And muscle. And warmth. And hardness.
Oh, good lord. Grayson Fortescue, billionaire heartbreaker and baby daddy was right behind her. In her bed. Naked. She tightened the sheet around her shoulders, because she was naked too! Memories, fragmented in the same way her dreams often were, careened into her mind like shards of glass and then moved into focus with startling clarity, shocking her with the accuracy of her recollection, so she gasped, flipping over quickly as if to ascertain that he reallywasthere.
And found his bright green eyes staring back at her, an expression on his face she couldn’t fathom. A small frown played about his lips, as though he too were confused.
“Good morning.” His morning voice had always filled her veins with lava. Deep and addictive, raw, primal, reminding her of his strength and masculinity, so she felt a burst of lightning low in the pit of her abdomen.