Reviving Haven (18 page)

“I’ve always used a condom, every single time. My God, Haven, regardless of disease, birth control can fail and I could get you pregnant.”

He lets go of my hand and stands up, walking to the railing. I go and stand by him, splaying my fingers across his bare back in a comforting gesture.

“Latch, I can’t get pregnant, so I don’t need birth control. No kids—ever. I rarely get a period, and I’ve had issues with recurring cysts and internal scar tissue since my teens, so the doctors and the specialists I’ve seen have all said that conception is basically impossible with my condition. You don’t have to worry, please.” I reach up and massage the back of his neck. He relaxes and lets his head fall back. “And if you say you’ve always used a condom, then I assume you’re clean, so I’m not worried. I trust you to be honest.” Although, in the back of my mind, I am finding it hard to believe he’s never slipped up.

“Since age fifteen, I’ve never had sex without a condom. But when I’m with you—” He turns to face me, his hair wild and his eyes unrestrained. “I can’t think straight. You make me reckless. I knew I forgot the damn condom when I started fucking you, but when I was inside of you, I never felt anything so intense in my life. You felt too good and I couldn’t pull out and lose that feeling. I wanted to come in you. I wanted to know that sensation with you. You held my cock so tight, and it felt natural to be inside of you without a damn condom.” His voice cracks and I can tell that he’s disturbed.

His eyes pierce into mine. I touch his face and tilt my head upwards, brushing my lips across his.

“I knew you’d forgotten. I wanted you to come in me. I wanted to feel you, all of you. Now that you have been bare inside me, I’ll always want you like that. I want to feel you fill me. Does that make me a bad person?” I whisper into his mouth.

I pull the belt on the robe tighter. Then I put Latch’s hand back in mine, pulling him towards the sliding doors. Once we get into the bedroom, he lets the towel drop to the floor. Just looking at him makes my mouth go bone dry. Latch in clothes should be a crime—he’s meant to be naked. He walks over to the dresser and pulls out a t-shirt and some shorts. He hands them to me.

“Sorry, no panties,” he apologizes, chuckling lightly.

“Really, I thought for sure you’d keep some extra pairs for all the other women,” I joke, taking the clothing from him.

“You’re the first,” he mutters softly.

I’m the first? The first what?
I wonder.

Latch moves towards the bed and pulls the sheet back. As he gets into bed, he grabs a remote and clicks the blinds closed. The room is dark except for the candle light reflecting from the bathroom. I’m grateful that I won’t crash into anything as I head towards the light and enter the bathroom again. I quickly change into the t-shirt and shorts. I stifle the laugh threatening to break out at the sight of the shirt, which hangs like a dress on me, and I have to roll the shorts at the waist three times because they’re so big. They’re comfortable and smell like laundry detergent and Latch, and I wallow in the scent. I hang the robe back on the hook, blow out the candles and pad back to bed.

Latch looks sexy as hell with his hair sprawled across his pillow. He flashes me a sexy smile and pats the empty space beside him. It feels relaxing as I stretch out beside him. I love knowing that his face will be the first thing I see when I wake up, and contentment crosses my face.

“Can you take me home in the morning? I can’t stay here all weekend,” I ask him.

Latch sits up, crinkling his forehead as if he doesn’t understand me. “And why is that?” he questions while stroking my arm.

“Latch, I can’t stroll around in your clothes with no underwear all weekend. Besides, I’d like to brush my teeth and get these damn contacts out.” I grimace as I glide my tongue over my teeth. They feel gross.

“Okay, what’s your roommate’s name?”

I sit up. He’s got my attention, and now I wonder about his train of thought.
What the hell is he up to now?

“Weezie, and why do you want to know?” I eye him suspiciously.

Latch snickers. “And you give me shit about my name?
Weezie
. . . what parent names their kid that?” He smirks.

“It’s a nickname for ‘Louisa,’ but if you ever call her Louisa, she will kill me first. Then she’ll hunt you down and kill you next.” I laugh as I lie back down.

“Okay, I swear, no Louisa jokes, promise.”

He bends over and kisses my neck as I yawn. It has been a very long day and a very strenuous, stimulating night.

And the best sex of my life has been with a twenty-five year-old.

I mentally fist-pump the air, then punch the pillow and lay my head down, turning to face Latch. He too has turned on his side and is facing me. He tips his head slightly and our lips touch.
His tongue eases into my mouth, my nipples instantly harden, and goose bumps rise quickly on my skin. I snuggle into him and run my fingers through his hair. He snatches my hand and places it under the sheet against his manhood. He’s hard again. His cock feels like smooth granite, and I sigh at his insatiability. I’m not sure I’m up for round four, but I want to satisfy him. I run my hand up and down his length, feeling every ribbed vein. I cup his balls gently, letting my fingertips roll over them then pass lightly over his sack.

“That feels so good,” he sighs.

His breathing becomes uneven. He puts his hand on top of mine, forcing me to grip his cock tightly. With his hand on mine, he makes me fist him up and down. Once I have the rhythm going, he removes his hand and lets me stroke him faster and faster. I feel a rhythmic pulsing at the base, very much like my own heartbeat right now. I swipe my hand across the slit on the top, find a single drop of moisture and use it for lubrication. I sense his climax coming, especially when he’s panting and thrusting his hips up into my hand.

“Don’t stop . . . I’m . . .  going . . . to . . . oh, Jesus,” he chokes out.

I want to put Latch’s shaft in my mouth so badly that I’m actually salivating. I want nothing more than to have his cock in between my lips so I can taste every single drop of him. I close my eyes and continue fisting him, squeezing my hand tighter as I go faster. He stiffens and expands in my hand, and I can feel his semen race from the bottom of his cock up through the slit, where it shoots a hot, liquid release in my hand. His head jerks back as an animalistic growl erupts from his throat. He’s breathing heavily and I can feel his heart pounding.

“Holy hell, that was fucking brilliant. I don’t think I’ve ever come that fast. That’s what you do to me, baby.” His voice is rough and a little hoarse.

He leaps out of bed and heads into the bathroom. I lean back on the pillows, watching the open doorway. I hear him relieve himself, and then I hear the sound of water as he is no doubt cleaning himself off. When he passes in front of the doorway, I know he’s headed to the linen cabinet, where I’m sure he’s grabbing a cloth for me too. Sure enough, I hear the water from the faucet again.

Before he gets back into bed, he comes to my side and uses the cloth to clean his release off my hand. He tosses it on the nightstand and jumps over me to lie by my side.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, kissing me on the forehead.

“My pleasure, Mr. McKay—anytime,” I reply as I touch his face.

“You know I’ll probably hold you to that,” he jokes.

I yawn, curling into him.

“Go to sleep,
leannán.
”

I love how he makes sure our bodies are touching before we drift off to sleep.

I wake up disoriented.
Is it still night?
I lean over to check the clock and the display reads 11:40 a.m. I fall back onto the pillow, turning my face towards Latch. He is silently sleeping on his stomach and the sheet has fallen to his thighs. His ass is smooth, muscled and tightly rounded. If I were truly Weezie’s best friend, I would snap a picture of him right now and send it via text message to her immediately. Unfortunately, she’d have it uploaded in a second to her favorite social networking sites. She’ll just have to use her imagination, because even in her wildest dreams, there is no way she’s getting her hands on any part of him in any way—period.

It’s hard to believe what this man has done to me, with me and for me. We still have to face the inevitable conversations, say the things we need to say, regardless of the fact that I’d rather ignore some of the things that have happened over the past few weeks. He has to know the events that took place at the party and his office are completely out of character for me—I’m just not that type of person. It has to be obvious to him by now that I haven’t had much experience sexually.

I’m curious about what Krystella said to me in the restroom. The more I think about our conversation, Latch’s sexual history, what Google says and what went on between us last night, maybe we should use condoms. I suppose I could tell him that if he is still going to see other women, then condoms are a must. From what I know about him, monogamy is something he’s never practiced. I have to be cautious. I had already dodged a bullet with Jared, considering we had never practiced safe sex, and he cheated on me with countless women for years. I want Latch to feel free to do as he pleases, regardless of what happens with us. No matter what, I hope we can at least be friends. I never want to be ostracized like Krystella, even if there is justification for it.

I really wish he wasn’t so nice, so attentive and so kind. It would be better for me if he were a prick. Google never mentioned how sweet he really is. I suppose that wouldn’t sit well with his bad boy image.

Latch stirs and turns his sleep-filled gaze towards me. “Hey,” he whispers.

His eyes are slightly hooded and his dark lashes fan over them. I snuggle close to him, bending down and kissing his cheek.

“Hey yourself.”

He leans over, grabs the remote and opens the blinds. Sunlight filters into the room. He yawns as he stretches, and then flips over on his back, the sheet still down to his thighs. He’s fully erect. He turns his head and flashes me a devious smile that reaches all the way up to his deep emerald
green eyes.

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow at him and snicker.

“I’d love to tell you it’s all because of you, but honestly, I really need to take a piss right now.”

He jumps out of bed and bolts to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he struts back out, stopping to open the glass door on the way. Then he moves toward the bed, naked, bronzed and shameless. He bends down, presses his lips to mine and gives me a kiss that makes every inch of my flesh tingle. His mouth is minty fresh and clean.

I frown. “No fair, I need to brush my damn teeth too.” I sit up, pouting.

Latch strolls over to his dresser, grabs a pair of briefs and quickly pulls them on.

“
Leannán
, you’re more than welcome to use my toothbrush.” He looks at me earnestly.

I make a
n
eww
face. “Thanks for offering, but sharing toothbrushes is just nasty.”

Latch laughs as he sits down at the foot of the bed.

“So you’ll put my dick in your mouth, but not my toothbrush. Care to explain that logic? I’m dying to hear your theory.” Looking amused, he folds his arms across his beautiful bare chest.

Crap, I so do not want to have the puff chore talk right now. Eventually
, yes, but I need to get my bearings and figure out how to have that conversation. Of course, then he would have to explain why he had been such a rude jerk. I mean, I knew that it wasn’t going to be great. In fact, I had gone there counting on it. And if things had gone as planned, he would have just walked away. But no, he had to be a complete ass. That incident still stings.

“I’m
pretty sure your dick is more sanitary than your toothbrush.” I glare at him.

His eyes pop wide and his eyebrows almost reach his hairline as he rubs his hand back and forth across his beard.

“Oh really, Miss Wells, do enlighten me,” he retorts smugly.

“Well, I know you’ve had tons of women. In theory, you’ve always used a condom; therefore, we will assume said dick is sterile, or at least
very clean. Good God, even Google knows where your dick has been.” I giggle. “But your mouth . . . I can’t even imagine what realms it has conquered. And if your toothbrush could speak, it would scream disgusting, bacteria-infested abode.” I snort as I finish the sentence.

Latch grabs my legs and pulls me down to him, causing my t-shirt to ride up, revealing the underside of my breasts. He leans forward, swiping his tongue across the underneath the swell of my right breast, making my nipples instantly pearl and turning my sex liquid.

“I can promise you, Miss Wells, that this tongue has only been in you. I’m seriously wounded that you have dishonored said toothbrush. In the future, I will definitely pay it as much attention as I do my dick. And for any future assessment, you will now be sole owner of said body.” He stands up, pulling me with him. “How about I fix us some food? I’m starved.” He asks.

“Me too,” I reply as my stomach growls in agreement. My mind, however, is reeling from his admission. I file his words away in my short-term memory for now—I’m in no condition right now to contemplate them logically while my stomach is running riot on me.

We walk to the kitchen. It’s still hard for me to envision Latch doing a domesticated thing like cooking. He begins by going through the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients and setting them on the counter.

“Miss Wells, I’m going to make you Belgium waffles.” His head is still bent in the refrigerator when he announces the breakfast menu, and then he turns to me, holding a can of whipped cream.

“Sounds amazing,” I reply dreamily.

Latch sets the whipped cream on one of the counters. I push myself up onto the counter across from him so I can watch him work.

There is something extremely erotic about watching a smoking hot man in his underwear cooking breakfast for me. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from grabbing that can of whip cream, covering him all over with it, and having
him
for breakfast.

As Latch makes waffles, the coffee maker timer comes on and coffee begins to brew. Dear Lord, it smells like heaven, and I could definitely use a jolt right about now. Not only am I still tired and slightly hungover, but my body feels sensually sore.

Discomfort has never felt this good.

When Latch finishes cooking, he sets a full plate of waffles on the table in the dining room along with fruit, extra whipped cream in a small bowl, and silverware. I grab the coffee and the napkins. As we sit eating, Latch stabs a piece of waffle, dipping it into the whipped cream. He bends towards me, prodding me to open my mouth. My heart almost bursts at having this man perform such a simple, yet sensual, act of feeding me. A remnant of whipped cream dots the corner of my lips, and his tongue snakes out and licks it clean.
Sweet Jesus
,
I am swooning.
My cheeks inflame and I’m feeling greedy with want.

“With your face flushed like that, it makes me want to smother you in whip cream and lick every inch of your body and then some.” He smiles lazily.

He pushes his chair close to mine and proceeds to dip his finger in leftover whipped cream. He touches his finger to my lips and traces them, making sure the cream covers them. I feel exhilarated. He tilts his head and kisses me. His tongue slides over my lips as he takes tiny licks of the whipped cream.

“Maybe we should take our remaining breakfast to bed. I want to be inside of you right now.” His voice is deep, smoldering.

I look at him. Every single nerve in my body is twitching. I want him. I too want to feel him embedded deep within me, but last night’s marathon has left me sore. I squirm in my chair. My thoughts go right to the age difference and my inexperience. I look at him with regret written across my face. Latch takes his hand and runs it up and down my arm, sensing my disappointment.

“Baby, the one thing you should know by now is that I can make you come without putting my cock inside of you.”

He stands, takes our plates, rinses them off and puts them in the dishwasher. I come up behind him.

“I’m sorry . . . it’s not that I don’t want to. There’s nothing on earth I’d rather do right now than be intimate with you. It’s just that after last night, I’m a little sore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy being sore because it’s a reminder of having you inside me and how wonderful it feels.”

He turns and hugs me as he kisses me on the top of my head.

“No worries,
leannán
. I can think of hundreds of ways to get you off without fucking you,” he reassures me with a grin.

He wraps his arms around me tightly. In my bare feet, Latch towers over me and my head fits snuggly under his chin.

“Damn, you’re tiny,” he comments, snickering and squeezing me tighter.

I’ve never been called tiny, small or little. I’ve always felt bigger than I should be, especially in the last seven years.

I pull away from him. “Five foot six is not short, but then you already know that, since you’ve had full access to my driver’s license.” I glare at him, pretending to be angry.

“Now that was due to extenuating circumstances, and I swear on my mother it will never happen again. Your purse is off limits.” He takes his hand and crosses his heart, and the sweet gesture makes me smile.

“Doesn’t matter now, you already know all of my secrets,” I remind him.

“Not all of them,” he murmurs.

A loud knock startles us back to reality. I stay in the kitchen as Latch goes to answer the door. I hear voices and a few minutes later Latch reappears with a large floral bag. I recognize it right away as my overnight bag. He hands it to me, smiling.

“You said you couldn’t stay unless you had
stuff
. Well, you have your
stuff
,
so no more excuses,
leannán
.” He looks triumphant as he settles on the sofa.

I greedily hold onto the bag as if it’s a lifeline. I take off up the stairs and head for the bathroom. It’s almost comical how I’m so excited to brush my teeth. I dump the contents of the bag on the floor in the bathroom. There’s lotion, soap, make-up, deodorant, perfume and, thankfully, my beloved toothbrush. Weezie even remembered contact solution and my glasses. There are also panties, a sports bra, shorts, several tops and pants along with a pair of flip-flops—and a tube of KY. I almost choke. Weezie thinks she’s so damn funny.

The first thing I do is brush my teeth, three times in fact. I don’t even care if I strip the enamel off by over brushing. I just want them clean. Then I remove my contacts, placing them in the tray with solution. I wash my face, run lotion up and down my legs, put on deodorant and spray a touch of perfume. I put on mascara lightly over my lashes, powder on some bronzer and dab my lips with gloss. I grab a much appreciated pair of panties along with the sports bra, tug them on, and decide to wear the shorts with the matching shirt. I brush my hair and pull it back into a very high ponytail. Then I throw on my glasses.

I take a peek at my reflection in the mirror. Not bad for thirty-seven. I think sex has put a spark into my body and it shows on my face. It’s been so long since I have truly felt at ease, comfortable, satisfied and happy. Latch has made this happen; he’s the reason I feel like this. I’m glowing because of him. I’m spending the weekend with him.

The truth is . . . I like him. Now I’m afraid because I’m not supposed to care about him. It’s meant to be just sex, nothing more.

As I toss my things back into the bag, I realize the one thing Weezie has forgotten is dental floss. I’m sure Latch has some somewhere in here. I look in the drawers, but I can’t find any. I finally open the large medicine cabinet above the sink. There’s floss right next to a huge bottle of mouthwash and I grab both. I notice quite a few prescription bottles that are sitting behind the mouthwash. Women’s curiosity overcomes me and I pick up one of the bottles. It’s OxyContin and Latch’s name is on the prescription sticker. The other bottles also have Latch’s name on them.

I know how potent and addicting this drug is. I’ve read about it in the newspaper, and they are always doing stories about it on the news. I look at the bottle in my hand and note that the date is recent. If Latch is in pain, the kind that requires strong medication like this, then he isn’t letting on. I wonder what kind of pain he must be in to warrant these pills, and how it happened. I’m not only curious but also generally concerned. I don’t know him well enough to ask him and it feels wrong to snoop. I make sure the mouthwash sits in front the way I had found it.

There’s a soft tap on the door. I open it and watch him as he leans in. He squints when he sees my glasses.