Stay: Changing Tides, Book 1 (13 page)

She rocked against him, reaching down to tug at the buckle of his belt. Her hot fingers scorched his skin, and the slow slide of his belt as she pulled it free notched the anticipation up another level. He grit his teeth when her palm smoothed over his zipper, her fingers molded to the length of his erection.

Grasping her hands, he breathed heavily into her neck. “Slow down, Abby.”

A soft laugh purred from her throat, and she stretched her arms up over her head. The motion drew the bra up tighter under her breasts, pushing them up in blatant invitation. Goose bumps traveled across her midsection, and he pressed a kiss under her ribs, stroking her skin with his tongue as he snapped the button free on her jeans. He inhaled deeply, drugged by the scent of her arousal as he drew her jeans down over her legs.

The limited moonlight filtering through her window allowed only glimpses of her body. He slid his hands down her legs, savoring the cool dampness of her skin. The mottled scar that traveled the length of her leg felt foreign under his fingers. He paused, tracing the old wound.

She shied away from his touch, but he just followed. “Don’t. It’s part of who you are.”

“It’s ugly.”

Embarrassment tinged her statement, and he bent to press a kiss to her thigh. “It’s a battle scar. A medal of honor. A piece of yourself you gave to save a life. You should be proud.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” She paused. “I—I’m just not used to someone—touching it.”

He understood. It was private. A scar, outside and in, that she wasn’t ready to share. How could he not respect her feelings? He had his own scars locked away.

He brushed a lingering kiss on her thigh and traveled down her body. When her legs were finally free, he splaying them wider to kneel at the edge of the bed.
God, she was magnificent
. Laid out before him, every curve and turn begging for his touch.

The pulse of his blood rocked him but he held back, slipping his fingers over the smooth skin of her inner thighs to the thin lace thong covering light curls. She moaned, closing her eyes. Her lips parted as he eased closer to her center. When he traced a thumb over her damp thong, she stiffened, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Don’t tease.”

Breathy, filled with want, her simple plea drowned out everything but her. He kissed the smooth skin of her hip, running his thumb over her again as he edged her farther up on the bed. When he drew his lips across the thin material of her thong, she wound her hands into his hair, holding him closer.

Abby didn’t know how much more she could take. Like a tidal wave, Brack’s every move, every breath, swept her further away from reality. His hot mouth was so close, just tracing the curve of her hip as his thumb pressed in slow, torturous circles over the thin cloth between her skin and his.

His control amazed her, and she sat up on the bed, pushing him up so she could reach his jeans. She wanted him. Playing—taking time—that could all come later. Right now, she wanted him to abandon this slow seduction. Wanted him to let go.

“There are condoms in the top drawer of the dresser.” She popped the snap free on his jeans and held his hooded gaze as she ran the strained zipper down. “Hurry, because I want you.”

No more than a few seconds could have passed when he moved away, and yet it seemed like an eternity. The loss of his heat was shocking. Then he was back, an unidentifiable emotion sweeping the dark blue of his eyes before he closed them. With an almost imperceptible nod, he shrugged out of the rest of his clothing. Then he stood at the edge of the bed, his body taut, his fight for control still evident in his rigid stance as he ran his hand through her hair.

His thoughts were hidden, but his hand shook.

Damn it all. When the man had a moment to think, his brain jumped in the way.

She slid forward, slipping off her bra and tossing it aside as she moved. Taking the foil wrapper from his hand, she ripped it open. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, coarse as goose bumps erupted across his sides. She pressed her cheek to his stomach, running her fingers down as she sheathed him in the thin barrier. Grasping the backs of his thighs, she pressed close until the hot length of his sex smoothed between her breasts.

“Make love to me,” she whispered against his skin. “Let go.”

His gentle caress changed, and he tugged at her hair until she slid to a slow stand before him. His mouth fused to hers, hungry, angry, passionate. The riotous pulse of her blood tripped as his hand closed over her thong, dragging the material down her hips. He didn’t stop kissing her, not as she kicked that last barrier away, and not as he pinned her to his body and crawled onto the bed.

His heat covered her, the hard press of his arousal settling between her legs. Shards of pleasure followed in the wake of his hand as he pulled her knee up to his hip. With a low growl, he entered her slowly.

Gripped by the feel of his body connected to her own, she eased into his lovemaking, meeting his demands, asking for more as her body came alive beneath his. Each breath was more pronounced. The beat of his heart hammered against her own, and in a heady rush, her mind focused on the man above her.

He’d let go.

Gone was the control. Gone was the miasma of emotion. He pushed for more, demanding her pleasure, stroking her until she cried out. Every nerve in her body reacted to his onslaught. She writhed against the pleasure only to beg for more. Her fingers clenched at his sweat-damp skin, reveling in the texture of his muscles as he moved in a flawless rhythm that drew her closer and closer to fulfillment.

He controlled her. His hands and lips covering, nipping, biting into her flesh, touching and tasting until a spiral of fire settled deep in her stomach. Her body clenched around him, and she cried out, so ready, so close and unwilling to let the pleasure end.

Brack held her gaze as she gasped, the tight recess of her body scorching him with its tight grip. “That’s it.”

Never. Never had he expected such unimaginable heat. The room all but sparked around them. Their bodies entwined in perfect unison, moving in perfect tandem. Every move she made heightened his enjoyment, his desire for more. She gripped at him, her fingers shifting against his back only to linger through his hair as she thrust her hips to meet his.

She’d destroyed his control. Now she asked for more. And he responded, like invisible strings guided each movement. He knew what she wanted, what she asked for, and he gave it gladly. Nothing mattered beyond her and the sultry air around them.

He eased away, watching her as she panted, pleaded. And it wasn’t enough. She seared him with her response, and still he held back. He wanted to return the pleasure she gave him, wanted to draw it out, make her see what she’d done to him. What she made him feel.

She’d asked him to let go. Hell, he’d been letting go since the moment she walked into his life. This was a detail. Making love to her just affirmed what he’d known from the start. Abby Burke would bring life as he knew it crashing down around him.

In letting go, he’d broken his promise never to get close again.

In letting go, he’d never be the same.

She’d be in his blood.

And he was close now. Hell, closer than he ever wanted to be. He shifted into her again, sparked by her glazed, desire-filled gaze. His body might want her, but his heart should have remained detached. He didn’t want to want her. Damn her. He shifted again, incredible sensation flowing through him.

She made him feel.

Made him alive.

And he’d let himself fall into her.

He rocked against her, holding her close. He traced her lips, inhaling the scent of their lovemaking. His restraint waned. “Your turn to let go.”

She smiled that damn siren smile and arched into his thrust. Her pleasure, the sheer simplicity of it, amazed him. The erotic moans that whispered past her lips into his mouth unraveled the last string of his control and with long, sure strokes he brought her along with him, her raspy response and the grip of her climax claiming his own.

She cried out.

He matched her.

Silence enveloped the room, stirred only by their shared ragged breaths as the last whispers of pleasure shook them. He rolled to his side and pulled her close. Light kisses pressed against his chest, just over his heart.

Where she’d wormed her way in.

Where he hadn’t wanted her.

Chapter Ten

He rested so peacefully Abby hated to wake him. Somehow, the steady beat of his heart belonged beneath her ear, his strong arm tucked around her like it was meant only for her.

She glanced at the clock. Nine thirty.

The thick sheets covering their naked bodies clung to her as she shifted closer against his chest. She pressed a kiss to the smooth skin beneath her lips, inhaling the lingering scent of their shared encounter. Her stomach clenched with desire, and she groaned.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d wanted him, there was no doubt. But she wasn’t supposed to want more. Wasn’t supposed to feel more than desire, lust, or a simple need in a moment. He was a man, nothing more. A way to pass the time, a fun excursion, a moment of pleasure to be shared.

She shouldn’t want to curl closer into his warmth and stay that way.

He’d been an incredible lover. Tender and giving, yet so full of pent-up passion it was a wonder he’d lasted. And lasted again. Heat spiraled down her limbs as the memory of his proficiency burned through her mind. She could stay in this bed, under the sheets with him for days.

Shit. She shook the thoughts away. She knew better. Life didn’t go according to plans or even wants. It didn’t maintain any semblance of order. That kind of thinking meant staying. And no matter how much she’d dreamt of someday finding just this feeling, life had taught her it wouldn’t last.

No one here knew about her mother. But it was just a matter of time. She never stayed away long, never let go of her
little girl
. The singular fact crept in like a recurrent infection, bleeding her resolve to weather whatever insanity her mother created and try for a real life.

Worse was the fear that she could inherit her mother’s sickness. Genetic reasoning had won over romantic thoughts a long time ago. She’d never do that to anyone. Caring for him meant commitment, security, time—all the things she might never be able to offer. Happy-for-now worked for her.

But falling for Brack was idiotic…

The deep breath she took did little to erase the ache in her chest. She couldn’t drag him into her misery. He didn’t need the problems she could bring into his life. He lived and breathed for order, structure, safety. All the things she couldn’t give him. She’d known that before tonight. Known it from the moment his smile reached into her chest and gripped at long-buried dreams.

And still she’d pressed him. Selfishly asking for more than he was ready to give, with nothing to offer in return.

Cursing herself, she struggled for composure and denied the tears burning her eyes. “Brack?”

His arm tightened around her shoulder. “Ummm. Just resting my eyes.”

“It’s getting late.”

He shifted to glance at the clock and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His murmured words caressed her eyebrows. “Jonathon will be home soon.”

She sat up, pulling her fingers through her tangled hair. The light from the bathroom illuminated the room enough for her to receive an unobstructed view of his perfect body when he drew the covers back and stood to find his clothes. He’d barely pulled his jeans on when his gaze met hers. “What?”

She shrugged, leaning against her pillow. “Just wishing we had more time.”

But she meant it in a different way than what he would hear.

A small smile curved his mouth and he crawled back onto the bed. “Actually—I do too.”

“You sound surprised.”

The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt before her. “I’m surprised by you at every turn.”

She wanted to ask for clarification, but when his mouth lowered to the pulse at her throat, she forgot to breathe. He pushed her back down on the bed, the rough texture of his jeans sensual against her inner thighs. It didn’t seem fair that she wanted him already.

“You’d better go.”

His brows furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”
Everything just the right way
. Any normal woman, with a brain, would be jumping on those simple words of encouragement. “I just don’t want you to be late. I’d feel awful if you weren’t home for Jonathon.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “We should have talked about this before—”

And here it was. What the expectations were. What they wanted from this. Why did it always have to come down to defining sex? She had no more answers than the ones he would try to give. Staying detached and keeping her heart in check had become simple in the years she’d lived with her mother. As hateful a thought as it was, she was a pro at stagnating emotion, at least where others could see. “There’s nothing to discuss, Brack. We had sex. That’s that.”

His eyes widened and he moved off the bed to look for his shirt. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.” A thick sensation tightened her throat, mocking the words that squeaked through. “We slept together. It may happen again, it may not. Either way, we both had a good time.”