The Confession (14 page)

H
is cock filled me with one, slow, deep stroke. My legs wrapped around his hips as he began to work me, harder and faster, the pressure rubbing all the right places as he lifted my hips and pumped downward. His eyes stayed on mine, even as the dark strands of his hair fell forward.

The throbbing between my legs stole my focus, tore my thoughts away from everything but the slick, heavy feel of him inside of me. Heat raced through my body. Coils of lust twisted tighter and tighter, until I thought I would burst. I was close. So close.

I groaned his name, begging for the release only he could give me.

And woke.

The breath raked my throat. My body was damp, trembling, flushed with need. I ran my hands over the sheets, wishing that this wasn't real, that he was still inside of me. I could still feel him there, thrusting in and out. My thighs were wet with what he had done to me.

The bed was empty.
I
was empty.

My tongue rubbed against the roof of my mouth, remembering the taste of him from earlier. Spicy and dark. Demanding. I hungered for it now. I wanted more than that. I wanted to lick the head of his cock and draw him deep into my mouth. I wanted him to fist my hair and lose control.

I was so hot I was going to explode.

My hand slid down my stomach, over the thin fabric of the tank top Alec had picked up at the store on his way home. Where was he? I'd fallen asleep in his arms but now he was gone.

I couldn't wait. I kicked off the sheets, and reached lower, beneath my panties, to where I was hot and swollen and
needing
.

I gasped as my fingers found my clit. I didn't waste time; I needed to get off. My fingers circled and pressed, following the exact motions I knew would give me what I needed. It wasn't as good as Alec's touch, but even so he was there in my mind. Saying my name. Saying how good I felt around his dick. Grabbing my hips to thrust harder.

Telling me he loved me. Only me.

“Alec,” I moaned into the pillow.

The wicker chair in the corner creaked.

I bolted upright, heart in my throat. Digging in with my heels, I shoved my body back into the bedframe and jerked the covers up to my neck.

Alec stood, his shape barely discernible in the dark room, and in three steps he was standing beside the bed.

“Keep going.” A barely controlled demand.

Slowly, I lowered the blankets. I slid down again so I was lying on my back, looking up at him. His eyes glinted in the reflection of the moon through the open window, but the rest of his expression was hidden by shadows.

I was falling, gaining momentum with each second that passed. We weren't even touching, both fighting for a control that was slipping through our fingers.

“Show me what you need,” he said. “I won't get in the way.”

Nerves made my moves jerky, but any shame or disappointment was burned away by the recognition of what was happening. He wanted to watch me come.

I wasn't the weak party favor Maxim Stein had tried to make me. I wasn't scared, or hurt, or embarrassed. I was on fire. I was sexy as hell. And this gorgeous, protective man wanted me.

My fingers slipped beneath my panties again, but before I could go further, he gave a throaty growl.

“Take them off.”

I hooked my thumbs in the sides, lifted my ass, and shimmied out of them. He breathed in sharply.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

A silent competition was building. Who would break first. Who would give in and finish what we'd started in the apartment. He denied me his touch, and I defied him with temptation, laying myself out before him like a feast. Challenging him to keep his hands to himself.

There was a muffled sound of moving clothing, and then the bedframe creaked as he gripped it.

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice strained.

I wanted to be graceful and seductive, but there was too much desire surging through me. My knees parted, and my hand slipped lower.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he said.

I closed my eyes. I wished he would feel for himself, but there was something incredible erotic about knowing he got off on watching me give myself pleasure.

“Slippery,” I said. “Hot. I'm so wet.”

“Spread your legs wider.”

I opened my knees as far as I could. I doubted he could see much, but he could surely hear the rhythmic movement of my hand against my slick skin. My breath came faster.

“Do you like that?” I asked. I wanted his dirty words.

“It kills me,” he whispered. “It fucking
destroys
me.”

A brushing sound reached my ears. His hand was sliding over his cock, still trapped within his pants. I had him now. I was winning. Victory mingled with desire, and made the strokes of my hand heavier.

But as much as I wanted him to give in, I found myself afraid of taking the next step. What had happened at his apartment had been desperate, but this was something else. Loving Alec Flynn was dangerous, and if he touched me now there would be no turning back.

“You're close,” he said. “I can hear it.
Fuck.
Pinch your nipples.”

I reached beneath the thin fabric of my tank top, and found the peaks already hard and hypersensitive. A breathy shudder raked through me as the surge of pleasure slammed into my cunt. He knew what I needed even without touching me.

“Was I fucking you?” he whispered.

I could feel his breath on my bare hip. The knowledge that his mouth was so close to my center catapulted me to a new level of desire. If I moved my leg, I would straddle his face.

If he wanted that, he would have to take it himself.

“It wasn't gentle, was it? Not the way you were moaning in your sleep.”

I didn't want to come yet, but I couldn't slow down.

“Do you remember how it feels when I'm inside you?”

“Alec,” I whimpered. “Alec, please.”

He groaned. The bedframe creaked. My back arched as every muscle in my body pulled taut. He moved again, and I readied myself for him to touch me, or kiss me, or fill me with his huge cock. But my body couldn't wait for him to catch up. My mind was spinning, barely registering the groan of the wooden door in the background. Then the pleasure spilled over, in a shock of bright colors that made me cry out in relief.

I came down too fast, not the way I would have if he'd been inside me. My own hand was efficient, but couldn't give me the kind of touch that left me reeling.

It only took a few seconds to realize I was alone.

I sat up, looking around the small room, hoping that this was a mistake. It was dark, maybe the shadows had played tricks on me. He wasn't beside me though, and he wasn't in the wicker chair.

The door was closed. He'd seen me vulnerable,
made
me vulnerable, and then left.

I pulled my knees into my chest, trying to listen for him over the thundering of my heart. The door creaked again, as if something pushed against it. The wooden floor creaked beneath his bare feet.

And then I heard the muffled thud of his fist striking the punching bag.

I lay back in bed, listening to him hit it again and again, the sound reviving the hurt in my own knuckles.

He didn't stop for a long time, and even when he finally did, he didn't come back to my bed.

*   *   *

After a fitful night of sleep, I woke to a silent apartment. Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I wandered out to the main room to find Alec standing outside the sliding glass door on the balcony. In just his jeans, he was leaning over the railing, staring out into the water. The curve of his naked back rose with slow breaths, and my gaze paused on the scar on the bottom of his ribs, a light pink line against his tan skin. My heart gave a little lurch. He'd gotten that in prison—the attack that would lead him to spend his remaining months in solitary.

My eyes lowered to the band of his jeans, and his perfect ass. Down his long legs to the frayed hems that met his bare heels. He could have been a model in some travel ad. Or a movie star, shooting the satisfied, peaceful scene just after an incredible night of passion with his lover.

But the reality was he was probably thinking about what a huge mistake he'd made, and how he was going to break the news to me.

I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders, my grip reminding me of my now bruised knuckles. After he'd left me, I'd been embarrassed. I'd exposed too much—not just my body, but my soul. Gradually, my shame had warped into irritation, and by the time I'd crawled out of bed, I was pissed. He'd been flirting with me, I hadn't made that up. And he wasn't doing me any favors by reeling things in every time someone turned up the heat.

I'd considered that he was trying to be a gentleman. But every time I asked myself why I came back to the same point. He thought I was damaged, and either he was afraid of breaking me more, or it had changed his ability to see me as the sexy woman he'd once loved.

And that
really
pissed me off.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, he turned and met my eyes across the room. There was longing in them, unmistakable desire, and I turned away before he could pull me under his spell.

I went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He'd stocked up on that, at least.

A few moments later he approached behind me.

“Anna, listen . . .”

I gave him the cold shoulder. “Coffee?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Thanks.”

Awkwardness prickled between us.

He leaned back against the counter. I could see him in the corner of my eye, his strong chest tipping forward. His perfect abs rippling like a flipping Bowflex commercial.

“If I hadn't left then, I wouldn't have stopped.”

Even if I had had my reservations about going further, I hadn't voiced them. The fact that sex with me was something he wanted to avoid for any reason felt like a kick to the gut.

“Well, it's a good thing you did then,” I said.

The coffeemaker hissed, then started to bubble.

“I slipped up last night,” he said. “I'm trying . . . I need to go slow.”

“For me or for you?” I asked quietly.

His jaw flexed. His thumb began tapping on his thigh. There were things he wanted to say, that much was obvious, but nothing came out.

“I need that, too,” I said, feeling exposed again, just like last night. A long moment passed.

“I've arranged for someone to come by later. I have to meet Janelle today. I won't be back for a while.” He cleared his throat. “Not until tomorrow actually.”

That same anger that had been just under the surface since I'd woken in Orlando punched through again, and I laughed coldly. “Slumber party. Sounds fun.”

He grabbed my arm, forcing me to look up at him. “It's not real. You know that.”

I shook free, the blanket falling off my shoulders and pooling around my feet. The thin red tank top and striped pink panties were all I had on, but I didn't care, even when his gaze lowered and his eyes narrowed.

“It wouldn't matter if it was,” I said, pushing him back. “I've got no claim on you. You're not mine. Anyway, as we both saw last night, I can take care of myself.”

His eyes flashed, lighting on the open sea. I hated that I was raging at him, but I was just so sick of being mad and needed a place to put it all. I spun away, searching for a mug to busy my hands with. I opened the cabinet above the coffeemaker, but they were on the top shelf. Another interior-decorations-by-man move.

I stretched up to my tiptoes and reached, but fell just short of grabbing the nearest ceramic handle. He drew closer, my pulse beating faster with every step. Soon he was behind me, his hard body pressing against mine. His hand rose up my side, bringing a hitch to my breath as he skimmed the side of my breast. Immediately my nipples hardened, just the slightest tease pulling everything within me taut. I jerked into the counter, feeling the ledge against my stomach, just as his hard body pressed against me from behind.

“You don't need me,” he said.

I shook my head.

His other hand started on my bare hip and rose. His thumb slid under the side of my panties and twisted the fabric around his finger, pulling it tight against my center. Another twist, and the discomfort bordered on pain, but still made me squirm for more.

“You don't need anyone,” he said.

He dipped lower, and his hips rocked against my ass. The pressure of his hard cock had me leaning forward, which gave him the opportunity to do it again. I bit my lip when a hoarse moan snuck out, and grabbed the counter, because my legs had gone weak.

“You can take care of yourself,” he murmured.

I barely nodded, too focused on the shock of his knee parting my thighs.

“Well that's a goddamn shame for me,” he said.

I blinked, trying to clear my head. He was turning the tables on me again. It was like a game to him. I was always right where he wanted.

“You're right,” I said, and slipped to the side. The blanket was still on the kitchen floor, and I bent to pick it up, giving him a full view of my pink-pantied ass. If he thought he was the only one with the power, he had another thing coming.

I rose slowly, feeling his scalding gaze on my back, then turned to meet his gaze.

“I'm stronger than you give me credit for,” I told him.

He looked at me for one long beat, watching as I hid my body beneath the blanket.

“No,” he said. “You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I've never doubted you.”

He walked to the living room and grabbed a shirt off the arm of the couch. He shrugged into it, a scowl on his face, and then stalked back toward me, growing bigger somehow, as if his energy had broken free from his body and was filling the room. I held my ground, even as his fingers trailed down my arms to my wrists, and then pulled my hands to his chest. His skin was hot, smooth, like satin over iron.