Don’t fail me now, heart.
The thought knocks me out of my rhythm, and he trails fingertips up my neck and takes us back to soft. Sweet. Light enough to give me a chance to rebalance my body and my heartbeat. I become aware of sounds again; it’s raining properly now, hammering on the tin roof of the porch.
The grumble of thunder above us is deafening, but it’s a tiny wolf-howl that breaks us apart. We stare at each other and say at the same time: “Patty.”
We don’t care about the mess; it’s the fastest way, so we stumble through the ruined house in the dark. Every time I trip, his hands pull me upright. Like bad, selfish humans we pause at the back door and kiss again to fortify ourselves for the run through the overflowing gutters. His tongue promises me more, if I can just make it to the studio. I’d swim the English Channel if I had to.
By the time we toe off our shoes and pull the glass door of the studio closed, we’re soaked to the skin. The light switch won’t work, my alarm clock display is black, and Patty is nowhere to be seen. On top of the wardrobe, Diana goggles down at us before ducking back down into her apple crate.
Tom is deeply apologetic. “Patty, come here.” Her face peeks up at us from under the bed. “I feel so bad.”
“You didn’t know.” We try for a minute more until she creeps out, tummy on the floor, until she’s into her bed. I put a blanket over her and tuck her in tight. As we straighten up, lightning flashes and he gets a proper look at me. I see his wet shirt stuck to his body. We both make identical lustful eye flutters and heave simultaneous exhalations as the room goes black again. Then we laugh at each other.
“You’ve had a kiss like that inside you, all this time?” He begins on the buttons of his shirt, quick and thoughtless, like he’s about to dive into a pool. He gets about halfway when he gives up and steps closer to me. Another few seconds without me against him is not something he can bear. “I think I need to update my life insurance policy.”
“Better call them now.” His laugh is in my mouth because we’re kissing again. I feel flatness on my shoulder blades; I’m against the wall. Only my toes touch the ground. The gold bubble is skintight around us. When my head rolls to one side and his mouth moves to my neck, I can see the steam rising from his damp shoulders. The machine in his chest is working in overdrive.
For years as I’ve watched Tom’s mouth as he talked, I’ve known how he would kiss. Earnest and sexy and primal. Each lush press is to learn what I like—but he’s realizing I like it any way he gives it. Soft, slow, teeth and tongue. Fast and rough. Bonus points for a hand on my throat. A squeezing handful of my butt has me shuddering and oversensitized; the seams on my clothes are like blades against me. He shows no sympathy and instead takes a tour of my body. When my breast is in his hand, he feels the stud in my nipple against his palm.
“Bed,” he says in his alpha voice, and my Underswears lose their elastic. I’ve said the exact same thing to him. I wonder if I made him feel this way.
“You’ve finally caught up.” I’m being transported backward with no effort on my part. I feel lighting cables under the soles of my feet but I’m not snagged or tripped. He’s got me. “I tore a room apart and told you to get in my bed, and you just—”
He tips me down onto the bed.
“I’m going to make up for it, I promise,” he says with a smile in his voice.
Chapter 19
His knees press on the mattress, one, two, either side of my calves. He’s a huge shape in the dark above me. Hands either side of my head, one, two. I feel the downward dip of his body, and he’s breathing against the side of my neck.
I say up to the ceiling, “Tell me I smell right.”
He senses the uncertainty underlying my sharp order. “You smell like the only person.”
I exhale. “Well thank fuck for that.” I hold my arms above my head and he tugs my top off.
“Your obsession with lace has destroyed my sanity. Do you know that your bra is always visible, no matter what you wear? It’s like your clothes don’t really want to be clothes.” He gives me a kiss on my neck that gives way to a suck and a bite. “You’re like a self-peeling banana.”
I start laughing. “That’s how I feel around you.”
“It fucks me up when guys look at the lace on your skin.” The thought has him returning to my lips, and jealousy is a spice in his mouth.
I know how he feels. I’m keeping my hands on this skin for the rest of his life, so there’s never any doubt of who he belongs to.
He arranges me across a dim stripe of light from a gap in the drapes. My lace is admired, complimented, rubbed on his cheek, then it’s slingshot-gone into the dark corner of the room. He slides his tough, hardworking palms all over me.
The nipple piercing is a blip that interests him intensely. He drops down from his elbow to investigate, and I finally realize the full potential of that metal, slid into such a sensitive tip. Other men have tried tuning me like a radio, but Tom knows what to do. I shiver and shake as he tests my reactions.
I wonder if he likes it. “So, pierced tough chicks are your thing?”
“God, yeah,” he says with it in his mouth. “How is this metal so sweet?” His tongue touches it as he speaks and I’m levitating off the mattress. He laughs, pleased, and does it more.
“Every single time I’ve thought about this mystery piercing I’ve walked into a wall. Arch up,” he adds with the right amount of bossy. His forearm slides under me, and I’m tipped up and he plays with me until I put my hand on the button of my jeans.
He releases me to speak. “Is this actually happening? Or did I walk into a wall too hard?”