His groan echoed in the darkness.
For half a second, I thought it was because of pain, but then he dropped one hand to his cock, fisting himself, his dick hard once more while I pushed all the way in.
It was almost unbearably tight, and I had to stop to fight off the urge to come right there. I wanted this to be as good for him as it was for me. So I forced myself to go slow. I pulled out, then pushed back in, inch by inch, letting him get used to the feel. He craned his head back, searching for my lips, and I met his tenderly. Our mouths moved just as slow as my hips, leisurely plunges of tongues while one hand gripped his side. Rowe’s fingers around his cock and balls picked up the pace as he fell into the chemistry between us. We thrust in unison, him into his hand, me into his body. When he increased the speed, so did I. He ground back on me, taking everything I had, the way he kissed a silent beg for more.
I dragged myself away from his lips, steadying myself behind him while my head spun. Desperate with need, I gave in to sensation, pistoning behind him, grinding into him until I couldn’t hold on anymore.
“I need to come,” I moaned into his shoulder.
His hips pushed back, encouraging me. His grip on his erection never let up, and he set a pace I couldn’t come back from. I didn’t want to. I slammed home into the tightness of his ass, letting go and exploding into an orgasm with a shout I couldn’t contain.
Rowe’s knees trembled when he found his own release for the second time, spilling harmlessly over his hand and onto the ground while I came buried deep inside him, hot and mind-blowing and with feelings welling and storming around me.
I collapsed onto him, leaning on him heavily, holding him up while we both came down from our highs. Our chests rose and fell together, mine pressed to his back, the heat between us turning sweaty and warm. I needed a shower, but I didn’t care. My dick slipped from between us, completely and utterly spent, and reluctantly, I broke the connection. “Can we go home now?” I asked again, finding my pants around my ankles and pulling them up while he did the same.
He turned and watched me fasten the fly on my pants. His eyes were full of expression that matched how I was feeling, but neither of us voiced it.
I swallowed down the urge and waited for him to reply.
“We can go home.”
27
Mae
I was exhausted when I left the cabin on Monday morning. Dark circles lined my eyes, and the giant travel mug of coffee Liam had made for me really wasn’t putting a dent in the bone-weariness that dominated my limbs.
It had been a long and tense weekend. Though the men’s searches hadn’t shown any sign of Ripley’s friend being a real person, and we’d put it down to kids’ games, I couldn’t shake the anxiousness. It was only now I realized that it was Tori and the anticipation of seeing her that had me feeling that way.
The coffee probably wouldn’t help my nerves, but I sipped the steaming liquid anyway, because it warmed me from the inside.
The Saint Paul of God Private Hospital appeared at the end of the drive and was no less sterile and intimidating than the first time I’d been here. Behind those doors lay answers, and today, I wasn’t leaving until I had them.
On unsure feet, I stepped into the reception area, relieved when it wasn’t the same nurse on duty as last time. This one listened to my request politely and then searched something on a computer. She smiled at me above her black glasses. “Okay, yes. Mrs. Dudgeon was cleared for your visit. You’ll need to sign this paperwork before you go in.”
She passed over a sheet of paper, and I scanned an eye over it quickly before looking at her. “I have to seriously sign a declaration saying I won’t discuss anything other than the approved topics?”
She nodded calmly. “I know it seems a lot, but the patients here are fragile. Too much information or upsetting topics from the real world can be detrimental to their recovery.”
Worry trickled down my spine, but I signed my name on the line and waited for her to file the paperwork. I gripped the desktop, knowing that the things I needed to hear from Tori weren’t ever going to be on some approved chat list. I was fairly sure ‘Discuss the way you murdered my sister in cold blood’ wasn’t going to be a topic that got approved by the staff here.
My fingers shook around the coffee cup that had become some sort of safety blanket. The remaining liquid inside had turned cold, but clutching it gave me something to do with my hands. My nail polish was chipped and scratched from a weekend of stressing about everything from a murderous psychopath in the woods, to whether my best friend was truly the woman I’d known since we were teenagers.
I was led into a small, sterile room with an ugly painting on one wall and two single hard plastic chairs that faced each other across a rectangular table. A limp potted plant sat in the corner, offering a little color to brighten the dull beige walls.
“Take a seat,” the nurse told me. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”
I was suddenly sure I was going to vomit; I was so nervous. I told myself I was being ridiculous, that this was just the same as me turning up at her house, not even knocking and just walking in to plop down on her couch. She’d come in any minute now and find me sitting here and sink down beside me so we could catch up on everything we’d missed.
The woman who walked in was barely recognizable as the friend I’d once known. There was no stopping it, my mouth dropped open, and a gasp slipped from between my lips.
She’d lost weight. On her petite frame, already slim from the rigors of taking care of a young baby, the few pounds she’d dropped had hollowed out her cheeks, and the collarbones jutted out alarmingly.
Her hair was combed, but it was lackluster, all its usual shine dulled. A man followed her in, bringing a chair with him. Her doctor, judging by the white coat.