The preliminaries were over as he released his hand from my back, tearing at his fly, the both of us standing there with our clothes around our ankles. He grabbed a fistful of wet hair at my nape, knotted his fingers in the mass and tugged, forcing my head back. His other hand was at my backside, positioning a certain body part against me. He leaned over my back and hissed into my ear, “You want this? You want me to fuck you hard?”
Well, Jesus. Hell yeah, I wanted it. How freaking hot was he? I could only nod my head in answer.
He let go of my hair and grabbed my hips, driving full-length into me as we both screamed. He slammed into me hard and fast, grunting on every thrust; once, twice, maybe only a dozen times before he lost it, growling and cursing as he came, pouring himself out in me, forcing every last ounce to spill inside, before slumping across my back, shuddering and exhausted, breathless and spent.
We were both ravaged animals, panting heavily, coming down. Trip gave a quick rub to the back of my head, soothing the spot where he’d practically ripped out my hair.
“You okay?”
“I’m great!” I said, elated and overcome. Who knew a quickie could be so satisfying?
He put his forehead against my shoulder blade, and I could feel his heaving breath against my bare skin. “I wasn’t going to do it, you know. I wasn’t going to take a drink. It’s important that you know that. I’ve been here before. I would have talked myself down.”
“Coulda told me that before slamming me over the sofa. Ow. My ribs hurt.”
Trip pulled his pants back up and I managed to wrap a towel around me before sliding onto the couch, where he joined me, curling up against my side. We were both invertebrates, melting into one another as I played my fingers through his hair. I thought about the fight we’d just had and wondered what was going on. We definitely had to straighten some stuff out.
But it was hard to concentrate on anything more than getting my breathing back to normal while I reveled in the delicious afterglow, his limbs tangled up with mine.
That is, until the question that had been bothering me for weeks made its way out of my mouth. “Why do you even keep it in the house?”
He didn’t even wait a beat before answering resolutely, “To test myself. Like Sam Malone. Remember Cheers? Reformed alcoholic relief-pitcher-turned-bar-owner? That’s me. If I know I can fight it in the privacy of my own home, when it’s right there for the taking at any time, I know I can fight it anywhere.”
We lay there for a moment, settling into one another as I mulled over his logic. Trip’s heartbeat was still pounding rapidly, the sound a nostalgic melody against my ear.
Out of nowhere, he sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry for raising my voice, for accusing you like that.”
I was grateful for the apology. But it still didn’t explain his outburst. “Thank you. I appreciate that. But Trip, why would you just come out like gangbusters and blast me like that? Even when I explained myself, you refused to believe me.”
“I know. I guess I just got caught up in my own head about it.”
I was all too familiar with that scenario. I think I’ve proven beyond all reasonable doubt that I am Queen of the Mind-Splooge. “I’m really sorry if it looked as though I were writing some tell-all about your life. I hope you know that I’d never do that. Even the ‘biography’ I was working on for you was more of just a sweet story about how we’d met; a memoir from my point of view. It’s not a retelling of every sordid detail about your life.”
“I only scanned the pages long enough to see that it was about me.”
“I kinda figured that out on my own.”
He sighed and repositioned himself more comfortably on the couch, my body wedged in tightly along his side. I ran a hand up his bare chest as he tangled a strand of my hair around his fingers, the both of us lost in thought.
Finally, he asked, “Is it any good?”
His question made me chuckle. “Well, it’s not finished yet, but I’d like to think so, yes.”
It suddenly occurred to me that Trip had no idea whether or not I could actually write. Yes, he’d read the article I’d written about him, but that was hardly a valid example of my work. I’d written entire novels since then.
I was mulling that over when his next words caught me completely off guard. “Then you should publish it if you want. Just have your agent send over the release forms.”
What the? I was stunned by what he was asking. I twisted myself to look him in the eyes as I asked, “Seriously? You want me to essentially sell a piece of your life story, here.”
He swiped a hand down my jaw, his fingers playing under the hair at my neck. “Babe. I trust you. And anyway, it’s our life story. You and me, remember?”
Of course I remembered.
How could I ever forget?
When it came to Trip, I remembered everything.
Chapter 23
FRAGILE