Oh my God. My tears betray me, rushing to my eyes, so I turn my face away, but he sees them and bends, running his tongue along one of the wet trails sliding down my cheeks.
“What are you doing in my room, Georgiana?” His voice is deep and demanding. It’s soothed me and served as my lullaby for so many years, but I’m still not immune to it. “Answer me.”
“I’m searching for my things. I need to do something.”
He presses his erection against me, and I groan. Instead of nightclothes, I’m wearing a sundress with a matching shrug to keep my arms covered. Because of the bandages and the strength of the a/c.
His lips brush against my neck and I open my legs to cradle him better. My panties are cute, but they’re small, lacy, and soaked, useless to block out the feel of his hard length. I swear the tip of him burns against me, so I raise my pelvis and rock against him. My nipples are painful and hard. As if he knows all the places I ache for him, he shoves my top down and palms my breast, staring at me as he does this, before bending his dark head and sucking my nipple into his mouth.
“Sloane,” I whisper, combing my fingers through his damp hair, not caring about the sweat on him. His smell increases my excitement. I trace his ear and the gold hoops that he favors above all other earrings.
My breasts are small, so he has no problem covering nearly the entire mound with his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple, while keeping a steady suction going, his lips hot against my skin.
He leaves me, and I whimper in protest. Instead of deserting me, he slides his hands over my skin and removes my panties. He sniffs them and runs his tongue along the wet seat, the animalistic action almost sending me over the edge.
His fingers glide along my seam. I brush my clit against his movements, my hands tweaking my nipples. A moan escapes me.
“Shhh,” he soothes, covering me again and placing his mouth over mine. It takes a moment to realize his fingers are gone. Braced above me, we’re only connected mouth-to-mouth.
“Make love to me.”
“No.”
“Sloane—“
Now that he has my full attention, he gets to his feet. His erection presses against his loose shorts and his gaze sweeps over me. My legs are spread open. My body is as frustrated from a lack of release, as my mind is jumbled from all the emotions.
“Now that I have your full attention…Stay out of my room. It’s useless to search for your shit because it isn’t here.”
Turning his back on me, he rubs his neck. As his words penetrate my brain, I snap my legs closed and sit up. He only touched me like that to get my attention? Not because he felt any desire for me. My knees draw up and I rest my cheek on them, the same old emptiness slamming into me.
“Did you hear me?”
I hear him now, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of answering, so I clamp my jaw together in childish rebellion.
“Get out of my room and don’t come back in without my permission.”
A slew of arguments rise in me, but I scoff at their insignificance. “Do you know why I chose you over Grandma?”
His shoulders heave. I think he’s softened. He hasn’t. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“Because you’re as much of an ass as Crowell is.” I’ve descended to full on bitch-brat. Knowing how he detests Josh’s friend is a low blow on my part. Who cares? All’s fair in grumpiness and assholery. “I thought you cared. I thought we were friends. Grandma would attempt to turn me into the blithering puppet she’s made Mom and Dad. I’m already half afraid of her. I didn’t have the energy to pit my will against hers.”
He still won’t face me. “So I’m the lesser of two evils?”
The flames and the Phoenix are glistening with lingering patches of sweat. “At the moment, you’re the greater of two evils.”
His shoulders relax a little and he glances at me, affording me a view of his smile in profile. The man’s beautiful from any direction.
“Do you remember the night we met?”
“Yes.” As long as I live, I’ll never forget it.
“I wanted to help you.” Finally, he comes to the bed and sits on the edge, leaning in his favorite pose, elbows on knees. This time, though, he looks tragic, with his head in his hands. “I was afraid you’d OD, so I had to get those drugs from asshole…” His voice trails off. “It was a struggle. A test,” he amends and clarifies, “after you left and I had the coke. It took everything in me to get rid of that shit. But it was your words…Sloane, please…the memory of your voice…it meant something to me.”
This moment between us is so fragile, I’m almost afraid to speak and break it. Each time, he affords me a glimpse into his thoughts, his real life, our bond solidifies. We connect in every way a girl and a boy…a man and a woman…can. I slide closer to him, lay my hand against the red guitar tat.
“You wanted to save me?”