I glare at her steadily until she finishes her statement.
“Sometimes even things done with the best of intentions can wound and destroy. Sometimes the darkness wins. That’s all I’m saying. I just worry is all.” She shrugs almost imperceptibly and then adds, “We’ll leave you be, but call us if you need us, okay?”
I nod and with that she leaves my room and closes the door behind her.
Now I’m the one left in darkness.
I wake to loud knocking on my front door. Sitting up in my bed, I glance over at my phone and see that it’s after two in the morning.
Something’s wrong.
I don’t know how I know, but I know it even before I’m fully conscious. Stumbling to the door, I mutter inaudibly to my late-night visitor to hold the hell on. I’ve barely registered the figure standing in the door way before I open it.
His scorching hot mouth fastens to mine. It’s a kiss and then a lick and then a hard pull of my flesh into his mouth. It’s a familiar mouth, one that affects even more parts of my body than he’s actually touching.
Before I can say a word or mutter in either protest or approval, his hands grip my ass and I am lifted onto him. My legs instinctually wrap his waist and the burning kiss continues as he carries me to my bedroom. It’s dark in the house so he’s making his way through by memory.
Heat sears my back—hot enough that I’m slightly concerned my mattress is on fire when he lowers me roughly onto it.
Is this a dream? Am I awake?
Using both hands, I reach for his face and drag his mouth to mine. Immediately I know that I am not dreaming. The Gavin in my dreams tastes only like Gavin, like mint and sometimes a faint hint of tobacco even though he quit smoking. This Gavin tastes different.
The liquor on his breath is so strong I’m instantly drunk at the first touch of our tongues.
It’s an addicting flavor, Gavin and stout whiskey.
He tears his shirt off over his head and my brain tries to warn me, to remind me about something. I’m mad at him. Or I’m supposed to be mad. Or . . . something. But there is only heat and need and skin.
So much skin.
I fell asleep in my threadbare Civil Wars T-shirt and he’s wearing only jeans that scrape roughly against my exposed skin.
His strong hand assaults my bare breasts. One, then the other. Rubbing hard then tugging gently on each nipple until the ache in them rivals the one between my legs.
I want him to keep touching me, to taste me, to be as consumed with his need for me as I am by mine for him.
He growls low in my ear. “I need you so fucking bad. I shouldn’t have you. I don’t deserve you, but I need you. Can I have you?”
“Yes, Gavin. God, yes. You have me. I need you too. I—”
He cuts me off with a kiss that plunges into the depths of my mouth, leaving no inch unexplored. I moan loudly, thankful for once that the house is empty.
I feel his hard denim-covered length press between my legs and writhe beneath him.
“Gav. I need. I need . . .” I can’t breathe. All I am is need.
“I know what you need, sweetness. I have every intention of giving it to you.”
“Yes, please,” I plead shamelessly.
Liquid heat pools where I need him most and I thrust myself harder against his jeans.
“Not yet, my impatient girl. I’m going to take my time with you.” Without waiting for permission or a response, he moves swiftly down my body and delves his thick, wet tongue between my already slick folds. My body bows up off the bed and I cry out as pleasure tears through my body.
My legs spread farther apart, granting him access to every inch of me. His tongue wrecks me, circling slow then fast, then plunging inside. I’m begging for mercy, for release, for something. I can hear myself but I can’t control anything coming out of my mouth.
“Fuck me, Gav,” I beg. “Please. Pretty please.”