He had to stop and pull himself together. All the strange pieces floating around inside of him with no center, no surety, no belief. He needed to piece them together, for this. For her. To survive.
Then he gave her exactly what she asked for. Hard, rough. Every time he thrust deep and thoughtlessly, she moaned, clutched his shoulders tighter, egged him on.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her breath panting against him, her body arched and still damp from rain, from exertion, who knew. He didn’t care. He wanted her like this always, taking him, wanting more from him. Nothing in the air but the sounds of their heavy breathing and their bodies coming together. Nothing else existed except the feel of her, except being inside of her.
“Come for me, Mel. I can’t…” How much longer could he do this and not lose himself in it? Her eyes were closed, arms clamped around his neck, her whole backside pressed against the wall. Every time he pushed deep, she made a sound, but she still held on tight to that last moment, that last give.
He did the only thing he could think of—he reached up and tugged on the braid that was hanging over her shoulder, pushing deep.
“Yes, that’s…God.” She spasmed against him, her grip on his neck almost unbearable as she moved her hips. He lost himself in her orgasm, in her, in everything.
He was shaking, not sure how much longer he’d stay upright, about to tell her so, but his mouth didn’t work. Nothing worked as the last blasts of pleasure edged through him.
Mel unlocked her legs, her arms. Managed to get to her feet, but she slid down the wall, something like a shaky laugh escaping her lips as her butt hit the floor. He had to lean against the wall to keep upright, Mel sitting at his feet.
“I think I might be dead,” he said.
“No deader than me,” she replied, sounding out of breath and shaky still.
“Can someone be deader than someone else?”
She only shook her head, pressing a hand to the center of her chest as if trying to catch her breath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever catch his again.
She looked up at him, a smile playing on her lips, both pleased and shy and a million other things he couldn’t get a hold on. He’d put all those there. He had done that.
He wanted to keep doing it. He reached out his hand. “Come to bed.”
Her gaze dropped, and she did the thing where she pressed her tongue to the corner of her mouth, and well, he felt a little stir where he’d just lost himself.
“Or…”
“Or what?” he asked, perhaps a little too eagerly.
“We could take a shower. Together.” Slowly, she took his hand and let him help her get to her feet with a kind of grace he’d never seen from her. It was languid, slow, smooth—none of the sharp, determined way of moving she usually had about her.
She pressed her hand to his chest, and he liked the way she did that. As if it cemented them together, as if she needed to. Then she leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest as she whispered in his ear. “I want to put my mouth on you.”
He blinked in surprise.
“If you’re interested.” Her hand dropped and she sauntered to his bathroom, pulling the band out of her hair before disappearing.
So he did the only reasonable thing a person could do in that situation: he scurried after her.
Chapter 17
Mel had no idea what she was doing, if Dan would follow, if this made any sense. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care, and since she didn’t, she’d keep on this path for as long as she could.
She’d told him what she wanted. Something hard and rough, and she couldn’t believe she had said it, and he had given it to her. It had been like…it had been like nothing she’d ever experienced.
And she wanted more. More of all the things she’d always been too embarrassed or uncomfortable to ask for. To give.
She flicked the shower on. Her hands were shaking—from that orgasm, from adrenaline, from fear, she had no idea. She didn’t care.
A laugh bubbled up and out of her mouth. She didn’t care, and it was the most wonderful damn thing.
“What is so funny?”
She took a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. Naked in his bathroom doorway. She hadn’t had a chance to really look at him, hadn’t had the bravery to unabashedly stare at his naked body and take it all in.
All. In.
There was a uniformity to the hue of his skin, like he didn’t spend a lot of time in the sun. He was like one of those marble statues, every muscle rounded, defined, the only interruption to the smooth look of him the pattern of chest hair that trailed down the center of his abs—like seriously well-defined abs—to…
She sucked in a breath. He was hard and thick, and since it had only happened a few minutes ago, it was no trouble remembering what it felt like buried inside her. Against the wall. Unrelenting. Perfect.