River lifted her gaze to Vaughn, barely able to see past eyelids weighed down with lust. Without seeing her own reflection, she knew exactly what he saw there. Something she couldn’t hide, even with their confused situation—trust. He’d never pressured her as a young girl into anything. So whether or not he could be trusted with her heart, she gave over her body fully.
And it pushed him over the edge, that unabashed trust. She saw it in the loosening of his jaw, in his thorn-ridden intake of breath. The glide of his hips grew unsteady, even as his erection grew irresistibly swollen in her mouth. “Ah fuck, Riv. Keep looking at me, okay? Please?” He stopped sliding out of her mouth then, simply pressing in tight and rotating his hips, every inch of him beating in her mouth, her throat. His big, muscular body became racked with shudders, saltiness greeting the side of River’s throat. “Jesus, Jesus Christ,” Vaughn gritted out, his grip fierce on her ponytail. “Nothing sweeter. Nothing better than this little mouth. Missed it. Missed that tongue, those teeth, that throat. You taste how sore I’ve been?”
Once Vaughn’s shudders of pleasure subsided, they didn’t spare a second, both sets of their hands attacking the button and zipper of River’s jeans, lowering it with a metallic zing so Vaughn could drop back down to the floor and shove his hand inside. Work-chafed fingers made her panties seem like an annoying formality, yanking them down enough that Vaughn could rub the pad of his thumb on River’s clit. Fast, so fast. Aggressive. Sensation slugged her in the center, making relief that had been secondary mere moments before a necessity. Now…now relief was life.
“Faster, more, more…more.” River spread her thighs wide to give Vaughn room and he took it, sliding her full of those gloriously male fingers. Pumping them into her sex without gentleness. Exactly what she needed. Exactly. “Yes, Vaughn.”
“You’re making me hard again. Fuck.” He pressed his forehead against River’s inner thigh, face screwed up with obvious pain. “No relief. It just never ends, never ends, never…”
He trailed off when River began contracting around his fingers. His head lifted, lust, awe, eagerness battling it out for precedence on his face. River’s muscles slung tight, pleasure rushing through, over, around her. Her fingers tunneled into Vaughn’s hair, tugging, patting, combing, River having no control of them or idea of their intention. She only knew the atomic bliss that came from having her body satisfied so brutally by a grateful man. Grateful because she’d let him use her mouth. Let him treat it like his personal pleasure device, something that never failed to excite her femininity. Through half-closed eyes, she watched Vaughn fall forward and kiss her stomach, trailing his tongue through the valley of her belly button, traveling sideways to nip at her hipbone.
Finally, Vaughn’s head fell into her lap, resting, even as his lethargic fingers attempted to right her panties, his breath still on the shallow side. “What do we do, doll? You told me no messing around. And I’m trying not to screw up this chance.” He smoothed his big hand up and down her thigh, warm air from his mouth feathering her bare midriff. “But I don’t have the strength to say no when you encourage me. I never did. It’s too fucking good when we give in.”
River hated the reminder that she was sending mixed signals. One second she pushed Vaughn away, the next it was a race to get his pants off. Truthfully, she didn’t know if impulse control was possible with Vaughn. Or maybe…maybe getting physical with him would provide closure. She didn’t know. But if he stayed any longer, they would be at it again. No question. And she would be twice as confused when it ended. “I better get to bed. Marcy wakes up early.”
…
It was the vision of River climbing into bed alone that did it. Another one zoomed in right behind, too. River sleepily preparing breakfast for herself and Marcy in the kitchen. Soft, smiling, sweet. Home. He was supposed to be there. A cutout shape where his body should have been since…always…moved right along River in the shifting images. His life. He wasn’t going to keep climbing out the window of his life. Hope—bright and alive—found the dead center of his stomach like a falling meteor.
He’d come to Hook for scraps. Come to collect any small piece of home and family River could give. But he wanted—needed—it all now. All. He wanted the love of his life back. Wanted the freedom to sync their hearts again, so bad his blood soared to his head, making him dizzy and determined at the same time. Hell, they were already pounding in time together, it was only a matter of earning the right to acknowledge it, and have River acknowledge it, too.