Page 85 of Any Port in a Storm

He pulls back for a moment, flushed and a little breathless from the fervor of our makeout session. “But don’t you think we should talk about this?”

I shake my head forcefully. “All we do is talk, Nick. It’s all we’ve ever done.” I unlace our fingers; pull my shirt over my head. Watch his pupils grow as I unhook my bra. Reach for his shirt; wait for him to nod before I drag it off him. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

He hesitates, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Okay,” he says quietly, nodding as if convincing himself.

“Yeah?” I want this so badly, but not if he isn’t sure.

“Yeah,” he agrees, running his thumb over my jaw. “There’ll be plenty of time for talking later.”

I press a kiss to his thumb as it skims my lips. “That’s the spirit.”

Nick shoots me a devastating grin, then runs his hands up my torso, stopping to pay homage to my breasts. “What kind of man would I be if I said no to this?”

I grab his wrists. “You can say no.”

“I’m saying yes,” he counters. “I’m definitely saying yes.”

My laugh morphs into a breathy moan as Nick runs his tongue over my nipple. “Jesus. I’d almost forgotten how good you are.”

“Really?” He looks directly into my eyes and runs his finger down my abdomen, popping open the button of my jeans. “Well, I guess I’ll have to help you remember.”

My lashes flutter shut as he skims his thumb over my clit, then his do when he realizes how wet I am. “God,” we say at exactly the same time. Then we both laugh, and I’m kissing him again, and he’s dragging my pants down my hips, then my underwear. “Nick,” I gasp, as he plunges two fingers inside me.

“Mmm,” he hums into my ear. “I could never forget hearing you sound like that.”

I can’t think of a coherent reply, so I reach for the button of his jeans, and he seems to find that an adequate response. He helps me slip them off, then I tug roughly on his underwear. “You, too,” I demand.

“So bossy,” he tsks.

“Please. Of the two of us, you’re definitely the bossy one.”

“Fine. You want bossy?”

I think, at least in this moment, that might be exactly what I want. “Yes,” I breathe.

His eyes glimmer with want in the twilight. “Lie down on the couch, Laurel. Spread your legs.”

I swallow hard. “Oof.”

“Well?”

“Yeah,” I say, lying down. “I liked that.”

His grin is positively feral. “Good.” Then he’s kneeling down before me, licking into the moisture pooling between my thighs, drawing me right to the edge.

“Holy shit,” I gasp.

“More?”

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give,” I say coyly.

Shadows dance across his face, harboring the secrets of our past. His voice is hushed; almost reverent. “You know I’m willing to give you everything.”

My heart pounds at the double entendre, because I know he’s talking about more than sex.

It’s always been everything.

My mind is racing. I want to tell him—that I want everything. That I always have. That I don’t care about what happened; that I want to move on. That I can’t live without him.