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But I’m still tender from his earlier attentions, so the delicate fizz, his flicking tongue, his grazing teeth are all enough to send erotic shudders running through me.
He moves to the other breast, does the same, and I cling to him, watching his every move, my mouth slack with unrestrained need.
What you should be asking is how you walk away from this? How, Lexi? How?
I whimper. Sex. Fear. Need. A mix that I can’t get a handle on. I just know I want this crazy, almost delirious heat to continue, to overpower all the rest, to stop the past from breaking in.
But it’s there—haunting me, taunting me.
I cry out, frustrated that my brain won’t quit, and he gazes up at me, his teeth sharp over one taut peak, his fingers sinking low. There’s a question in the depths of his eyes, a question I can’t answer, and I throw my head back onto the pillow, beckon with my hand in his hair for him to continue.
And he does, but I feel the question still hanging, burning into his every caress: What aren’t you telling me?
I grind against his fingers as they slip between my legs. I won’t let the pain back in. I have lived with it for so long and right now I feel alive, born again. Let me lose it...let us lose it together.
He parts my legs with his body and rises onto his knees, the glass still in his hand as his eyes trail over me, coming back to mine. No question now, only desire.
‘You are stunning.’
His voice is rough, setting my skin alight as he watches me. He tips the glass and dribbles a path of champagne from my breasts to my belly button... I suck in a breath as the liquid pools and trickles either side of me. Then he moves lower still. His fingers part me to the flow of liquid and I arch my back, whimpering as it seeps between my legs, a cold caress.
‘Lexi and champagne...the perfect cocktail.’
He bends forward to cover me with his mouth. The heat after the cold liquid is a striking contrast that has my hands clawing into his bedsheets, my body arching further.
‘Yes—God, yes.’
He groans over my clit, the vibrations firing spasms through my body.
‘I want... I want...’
I’m trying to articulate my thoughts, but I can’t keep my breath long enough to finish. I’m panting, gasping for air as my climax builds, and Cain is unrelenting, the tip of his tongue stroking me in a fierce dance that has my toes curling, my legs tensing. I can’t believe I’m going to...again...already, but I’m going, I’m going—I’m gone, roll after roll of pleasure shaking me to the core.
He dips down to tongue my wetness, to take all that he has milked from me, until my body twinges in its hyper-sensitivity and I’m pulling his body up to me. He lets the glass of champagne, now empty, roll off the bed onto the plush grey rug beside it, and covers me from head to toe.
‘I don’t think I can ever tire of making you come,’ he says.
‘You and me both.’ And oh, how I wish that could be the case, that we could stay like this always. Close, connected, happy.
I rake my hands down his back and pull him closer.
‘I’ll crush you,’ he warns, but I can’t speak.
I don’t trust my voice not to betray my inner turmoil. Instead I continue to tighten my arms around him, feeling the reassuring weight of his body on mine before he plants his elbows either side of me and eases up onto them.
He looks down at me and I feel his hardness pressing urgently into my thigh, telling me that although his hands are soft as they sweep over my cheeks, his face calm, satisfied, he still wants me.
I haven’t let anyone make love to me since Cain—since the night we made Rose. Not even Liam and I could ever get that far. I want to tell myself it’s okay, that this is what I want, but the pain has me clamping my eyes shut, my teeth biting into my lip.
‘Hey, I told you I’d crush you.’
He tries to move off me but I pull him back, my eyes flying open and pleading with his.
‘Don’t go.’
I want Cain. I want him to replace that memory with a new one. And I want it now.
‘Make love to me?’
