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Thirty-Two
Every muscle in Sarah’s body tightened at the strum of Dean’s touch. His hand over her hip. That soft caress coaxing her to soften—as did her straddled position in his lap—even though a deeply embedded sense of restraint pleaded with her not to give in. But she wanted to. She so wanted to…
“Let me love you.” His repeated and imposing words made adrenaline course through every one of her fragile nerves, his gentle kiss on her lips weakening the sting just a little.
She’d let a man love her before, but look how that turned out…
Blaine left me for Emilia, didn’t he? But heck, had I really loved him too?
She squeezed her eyes shut, that whole situation too complex for her to work through right now.
“When I kiss you, I want it to be more than physical.” Dean’s easy tone smoothed her jagged edges once more, bringing her back to him, her chest sagging into his, his breath a hot summer’s breeze over her neck. “I want all of you.”
Her breaths stilled to short sharp intakes and heat pooled in her lower regions, defying her logic and overriding ten years of reason.
“Every last snarky word of yours, Sarah.” His lips caught hers again, only to escape all too fast. “Every frightened thought. I want to hear it. As much as I try, I can’t resist you and I want you to feel the same about me.”
Her heart clenched so hard she feared it might implode altogether. The sneaky devil had her already and he knew it, but he didn’t know what he asked for… Or maybe he did. And if he did, then he knew that he asked for the impossible. Not because she didn’t feel those same things for him, but because she would have to give up far too much of herself to allow those feelings to run free.
“I want to.” The words rushed from her mouth, and she moved to say more, only the slow shake of Dean’s head halted her ability to speak.
“Don’t let the next word be, ‘but’. Can we just leave it at you want to?” The deep dip of his brow and his unrelenting stare spoke of his need to avoid disappointment.
Except, the tentative shift of his gaze over her face, that subtle but desperate search for another clue. Well, that gaze made her think maybe her initial impressions about him being an unbreakable tough guy were all wrong. That Dean Holloway’s heart was capable of breaking. Much worse, that she could be the one to break it.
She pressed her lips together for a quick moment and jolted in an attempt to restrain a manic laugh. He’d come to the wrong woman if undying love and fluffy feelings was what he wanted.
But the tight clenching around her heart changed her protest to something lighter, more accepting. She wasn’t one for “fluffy” feelings, but she wasn’t a monster either. So, she blinked a few times to ease the sudden hot prickle behind her eyes—an unusual sensation—and gave him a quick nod.
We’ll leave it at “wanting”.
And just to soften things further, she lifted her hands and allowed her fingers to glide over his broad shoulders, her fingertips catching the short hair at the base of his neck. She’d fought her impulses long enough. The fire of his skin demanded she melt on every level, as did his words, and she yielded to that demand as she crushed her lips over his.
He met her desire blow for blow, his hands pressing into her back as he stood, and her arms latched around him for purchase.
Maybe he was right. She’d shelved so much of what she wanted, so much she left unexpressed, all to maintain a semblance of non-existent peace. Boring peace that required too much sacrifice.
Her version of peace had stolen her dreams. It had kept others from dealing with their issues. Ally included. Maybe this once she could try something different. Lay claim to her desires and see where that different took her.
Dean pulled his lips away. He stood in his bedroom with her wrapped around him, her legs locked around his waist. His gaze held her too, the steadiness of that stare seeming to read her change, allowing her time to have no doubt about what she wanted. No-holds-barred passion. No hidden agendas. Even though they still hid so much from each other.
Her blood raced at the imperfection of it all, when for so long all she’d wanted were things that were tangible and easy to answer. Maybe Sarah Overton can be someone more. Less a woman who people tiptoed around, more strength and fragility. Completely herself. Someone who wanted and needed others. Okay, less others, more one man in particular… Imagine that…
He carried her the few steps to the bed and lowered her to the mattress, the soft crush of sheets rustling in her ears. The hot press of his lips hit hers again, his stubble adding a prickle to her skin, one that sent need sweeping through her body.
The taste of his kiss matched the spicy, warm scent of him, and she groaned and surrendered to the sumptuous fever taking over, his kisses now tracing a path down her jawline.
“You smell like a bar.” His teasing words skimmed her ears, his strong fingers making a mockery of the buttons at the front of her work shirt.
She gave a lazy chuckle. “And I can’t even say I enjoyed a drink.”
His deep chuckle joined hers. “I’m willing to drink for two.”
His wide palm swept her shirt open and claimed her left breast from under her flimsy cream lace bra, his thumb brushing her nipple, drawing from her a hiss.
He’d touched her like this so many times before, but something changed here. The ache around her heart. The gnawing within her tummy. She lay beneath him, deliciously caught, her entire being connected to his every move. She constantly waited for what would come next.
Next was him leaning in, pushing her bra straps down, her arms caught at her sides, his lips meeting with her opposite nipple.
