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“I know,” Lily’s bitter scoff echoes his. “That poor man. More like someone held a gun to his and never let it drop. That prenup was stacked against him. He never had a chance. He was so dazzled by her. A willing prisoner. Until it was too late to escape.”
“And what about you?” he wonders. “What’s holding you hostage? What did you come here to get free of?”
“Besides my clothes?” Her eyebrows rise with that mischief he wanted back. She looks like the perfect combination of wicked and innocent.
She’s trying to change the subject. He should let her. But a thunderstorm’s as good a time as any to lay all your shit bare. “You are not unlovable, sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “There’s a light in you that no amount of petty head games and shitty parenting can dim. You know that, right? You’re not her. You could never be her. And that’s a good thing in my book.”
Lily makes a little noise like a gasp. A sharp inhale. “Michael...” This is the woman who’s already had her mouth on his dick. Already wrapping her hand around his heart. And she shows no hesitation in asking for more. “I mightreallyneed to kiss you right now.”
He really needs to kiss her, too. He’s been fighting it. Badly. Pretending the inevitable isn’t that. And Michael could also pretend that denying her is an example of strength. That it makes him good and pure and honorable to push her away. But sometimes the true nobility lies in surrender. So he’s giving up. Giving in. Making the best worst mistake. He slides his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head. Her face is already turned toward him, her lips pink and parted. Lily’s blooming for him. So fucking beautiful.
Michael starts at the corner of her mouth. The barest, softest, contact. A taste of her lower lip. Slow. Sipping. Savoring it. A first kiss. But then she presses back, her tongue meeting his. And any thought of going slowly burns up between them.Fuck.It’s everything. Frantic and wild in an instant. She tastes like malt and hops and cinnamon and sex. His after-dinner drink and his dessert. Buzzing through his veins. Jacking him up. This is what being high was like. But better. Pure and uncut. He hauls her against him. The sky finally opens up above them, and the torrent practically turns to steam on his hot skin.
This beautiful woman could set him on fire. He’ll gladly burn.
Seven
The rain plasters theirclothes to their bodies, the denim of her skirt and his jeans heavy and Michael’s thin white t-shirt nearly transparent. And still he ruts against her, hands on her hips gentle and bruising in turns. She can take it. She wants to take it. All of it. Everything he has to give. This lean and hungry man devouring her mouth and getting them both off with the friction alone. The friction and the location and the abandon that comes from finally giving in.
His groan gets lost in the downpour as he hoists her higher and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him even more deeply into the cradle of her thighs. But she doesn’t need to hear him. She can see everything in the wildness of his eyes. Like lighting across the sky. She smells the rain on his skin. The newness of this thing between them growing like something lush and green. Storms nourish as much as they destroy.
Lily crosses her arms behind his head, gripping his wet dark hair.Closer. Harder.Like she can crawl inside him. Mick’s lips are soft and skilled, his kisses as beautifully rough as his singing voice. His damp beard stubble rubs her chin and her cheek, the sensation just as delicious as every other he’s given her. She hopes he leaves marks.
Somehow, they make it to the back door. Up and over the threshold. Hitting kitchen chairs and the counter, adding to their storm’s path of destruction. “Want you,” he murmurs raggedly, breathing into the hollow behind her ear. The warm puffs of air tickle and tease and turn into electric ripples down her spine. “Want you, baby, and I shouldn’t have you.”
“Take me,” she urges. Because he’s throbbing where she’s throbbing. They’re both so close to cumming. And she wants to see a fifty-four-year-old rocker with nothing left to lose realize there’s one last thing to give—and it belongs to her now. “Take me, have me, break me.” It comes out unwittingly poetic, like lyrics or a chant. “I don’t care, just do it.”
“Lily.Fuck. Lily. You’re so hot. So tight.” His fingers are there now, deep in her cunt, where she’s wet from him and not the rain. The thick shock of them and the heel of his palm rubbing against her are a cruel approximation of what she prays comes next. Cruel and consuming. Overwhelming. He’s taking her body and giving her his soul. All with one hand.
She scrabbles for purchase, scraping her nails across his shoulders and his chest as she rides his palm. “Please,” she pants. “Please.” What she’s begging for, she doesn’t even know.
Michael doesn’t move. He just holds himself above her, mouth trailing heat across her jaw. “She didn’t love you enough, sweetheart,” he whispers. “But I will. God help me, I will.”
The words are all it takes. She spasms and bucks. A white heat spirals out from her center. The orgasm is fast and hard and she’s not even done cumming when his mouth replaces his fingers.
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