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“Never enough.” My brows pinch. “I fucked up so—”
“No. You didn’t.” She slides her sexy arse up on the mattress, lifting our hands into her lap. My head pounds, but I ignore it. I focus on that body, those rolling hills, valleys, and curves. Even in just faded light-blue jeans and a white tank top, her shape teases the fuck out of me. What I’m going to do to that body when I’m strong again.Goddamn it, Woman.Dirty, fucked-up things. That’s what.
“You walked away,” she says, dragging me from my attempt to regain some fucking masculinity.Dammit.“You walked away from them in the end.”
“What have I missed?”
“Well, I told you this yesterday, so I’ll do the CliffsNotes version. Dr Matthews said it’s normal for the first few days to be a blur. You have been heavily drugged. So, Clay… fixed the problems—bothof them. And the site is down. The money went to a charity. My mum has filed for a divorce, and Clay has found clean assets. When they divide their assets, your brother’s lawyer is going to make sure she gets those businesses. So… we’ll have money again. A little bit, anyway. And…” She thinks, and my head swamps. “Oh, Stacey smiled yesterday. Your dad is back, and he’s wearing a tie again,” she says that last bit like it’s a miracle, but fuck knows why. She adds, “Bronson looks like he understands right from wrong, and Max isn’t at odds with his own head, so—”
“Right,” is what I can manage. I’m struggling. In pain, disassociation and loss dripping from me, but she can’t see it. I know it’s just for now. Her excitement is what I hold on to. Her smile is what I need to survive this. So, I will fucking fight the pain, the burn, the loss, the sadness, the confusion, and I’ll win. I always win the fight. That is what I do. The fight has changed, but, who I am, has not.
I’ll fight for her now.
“And you…” She exhales through a wide smile. Tears start to spill freely from the corner of her eyes as they sweep over me, reverent and excited.
I don’t like the tears, quickly using my thumbs to brush them away. “Don’t cry, Kaya.”
“You’re talking to me.” She smiles. “You have said a bit here and there, but you’re actually talking to me. Say something smart, Hothead.”
“You’re beautiful,” I gush, and she giggles. I sigh roughly as the lovely cadence works to massage my mind and warm the base of my spine, the sensation wrapping lower, making me hard for her, and that sexy sound.
“Well, fuck me.” She beams. “It’s poetry.”
“Soon, Baby.” I lick my lips and reach for the water again, suddenly fucking parched for other reasons. It’s been days. “That I can assure you. Poetry. Prose.” I take a mouthful. “And the fucking you, that, too. Very, very soon. But for now—” I lather my lips, still dry, not quenched at all. “Give me a taste.”
“Of water?” Her perfectly shaped brows pull in, so I mentally shred her tight denim jeans. She feels it. “What do you mean?” A flush travels up her neck, around her cheeks and she takes a quick look over her shoulder at the door, then meets my stare again and slides from the bed.
“I mean…” I groan, just thinking about her juice bursting on my tongue. “Look after your boy. I’m thirsty. Slide your fingers inside your pussy. Feed them to me.”
She gasps and smiles. “I can’t—”
“You were going to take care of me.”
“Xander—”
“Buy me flowers.”
She motions to a red and white bouquet of roses and lilies on the bedside. “I did.”
I pretend to pout. “I’m thirsty.” Rolling my tongue along my lower lip, thinking about her pussy, her taste, I say, “I need you.”
“Hothead,” she protests, while unbuttoning her jeans. A pretty mouth of defiance. A lush body of obedience.
My gaze wanders to watch her slide her hand down the front of her jeans. The shape of her knuckles at her pussy, fingers cupping and the small amount of movement as she slides a few inside, hardens me to an acute ache.
I lift my knees to hide my boner from unwelcome guests. “Are you wet?” I shuffle. “Baby? Are you clinging?”
Her eyes stray around the room. “A little.”
“Look at me,” I order her. She anchors her blue gaze in mine, but she’s blinking fast, way too in her head, too distracted to be enjoying herself. “You know. You know what you do to me. Make my muscles tight. Make me want to bite. Not just lick you. Not just suck you.Eatyou. Really, really, eat you.” She is panting now, following the imagery, joining me in my fantasy. “Slide your fingers around your pussy. You’re juicy. The way I like. Feel that silky fluid. It’s soft. Clear. Clean. So beautiful. I want it, Baby. Ineedit.”
Her chin rises, her mouth opens, her eyes lose focus, and I can almost feel her pleasure, taste it in the air, smell it.
She works her pussy for several minutes. I’m raptured by the sight of her cheeks growing pinker and pinker, of her mouth slack, wider and wider, and of her legs shaking until she releases a throaty whimper. Comes. Quietly.
It's the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
She wets her mouth; I follow her tongue. Then she pulls her fingers from between her thighs. Hesitantly, she lifts them to my lips.
