Things We Never Said: A Hart’s Boardwalk Novel Page 16

  “Why should I stop?” he said, drawing me closer. “I don’t want to stop until you’re out of my blood. Why can’t I get you out of me, huh? I want you out.”

  “Then let me go,” I whispered.

  His grip on me only tightened, his expression fierce with something else as he watched my tears fall. “There could be another way.”

  Seeing the heat in his dark eyes, understanding flooded me. A flush spread across my cheeks and neck, traveling lower. I wanted to shake my head, say no, but I also absolutely did not.

  Hadn’t I known this was what would happen if he brought me here?

  I think, despite knowing how stupid it was, I’d anticipated this with a thrill I couldn’t deny.

  Michael curled his hand around the nape of my neck and drew me tight to him. The fever that crawled through me burned hotter, awakening my body inch by inch in a way only Michael Sullivan’s touch could. His other hand slid down my back to cup my ass. His erection dug into my stomach, and a flush of wet slickened between my thighs. Oh my God. I trembled under his intense study.

  “Think about it. We never got a chance to fuck. What if that’s all this is? What if it’s just physical goddamn frustration?”

  I shivered in his arms. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Yeah? Maybe, maybe not. But we could stand here all night, yelling at each other, trying to find ways to dig out all the pain, or I could throw you on my bed, and we could fuck out all the anger and hurt.”

  I lowered my eyes because even though my mind was screaming what a bad idea it was, there was a part of me that wanted to know. To know what it would be like to have Michael inside of me.

  If I looked at him, my body, my desire, would win over my good sense.

  My breath hitched as Michael took my silence for acquiescence and flicked the button open on the top of my jeans. I froze at the abrupt sexual action as he slid the zipper down and gently slipped his hand beneath my underwear. Surprised and turned on, I made a guttural sound, my hands grabbing onto his upper arms for support as he pushed through my wet to touch my clit.

  He grunted and pressed his forehead to my temple and continued to rub my clit. Now he knew that merely arguing with him got me as ready as goddamn foreplay.

  I tried to stop undulating against his touch, but the pleasure was tightening between my legs. My fingers bit into his arms. “Mich—”

  He covered my mouth with his, hungrily kissing the rest of my resistance out of me. Then I was up in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried me into the bedroom.

  In my haze of lust, of need, I was ready to be thrown on the bed and screwed six ways till Sunday. Yet Michael surprised me.

  He broke our kiss and lowered me to my feet at the foot of his bed.

  His hands rested on my waist for a second before sliding down over my hips. We stared at each other in a mix of longing and defensiveness. I could see the wariness in his dark eyes just as I knew he saw that emotion mirrored in mine.

  Why did he stop?

  Stopping would only lead me to thinking, and I didn’t want to think. I wanted to be impulsive and stupid. Even if it wrecked me.

  “I should go.”

  Michael’s answer was to tighten his grip on my waist. He gave me what felt like a reassuring squeeze before slipping his fingers under my sweater. I shivered at the soft caress of his rough fingertips.

  “You’re not wearing a coat,” he said, his voice low. “You need to start wearing a coat.” There was a dreamlike quality to his tone. Like he was in a daze. His touch was pulling me into that daze with him. When he caressed a little higher, across my ribs, goose bumps prickled over my breasts, and they felt heavy, desperate for his hands, his mouth.

  “Michael …”

  His hands came out from under my sweater to take hold of the opening of my jeans. He dug his thumbs into the waistband, expression determined and hot as our eyes stayed connected. And then he slowly tugged my pants down over my hips. The denim clung tightly to my generous hips, so he had to guide them down, lowering to his haunches to do so. I felt his hot breath on the cotton between my legs, and I shuddered with need. Bracing a hand on his strong shoulder, I lifted one foot after the other so he could unzip my boots and pull the jeans off.

  A small part of me wondered if he was doing this deliberately, seducing me slowly so I could torment myself later with the knowledge that I’d had multiple opportunities to stop this. When he curled his big hands around my calves, looked up into my eyes, and caressed the back of my legs, I stopped questioning his motives. He didn’t look like a man calculating every move. He looked like a man savoring me.

  A tug deep in my womb caused another rush of wet to dampen the material between my legs, and as if he sensed it, Michael’s gaze lowered there. His hands climbed higher around the back of my legs before smoothing around my upper thighs. Gliding his thumbs toward my inner thighs, he asked, voice hoarse, “Open your legs.”

  Excitement fizzled like champagne bubbles in my belly, and I moaned a little as I did as he asked. Gently, he pushed beneath my underwear, and I gasped as two thick fingers slid easily inside me.

  “Oh, fuck.” He groaned and rested his forehead against my right thigh. “You’re so ready.”

  I flushed with embarrassment because a guy usually had to work a lot harder to get me to this point.

  Easing his fingers from me, Michael pulled my underwear down my legs. I stepped out of them, my legs shaking a little. And then Michael lifted my right leg over his shoulder, and I gasped, resting my hand on his opposite shoulder for balance. He made a guttural noise of desire seconds before his tongue touched my clit.

  Need slammed through me, and I undulated against his mouth. His fingers dug into my thigh, and his groan vibrated through me.

  Oh my God!

  He suckled my clit, pulling on it hard, and I panted as beautiful tension built deep inside me. His tongue circled my clit and then slid down in a dirty voracious lick before pushing inside me.

  “Michael!” I cried, thrusting against his mouth as I climbed higher and higher toward breaking apart completely.

  Feeling my desperation, Michael returned to my clit and gently pushed two fingers inside of me.

  It hit like an explosion of fiery, spine-tingling stars, release sliding deliciously through me as I shuddered against Michael’s mouth.

  He gently lowered my trembling leg, and I swayed against him as he stood. Rather than being languid with satisfaction, I was buzzing with longing. Like I was still on the precipice of orgasm. I needed more.

  A thrilling feeling of power overwhelmed me as our eyes locked. His smoldered, and his jaw was set with a ferocious hunger. I did that to him.

  Me.

  I lifted my arms to help him raise my sweater over my head.

  My chest heaved with my labored, excited breaths as Michael threw the sweater to the floor and brought his hands to my shoulders. His eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed with excruciating slowness across my collarbone and down toward the rise of my breasts. They were still full, large, but they didn’t sit as perky as they once had when we were younger. I worried for a millisecond that when my bra came off, he’d notice, he’d care—

  “Still so beautiful,” he whispered, and goose bumps prickled in the wake of his touch. My nipples peaked against my bra with anticipation.

  “Michael,” I murmured.

  In answer to my needy plea, he gripped my hips and pulled me against him so I could feel the steel of his erection against my bare stomach.

  Gently, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me so deeply, I could taste myself. But these kisses weren’t like before. Not kisses of punishing hunger. Slow, sexy, and with tender reverence that brought tears to my eyes. My hands curled around his biceps, feeling his strength, his longing, and I didn’t know what I wanted to do more: take him inside me or let him hold me while I cried.

  The voice in the back of my head whispered that going any further was a
bad idea.

  However, before I could act either way, Michael’s hands moved over my body. With light strokes, he learned every inch of me—my ribs, my waist, my stomach. Then his hands glided around to my ass, and his kiss deepened, grew hungrier, and he drew me against his arousal. I could feel the war inside him as his tongue caressed mine in deep, wet strokes. It was like he was determined to take his time, but another part of him wanted to ravage me.

  I found that war inside him sexually thrilling, not knowing which way this would go.

  As I stroked my hands down his arms, the touch seemed to calm him, and his kiss grew gentler. He nipped at my lower lip and then he eased away. But only to stare into my eyes as he glided his hands up my back to my bra strap. With a dexterity I remembered from the times we’d fooled around in his car, he unhooked my bra. Then he nudged the straps down my arms, and it fell to the floor. His gaze slowly disconnected from mine and I shivered as his eyes grew hooded. His hands tightened around my biceps while he feasted on the sight of my naked breasts. My nipples peaked under his perusal, tight, needy buds that begged for his mouth.

  Any concerns I had about how he’d feel about the changes in my body dissipated at the taut, desire-filled expression on his face.

  “Dahlia,” he murmured as he reached up and cupped me.

  I moaned and arched into his touch. Ripples of desire undulated low in my belly as he played with my breasts, sculpting and kneading them, stroking and pinching my nipples. All the time his eyes vacillated between my face and my breasts. I thrust into his touch, muttering my need for him.

  The words had barely broken past my lips when his mouth found mine. This kiss was rough, hard, desperate, and his groan filled me as he pinched both my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. I gasped, and his growl of satisfaction made me flush with pleasure. I was beyond more than ready. Feeling the fabric of his sweater beneath my hands, I curled my fists into it and jerked my lips from his. “Take it off.”

  Thankfully, Michael executed my order. He let go of me, stepped back, and yanked his sweater up and off. As he threw it behind him and then worked on his boots and jeans, I reveled in the sight of him. His chest, arms, and abs were definitely more powerful than they had been nine years ago. He’d worked out regularly then too and had a gorgeous body, but the tight rippled definition of his abs and the breadth of his shoulders confirmed that his workout routine had become more vigorous.

  I wasn’t complaining.

  Uh-uh.

  His thick thighs and muscular calves caused another hard flip in my lower belly, and I longed to see his ass. My God, I bet his ass was a thing of legend. I moaned when he had to peel his boxer briefs over his erection and when freed, he was so hard, it strained toward his abs.

  Every part of my body swelled toward him as I watched him take a condom out of his wallet and roll it down his erection. No foreplay was necessary. I wanted and needed him inside me.

  Whatever he saw in my countenance made him grasp me around the waist, but instead of guiding me down on the bed, he turned and sat on the edge. Then he guided me to straddle him, his arousal hot against my stomach.

  Michael touched my chin, bringing my head up to lock gazes with me. My fingers curled into the back of his shoulders as I took in his expression. There was so much emotion in his eyes. Desire, need, yes. But also confusion, hurt, and something I didn’t want to process. It looked like fear, and I couldn’t bear that emotion in Michael.

  Tears filled my eyes, and the visible emotion made his jaw clench. He slid his hand along the back of my neck, tangling in my hair to grab a handful. Then he gently tugged my head back, arched my chest, and covered my right nipple with his mouth.

  I gasped as sensation slammed through me, my hips automatically undulating against him as he sucked, laved, and nipped at me. Tension coiled between my legs, tightening and tightening as he moved between my breasts, his hot mouth, his tongue—

  “Michael!” I was going to come again with only this.

  Then he stopped, and I lifted my head to beg, to plead for him to keep touching me, but halted when he gripped my hips. Guiding me, he lifted me up, and I stared down at him, waiting as he took his cock in hand and put it between my legs.

  Taking his cue, I lowered myself onto him, feeling the hot tip of him against my slick opening. Electric tingles cascaded down my spine and around my belly, deep between my legs.

  Michael.

  I’m finally with Michael.

  I’d never been so goddamn turned on in my life. Michael took hold of my hip with one hand and cupped my right breast with the other, and I gasped at the overwhelming thick sensation of him as I lowered.

  The coiling tension left over from the orgasm he’d given me exploded with only the tip of him inside me.

  I cried out and clung to his shoulders as my climax tore through me, my inner muscles rippling and tugging and drawing Michael in deeper. Shuddering, my hips jerking, my abs spasming, I wrapped my arms around Michael’s neck to hold on through the storm. I rested my forehead against his.

  As the last of the tremors passed through me, I became aware of Michael’s bruising grip on my hips and the overwhelming fullness of him inside me. At some point during my orgasm, he’d plunged all the way into me.

  Oh my God.

  But before that … Well, that was …

  Flushing, I lifted my head to see his reaction and the firestorm of desire in his eyes made my inner muscles pulse around him.

  He grunted at the feeling and then said, voice hoarse, “Do you know how fuckin’ hard it was to not come inside you right now? Fuck, you just came with me barely inside you.” His hands slid up to grasp my upper waist, and he bared his teeth as he demanded, “That ever happen before?”

  I knew what he was asking.

  I knew what he wanted to hear.

  And even though I shouldn’t, I found that I couldn’t deny him. I shook my head. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

  With an animalistic growl of satisfaction, Michael launched up off the bed, and turned around to drop us on it with me on my back. The motion made him drive so deep inside me, it took my breath away. I gasped to find it.

  Michael muttered a hoarse expletive and then wrapped his hands around my wrists and pinned them to the bed at either side of my head.

  The slow seduction from earlier was over.

  He moved inside me with powerful thrusts of his hips, his eyes focused intensely on mine. Like he needed the eye contact. Like I needed it.

  I wanted to feel him; I wanted to grip his ass in my hands and feel it clench and release with each stroke, but he held me down.

  That only excited me more.

  The tension built in me again with every thick drag of him in and out. His features strained taut with lust and with one more powerful glide in and out, I came again, shorter, sharper, but no less intense than the last. With just one hard tug of my climax, Michael swelled to impossible thickness. He pressed my hands hard to the bed as he tensed between my legs and then—

  “Dahlia! Fuck!” His hips jerked and shuddered against mine.

  Eventually, he released my wrists and slumped over me, his face in my neck, and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, caressing his warm, damp skin.

  Slowly, however, as his breathing eased, and his whole body relaxed, the heaviness of his weight on me became too much. I couldn’t breathe. And it wasn’t because of his weight. I grew cold and panicked from the realization that I’d taken something I shouldn’t have. I’d given something I shouldn’t have.

  Especially when I hadn’t been sure of Michael’s real motives for sleeping with me.

  “We could stand here all night, yelling at each other, trying to find ways to dig out all the pain, or I could throw you on my bed, and we could fuck out all the anger and hurt.”

  I thought of all the pain and bitterness he felt toward me. All the horrible things he’d said. When I was younger, I thought what Michael and I had was special. Ex
plosive and passionate. But maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Especially if it could turn tender feelings to poison. If it could make a good man like Michael do and say toxic things …

  I wanted him to forgive me and to forget, but how could I when I wasn’t ready to forgive him for trying to fill me up with all the hurt he’d carried for years?

  Shivering from the sudden chill, I released him and stared at the ceiling. Pain, unimaginable pain, swamped me. My voice sounded flat, dead, even to my ears as I asked, “Is that what you wanted? Have you fucked me out of you yet?”

  Michael braced his hands on the bed at either side of my head and glared at me. “Jesus fuck, Dahlia. I’m still inside you.” With a huff of disbelief, he pulled out, and I shivered as he moved off me.

  Lying on his back on the bed beside me, I waited for his response.

  When none was forthcoming, I pushed up off the bed, and my upper thighs tremored a little from the thorough fucking. Because that’s what it was, right?

  Michael’s face flashed in my mind as I swung my legs off the bed. The way he’d never broken eye contact as he moved inside me.

  Was that fucking?

  Heart heavy, I shook my head and put my feet to the cold floor. I’d been so hot with anger and lust when we’d come into his apartment, I hadn’t realized that the place was freezing.

  Hurrying around the bed, I grabbed my clothes off the floor.

  I was aware of Michael in my peripheral vision as he sat up. “What are you doing?”

  Not looking at him, I replied, “I have to go.”

  Hearing him getting out of bed, I looked at him. His dark eyes glittered under the bright glare of the overhead light. To my surprise, he bent down and snatched up my socks and boots. “I need to use the bathroom, so I’m keeping these,” he said, lifting the boots, “as insurance you’ll stay. We need to talk.”

  “Michael—”

  “I’m not arguing about this.”

  I knew that resolute expression on his face so I didn’t bother arguing, even though my heart was hammering at the pending conversation. With a huff of annoyance to cover my fear, I whipped around and began to dress.