I dipped my hand into my purse and took out the item I’d selected from my very thoughtful Uber driver. I unwrapped it, taking my time peeling the plastic off the lollipop as he watched me. His eyes darkened as I brought it to my lips, gently kissing the sucker.
His breath hissed. His gaze turned feral. I flicked my tongue across the red candy, licking it once as he shifted in his chair. I wondered if he still wore black boxer briefs like he’d worn in college. If he still looked as hot in them as he did then, the outline of him so alluring when he’d take off his clothes for me. My mouth watered as I pictured him unzipping his jeans, pushing down his briefs, his cock springing free.
Ready for me. Always ready for me.
“I fucking love candy.” His voice was husky.
“I had a feeling,” I said, swirling my tongue across the treat. I watched him as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I leaned across the table, lowered my voice to a whisper, and asked, “If I put my hand on you right now, how hard would you be?”
“Rock fucking hard,” he said in a growl, the rough and sexy rumble of his admission sending a rush of heat between my legs.
I returned the sucker to my mouth, moving it back and forth between my lips. As I licked and kissed the candy, giving him a hell of a show, he stared at me with hungry eyes. In them, I saw the reel of his desires. All his dirty thoughts, all his dirty dreams—everything he wanted from me.
The waiter rushed by, dishes balanced on his arm.
“Check, please,” Brent called out, and the man nodded, then continued on his way.
With my eyes on Brent, I asked, “Do you wonder what my mouth tastes like right now?”
“Spectacular. I bet it tastes spectacular,” he answered, his voice strained and full of heat. “Kiss me,” he said, giving me a clear order. He leaned across the table and claimed my mouth, marking his territory with a passionate, crushing kiss that made me dizzy.
When he broke the kiss, the haze cleared, and I returned to starring in my show. I kicked back in the chair, striking a casual, seductive pose as I sucked the candy deeply, reminding him of my talents.
He gripped the edge of the table. He inhaled through his nostrils. He looked as if he wanted to rip the table in two.
“We need to go. I need to get you naked, Shan. Will you let me?”
I tensed for a second. Was I ready for sex? But I knew the answer. The answer was no. Once I slept with him again, I’d be all the way in. I wasn’t sure I was there yet, not when I still had this secret hanging over me.
But perhaps this could be more. More kisses. More touching and tasting and feeling.
More talking, this time with me telling him the truth.
“Yes, but no sex,” I clarified. “I’m not ready for that.”
“That’s fine, but I am most definitely ready to kiss you all over.”
It was my turn to say, Check, please.
* * *
We reached my place in record time, and took the elevator up so we could kiss more on the way. Once inside, he set me on my kitchen table and wedged himself between my legs. His dick was hard against my thigh. “I hated not seeing you for the last ten years. It was hell,” he said, his voice hungry.
He grabbed my hips, his thumbs digging into my sides. This was our dance. Our foreplay. We knew the steps. “Every day we were apart, I wanted you,” he said.
Did I want him when we were apart?
Not always—I’d hurt too much.
But I wanted him now, and I told him as much.
“I want you now,” I hissed. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes blazing, his lips rising in the barest of a cocky grin—the one that had always melted me. Its effect was as potent as ever. It seared my body.
“How much do you want me?” he asked.
“More than I should,” I admitted, because the full weight of my burgeoning feelings for him was crushing me.
Then I showed him how much. Tugging up my skirt. Pulling down my panties.
Asking.
“Gorgeous,” he muttered, grabbing a chair and parking himself between my legs.
Where I wanted him right now.
Where I needed him.
“Do you like what you see?” I asked seductively.
He swallowed thickly, and breathed out hard. “You know I fucking love it.”
“How much?”
He groaned as he roamed his eyes over my legs. He brushed his lips across my left ankle, and I shivered, then he licked a path up my calf. His mouth on my skin was divine. It was righting the universe.
But he stopped, standing and grasping my chin in his hand. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” I whispered.
“And you know I want you to say it. Say the words.”
My eyes met his. “Touch me. Taste me. Have me.”
“More,” he said as he held my face. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“Brent,” I moaned, writhing on the table, the ache between my legs threatening to take over my mind, to devour my reason.
“You know it turns me on when you say it,” he said, grabbing my hand with his free hand and guiding me to his crotch. I gasped as I palmed his erection. So thick and long.
“Fuck me with your tongue,” I whispered, and he throbbed even through the denim.
In a blur, he moved back to the chair, his hands circling my ankles. Then my feet were up on the table, my knees raised, and I was spread wide for him. His face was right there, his breath ghosting over me, his mouth so close to my slick heat.
I burned hot when he kissed the inside of my thigh. “I bet you taste like heaven,” he murmured.
“Find out.”
He dived in, and I moaned—a long, loud cry that carried through the quiet. Pleasure rippled through me instantly. He kissed, he licked, and he sucked. He adored my pussy with his sinful mouth. I threw my head back, gazing at the ceiling as I relished in him, letting him worship me the way he always had.
He licked me mercilessly, his wicked tongue stroking my heat, sending me soaring, flying into a world of absolute bliss.
I trembled from head to toe. I burst with pleasure so intense it blotted out everything but his touch. I arched my back, lifted my hips, and rocked into him in a frenzy.
He’d always said that going down on me was like being fucked too. That I’d get so into it, and it drove him wild. He’d craved it just as much as I had. The evidence, the proof of how I loved his touch lay in the way I moved under his mouth.
“Shan, do that. Fucking go crazy,” he told me, and I was right there with his command, thrusting wildly, writhing and wriggling as he groaned and consumed my pleasure with his mouth.
Stars circled my head. The earth fell out of orbit. The sky split open.
I grabbed his hair, screaming in pleasure, calling out his name, as I came on his tongue.
Then, before I let myself get lost in my own bliss, I slid off the table, got on my knees, and showed him I wasn’t just a taker. I was a giver too.
And I gave it good.
So damn good, he was grunting my name a few minutes later.
14
Brent
As she handed me a glass of water in her kitchen, I didn’t press. I didn’t ask if we were all good again.
I didn’t want to assume mind-blowing orgasms all around would restore all that had gone wrong.
Instead, I kept moving forward, because that was what we were doing.
“When I was in New York, I saw a sign for the Alvin Ailey dance company on tour,” I mentioned as I took a drink.
Her eyes lit up. “I love Alvin Ailey. It was my dream to win a spot in Alvin Ailey.”
“I know. And I remember in college you wanted me to go with you. But I had a gig so I canceled on you.”
Her smile fell. The memory of another one of my mistakes must have just returned to her. I kept talking, eager to right that wrong from years ago. “So I bought tickets to see them here next week. I’d really lik
e to take you. And I will keep my promise to take you.”
She looped her arms around my neck. “Yes. I would love to go.”
I wanted to pump my fist in the air, to shout a victorious Yes! Then I wanted to close my eyes and groan in pleasure, because she was running her fingers through my hair. I loved the feel of her hands in my hair.
“You really know how to treat a woman you used to go out with, don’t you?” she teased.
“Speaking of that,” I said, pulling back and cupping my hands on her shoulders. Tonight had gone so well, and I wanted to build on it. To keep up the momentum. To do that, we’d need to let go of the old wounds. “Shan, how would you feel if we agreed to move on from the past?”
She tilted her head, considering my question. “To put it behind us?”
I nodded, hoping she’d want the same. “Yes.”
She smiled, a little sweet, a little sexy, all her. “I kind of thought that was what we were doing.”
“Good,” I admitted with a relieved grin.
She looked me square in the eyes. The corners of her lips curved up, like she had more to say. I held my breath, waiting.
“I think we could both use a fresh start, so let’s focus on the here and now, not the way things were.”
I smiled broadly. “Good. So we’re dating, then,” I said as I drank the rest of the water.
She tapped my shoulder, a chiding look in her eyes. “I think it’s best if we don’t label what’s happening between us.”
I could live with not labeling. But I couldn’t live with the possibility that someone else might try to date her. I had to lay down one ground rule. “I’m fine with not labeling, as long as the not-label includes not dating other men.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Or other women.”
“Yes. That too. I don’t want you dating men or women. Good point,” I said, in mock seriousness.
She wagged a finger at me. “You know exactly what I meant.”
“Yes, yes, I do.” I took a step closer, my face serious. “I know we’re not labeling, but I still want to support you emotionally. In any way I can.”
She drew in a deep breath, indecision in her eyes, before she reached for something on the counter. “Will you open this letter with me?”
“Yes.” Reverently, I took the envelope, and knowing she trusted me with her mother’s words meant even more to me than her trusting me with her body.
The letter was short. Choppy. Written in a scrawl.
Baby,
I’m thinking so many things.
I lie awake at night, and during the day, my mind is busy, busy, busy.
I think and I work through my thoughts, like they’re a pattern.
Life is a pattern, isn’t it?
And the pattern on the calendar says June 30th is getting closer. So much to tell you. So much I hope you can help with.
I’ve been thinking of what to wear when I see you.
Ha ha.
I’m just being silly.
But maybe I’m not, because it is my dream. I wish I could dress up for you, baby. I wish I could go shopping and wear something pretty for your visit. A pink blouse. A white T-shirt. Maybe some nice capri pants. Are they in fashion again?
I’d like a handbag too. Something cute and feminine.
I’d dress up for you so you’d know how special the day is to me.
It’s all I want. To see you. To see my little girl, who’s now a grown woman. I’m so proud of you, Shannon Bean. So proud, and I wish I could show you. I wish I could take you out to a nice meal and get you a cake and send you flowers. I wish I could be your mom again, letting you know how much you matter to me.
And how proud I am.
So proud.
So incredibly proud.
And I hope, and I hope, and I hope to see you soon.
I’ll be in orange, but know in my heart, I’m laying out my clothes and dressing in pink and looking pretty for my baby girl.
Soon. Will I see you soon? I will. I know I will.
I believe. I believe everything can be different.
Your loving mommy
I swallowed roughly, the taste of the letter like sawdust in my mouth. But worse for Shannon, so much worse.
A tear slid down her cheek.
I reached for her, wrapped my arms around her, and held her tight. I said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
Actions spoke louder.
After I held her for a few minutes, she wriggled out of my arms. “Shoot. My friend’s cat. I told her I’d feed him tonight. Let me run upstairs, and then I’ll give you a proper goodbye kiss.”
She grabbed a key, then darted out.
And I needed to take a leak, so I headed down the hallway, found the bathroom, and took care of business.
When I was through, I washed my hands, left the bathroom, then spotted her bedroom.
It was bright and yellow, like the rest of her home. I’d caught a glimpse of it when I walked in, but hadn’t taken it in. Her home had an open, airy feel, even at night.
As I peered into her bedroom, I spotted a frame on her bureau, like the one I’d noticed on her kitchen counter—more sunflowers. This one held an image of bright sunflowers next to a stone.
She loved those flowers. My favorites, she’d once said.
Maybe I’d get her some, since they were really her thing now, it seemed. Stepping into her room, I picked up the frame, checking out the photo more closely, when I spotted a date written on it.
A date ten years ago.
That was . . . odd.
Wasn’t that right around when we split up?
My skin prickled as I peered at the image. What was that stone?
I didn’t know. But when I set the photo down, the frame rattled, like something was loose behind it.
I turned it around.
A flimsy image slipped from the back.
A black-and-white image.
A grainy black-and-white image that could only be one thing.
My heart sped up in my chest, spinning wildly out of control. Blood pounded in my ears, and my throat went dry.
I inhaled deeply, as if the air would steel me, but my breath still came erratically.
Then I did it. With traitorous fingers that dug into her privacy, I pulled out the black-and-white image.
There was one more behind it.
A shot of her looking in a mirror in her London apartment. My heart tripped back in time as I gazed at Shannon, my Shannon, from ten years ago. Her hair was short then and still blonde, her face so fresh and young, her expression a half-hearted smile. She had taken the photo of herself. Her belly was still flat.
Shoes clicked on the floor, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I replaced the two hidden images and put the photo down as she called out my name.
But when I turned around, she was standing in the doorway, and I had my hand on the picture frame, as if trying to hide the pictures it held.
Her expression was one of shock. Then disappointment, and next came a trace of grief. Somehow her eyes contained all three.
She swallowed, and her face seemed pinched. But it was her voice that gave her away. A bare whisper, laced with pain, as she closed her eyes, opened them, and spoke. “I was going to tell you tonight.”
15
Shannon
But I had a question for him, as shame and guilt washed over me.
Maybe defensiveness too.
A whole lot of that, for sure.
“Why were you going through my picture frame?” I asked as I stood in the doorway. This wasn’t how I’d wanted to tell him. I didn’t want him to discover the lone photo of the ultrasound at eleven weeks and the picture of me I’d planned to give him.
His voice was heavy. “The sunflower caught my attention. You always loved sunflowers. And there was a date on the photo. Ten years ago.”
“So you looked through the photos?”
“Yes. I was curious. And now I want to know what h
appened.” His tone was no longer barren. It was full of need and fear.
My skin prickled with nerves too, because I was stumbling blindly now. I’d wanted to tell him on my own terms. Not like this. Never like this.
I shook my head, as if I could erase the last ten minutes. Start over—begin at the beginning. Sit down, talk, share the whole sad story, and then feed the cat. I’d never wanted him to discover the truth on his own. A part of me was mad as hell that he’d gone through the frame in my bedroom, and a part of me was deeply ashamed that he’d found the images I’d planned to give him before I had a chance to explain.
The images that were now my private memorial.
I needed to wrest control this second. Straightening my spine, I cleared my throat. “The reason I went to LA to surprise you was to tell you I was pregnant.”
“When? When did you find out?” he asked, as if every word was new and foreign.
I tried to tell the story as clinically as I could. “I missed a couple periods, but that wasn’t odd for me. As a dancer, I’d never had a normal cycle. I found out for sure about three days before I flew to LA.”
He pressed on, desperation in his tone. “And then what? What happened when you left LA?”
My heart cratered as the terrible memory clutched me.
This was harder than I’d ever imagined. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to get the awful words out, but being forced to say them tasted even worse. Bitter and acrid on my tongue. I drew in a deep breath and laid them out, one by one in a row of awfulness. “I miscarried the next morning. I was with Michael.”
My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 11