by Mel Blue
“But?”
He ran his thumb over his mouth, a tick he never could stop. “My drive to rack up so many hours wasn’t healthy.”
Her gaze followed the motion, and he knew she’d caught on to his nervous gesture. “You weren’t chasing tail,” she said. “That could leave you with a lot of downtime to kill.”
He snorted. “Maybe.”
“Could you be an instructor?”
He considered the option. “I have the experience, despite my age.”
She shook her head at the vague agreement. “Yeah. Being a workaholic would do that for you.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I see it as passionate.” He paused, unsure if he should say the rest, but the way she looked at him made his heart thump. “If it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have met you.”
She stilled. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“I’m not sweet. A sweet man wouldn’t have fucked you on a bench.”
“You’d be surprised how often sweet, shy men are dirty little fucks in bed.” She nipped his chin. “You’re proof of that.”
He groaned at that familiar spurt of growing need prodding at him. Dwayne could have let all his focus turn to sex, but this quiet moment where she asked him questions to crack him open meant more to him than fucking.
“What do you know about me?” he asked.
“Not enough.” She turned brittle in his embrace.
He cupped her ass to draw her attention back to his face. He relaxed when she did. The cool sheets rustled when she shifted on top of him. “What do you want to know?” he said.
“That’s a dangerous proposition,” she whispered, fear quieting her voice.
“Why?”
She pushed back a lock of his hair. “We’re tap dancing around the obvious. This all ends in a day or two. You don’t even know what you want to do with your life. What’s your address? I have one, but I’m never there. Too much is up in the air. For both of us.”
Surprisingly, her words didn’t feel like rejection. They were good points. Ones she’d thought about well before now. It wasn’t a no, but a get your shit together.
“I’m not rich. I’m not broke. Figured since I’d flown around the world at least twice, I should see what it looks like with my feet planted on the ground.”
Her features softened. “And you call me the romantic.”
“I’d bet you’d choose to see the world, too.”
“It does sound nice,” she said with more than a hint of longing. “This is my first vacation in a long while.”
She traced the scars on his arm, always going back to them. He wondered if Amelia noticed that’s what she did whenever they talked like this. No matter how random the conversation, she’d let her fingers dance over the healed skin. More often than not, it’s why she ended up asleep on it.
But she was right. He was likely going to hunt down some plane to rent long-term and travel. She’d go back to work. What they had was now. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. They could talk for hours—and they had on occasion—but that clock was ticking down. He pushed her onto her back, and she willingly spread beneath him. He slid between her legs and found a sense of home.
She looked at him somberly. “What do I want? Fast or slow?”
Dwayne entwined his fingers with hers and kissed her softly, sweetly as an answer. He could have kissed her like that forever. The lushness of her lips, the moist heat of her mouth and tongue, only pulled him deeper into what they were and what they could only be. It made him long for her, even though she was right there. But for now, she was his, and he wanted nothing more than to be hers. Though she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist, she didn’t push for more. So he let himself get lost in just their mouths and tongues mating, never moving past something so innocent despite their nakedness. It felt like their real first time.
That intangible tether between them made his heart skip. He was nervous, but not because he wanted to do this right—being on top. This time mattered more than before. He didn’t want to let her hands go, let her go. He’d spent years isolated. He didn’t want to be alone and lonely anymore.
“Do you feel it?” he asked.
She nodded, her face flushed. “Have I told you that you’re a great kisser?”
“Oh,” he said with a smirk. “Just thought I was so-so.”
She arched a brow. “Maybe I was wrong. Kiss me again.”
They laughed and kissed until the innocence faded into urgent touches and moans. No question, he was hard and she was wet, but they could get to that later. When she turned her head to take in air, Dwayne sucked on her neck how she liked it, and that changed the simmer to a heat.
He released her hands to slide his own down her breasts, her torso, and back up. He closed his eyes and found each spot that made her gasp or tremble by memory. There was the dip of her belly button, her ticklish spot, and her taut nipples.
He bent down, capturing the left one into his mouth. The texture never ceased to fill him with need. He loved how they went slippery from his mouth, and he had to hold her nipples between his lips do what he really wanted.
A woman’s body, Amelia’s body, was made up of those little mysteries. He licked all of them until he tested the arousal between her legs. She was soaked, twisting against the tease. She touched him in kind, whenever she could, even reaching down if she had to. This foreplay was sweet but fervent, and nothing he’d ever imagined sex could be.
When he settled back to her mouth, he was too hard and filled with too much craving to say more than two words. “I’m ready.”
“Me, too.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her hands in his hair.
He reached between them and rubbed the tip of his cock in her pussy. She gripped him. He pushed deeper, and once again, her pussy fit snug around him. Nothing had ever felt more right. This was a physical connection, but he never had doubts she’d felt the same. She’d fallen into this just as deeply. Even when she fought it, like now.
He held her gaze as he stroked her with his dick, her arousal making that glide seamless. Nothing, nothing compared to being drenched from her. And she rocked her hips in time to his thrust, in tune to him. She was so snug around the head and shaft of his cock, he hated pulling out of her. Fuck. She was so wet, his dick was slick with her. No words, no research described this kind of visceral, raw mating.
His groans drew deeper. Her moans turned into short, high-pitched pants that left her mouth parted and her stare locked with his. Heat concentrated in his chest. That familiar strum of rightness pounded into him like a heartbeat. He couldn’t let go, not until she was right there with him.
So he ground his hips with each down stroke, and each one left him wetter from her. She was close. Sweat dripped between them, turning the sex into something crude but beautiful. Not a word was exchanged. It wasn’t necessary. He could hear the silent conversation with every thrust.
Like this?
Just. Like. That.
So good.
Come.
She threw her head back, and her moans grew until she clamped her mouth on a scream. He scooped her off the bed, wrapping his arms around her and pounded his way into oblivion. Right there at the edge, she squeezed him and that was all he needed. His strokes lost their intensity as a white heat engulfed him. Everything aligned, and he growled her name as he came.
Dwayne rested his head on hers. His breath refused to stay in his lungs, while his heart rabbited in his chest. She purred with satisfaction. That sound vibrated down his spine, and he shuddered.
“Miss Washington, you’re going to be the death of me.”
She chuckled. “Ditto.”
And then her gaze pierced him and he didn’t want to hear that quiet conversation. It sounded too much like “good-bye.” She’d bring up all the reasons why this would be the last time they’d have sex and probably wish him well on his travels.
“Sleep?” he asked.
She cuppe
d his cheek. The warmth was a balm. “Yes.”
He pulled out of her, rolled and dragged her onto his chest. She curled into him and rested her head on his arm. It didn’t take long for her to trace the scars before she drifted off.
Dwayne refused to go to sleep. The nightmares would come again, because what he felt for her scared the shit out of him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was nothing like Bourbon Street in all of America. Amelia always felt that part of the downtown streets resided in another dimension. It toed the line of historical significance, debauchery, and good music.
The bar that sat right in the heart of it all met her needs. It was filled with an even amount of women and men. There was a nice balance of modern decorations and Gris-gris littered around the place. A band played jazz on the stage and looked like they were born to be right there. It was loud, festive, and set the perfect scene for Dwayne to test his skills by picking up a woman.
Her stomach knotted. He hadn’t wanted to talk about this last night, and neither had she, but this had to be done. Whenever he showed up, that is. He hadn’t made it yet. Not a surprise. Time moved at a different speed for him. He ate breakfast in the afternoon. Took dinner in the middle of the night. Before she knew him, she’d have been convinced he was a selfish asshole who thought the world revolved around him.
Now? She knew he felt the little moments should be savored. They would be gone in a blink, and you couldn’t relive them. So what if it took ten minutes, instead of five, to get out the door? No part of her wanted to fix that about him or remind him that important things should be faced in a timely manner. Until now, his outlook had reminded her to slow down, but tonight that wouldn’t be possible.
She didn’t want to let go of him, and that meant she had to forcibly make it happen. Tomorrow, the celebration ended. She had an early flight out to New York. The fantasy would be over and reality would begin again.
Her task was simple. It made her stomach hurt and her heart ache, especially when she spotted him at the door. He stopped to take in the atmosphere. He’d worn another dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and paired it with jeans and sturdy boots. Only this time he owned his space. This was not the same man who had hidden in the shadows. This man with the tawny-brown eyes, jet-black hair, and chiseled jawline looked like he could crook his finger at whatever woman he desired. And could and would satisfy her.
Jealously snaked in until he looked at her. He didn’t smile, but stepped forward, assured and slow. He took the chair from across the table and set it next to her.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Discovered it the last time I was here.” He leaned in to kiss her. She dodged the intimate and familiar gesture. Kissing him would only make the next part harder. “Drink?”
“Sure.” His eyes narrowed, because he wasn’t stupid.
After last night, they should have been lovey-dovey. Every fiber of her being wanted to keep right on being that. Yet nothing would change the fact she was leaving. She’d settled, twice, and both times the relationships had backfired. What she wanted was Dwayne in her bed every night. She didn’t want something long distance. This wasn’t being picky. This was at last knowing what she wanted. And wanting him wasn’t unrealistic, just un-fucking-attainable.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She wanted something epic. Something that changed her, made her forget to be bossy, highhanded, and insufferable. Now she knew it was possible, because that’s the woman she’d been the last few days with Dwayne. And that dream was exactly what she couldn’t have with him. He was jumping into the next plane to go…wherever. She didn’t know. He didn’t even know.
Rip off the damn Band-Aid. She searched for the Creole waitress. She’d slipped the woman a twenty earlier to make sure she got great service. When they made eye contact, the waitress floated right to them. They ordered drinks then made small talk until she came back.
Amelia took in a much-needed breath. “Are you ready for your final lesson?”
He tensed. “Lesson?” His voice was low.
Her heart pounded. “I was supposed to teach you how to seduce a woman. Kind of a useless talent if you can’t pick one up.”
He sat back and rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. “Pick up a woman?”
She clasped her hands around the glass to hide the tremble. “Yeah.”
He said nothing for a moment, only downed his whiskey. “Teaching is what you do best.”
Simple words that sliced. He knew her last two relationships had failed because of her need to push the men in her life away. She’d shared that past with him in the quiet moments they had shared, and the veiled reminder cut deep. He was lashing out and she couldn’t entirely blame him. She lost hold of her professional mask. “We talked about this last night.”
He didn’t blink at the half-assed explanation. “Who?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the matchmaker.” He smiled with just his teeth, anger filling his gaze. “What woman is likely the best fit for me?”
What did she expect him to do? Argue? Point out that what happened in his darkened hotel room changed everything? She’d prepared a speech that laid out how their lives were going in different directions. Hell, they were literally going in different directions. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel something for him. She did. So much. But he didn’t need that speech. She felt a bit numb but followed through. A woman sat at the bar, decked out in a red dress and high heels. Her demeanor was confident, not desperate. She was…pretty.
“Red dress. Five o’clock.”
He nodded. “Any tips?” His voice had no inflection.
Somehow, that hurt more than anything. She had no right to feel bruised. She was dealing with him like a client. Like what they’d shared was run-of-the-mill.
“Dwayne.” His name came out like a plea.
He flinched. “Is this how you broke up with your exes?”
She wanted to touch him, but she’d given that up when she’d brought him here. “No.” She crossed her arms.
He scoffed. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Dwayne.”
“What?” His voice was so damn cold, she actually shivered.
Her shoulders ached from unspent tension. “What would you do if we ended up together? Your schedule would be dependent on mine. Would you settle down in L.A.? See me whenever I happened to come home? How long before you got tired of that shit? Our relationship would be hot and heavy phone sex, with the occasional roll in bed when you did see me. I don’t want that. I don’t want that for you. That’s not living, and you haven’t done enough of it as is.”
He met her gaze, and the hurt she saw there, curdled her stomach. “Not once did you say you’d meet me halfway. That you would cut back your hours. Make sure you came home whenever you could. That’s more telling than anything. I may not have lived as much as you, but you haven’t lived, either. Thanks for the tip.”
He stood and then walked to the woman at the bar. By the time he got there, he was wearing a crooked smile. Amelia finished her glass and felt compelled to watch him charm the woman. Within minutes, he had another drink in front of her, and she was laughing. That red heel was bouncing, her neck was exposed, and she showed all the signs of being more than open to whatever happened with Dwayne.
Amelia had set this up, and still she hadn’t expected the full brunt of it. She was right about ending things, but she’d pushed him. And he was right. The bottom line was one of them had to sacrifice to make anything work. One of them had to believe that after meeting someone a few days ago, everything would work out fine. One of them had to fly blind.
Despite the turmoil and the ache, she couldn’t. She wanted to, but this was a fantasy. Amelia was being the kind of woman she knew she wasn’t. Did she even know where her cell phone was? Yeah. It had never left her damn luggage. She always had her phone glued to her side but not here with him.
The woman at the bar put her hand on his arm, rig
ht on the scars Amelia had caressed most of last night. Her stomach turned. She dug in her purse, threw down another twenty to cover their drinks, and made her way out. He didn’t need her. She had made sure of it.
The last thing she saw before stepping out into the cool night, was the woman leaning forward to whisper in Dwayne’s ear. That sight would forever be imprinted on Amelia’s mind.
She tried to soothe herself with the knowledge that he’d be fine. He’d never again have the awkward conversation about why he was a virgin at twenty-seven. He’d go on and live. He’d have more than the sky and loneliness.
It took every bit of her willpower to not march back into the bar, grab him, and announce, loudly, “Mine.” She had no ownership of him, and besides, the concept was archaic to begin with. She locked her knees to keep from doing just that until the cab rolled in front of her. She jumped in before she could change her mind.
This decision was right.
Those words didn’t ease the knot in her stomach.
***
Sherri was attractive. The red dress did her nothing but favors. Her voice was smooth, husky. Her skin looked creamy and soft. He should have been sporting wood, excited about the prospect of getting to know her mysteries, but he kept comparing her to Amelia. Sherri couldn’t compete. Her mouth was too small. Her eyes didn’t light in the same way when he told her a joke. She wasn’t Amelia.
But, Amelia had just broken up with him in a fucking bar, like he was a fucking troublesome client she needed to drop. If he went back over there, he wondered if she’d have negative notes on how he leaned against the bar.
He couldn’t help it. He glanced her way. She wasn’t sitting at the table any more. Sherri kept talking about her work, and he tuned her out, searching the crowd for Amelia. He was pissed. He’d come over to flirt with this woman to prove a point. Amelia cared for him. It was clear on her face, and in the way she pleaded his name. His actions made him a dick, but as mad as he was, he could live with that.
Apparently, he couldn’t live without at least saying good-bye to Amelia.