Something in the Way: A Forbidden Love Saga: The Complete Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  I pinched his arm. “You love it.”

  He looked over his shoulder and up at me. “Come here.”

  I leaned over his front, sliding my hands down his pecs from behind, flipping my long hair over his shoulder to nuzzle his neck. He pulled me closer by my arms. “There’s the sweet spot,” he said as I massaged his abs of stone, my fingers inching lower and lower.

  He released my arm to pick up his whisky from the side table, took a sip, and passed it back to me. The burn of liquor, of the fireplace on my skin, loosened my limbs.

  “You’re shaking.” He trapped my knees with his biceps, pulling my legs to his sides and massaging my calves.

  “Your shoulders are too wide.” I put the glass next to him on the ground. “My thighs hurt.”

  He scooted forward, away from me. “I’ve never heard a better invitation. I’m more than happy to relieve your aching thighs.”

  “Tonight’s about you. Get on the rug so I can work on yours.”

  “When did you get so bossy?” he asked but went to lie on the floor where I’d piled the pillows. He stuffed one under his chest, resting his chin on his forearms. “Persistent? Impulsive? Yes. But my little bird used to have a shy side.”

  “You’ve spent the last few years touching, licking, and kissing the shy right out of me,” I pointed out, sitting on his ass.

  “I have, haven’t I?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “How come Blue’s not nudging her snout up my ass?”

  “I put her out back.”

  “You really planned this out.”

  “Shh.” I ran my thumbs up the muscles around his spine. “Try to relax.”

  Once I’d located a knot, I used one elbow, then both, to get deeper. I added more and more pressure until he groaned. “All right, you win,” he said. “That feels fucking great.”

  When I hit a sore spot, he bucked his hips. As turned on as I was easing the aches in my strong man, as much as I wanted him to pull me into his arms and make love to me, I mostly wished he’d be able to relax until I’d exhausted myself.

  Of course, I had no delusions that would actually happen. There’d be no end to the massage or start to sex. Manning’s groans deepened as I hit his lower back. I dipped my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, kneading the top of his ass.

  “Don’t neglect the front,” he said.

  I slickened my palms with more oil. He lifted his hips as I slid my hands down the front of his pants and stroked him once, long and slow. I sat back as he flipped over and took his pants off. There’d be no more subduing the bear, so I gave in and climbed on.

  “Your face is pink,” he said.

  “I’m warm from the fire.”

  He opened my blouse, offering slight relief from the heat. I shut my eyes as he slid my top off my shoulders, then unbuttoned my jeans. “Let me see you,” he said.

  He could already see as much of me as he wanted, but as always, he wanted my eyes open. I looked down at him, leaning my hands on his chest. My hair made a curtain around us, his abs tensing as the ends grazed his skin. “Even lit up by the fire,” he said, shoving a hand in the front of my jeans, “you look angelic.”

  I sucked in a breath as he circled his fingertips over my clit through my underwear. “Maybe it’s a disguise to lure you in,” I said, biting my lip.

  “It’s working.” He slipped aside the crotch of my panties. “The question is, how deep do you want me?”

  I bent forward to hover my mouth above his. “Do you have a setting other than ‘as deep as possible’?” I asked.

  He fought against my jeans to push two fingers inside me, flicking them until my thighs shook for a different reason. With the tight fit, his palm massaged my clit. “Are you teasing me?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. “Because that’s a two-way street.”

  “I doubt that’s a game you want to play.” Worked up from the massage, I was nearly panting already. I wiggled off his lap to kiss my way over his pecs and abs, letting my hair trail on his skin, knowing how it tickled and aroused him. Pulling down his underwear, I licked the underside of his shaft while raking my nails along his inner thighs. As I tongued the tip of his cock, I glanced at him from under my lashes.

  By the time he gave in and fisted the hair at my scalp, he was writhing beneath me. “You win,” he said. “Put your mouth on me.”

  “Not yet.” I smirked. Once, turning Manning on had been an adventure, his body new territory to chart. Now, I could follow the map with my eyes closed and had many times. Just as he knew a feathered touch along my ribs always made my breath hitch, I knew grazing a fingernail under his balls turned his erection from stone to pure steel. Gone were the days of my timidity and uncertainty. When I took Manning in my mouth, I did it with the confidence that I could send him to heaven with a blowjob—and also that he wouldn’t let me. When he was as turned on as he was now, he never finished anywhere but balls deep inside me.

  I sucked Manning with everything I had, to make him feel like a king, to show him how I worshipped him—and I didn’t stop until he started to come apart beneath me. I had him partway down my throat when he tugged me up by my hair.

  I stood to peel off my jeans, taking my time so he could watch. I didn’t have to ask how he wanted me. Whenever we fucked after time apart, he had to be able to touch me everywhere, look me in the eye, watch my face as I climaxed. That first time, he wanted me raw so he could come inside me. After he’d had his fill, he might fuck me from behind or ask me to swallow him, but never that first time.

  I slipped my underwear down to my ankles and stepped out of them to stand over him.

  “Are you wet enough or you want me to eat you out first?” he asked.

  With only his words and the flicker of his tongue over his bottom lip, my knees weakened. “I don’t think I can wait,” I said.

  “Me neither.”

  As I lowered myself, he took my hips, positioning them over him. I braced my hands against his chest and sank onto him. Some nights, he couldn’t get inside me fast enough. Others, he allowed me to take control, to tease both of us as I let myself adjust to his size. It didn’t matter how many times we’d been together, our union always felt like the first time—overwhelming, big, thick.

  Manning squeezed my waist until his fingertips nearly touched. He cupped my breasts as I rocked on him, thumbing my nipples, then wrapping his hands loosely around my neck. He held me in place as he took over, thrusting up into me so I could do nothing but take all of him and moan each time he hit the right spot.

  He flipped me onto my back. The right side of my body cooled quickly away from the fire. His first thrust from on top came undiluted, hard and deep, the manifestation of his ache to be inside me all day.

  He dropped his forehead to mine, and without warning, he slowed, lengthening his thrusts, as if stroking his cock with me. He kissed me with the same gentle control, both of us appreciating the simple joy of being there together.

  “Let’s make love here every night,” he murmured.

  “Life is not that good,” I said. “It can’t be.”

  “It can. It is.”

  My heart swelled, and I held on more tightly as he picked up his pace. One of his hands roamed down my side and over my hip, pulling my thigh up until my knee was bent. He reached underneath me, teasing forbidden spots that he knew put me on the brink of climax. I let myself get lost in him, in the desperate and loving way he took me, and when he was ready to come, he made sure I did first.

  As my orgasm worked through me, he moved my hands above my head. I barely felt the grip of his fingers laced with mine, the grunts that rumbled his chest, and then the hot, slick way he filled me.

  Manning rolled onto his back, sweating with labored breaths. I stayed where I was, boneless and sinking into the pillows. After a few moments, he squeezed an arm underneath me to pull me into his side. “I thought I was eating frozen leftovers by myself and jerking off tonight,” he said, eyes already closed. “I can hardly believe my luck.”<
br />
  He murmured his last words, fading fast. I was still wide awake. “You jerk off when I’m not here?” I teased.

  “Hmm.”

  “To what?” I shifted up to rest my arm on his chest and my chin on the back of my hand so I could see him. “Internet porn?”

  A grunt was his only response. I’d lost him. I took a few moments to study his serene face. I’d accomplished what I’d wanted—I’d spoiled him into a coma. But alone with my thoughts, Val’s questions floated to the front of my mind. How long until I got to call myself his wife? I’d waited years to be his at all. Even though I was the one who’d wanted to put off marriage, it didn’t really make sense to me anymore. Once I graduated and moved back in fulltime, there was no reason not to have a wedding.

  Manning’s breathing had evened out. Now probably wasn’t the right time to bring up marriage.

  Then again, when had either of us ever gotten our timing right?

  3

  The crackling fire warmed Manning’s dark features as he dozed. Flames made shadows on his strong, angular face, his expression still and peaceful because of our lovemaking. It wasn’t helping my sudden impatience to bring up marriage that he looked handsome as ever.

  “Are you awake?” I asked.

  “Mmm.”

  “You know I love our life.”

  It took a couple seconds, but just like I knew it would, that brought Manning back to consciousness. He opened one eye. “What?”

  I traced a circle in his chest hair. “And in the past, I said I wanted to finish school before we made any big changes.”

  “And I said we’ve already waited long enough.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?” He scanned my face. “Hard as I try, I can’t read your mind. You want to ask me something, do it.”

  Manning always reminded me he couldn’t read my mind, but I didn’t believe that for a moment. He knew what I wanted—he always seemed to, anyway. It was the small things, like when he brought me tea some nights while I studied, and others, he seemed to sense when I’d hit a wall. He’d carry me off to bed, even when I protested that I should push through a few more hours. I didn’t have to ask for what I wanted very often, and since there was no bigger request than “marry me,” it made me shy. “You really don’t know?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “But I need you to say it.”

  I blew out a breath. “Remember a few months ago, we were on that hike in the woods, and you stopped to tie your shoes?”

  He laughed a little. “We’ve been on a lot of hikes, Lake.”

  “But you got down on one knee, and I wasn’t expecting anything, but the way you did it, it looked like . . . I mean, I know it’s dumb, but . . .” Like it had in that moment, my heart skipped with the possibility of Manning proposing. “I’m embarrassed to admit where my mind went. And not for the first time.”

  “You told me not to propose.”

  “Since when do you listen to me?”

  The dimple that appeared when he half-smiled made me want to forget this whole thing and ravage him again. “For once,” he said with amusement, “I’m not the one bringing this up.”

  “You used to all the time, but you don’t anymore.” I lowered my eyes to his chest. “I know you’re not having second thoughts about us, but . . . are you having second thoughts?”

  He laughed. “No, Birdy. Of course not. It’s because other things have been taking up space in my mind.”

  Other things? What other things? Manning had a terribly sweet habit of putting me first all the time. He’d once canceled his workday to drive me into Pomona when my car had broken down the morning of an exam—one reason I’d started staying at school before anything important. Then he’d picked me up at the end of that week in my newly fixed car. Any night I was home to make dinner, he stopped everything the moment I called for him, even when he was in the zone. In the bedroom, my needs came first—literally. If he was thinking about something other than me or work, I couldn’t say I blamed him—but it was out of character. “What things?”

  He looked up at the ceiling, blinking a few times as if choosing his words. “I like to think one of the lessons I’ve learned over the years is that perfect doesn’t exist. The day I marry you, finally hearing you’re my wife will be enough, but I can’t help that I want it to be as close to perfect as possible.”

  My nerves fizzled out. I thought we’d moved on from this. At first, Manning had stayed away because he was afraid he’d ruin me. Then, it’d taken him years to bring me to the home he’d built us due to some ridiculous expectations he’d invented. I hadn’t needed perfection then, and I didn’t now. I just needed Manning. I couldn’t help feeling as if this was a setback for us. “I don’t need some grand-gesture proposal, Manning. Ask whenever you’re ready. Then, we can go to City Hall for all I care.”

  The way he scolded me with a simple look, I could see City Hall was not an option.

  “I don’t need or even want perfect,” I continued. “Especially if it means you’re going to put distance between us the way you have in the past.”

  His expression eased. “Let me rephrase. I don’t need perfect. All I care about, and I think you want this, too, is that the wedding is us. And we are far from perfect.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”

  “I never want you to look back at that day with any regrets.”

  “Are you kidding? How could you think . . .” Regret. The meaning of his words dawned on me. When Manning spoke of regret, it was usually in regard to one thing. “Is this about my family?”

  He scratched the bridge of his nose and said, “They should be there.”

  “We’ve been over this. They don’t want to be there, and I’ve made my peace with that.”

  “So you’ve talked with them about this?” he asked.

  He knew I hadn’t. I spoke to my mom and Tiffany even less frequently than I had when I’d lived in New York. I couldn’t just come out and tell them I was with Manning. Not only did the idea of it make my stomach churn, but it wasn’t news to break over the phone. On the rare occasion we did talk, keeping them in the dark about the most important part of my life felt like lying. It was easier not speaking to them at all.

  Not bothering to hold back a scowl, I started to get up. “I haven’t, but I guess you have.”

  Manning tugged me back onto his chest by my elbow. “Your dad and I mainly talk about my business. He has no idea I speak to you, as you know.” He sighed. “My point is that you don’t know what they want. You’re using that as an excuse not to make the first move.”

  “Are you giving me an ultimatum?” I asked. “If I don’t make up with my family, you won’t marry me?”

  “Come on now. You know there’s nothing in the world that can keep me from making you my wife. I’ve just begun to realize that it’s more important for you to have your father walk you down the aisle than it is for me to get what I want as soon as possible.” The fire popped beside us as Manning tilted his head. “If it means waiting until you realize it, too, I’m willing to do that.”

  The idea of my father, who’d wanted nothing to do with me for over a decade, walking me down the aisle was so painful that my nose tingled with unwelcome tears. It would never happen. It wasn’t an image I’d been prepared for, and Manning had lobbed it at me without warning. This time, I managed to get up before he could pull me back. “Then I hope you’re prepared to wait a while.” I covered myself with a throw, tucking it under my arms. “It’s not as if I haven’t thought about having them there, but I don’t see how it would work.”

  “It’s not as impossible as you think,” he said, sitting up. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  Manning and I had been doing so well. The thought that he’d let anything come between us anymore—especially things we’d already defeated, like my family and his, and the stupidity of perfection—angered me. “You sound like a mi
ddle school inspirational poster,” I said, hoping it came out as bitchy as I meant it to.

  “If you can tell me with complete sincerity that you have absolutely no desire for them to be there, then I’ll accept that,” he said. “You can’t know how badly I want to marry you, and I’m not willing to let them come between us again. But you should know that I’m going to talk to your father before we do this. And Tiffany, too.”

  I turned to look down at him, my face heating. “How can you go to him for permission? Of course he’ll say no. He never wanted us together, and in case you’ve forgotten, he got his way on that issue for a very long time.”

  “It’s not permission. It’s respect.”

  “Why? Why do you care what they think?”

  “Maybe they don’t mean anything to you anymore, but they were my family once, too.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “This is important to me, Lake.”

  “What should be important to you is the fact that you and I lost several years together thanks to him. Thanks to both of them. Is that the kind of family you want?”

  “I know it’s easier to think this is all their fault, but it isn’t.” He grabbed his underwear, probably sensing our canoodling was done for the night. The way he was headed, he might even be sleeping on the couch. “I made my own decisions back then, and your father had less impact on those decisions than you think.”

  Definitely the couch. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re failing miserably,” I shot back as I turned to blow out the candles.

  “I want you to put this behind you,” he said. “Your old man’s stubborn, and he’s not going to give in.”

  If I’d known the marriage topic would veer into such dangerous territory as my family, I never would’ve broached it. Although I held lingering resentment for the fact that my father had gone out of his way to keep us apart, what really angered me was that he couldn’t admit to his mistakes, respect my decision not to attend USC, and try to reconcile with me. He’d let a stupid cluster of buildings come between us.