The Edge of Us

by Veronica Larsen

  He watches me, his expression cautious despite warming a few degrees. He tucks my hair behind my ear. I shut my eyes again, my mind shifting to imagine an eagle's eye view of us. His hands are on my face, our bodies inches apart, and I still don't understand why I'm letting this happen. Without anger to anchor me, I'm afraid I might float off.

  If there's a time to walk away, it's now.

  I glance down, half a breath from pulling back.

  Walk away. Walk away.

  My mind shouts for reason, my heart whispers a wish. I've been fighting my body's reaction to his, fighting my greedy eyes craving to take him in. I've resisted my way through an evening suspended in time. And now my willpower has dried up to reveal the bare bones of the truth.

  It's the truth I keep even from myself, even now when it threatens to spill out.

  Instead, a warped version leaves my lips.

  "I don't know how to stop hating you, Cole. I've been doing it so long, I just don't know how to stop."

  He looks down at my lips, which even now are angled toward his.

  "Then don't."

  His face moves in and I draw out a shaky exhale just as he slams his mouth onto mine. He owns my mouth the way he always did, determined and fierce, sending my inhibitions scattering away from an urgent instinct. My entire body reels and stirs, toes curling right where I stand. I do what I thought I'd never do again. I kiss him back, just as hard. My tongue strokes his, my desperation acute and like nothing I thought I'd feel again.

  The kiss brings on a surge of ghost sensations trailing over my entire body. It's both familiar and daunting, the passion in his kiss reminding me of the type of lover he is. He tastes of wild, wild memories wrapped in mindless pleasure. I'm dazed off him, reason and pride slip through my fingers, which cling to his shirt.

  "You can hate me, Mila, but I remember. I remember all the things you like and all the ways you like it. I can make you feel good. Please, let me make you feel good."

  My body's response is involuntary, the smallest of sighs lifting from my lips. He hooks his hands around my hips and tugs me toward him, making my eyes grow wide as he holds me against his erection. My knees weaken, my head gets foggier.

  "You are…everything I don't deserve," he mutters, warmth brushing over my lips. "But I still want you…so damn much."

  My lips have not closed since he pulled away from our kiss, and I've yet to find the ability to form words. My mind spins around and around. The only thing that steadies me is his touch. He moves a hand down to undo the first button of my blouse. My heart picks up speed and my chest presses into him on a shaky breath. His fingers slide between the part of my blouse to brush just over my collarbone, sending nerve endings exploding across my skin.

  Cole's face moves over mine without making contact, as though he's savoring the moment. The air between us gets warmer by the second, and there's something primal about the almost kiss, something illicit in the way his mouth hovers millimeters away.

  "I remember," he goes on, "the ways you moved, the sounds you'd make. The things you'd beg for. Mila, do you remember?"

  A delectable shiver runs down my spine, the memory of him pushing inside of me so visceral my back arches. The smallest traces of a moan rise from my throat.

  "Yeah," he says, a slow smile building on his face. "You do remember."

  He kisses me again, just as desperate as before, sucking and biting and making demands without words until I melt into his arms. All hints of hesitation evaporate as my mind switches onto a primal frequency where the only thing that matters is his body against me, his mouth on mine. My clothes are suffocating me and I want to rip them away, to slip into a skin from years before, when my body was his to touch, his to take. I give in to the delirious hope he could take me in the same way he did the last time we made love and make me forget the time in between.

  THIRTY-NINE

  COLE

  I CAN TASTE THE moment she decides to give me her body. The second desire overtakes her and her muscles relax under my touch. My fingers move to undo the buttons of her blouse. And when the material parts, I bite at her lower lip then pull back to glimpse the smooth curves of her breasts peeking out of her white bra.

  I still can't believe she came back.

  I lower my mouth to her neck, tasting her, breathing her in. I kiss her as I unclasp her bra. It loosens over her chest and my hand slips right underneath to cover one of her breasts. Her nipple is a hard pebble under my touch. My other hand smooths across her collarbone and up to her shoulder to urge her blouse down her arm, so low, all it takes is a soft shake of her shoulders for both her bra and blouse to slip off and fall to the ground at our feet.

  When I break our kiss again, her head tips forward as her mouth searches blindly for mine. And when her hazel eyes flutter open, need quivers in them.

  For the first time, I get a full view of her tattoo. Except there's more than one. There's multiple sentences running up her arm like vines all the way to her shoulder. I don't try to read them. I run kisses up and down from her shoulder to her neck. Then I kiss her shoulder again, this time giving it a soft, tender bite. She moans and I shut my eyes at the sound, wanting to hear it on a loop over and over again. It's the best thing I've heard in years. Since the last time she'd melted under my touch.

  I unbutton her pants and pull down the zipper to reveal her panties. I take in the gorgeous skin they frame, and my mouth waters. My hand disappears under the waistband, my fingers slipping lower until the smooth skin yields to silky warmth. She tenses, her mouth rounding as I glide my middle finger inside of her. The move sends a jolt to my cock. Her eyes become hooded as I pump my finger into her. I kiss her between words that come stumbling out of my mouth.

  "Fuck," I mutter.

  I take her hand and place it over my pants. She swallows, and for what seems like an eternity, she just stares up at me. A deep shadow of desire crosses her eyes and eclipses her entire face.

  "Do you have a condom?"

  Shit. Do I?

  I hide the twinge of fear at her words. I kiss her again, my mind rushing to think of where I could find condoms. I've never even thought of the possibility of having a woman in this studio. This has always been a sanctuary for my art. And my art has always been about Mila.

  Mila watches me, her head tilting in realization. She must think I'm trying to convince her otherwise because of my lack of an answer. She pulls back, her eyes narrowing in seriousness. We stopped using condoms when we got engaged. She's the only woman I've ever been with that way, but I know better than to suggest we don't use one now.

  "I'll go get one." I step away, grinning to hide my concern, and point to her. "Lose the pants."

  "You lose the pants," she shoots back, setting her hands on her hips.

  She's topless and standing there unabashed, proud to show off her perfect breasts. Fuck. She's so goddamn sexy. I keep my eyes on her as I walk backward toward the counter just outside of the bathroom door.

  There's a bag on top of it, one of Grant's overnight bags I'd borrowed to haul over some supplies. If there's any hope of a condom, it would be in there.

  She pushes her pants over her thighs, nice and slow. I stare, never understanding how this woman's legs look so long when she's so damn short.

  I reach the bag, struggling to take my eyes off of Mila as she bends over to peel her panties down. When she straightens again and I catch sight of the creamy skin between her thighs, I nearly lose my composure.

  She's never been shy, but for fuck's sake, what is she trying to do to me?

  I search inside the bag, checking the main compartments, but find nothing except the crap I put in it. I turn the damn thing upside down and shake it. Items tumble out onto the counter, but not a single one I need.

  Goddamn it.

  I almost slam the bag back down in frustration but catch sight of an inner zipper. My fingers fly to it, pulling it open.

  "Thank fuck," I mutter as I pull out a long string of condom
s.

  Grant, bro, I fucking owe you.

  I head right back to Mila, undressing in a hurry as I walk. She's killing me the way she stands there completely naked and daring me to eat her up. I've never met anyone as sensual as her, not before and not since.

  Her gaze drags over my chest and finally down to my hands as I roll a condom over myself without halting my stride. My center of gravity is off when I reach her. I come in too fast, grabbing her by the waist to pull her in for a kiss. We stumble. A stool topples over and we shift to avoid tripping over it and end up colliding with my painting. The easel goes crashing to the side and I tug her to avoid falling on top of it. Instead, we fall on top of the canvas. It happens so fast, I barely have time to brace for the fall. My hand goes through the canvas and onto the floor where I manage to keep my weight from Mila. She bounces against the canvas, her entire backside falling flat against the wet paint. For a moment, we both freeze, our eyes going wide at the chaos around us. We're breathing hard, our faces a mixture of shock and excitement.

  "Fuck it," she says.

  She grabs my face and yanks me down for a kiss. My hand slips over wet paint and when I bring a palm to her breast, I accidentally color it white and yellow. I stare down at her body, which arches and writhes in impatience, not giving a damn about anything else. I flash her a grin and position myself over her entrance.

  "Fuck it," I repeat before shifting my hips and pushing inside of her.

  FORTY

  MILA

  HIS MOVEMENT IS SHARP and punishing. I gasp when he slams into me, my body arching off the canvas to let him all the way in. Cole's face blurs for a fraction of a second as I bite my lip hard. He's so thick, filling me to the point of agony. It's an ache I crave, an ache I've missed like a delicious habit I thought I quit.

  "Fuck," he groans.

  He shuts his eyes, lowering his face to mine. Our lips graze but we forget to kiss. He pulls out of me, slow and sinful, and the feel of his length makes my toes curl. And when he drives back into me, he does it with the same urgency, settling into an ardent pace that leaves me breathless.

  He fucks me just the way he used to. Passionate, powerful, vicious. I lose my mind underneath him, just the way I always did. Forgetting the world, forgetting my hate. Squirming with desperation, overwhelmed by the pleasure he serves me.

  My back slips against the wet paint and when I touch his face, my fingers leave purple marks on his cheeks. I don't fucking care. What do we look like now? Our bodies a colorful mess. Paint everywhere, me sliding up and down his painting as he fucks me hard and fast.

  This feels so good, even the smell of the paint is turning me on more.

  I'd beg for this anywhere.

  He kisses me, tongue caressing mine in dizzying contrast to his thrusts. My legs wrap tightly around his waist, slipping on paint now smeared there.

  "Did you miss this?" he asks, not slowing his pace.

  He looks down at me through half-closed eyes.

  My brain is still formulating an answer when he slams into me even harder, and I scream aloud at the jolt of exhilarating delight.

  "Yes."

  "No one fucks you like I do, isn't that right?"

  I delay on purpose, moaning out at the delicious agony of his brutal thrust.

  "Answer me," he demands. "Tell me no one fucks you like me."

  "No one," I breathe out, staring up at the tantalizing look in his eyes. "No one but you."

  He smiles, pleased with my answer, then pulls up on his knees mid-thrust and brings my legs up in front of him. He picks up his pace, abs flexing with every jerk of his hips. I stare, my legs are covered in paint, and so is his chest and the side of his face.

  Even painted in bright colors he looks wild. I thirst for the way his lean body moves as it renders me delirious. His voice grows lower and lower, wilder and wilder with each word he speaks.

  "You know why?" he asks, his hands running up my legs as he weaves his cock in and out of me. "Because every inch of you wants me, and only me. You know that."

  I do. I do.

  "Oh God," I scream, when he deals another ruthless stroke.

  I'd forgotten the kind of sex I craved, the kind only he could give me. The pleasure is so intense it feels wrong. Like I might unravel and lose myself completely beneath him.

  And yet I beg for more.

  "Don't stop. Don't stop."

  "Why not?"

  My head hovers at the end of an enraptured state, my thoughts slow and useless.

  "Because I want to come," I blurt out.

  "No, Mila. Tell me what you really want."

  The admission comes out clouded between moans.

  "You…I want you…I want you."

  He leans in, bringing my legs over either side of my head. Then he bears down and picks up his speed.

  No one. No one could ever set me on fire the way Cole does. No one could leave me gasping for air and muttering pleas. I edge closer and closer and even if I could brace myself, nothing could prepare me for the way the orgasm slams into me. It's an obliterating euphoria, making my hips jerk as I moan out.

  "Yeah," he groans. He's watching me through hooded eyes, biting his lip before he speaks again. "Let go, beautiful. Just give in."

  "Cole," I breathe out, shaking as the aftershocks of my climax shudder through me. "Oh my God."

  I shut my eyes and let out a satisfied sigh. He's still inside of me, hard as ever.

  "Did you come?"

  "Oh no, beautiful," he says, brushing away a hair from my forehead. "I'm not done with you. I'm only just getting started."

  FORTY-ONE

  COLE

  I'M NOWHERE NEAR DONE with her. But this paint is going to start setting soon, despite the slow-dry medium, and it's going to be hell to get off.

  I get to my feet and look down at her. I've never seen anything like this. Her beautiful body lying on top of my painting, streaked by the colors, twisted up in pleasure.

  I have to say, she's the single most compelling piece of art this studio has ever seen. It's like all this time I've been trying to recreate her in my paintings, and now I've created my paintings on her.

  "Come on," I say, giving her my hand. "Let's assess the damage."

  I help her to her feet, and when she turns to look down at the mess we've made, my mouth drops open.

  "Holy shit," I mutter, gripping her arms as I stare down her body.

  She peers over her shoulder.

  "What is it?"

  For a moment I can't speak, caught up in the most exquisite sight I've ever laid eyes on. Her back is completely covered in paint, every inch smeared in a thick layer of acrylic. The colors have blended together, forming swirls that move down her back and over the curves of her ass and down her thighs.

  "Is it bad?" she asks, realizing what I'm gawking at.

  "It's…incredible," I say.

  I set a hand at her waist and the other between her shoulder blades, urging her to bend over. She does, her back arching and her ass perking up in front of me. The skin between her thighs is clear of paint, which brings all my attention to it like the focal point of a painting.

  "Fuck," I groan.

  I glance over my shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. We could make it to the shower, we could start washing off this paint. But, fuck…

  I spread her ass with my hands and she stirs, coiling in anticipation. No. No, we can't make it to the bathroom.

  I usher her to the nearest table and bend her over it so her hips are level to mine. Shifting into place, I bring the tip of my cock to her and push inside, slow and steady, watching my length disappear between her gorgeous canvas. I throw my head back, not believing how badly the sight of her ass covered in paint turns me on. But I can't fucking help it.

  "Oh," she sighs, and I think she can feel I'm harder than ever.

  "Fuck, Mila. You squeeze me so goddamn tight," I say under my breath.

  I find a steady rhythm and she lets out moans that drive
me crazy. Gliding in and out of her again lunges me into an insatiable state of mind. Her searing heat wrapped around me, the tiny spasms when an orgasm grazes her but flutters away. I've never wanted a woman as much as I want her. I've never enjoyed a woman as much as I enjoy her.

  "Yeah," she moans out. "Oh God, yeah."

  I can't control my grin, loving the way she's unraveling in pleasure around me. I pick up my speed, working my hips to make each thrust count, and soaking in the incredible sight of her body. With her, it's not about me, or simple mindless escape. When I'm with Mila, I'm fully present and wanting to be nowhere else. The only thoughts in my mind are how I can bring her more pleasure.

  "Just like that. Oh, just like that."

  The delicious sounds of surprise she makes drive my moves. My instincts zero in on her breathing and moans for the sole purpose of giving her more of what she likes. It's not hard to do, it's exactly what I like, too. We're so well matched, her impending orgasm drives up my own ache to finish.

  And the sight of my cock pounding into her, the way she grinds back against me in rhythm with my thrusts…it's too fucking much for me. I'm going to explode inside of her or lose my mind trying to keep it together.

  "Make me come, Cole," she begs. "Please."

  The plea in the way she says my name nearly does me in. I bite hard on my lip as I fuck her just the way she wants, my fingers sinking into the skin of her hips as I pick up my pace again until she bucks and screams out.

  "Fuck, Cole…yes…yes!"

  She tenses and her body spasms around my cock. I'm thrown over the edge of control, my hips twitching without my consent.

  "Oh, fuck," I say, trying and failing to hold off. "I'm coming."

  She's still grinding out her own orgasm when mine bursts out of me, driving one last, long push. I hold deep inside of her, a deep groan rumbling from my throat, my heart hammering.

  She goes limp against the table. Picking her up, I take her in my arms and throw her over my shoulder. She lets out a little yelp of surprise.