by Nicole Helm
There was a second or two of silence, as if they were absorbing the presence of each other.
He placed his hand over hers on his stomach, the solid weight of her palm centering all cartwheeling feeling there, a sharp pang of need lower. Though he wanted to push her hand to that lower, he pulled it upward instead—over his stomach, his chest, then to his jaw, because few things in the world were as perfect as the way she rubbed her palm across his jaw.
“You shaved,” she murmured, her hand moving of its own accord now, up and down his jaw, and then down his neck, trailing a drugging warmth across his skin.
“I do clean up on occasion.”
He placed his hands on her hips, gently urging her forward, closing what little distance remained between them.
The array of Christmas lights bounced off her hair and her smile as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. For several quiet, content moments, they simply held each other in the small, glittering space of Summer’s bedroom.
His heart thudded steadily against his rib cage, loudly in his ears. Everything felt hypersensitive—the air, the gentle pressure of Summer’s fingertips on his scalp, the aching, desperate erection straining against the constraints of his jeans.
He wanted his skin pressed to Summer’s, wanted her scent all over him. He wanted to breathe and see, feel, and taste nothing but her.
He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw, not trusting himself to take her mouth quite yet. He wasn’t sure he could resist all that open warmth to give her what she needed if he sank into that lush mouth of hers.
He kissed her neck, just under her jawline where the concentration of perfume seemed to be its sweetest, and then for a moment he just breathed her in, his head in the crook of her neck, his hands on her back. She was this soft, warm place to land.
She lightly trailed her fingernails up the length of his spine under his shirt, each bump she traveled lighting a new wave of need and desperation. He wanted, damn but he wanted in ways he hadn’t let himself want for a very long time. It was alarming, so he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, trying to find some sense of her inner peace.
But Summer didn’t seem all that peaceful. Her breathing was coming in short spurts, and she was clutching his shoulders, arching against him until he groaned.
There was no calm, no peace. There was only the delicious need that had been building between them for weeks. Maybe months. They both wanted. For the first time in a long time for the both of them, they were going to get what they wanted.
He was determined—determined—there would be no adverse consequences.
“Kiss me, ple—” Before she even got the please out of her mouth, his lips were on hers. They became a tangle, grabbing each other—arms, fingers, mouths. Every spot their bodies connected was a sparkling burst of pleasure, of perfection.
He had the fleeting thought they should take things slow, but her fingers were easily, quickly working open all the buttons of his shirt. Then she pressed her palm against the hot skin she had bared. He supposed he could try to be nobler about it, but wouldn’t the noblest thing to do in this situation be to give her whatever she wanted?
He’d worry about that rationalization later. Much, much, so much later. She slid her hands over his shoulders, pushing his shirt farther and farther open, until she gave it a little tug and it fell to the floor.
He had forgotten what this was like. Not just to feel desire toward someone, but to have someone feel it back, that ridiculous heady pride that came from knowing someone wanted him as much as he wanted them.
Any thoughts of going slow or giving her only what she wanted dissolved into fractured dust, and he gripped her T-shirt and tugged it upward. Without hesitation, Summer raised her arms, but the shirt wouldn’t go any further. He gave a little tug and she squeaked.
“I’m tangled in my necklaces,” she said, her voice a mix between a laugh and the breathy excitement neither of them seemed able to control.
“Well, crap.”
She laughed again, scooting away from him and pulling her shirt back down. But before he could grieve, she quickly pulled off all her jewelry—much quicker than he could have ever done. Thank God. Before he could reach for her again, she lifted her shirt up and over her head, and dropped it to the floor.
He’d had no doubt she’d be as beautiful underneath her clothes as she was with them on, but her appearance still hit him with the power of a blow. How soft and fresh she looked, between the swell of her breasts covered by her bra and the dip of her waist emphasized by the waistband of her long, flowing skirt. The way the lights made her skin seem to glow and the threads of different colors in her skirt sparkle.
Summer was Kate’s fairy queen, brought to life. She was beautiful. Magical.
They crossed to each other, the tiny distance between them suddenly seeming huge. He tumbled her onto the mattress, bracketing her head with his hands, arms locked tight so he could hold himself above her.
He was breathing harder than was probably manly, but he was long past caring as long as she was panting too. As long as she felt as tightly wound and desperate as he did.
Her hair was tangled around her head, everything about her pale against the vibrant color of the sheets. She was beautiful, and she meant something bigger than he’d ever imagined he would allow into his life again.
It was terrifying. It was everything. “This might not…” He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. More because he needed to say them than because he thought she needed to hear them. “It might not be fantastic, but it will be…eventually. I promise.”
She only smiled. “It will be perfect. Because it’s you.” She placed her hand over his heart, like she had in her clearing all those nights ago. Telling him she was small, that she didn’t take up any space. But she was wrong. She took up so much space inside him. She filled him with something he couldn’t ever remember feeling, and what he hadn’t realized until this moment was that someone could come into your life, find what little space you had left, and make it feel like more than enough.
Chapter 20
Summer’s chest was so full it felt as though it might burst open, and every messy emotion would spill out between them. Thack’s green eyes held hers so intently that she was tempted to look away, but she couldn’t.
She could feel the hard length of his erection pressed where he was nestled between her legs, and she had the fleeting thought she should be scared. Nervous. Anything but anxious and desperate and needy.
But excitement was all she seemed to have room for. She trailed her fingers down his chest, completely taken by the curve and dips of his muscles, the trail of dark hair that lured her toward the buckle of his belt. He could be smooth and rough, hard and soft, always so strong, so…good.
He was unlike any other man she’d ever known, unlike any man she’d known existed, and he wanted her as much as she wanted him. It was some kind of magic. Or a miracle. Or just…one of those little beautiful things life gave you to remind you anything was worth this.
She paused when his mouth lowered to hers, distracted by his soft lips, the velvet of his tongue. Sensation took over her entire body in fascinating ways as his mouth trailed down her neck, her chest, and he traced the outline of her bra with his mouth. It spiraled through her, a tumble of heat and longing.
Even with her breathing uneven, her heart racing in some unknown contest, her insides felt warm and languid. The way his fingers brushed her skin, rough and smooth, sent licks of pleasure through her entire body.
Her breath caught when his mouth closed over her breast, the sharp surprise of pleasure causing her to instinctively arch against him, and he groaned against the fabric of her bra.
He sat up, straddling her legs, knees pressed against her thighs. “Sit up,” he instructed, his voice harsh, almost strangled. It whispered along her skin, turning her insides to liquid honey.
His rough fingers undid the clasp of her bra so quickly it was a wonder he hadn’t been practicing.
“I know you said there hasn’t been anyone”—probably not best to bring up dead wives in the middle of this—“for a long time, but you’re awfully good at that.”
He sat back, grinning as he slowly pulled the bra off her arms. “Just good with my hands.”
She had to smile back. Seeing levity in him was so rare. That smile, that wink, the ridiculous statement. She never wanted that light in his eyes to go away.
But it melted into something just as potent when his eyes drifted to her breasts. It was like desire, but sharper. Like attraction, but hotter, deeper. He looked at her as though she was magic, the center of everything.
Her nipples tightened, even before he brushed a finger across them. He could do so much with a look, then even more with his hands. She’d never known this before. No one had ever looked at her like this, touched her like this, with the kind of intensity that meant more than excitement over the act to come. This was excitement over her. Over them.
She could scarcely breathe. Then he was touching her and she couldn’t breathe, because every stroke of his hand, his fingers, everywhere he touched her seemed to morph into something else. Something warm, liquid.
Precious.
She’d never felt precious before. And not only that, he was reverent. Reverent in his touching, the way his fingers skimmed along her ribs, his palms gliding over her hips as he pulled off her skirt, leaving a trail of goose bumps. He dropped the skirt to the floor, then kissed her knee, her hip, her shoulder—as if each body part was beautiful and equally important. He explored her, and she didn’t have the brainpower to do anything but let him and be willingly, enthusiastically taken, savoring each warm press of his mouth.
Except it was taking forever. Forever. She wanted more. She wanted him. She was naked, and he still had his pants on. He touched her everywhere, except where she wanted it the most.
“I knew you’d be beautiful,” he murmured against her shoulder, his mouth nibbling the sensitive spot underneath her jaw so that she shivered, shuddered in unfulfilled need. “But even without all the sparkles and jewelry, you are pure magic.”
It was a beautifully romantic sentiment, one that pleased her immeasurably, but it also made her antsy. She didn’t have words—she didn’t even have cohesive thoughts. All she had was this coiling, restless thing inside her.
He could fix it. She knew he could.
She arched against him, the rough denim sending a bolt of electric need through her. “Thack. I need…” More. Everything. Him.
He groaned, something between a sound and a curse. He got off the bed, standing awkwardly because his head was at the dip and he was a little too tall, but he pulled a condom out of his pocket.
“I, uh, bought these when I went to town this morning. Just so you’re not thinking I’ve been carrying it around for seven years.”
“You went and bought condoms today?”
“Well, I had to go to Billings to pick up Dad’s present for Kate, and I figured if I was going to buy condoms, the last place I wanted to do it was at Felicity’s, so it was then or never.”
Thinking about the word never made her shudder. Never experience this? However it ended, it was already too much and too perfect. But never? That would be a tragedy. “I’m glad you chose then.”
She loved the way his smile went so wide when they joked. It lightened him, suffusing the air with a giddy kind of joy.
He placed the packet on the edge of her bed and unbuttoned his jeans. She thought for a second to reach out and help, to take off his clothes as reverently as he’d taken off hers.
But she wanted to watch. She wanted to see. She wanted every second of this moment seared into her brain for all the years to come—whether they would be with him or not. She wanted this for eternity.
He unzipped and pushed his jeans over his hips, stepping out of them so that Thack Lane stood before her in nothing but his underwear.
How lucky she was to have this gorgeous, warmhearted, complicated man all to herself.
She reached out for the waistband of his boxers, ran her fingers along the edge where cotton met skin, cool and hot, smooth and hard, and smiled when he groaned.
Not just him all to herself, but wanting her right back. He wanted her. He cared enough to say she could stop him. He cared enough to be here and give.
Give, give, give. He was constantly giving. She wanted them to give together. So she grabbed the condom from the edge of the bed and motioned with her other hand for him to lose the boxers.
His mouth curved, smooth and potent. So many sides to this man, and she would gladly spend however long necessary to find them all, to indulge in every single one.
He pushed the boxers down and Summer breathed slowly, carefully, indulging in the sight of him—powerful thighs, lean hips, and the thick jut of his erection.
She handed him the condom, everything inside her chest a jittery mess of anticipation and whatever nerves existed there simply mixed with the giddy excitement.
He tore the wrapper open and withdrew the condom from the packet, and she watched with her bottom lip between her teeth as he rolled it on. Again, she knew intellectually she should be nervous, but this need inside her was so big, so bright, and she was so used to shame and not wanting… She couldn’t find it in her to care about nerves.
Then he was above her again, those strong arms on either side of her chest, and it felt like he belonged there, one leg between both hers, the other tucked against her right leg. She felt the press of him where she was so, so ready. But he didn’t enter. He simply lowered his body until it covered hers without crushing her.
His mouth brushed her ear. “You have no idea what kind of dirty things I want to say to you. I apologize in advance if one of them slips out.”
“You can’t shock me,” she returned, running her hands down his back because she could. She could feel how oddly smooth his skin was there, the hard muscle—evidence of how much he worked. She sighed, so excited, so happy that words she didn’t really mean to say slipped out. “I may be a virgin, but I’m not innocent.” She paused, mostly because he did—a slight recoil, a flick of a glance. As though he was going to ask what that meant. She didn’t want him to. It would ruin everything. “Though if you say sweet pickles, I might laugh too hard to finish.”
His eyes narrowed, even as his lips quirked. “I will not be saying sweet pickles.” Again he was at her entrance, and this time he slowly pushed, and it wasn’t exactly what she expected. No magic. No ecstasy. In fact, it was kind of uncomfortable, but the way he watched her, the way he groaned, everything about him, and the sudden feeling like she was becoming a part of him made the discomfort an afterthought.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as he paused. She buried her nose in his neck where he smelled like soap and something so different from any of the many scents she had in the caravan. Even if these first few moments were uncomfortable, he wasn’t—this wasn’t. She’d chosen him, and that was everything. This would always, always be important.
“You feel so damn good, Summer. I’m going to be so deep inside you, and it’s going to be good, baby. I promise.” His fingers trailed to where they joined, finding sensitive spots that had her arching against him and made the discomfort fade more and more. “I can’t wait to feel you come around me,” he whispered into her ear.
A shiver of excitement went through her. She hadn’t been lying when she said he couldn’t shock her, that she’d heard it all, but never had words had this effect. She was filled with desperate wanting, needing exactly what he said. Wanting the rough words, wanting his desperation alongside her own.
Each withdrawal, then slow slide back and deep felt better. And better. The hard press of his fingertips in her hips, the bolt of pleasure when
his tongue flicked over her nipple. She arched to meet him, finding the spot that made her feel like she was on the edge of something. Something powerful.
Because it was him, them together, because it was right and what she wanted. What she’d chosen.
Her fingers slid off his slick shoulders so she grasped his forearms, urging him faster, chasing that elusive moment when everything would go from ache to pleasure. She watched, fascinated by the tightness in his jaw and how it was so much different than his usual tension.
She released one of his arms, brushing her fingertips across his jaw as he thrust and withdrew. His gaze met hers, that fierce green that sent tremors through her, matching the way her body was responding to his easy strokes.
He kept that gaze, his movements against her going slower, teasing. She whispered his name, arching against him, desperate for the coiling need at her core to release, unfurl.
“Meet me,” he said, his voice an edgy scrape of need. So she did, arching against him with every thrust, and it sparked some foreign feeling, hot and greedy. Close, so close.
She didn’t expect it to be more simply because he was inside her, but it was. The moment wasn’t just an explosion of physical pleasure—it was…emotional. She pulsed from the inside out, wave after wave of satisfaction, even as her eyes stung with tears, and her heart ached and grew at the same time.
Thack moved against her one last time, a hard, deep thrust that gave her some unknown swell of power as she wrapped her arms around him.
He moved to his side, but his arms were around her as tight as her arms were around him. She held on, because if she didn’t have him as an anchor she might cry in earnest. She wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t a sad cry, but more of an emotional release.
She’d finally dictated the way something that had to do with her, with her body, would happen. She’d gotten to choose. She’d gotten to participate, and none of it had been tied up in her past.