Only His: A Second Chance Romance (Second Chances Book 2)

by Amelia Wilde

  “No.”

  “Nobody ever…” He doesn’t have to say the rest. He just runs his hands down the sides of my waist, over the curves of my hips, and then slides one slowly, so slowly, to the very northernmost reaches of my pussy. The pad of his thumb rests in the hair that I keep neatly trimmed, the slightest pressure. He might as well dig in. That’s how powerful his touch is.

  The thumb goes lower, lower, lower…

  When it reaches my wetness, a strangled kind of cry escapes me. “No!” The word is a gasp. It’s an invitation, not a denial, and Crosby knows it. “Nobody but you. I couldn’t—”

  “Shh.”

  His lips are on mine again, tasting, nipping, a complement to the way his finger dips in between my legs, finding my opening, tunneling inside. There’s no resistance.

  He stops.

  I open my eyes.

  He puts his finger in his mouth, looking directly into my eyes. He’s not ashamed of this, and oh, my God, neither am I.

  He tastes.

  Puts his hand on the back of my neck.

  Draws me in close, his lips hovering near my ear. “Sweetness. Like always.”

  I lean into him, his breath warm against my neck, and his hand slides down between my legs a second time. I step outward, making room for him, my forehead pressed up against his jaw. I’m just hanging on to his shoulders.

  He drags a finger down the length of my wetness and my entire body trembles at the sensation. Much more of this, and my legs are going to give out.

  Crosby keeps going.

  He doesn’t care if I collapse onto the floor. It would probably be a grand achievement for him to bring me to that kind of release, and my heart beats faster, faster. I want it. I want whatever he’s going to give me, and I want it all, and I want it now.

  He slips two fingers inside my heat and I groan out loud, my muscles tightening around him.

  “Mmmm.” His approval makes me wetter, and then he hooks his fingers, doing something that makes a burst of white-hot desire tear through me.

  “Crosby!” If he does that one more time, even one more time, one single time, I’m going to—I’m going to—

  He does it again, his cheek tensing with what I know is an absolutely wicked grin. He has me wrapped around his fingers, literally.

  And me?

  I give into the heat, coming hard onto his hand. His arm glides around my waist, holding me upright, holding me close, as I shudder and shake and spasm against him.

  He takes me over the edge again, and then again.

  It’s the sweetest release I’ve had in years.

  And I want more of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Crosby

  Lacey opens her eyes.

  For a fraction of a second, my gut goes cold with the realization that I might have taken things too far, that she’s going to be…done, now, and we might never get another chance.

  But the grin that stretches across her face tells me that this was just the beginning. Her smile is as wicked and sexual as I’ve ever seen.

  I fucking love it.

  “Oh, my God,” she murmurs, dropping her eyes from my face, hiding the heat in her eyes from me. I put two fingers under her chin and lift. Her eyes catch mine and my cock pulses.

  I can’t wait any longer.

  I have to have her.

  I step back—half a step, not so far that I can’t touch her—and whip my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor next to hers. As soon as it’s gone, her hands are on me. She trails her fingertips over the hard outlines of my abs, her eyes shining, biting at her lip, biting it hard.

  “You—”

  She never finishes the sentence, just leans forward and plants a hot, wet kiss in the center of my chest. I undo my belt and unzip my jeans, then step out of them. One quick motion and my socks are gone.

  Lacey’s socks are off, too. I don’t know when she did that, and I don’t care.

  I start to reach for my boxers, but she stops me, hooking her own thumbs in the waistband. More of that grin, and she bends slowly, sliding them down over my thighs, my knees, to the floor. By the time I step out of those, she’s kneeling on the carpet in front of me and reaching for me.

  Her hands wrap around my length.

  I have to stop her.

  “Lacey—” The word is pure desperation. Do I want her full, gorgeous lips wrapped around my shaft, her tongue flicking up and down every inch? Damn right I do. But I won’t be able to last. And I want more of her body than her tongue.

  I don’t even have to say it out loud. Lacey leans forward, pressing her lips against the head of my cock, and then rises gracefully to her feet.

  In one motion, I have my arms around her and I’m lifting her to the bed, stretching her out with her back pressed against the pristine white comforter.

  Her panties have to go. It doesn’t fucking matter how black and lacy and sexy they are. They’re between us, and I can’t stand it. Not for another second.

  She lifts her hips to help me take them off, and then I have to stop and just look.

  Just look at her gorgeous, flawless body, open and ready for me. Her pussy is a pink invitation framed with a neat landing strip.

  I follow my instincts and reach down to spread her legs wider.

  Then I kiss her just below her belly button.

  The kiss becomes a lick.

  The lick turns into the dragging of my tongue down one inch, then two, then three, all the way down until it reaches the hot wetness between her thighs, dragging all the way to her opening, and then I’m finally plunging my tongue inside her throbbing channel.

  She can’t keep her hips still, and the sounds coming from her mouth are music to my fucking ears.

  “Cros—” Lacey can’t even gasp out my full name.

  I don’t linger because the intoxicating taste of her makes every muscle in my body respond like we’re magnets that have been opposing all this time, only now we’re slamming together through an incredible fucking force.

  And that force is me.

  Lacey opens herself even wider, her hands grabbing for the comforter, but something comes over me, something wild and fucking free, and I don’t climb up and position myself over her. No. Instead I lean down and circle around each nipple with my tongue, the circles becoming faster and hotter, and then I reach for her hips, twisting her in one smooth motion, bringing her up on her hands and knees.

  “Oh—”

  She crawls forward another foot on the bed, and I climb on behind her, my knees sinking into the soft fabric.

  And Lacey?

  God, Lacey, that exquisite fucking masterpiece of a human, arches her back, her sculpted ass rising another inch into the air, and spreads her knees even farther apart.

  She’s begging without words.

  I don’t let her down.

  I put one hand on her hips to steady her, and then I line up the head of my cock with her slick, inviting-as-fuck opening.

  And because I’m a wicked bastard, I stop there, drawing the hardness around in tiny movements against her.

  She bucks against my hand, and that’s when the real pleading begins.

  “Don’t—don’t tease me.” Lacey’s voice is low and urgent, but I don’t give in. Not right away. “Please. Please don’t make me wait.”

  “Make you wait for what?”

  “For you to fuck me. Please, Crosby. Please. Please!”

  That last please—I can’t deny her after she cries that out.

  And so I don’t.

  Both hands on her hips now, I thrust forward, entering her with my full length. The gasp alone is worth it.

  Dying and finding out that there is a heaven wouldn’t – couldn’t possibly – be better than this moment.

  She’s slick and smooth and tight as fuck, and her body responds so perfectly, tightening around me as she rocks back to get even more of me inside her. Lacey whimpers when I start to pull out, and I tighten my grip on her hips and plunge
back inside her welcoming tunnel.

  I’m at home. I’m at home like I haven’t been home in eight years, and everything is just the same.

  No.

  It’s way fucking better than it ever was.

  The heat from her pussy ripples outward in waves that take over my entire body, involving all of my muscles, all working to thrust, thrust, thrust, to make her feel that I’m here, to make her forget that I was ever gone.

  I don’t know how long she lets me do it, but something snaps inside of her and she rears up, turning, pushing me back with all of her weight, her mouth on mine, her kisses hard and fast, and she’s above me, straddling me, lining her slit up with my cock and bringing her full weight down again and again, hips swirling, the pleasure so fucking intense, I lose sight in the corners of my vision.

  My hands are against her skin and I’m lost in her, lost in the sweetness I’ve denied myself for eight years, eight excruciatingly long years without her.

  I never want to be found again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lacey

  “Crosby?”

  At first, I don’t recognize the room I’m in, or the bed. I only know that when I went to sleep, Crosby was here with me. My voice slurs out heavy with sleep. What time is it? I blink through blurry eyes at the digital alarm clock I keep on my bedside table.

  My bedside table. Right. This is Lockton, this is my bedroom, and this is my bed.

  But where is Crosby?

  I flop back down on the pillow. I bought new pillows, new sheets, a new comforter, and they’re deliciously soft. Nowhere near as delicious as Crosby, though. A pleasant ache runs through all my muscles. I honestly didn’t know I was capable of that many orgasms in a row. Sometime after the fifth, I lost count, lost myself in Crosby’s body, in our lovemaking.

  I close my eyes and stretch my arms above my head, basking in the dark of the room. Maybe he left. Maybe he’s got a job in the morning. Well, if he did, he has my phone number.

  Did he really leave without saying goodbye?

  I roll over onto my side. The bedroom door is open, and a soft peaceful light filters into the hallway from the bathroom. A few moments later, the bathroom door cracks open, spilling more light onto the hardwood floor. Then the light flickers out, and the floor creaks.

  He’s not gone.

  A lazy smile spreads across my face.

  The bed dips under his weight, the covers tugging and smoothing to cover his body. Then Crosby wraps an arm around my waist, presses his face into the side of my neck, and breathes in like I’m an expensive perfume he can’t get enough of.

  He’s so much more substantial now, so much more solid, from the years of working with his hands. Yet here, in the dark, it’s like there’s nothing between us. He doesn’t have to hold himself to any kind of masculine standard.

  “Hi.”

  I whisper the word so I don’t break the perfectness of this moment. I have the feeling that if I speak too loudly, the whole thing might crack underneath us like the thin coating of ice over one of the creeks leading from the lake to the ponds in the woods—not strong enough to stand on.

  “Hey.” His arm tenses over me, and he pulls me in a little closer.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Where else would I go?”

  “I don’t know. Home?”

  “There’s nothing at home for me. Nobody.” He kisses my hair.

  I didn’t think there was, but my chest expands and warms to hear him say it anyway.

  “You can stay as long as you want.”

  I feel the outline of his smile against my skin. “Good.”

  Eyes closed, I’m already starting to tumble back into sleep—but then a question starts to nag at me.

  “Crosby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  He tenses up, and then he takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “About what?”

  I trace my fingertips over his arm. The barest hint of light from the streetlamp outside casts a glow into my bedroom, and I can follow the dark outlines of the tattoos spiraling down from his shoulder.

  “When did you get so many tattoos?”

  He takes the change of subject in stride. “The year I came back to Lockton.”

  “The year you left college?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But why?”

  “I needed something to do. Something to feel.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Yes. But not as much as—” He shakes his head a little, then plants a kiss just underneath my jawline. “Everything we talk about keeps coming back to this.”

  “To us.”

  “Yeah.”

  Another silence.

  “If you want—” Even thinking these things makes a lump rise in my throat. “If you want, we can just…kind of let this lie, be friends for a while. It doesn’t have to be serious—”

  Crosby rises up in an instant, propping himself on his elbow. His eyes are colorless in the dark, but I know his gaze is locked on my face. “Please. Don’t say that.”

  “I just wanted—”

  “I don’t want to be friends with you, Lacey.” It stings a little. “I want to go back to loving you. In public.”

  My heart cracks open and pure, light joy tumbles out, filling my chest, reaching all the way down to my toes. “I want that, too.”

  “Are you sure? Because after what I did—”

  “It hurt. It really, really hurt, Crosby.”

  “I know.”

  “I still couldn’t get over you.”

  “No?”

  “Why do you think I never slept with anyone else?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “You’re really telling me that you went on a bunch of dates the past eight years…and that was it?”

  I nod. “None of them—none of them ever…”

  “I wasn’t that…exclusive.” The regret cloaking his voice pierces right through my chest. “I hope you don’t think—”

  “Do you have somebody waiting at home for you?”

  “No. Fuck no.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter who else…” I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to think about Crosby being with anyone else, but a nameless, faceless parade of women lined up a hundred people long wouldn’t change the way I feel about him right now. I put my fingertips in the hollow of his shoulder. The skin is so soft there. “That doesn’t matter to me.”

  “What does matter to you?”

  I take a breath. “My job. My parents.” I leave the best one for last. “You.”

  He shakes his head, bends down, kisses the fullness of one breast. “You don’t have to say that. I’ll understand if you need time, after what I did.”

  “Time?” I let out a little laugh, softly. “I’ve had eight years to miss you.”

  “God.” There’s a certain anguish in his voice now that I think he must have been working to hide all this time. “I missed you every damn day. You were always on my mind.”

  “You could have called,” I chide him, gently, joking.

  “I couldn’t. I was too—I thought there was no chance you would ever understand.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I wouldn’t have understood.”

  “We’re different, you and I.” Now it’s my turn to hook my arms around his neck, to pull him down, to press my cheek to his, to hold him close, to feel every inch of his body against mine. “And speaking of differences—” I slide my hand down the hard muscles of his side until I get down below his waist, down to the hardness that’s waiting there, pressed up against me. I take him in my hand firmly.

  Crosby groans, a release.

  “This is my favorite.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Crosby

  “I’ll try to get away from the hospital at lunch.”

  “For me?” I give Lacey a grin, even though I know she’s probably talking about some other fucki
ng errand…I just can’t remember what.

  “For the spare key.” Her smile lights up her entire face, and my heart twists in my chest. I want to see her face for the rest of the day. And tomorrow, too.

  “You know…” I give her a look. “I could go have the copy made for you. If you trust me.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “If I trust you?”

  I shrug, raising one shoulder a fraction of an inch. “I mean, who knows? We’ve only been back together for…what is it, six hours?”

  “We’re back together?” Lacey’s kidding. Isn’t she?

  I step closer, putting my hands on her waist. “Did we or did we not have a conversation about this in the middle of the night?”

  She taps the side of her jaw, looking off to the side. “Did we? I can’t quite—”

  I lean forward to speak softly into her ear, even though there’s nobody to overhear us. “It ended with you on top, riding me like a fu—”

  “Okay!” she cries, the laughter coming seconds later. “I remember.” Then her smile turns into something more serious. “Honestly, though, that was so…” Color rises to her cheeks. “It was so damn good that I don’t remember what we…decided.”

  Now I’m grinning down at her like a complete fucking fool. “You didn’t forget.”

  Lacey straightens her back, impossibly more pinkness rushing to her cheeks. “We decided to be together.”

  “Hell yes, we did.”

  “But you said—”

  It hits me that she wants to hear it again, in the light of day, when there’s no darkness or tiredness to hide behind. It hits me that she wants to be sure. That she probably hasn’t been sure of much when it came to men for the last eight years.

  I know exactly how she feels.

  I wrap both of my arms around her and kiss her smooth cheek, the clean scent of her soap rising off her skin. Her hair is done up in a neat bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing black slacks and a black top with a gentle scoop neck. It will look amazing as hell underneath that white doctor’s coat.