by Jess Dee
Trapped between his body and the wall, Bianca hung suspended. She couldn’t get away, couldn’t escape, but then she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She tentatively reached a hand up and wiped away a tear with her thumb. Then she did the same with her other hand. She held his cheeks in her palms, dabbing gently at the tears. Tears he’d shed for her.
And once her hands were there, once his warm cheeks were pressed against her skin, she couldn’t seem to pull them away. Couldn’t seem to let go of him or stop touching him.
Another tear fell, and this time, rather than use her thumb, Bianca kissed it away, tenderly. Moisture spread over her lips, and when she licked them dry, she tasted salt on her tongue.
“Rick,” she whispered. Her Rick. “My…husband.” She kissed another tear, tracing its path with her lips. When it reached his mouth, she hesitated, stopping to look at him. Twin oceans of color stared straight back at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of the words he’d just spoken. He gazed at her with a sea of love.
Bianca was unaware of where his next tear fell. She was oblivious to everything save that luscious mouth of his, that delicious lower lip. She could no longer resist, no longer wanted to. She simply pressed her mouth to his and kissed him.
Her lips melded to his, her chest relaxed between the width of his glorious shoulders, and her breasts flattened against his pecs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and melted into him, became a part of him. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting that minty breath again, luxuriating in the slide of his tongue against hers, and when salt mingled with mint, she knew his tears were not the only ones that fell.
Long, heady moments passed before their kiss ended. Before Bianca drew her mouth back so she could fill her lungs with air again. Before Rick rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.
His arms were no longer at his sides. As she’d leant in to kiss him, he’d wrapped them around her, holding her close.
“Bee?”
“Mm?”
“Make everything right in my world again. Please.”
Her heart pounded, her chest squeezed tight, and a rush of dizziness made her lightheaded.
“Rick?”
“Mm?”
She wound her legs around his waist, hooking her feet together behind his back. “Carry me to bed.”
He carried her as though she were the most fragile of flowers. He didn’t stop staring at her, his gaze incredulous, as though he couldn’t believe she was in his arms, couldn’t believe they were together again.
And when he laid her on her bed, she pulled him down on top of her, her feet still linked behind his back. He kissed her again. Kissed her with lips so sweet they made Bee sigh. And ache. And hunger.
She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, shoving the cotton off his shoulders as his tongue seduced her with velvety strokes. Then she fiddled with the tie on his boardies, loosening it enough that she could push the shorts over his beautiful, trim hips. She cupped his arse, loving the heat that emanated from his skin, loving the firm flesh beneath her palms and loving the hard length of his erection nudging against her thigh.
And still he kissed her. As though cherishing every second of it, as though she were more precious to him than gold. And so she returned his kiss, needing it more than she needed air. Needing to keep tasting the mint of his breath, the velvet of his tongue, the silk of his mouth.
Just as she’d so meticulously gotten rid of his clothes, so he’d found a way to unwrap her sarong and free her from her bikini top and bottom. Bianca found herself skin to skin with her husband, the hair on his legs prickly against her smoother thighs, the muscle of his chest a heavenly weight above her breasts and the hard flesh of his cock a burning reminder of why they were here. On her bed. Naked.
Once again she wrapped her legs around his waist, the familiarity of the move both comforting and carnal. Her inner thighs twinged, stiff from overuse. For a year she hadn’t slept with a man, and now, for the second time in twenty-four hours, she and Rick were making love.
Warm heat flooded her pussy. Sizzles of anticipation shot up her spine. A low, needy whimper escaped her, and there he was. Rick. Twisting his hips, aligning his groin with hers, the tip of his shaft pressing against her swollen lower lips.
And still he kissed her, hypnotizing her with the sure strokes of his tongue, bewitching her with practiced caresses, wrapping her in his love.
He thrust, slowly, gently, sliding inside her. She opened up to his penetration, her body welcoming him, luring him in deeper, needing him inside her. When he thrust again, seating himself as far as he could go, Bianca felt a bone-deep contentment. A sense of rightness in the world. A sense she’d been without for the last year.
And there it was again. That connection. The soul-deep link to another person. Although, to be fair, she’d felt it since she’d kissed away his tears. It throbbed between them like a living bond. Something so real, she could almost reach out and touch it. But there was no need. Because wrapped around Rick like this, the connection touched her. Touched them both. Held them together in a cocoon of love and understanding.
Rick groaned and stared into her eyes. Held her gaze. And in those eyes she read everything she needed to know. He’d found his rightness in the world too.
He rolled them, landing on his back, with her on top. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to. She knew exactly what he wanted. Bianca rose to her knees, with Rick still buried inside her. She rested her hands on his chest, rocked her hips and rode him. Slow at first, and then harder and faster, taking him deeper with each swivel of her waist, his feral moans egging her on.
Rick’s hands found her breasts, caressing them. They swelled in his hands, her nipples puckering tight. Her throaty moan must have touched something in him, because he pulled her down to kiss her, deeply, intimately, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock. In this position, with him pressed so close to her, he couldn’t drive in as deep as he had been, but his deft strokes teased that knot of nerve endings inside her, sending her to a different level of passion, a needier, desperate one.
She stretched out along his length, and Rick rolled them again, landing on top of her. He took control immediately, pushing up on his hands, his shoulders straining as he arched his back and pumped into her. Sensation sent Bianca spinning in dizzying circles. She bent one knee, inviting him in deeper, and tangled her other leg around his, needing as much contact with him as possible, needing to touch him wherever she could, needing to confirm this was Rick, her husband, making love to her.
Because no matter what those divorce papers said, Rick was her husband. He was her soul mate. He had been for twelve years. Since the first time he’d kissed her at the tender age of sixteen outside her parents’ house, Bee had known there could be no other.
She rolled them this time, not far, just so they lay on their sides, pressed against each other. This way, she could slip one arm beneath his neck and free her other hand to touch him. Same with him. And touch her he did. Even as the angle of his thrusts changed completely, so his hand trailed over her side, from her thigh over her hip, brushing the side of her breast and trailing back down again.
She focused on reacquainting herself with the feel of his body. It had changed. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. He’d gotten bigger—slightly more muscular or maybe just harder and more toned. There was not an ounce of spare flesh anywhere, which might explain how she’d hurt her hand on his stomach. Before there’d been just a hint of a softening round the waist. Not anymore. Now he was just lean and muscled and…delicious.
She couldn’t remember the last time she and Rick had kissed this intensely, for this long. Towards the end, they’d still had sex, frequently—because she’d never been able to keep her hands to herself when he was around—but they’d stopped kissing as much. That side of their intimacy had dwindled and burned out.
She loved kissing him. Adored it. Lost herself to the expertise of his mouth and lips and tongue. Felt closer to Rick tha
n she had in a very, very long time.
“Bee?” He peppered her face with soft kisses.
“Mm?”
His lips slid exquisitely over her cheeks, her chin, her eyelids. “You’re the only one for me. Ever.”
“Mmm.” Her answer was a purr of exhilaration.
“My world…it’s feeling right again.”
“M-mine too.” More than right. Truth be told, it was tilting on its axis, happiness spiraling through her, desire running rampant and passion just seconds away from exploding.
“Never letting you go again, Honeybee.” His thrusts grew intense, hard, deep. “Keeping you in my arms forever.”
Right where she wanted to be. Always.
“Love you, Bee.” He lost his rhythm, pumped into her fast and furiously. “Love you…so damn much.”
It was all she needed to hear, all she wanted to hear. The happiness spiraled, the desire expanded and the passion exploded. Bianca came, entwined in the arms of her husband, the man she loved.
Her orgasm spurred his, and he climaxed too. Spilled inside her, a wild, heaving mass of man coming apart in her arms.
She held him as tight as her passion allowed, clinging to him as much as he clung to her. Together their love and their desire and their content sent them over the edge and into a place she’d only ever been with Rick.
Paradise.
Chapter Nine
Bianca lay exhausted on the floor. Rick lay beside her, his arms splayed above his head, his legs stretching out endlessly. Twisted sheets littered the space around them.
He looked at her with a sexy smirk. “Think we set a new record?”
She grinned. “Nah. Remember that night in Sydney?”
A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Impossible to forget. But—” He held up a finger, telling her he was about to make a point. “That was a whole night. And we were years younger. This is just, what, an afternoon?”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But the truth is, you’re way older now. An old fart, really. Bet you can’t even get it up again.”
Rick nodded sadly. “Bet you’re right. But gimme some credit here. I’ve already come three times in as many hours.”
She sniffed proudly. “You may have only come three times. Me? At least five.”
“Five?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought four.” His hand found her thigh and stroked.
“Mmm.” She smiled mischievously at him. “I came twice when you went down on me. Only I didn’t tell you about the first one, ’cause I didn’t want you to stop.”
His expression was a mixture of amazement and amusement. “No worries there, Honeybee. ’Cause when I get to tasting your pussy, I never want to stop.” His hand slid around so it settled on her inner thigh.
Bianca let her legs drop open, giving him room to brush his fingers over her sensitized skin. “I missed this, Rick.”
“I missed you, Bee.” He inched his hand higher.
She stared down at his arm. “Subtle moves there, Evans.”
“Nothing subtle about my intentions, Rogers. I want to touch you.” He traced a finger over her pussy, making her shudder.
She sighed. “Rogers?”
“Just following your lead. That’s how you introduced yourself. It’s how you registered at the resort.” His finger traced over her pussy again, up and down, from her lips to her clit, a feather-light touch that had her tingling all over.
“I tried getting used to being a Rogers again.” She stared at her ringless finger.
“And did you?”
She shook her head and spread her thighs a little wider, loving his gentle touch. “I’ve been an Evans for ten years. I don’t remember how to be a Rogers.”
“And I don’t know how to be just Rick. I’d gotten too used to being Rick and Bee.”
“Is that what you want now? To be Rick and Bee again?”
The rhythm of his touch did not change, a slow, steady seduction of every nerve in her groin. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What I always will want.”
“I want it too.”
A long silence followed her admission. A silence filled only with the sensuous strokes of Rick’s finger.
“Can I burn them?” he asked finally.
“Burn what?” It was hard to concentrate. Sensation built where he touched her. The tingles increased to shivers, and liquid spilled from her pussy, wetting his fingers. God, she was sticky down there. Full of his come and hers, and she loved it.
“Those fucking papers.” For the first time his rhythm faltered. “The ones sitting in my lounge room, taunting me every time I look at them.” He inhaled and settled back into stroking her again, gently. “I want to take a match to them and watch them turn to ash.”
“I hate them,” Bee confessed. “Hate everything they stand for.”
“Me too. Every damned thing.”
Another lengthy silence followed, one instigated by Bianca. She couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. Pleasure and bliss welled inside her. She dropped her head to the carpet and just enjoyed Rick’s seductive caress.
At another time she may have twisted her hips, encouraged him to dip that finger inside her. But for someone who hadn’t had sex in a year, the last three marathon hours were more than enough for her tender channel. His light caress on her clit and lips was perfect, and she suspected he knew as much.
“Rick…” Her breath caught.
“Mm?”
“I-I’m gonna come.”
He growled low in his throat. “Say my name, Bee.”
“Hm?”
“I need to hear my name on your lips when you come.”
The sensation built, heightened by his demand. “Brody,” she whispered.
He growled again. “My real name.”
“B-Broderick.”
He snorted and stroked her just a little more firmly. “Bianca,” he said sternly.
“Rick,” she breathed. “Rick Evans.” Oh, God. She was close. So close. Could hardly breathe.
“Say your name,” he demanded.
“Bee. Bee Rogers.”
He shook his head, stilled his hand. “Your real name.”
She arched her back, pleading for his touch. “Bianca…Evans.”
His face broke into a smile. The corners of his mouth lifted, and even his eyes seemed to grin at her. He gave her what she needed, stroking her pussy again, touching her clit, her lips, caressing her, over and over, soft, gentle torture. Exquisite torture. Perfect torture.
Bianca came. A sweet, beautiful orgasm that rippled through her and left her breathless and happy as sin.
“Can I do it? Bee? Can I torch the papers?”
“Rick.” Her sigh was soft. “I want to burn them. Want to rip them to shreds first.”
“But…”
“But it’s not over. We still have to face facts.” Sadness overwhelmed her. “It’s not as if by admitting we still love each other and want to be married I’ll miraculously stop wanting to be a mother.”
Rick met her words with silence, which didn’t surprise her at all. He’d never wanted children. Never wanted to be a father.
At first, his reasoning had been valid. They were too young, just kids themselves. But they’d grown, matured, and while Bee’s need for a family had increased, Rick’s hadn’t. Not at all. He’d unwaveringly told her he was happy just to be the two of them.
“I can change many things about me, about us, Rick. I can force myself to listen or you can make me hear you. I’ll let you carry me whenever you want, even learn to enjoy it again. But I can’t—I won’t—compromise my desire to have a family. I want children. I want lots of them. I want a home full of babies and toddlers and kids and teenagers. I want to be a mom so bad I just about cry every time I see a pregnant woman walk past me. And you…you don’t want to be a dad, and I just…can’t live…with that.”
And there it was. The massive mountain that neither of them seemed able to scale, sitting between them once again, a bubbling volcano p
reparing to erupt.
The stripper did show Mack his hose. Every inch of it.
And Mack’s response? She lifted her hand up, holding her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, implying things about the fake firefighter no self-respecting man would ever want implied.
Bianca burst out laughing when the stripper turned to face the rest of the partygoers, his hands spread in a tell-me-it-isn’t-so pose.
It definitely wasn’t so. Mack had vastly understated his package. The crowd whooped and hooted in ecstasy.
She took a minute to study the rest of his goods as she sipped deeply from her drink. The man had a smoking-hot body. Ripped, tall and built. He was, in a word, gorgeous. And he did absolutely nothing for Bianca.
Not a thing. Didn’t get her motor racing in any way, shape or form.
Because—as she’d acknowledged a million times over since she’d arrived on the island—the only man capable of revving her motor was her husband. The man who for their entire married life had steadfastly refused to be the father of her children. Steadfastly refused to have children. Full stop.
Bianca drained her glass and headed to the bar, stopping in front of yet another gorgeous man. The bartender. Blond hair, blue eyes and a devil-may-care smile. This hunk had rebel plastered all over him. At any other time he would have at least inspired a second glance from Bianca. Tonight all he inspired was another drink order.
The minute he placed the drink before her, she downed it, ignoring the steady rush that came from the alcohol-steeped concoction.
“Finn,” she said, “I would love another shtrawberry daiquiri.” Since this was the fifth or sixth drink he’d be mixing for her—she’d lost count—she felt she knew him well enough by now to address him by his first name. “And, pleashe, make sure it’s a double shot of rum again.”
Funny thing about rum. It acted as a definite anesthetic. Numbed her tongue, first of all. And numbed a lot of the pain that racked her chest too. It also made it difficult to think clearly. Which was brilliant, because the last thing Bianca wanted to do was think. First, she’d be forced to think about Rick and motherhood and marriage. And then she’d be forced to acknowledge that the loud whooping emanating from the other side of the room came from none other than Great Aunt Alberta. And that was too much for anyone to deal with, drunk or sober.