Dark Confessions

by Angie Sandro

  “You’re not bad yourself, Mr. Lafitte.” She opens her arms, and I step into her embrace. The spray from the showerhead strikes my chest. I give her a little squeeze, and she lets out a tiny, pained whimper. The size of the shower doesn’t give us much room to maneuver. We’re forced close, but I can’t complain. With each breath, her breasts rub against my chest. Her puckered nipples shoot a spark straight through my heart.

  I trail my fingers across her ribs, and she flinches.

  “You’re hurt.”

  She grabs my hands and lifts them to cup her breasts. “A bit bruised on my right side from the explosion. I’ll be fine if you avoid that spot.”

  The pads of my thumbs play across her perked nipples. She gives a hitched breath and shifts closer. Her thigh rubs mine. “I’m going to wash you now,” I say, lowering my hands. “I’ll be gentle.”

  Her eyes widen. “No. Me first. I’ve waited a long time to touch you.”

  I could say the same. Not being able to caress her is torture. But I want to please her. I can wait. Maybe.

  Bess snatches up the bar of Irish Spring and leans against the wall. She gives me a wicked grin as she rubs the soap between her hands until they’re full of lather. “I’m going to touch you now,” she whispers. “I’ve dreamed about your chest. Of tracing the curves of your muscles with my own hands.” She rubs her soapy palms on my pecs in slow circles. “Your muscles…so hard, yet smooth.” Her hands explore the definition in my abs, tracing along each one, then slide down my arms. She kneads my aching biceps with strong fingers. Then, sliding them back over my shoulders, she plays with the hair on the center of my chest, twisting the curls in her fingers. “I’m glad you don’t shave.”

  “I’m a man.”

  Elizabeth laughs. “A lot of men shave.”

  Fire flows across my skin in the wake of her touch, but she continues as if totally enjoying the havoc she brings. Her nails score a path down my happy trail, brushing through the short hairs, and then slide around my hips. “I prefer you all natural.”

  My head dips to find her mouth, but she pulls back. “Nope,” she says. “I promised to do all of the work since you’re so tired.”

  A tiny frown forms between her eyes, and she bites her lip, taking her job seriously. My erection rubs across her stomach with each breath. Impossible for us to ignore.

  I lean against the ceramic tile as her hand cups my balls, then wraps around my dick. She works the lather down its ridges with slow, agonizing strokes. Fuck, she’s killing me.

  The pressure builds. Her hand moves faster. My hips jerk, pulling against the pressure of her grasp, and I almost go to my knees.

  Breathing hard, I pull her hand free. “Enough. My turn.”

  She lets out a squeak when I lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, and she holds on to my shoulders, arching back against the wall, stabilizing us. “The soap, my lady.”

  I slide the bar across her stomach in lazy circles, then move up to pay special attention to her breasts. Her eyelids flutter, and she lets out a low moan as my thumbs circles her areola, slipping over her nipples. Her thighs clench, pulling me against her, and I slide a hand between us, rubbing the moist heat where she presses against me.

  Her breath comes faster. “No more games. I want you inside me.”

  “Not yet. It’s my turn, and we’re doing this my way.” I lower her to her feet, then slowly go to my knees. I cup her ass and draw her to my mouth. Her hands wrap around the back of my head. Her breaths become ragged.

  I want to savor her taste, like cream melting on my tongue. I explore her hot folds, slowly learning my way around. I catalogue each corresponding quiver and moan. I find the spot that makes her back arch and her knees buckle, then apply all my focus to that hot button with each flick of my tongue. Her thighs clench around my head as the orgasm rips through her. She shudders, slipping, but I hold her up until the last wave rolls though her.

  I stand, and Bess presses her head against my wet chest and gives a tiny laugh. “I can’t feel my legs.”

  My laugh bursts out. I grab the towel from the rack and wrap it around her. “Let’s go to bed, then.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Bessie

  Real Life Paused

  My stomach growls—so embarrassing—but I jump on the excuse like a drowning woman reaching for a lifeguard and try to keep myself from sinking us both. “Let’s eat first?”

  “You’re kidding?” His mouth drops. So does his towel.

  My eyes want to dip—they really, really do—but I won’t let them. I’m in control. I focus on hitching my own bath towel more securely around me. “I never joke about food.”

  “And I never joke about sex.” He groans. “Bess. Look at me.”

  Oh no. Not down. And I sure as hell can’t risk drowning in the dark chocolate pools of his eyes without losing my resolve. Instead, I focus on his chest, those to-die-for muscular pecs, washboard abs narrowing to…Don’t peek. I slam my eyes closed, chest heaving. Ferdinand oozes sex appeal from head to toe, and he’s an expert at knowing how to please his woman. He almost killed me in the shower. Dead. My Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed hard enough for my eyeballs to feel like they’d gotten stuck in the back of my head before.

  I still haven’t recovered. My muscles spark with the aftershocks, and my legs wobble with each step. I need food, fast, because now that I’ve finally got this beautiful man all to myself, he’s not going anywhere until Anders comes for us to take over our shift. But I’m…scared. No, terrified of taking the step forward into his arms. What if he’s lying? What if I get hurt? What if he dies and I’m alone again?

  These questions are based on years of building up my walls. Of protecting my heart from suffering any more damage. Ferdinand stands in front of me. Wanting me. He’s more than I’ve fantasized about. Kind. Protective and strong. But Mala and Eva are out there…alone. They’re probably even more terrified than I am and rightly so. They’re in the hands of a madman, waiting for rescue. I’m trying to stay calm. To focus on finding them. Would it be so bad to let Ferdinand comfort me for a few minutes? Why can’t I have someone, just once, to lean on? Why must I always be strong?

  My stomach growls again, and I grimace. “I really am hungry. The only thing I’ve eaten today is pie, and not even a whole slice. I’ll have more energy if I eat.” I give him a flirtatious smile that feels unnatural, but it seems to work. He sighs and holds out his large hand.

  I thread my fingers through his. Warmth flushes my skin. Not lust, although there hasn’t been one moment when I wasn’t hyperaware of how he affects my senses. This feeling brewing deep inside and boiling over is more powerful than physical attraction. It’s special. How did I get so lucky? Issues notwithstanding, I’m smart enough not to look at a…uh, unwrapped gift as a bad thing.

  I drag him over to the cabinet holding the food supplies, releasing his hand with regret to rummage through the packets of food.

  Ferdinand shoots sad puppy eyes at the queen-size bed. “I offered to make you dinner earlier.”

  “I wasn’t hungry then…at least for food.” I lick my lips. I still haven’t been able to taste him. I wasn’t about to in the shower, not being fond of Irish Spring burning my tonsils. I’d planned to go down on him after I rinsed him off, but he beat me to it. I’m not foolish enough to complain about that miracle either.

  I pull out a couple MRE pouches. “My favorite’s the beef stew. I’ve also got instant coffee.” I grab a coffee mug and trot into the bathroom to fill it with water. When I come out, I try not to stare at the oversize naked man lounging against the cabinet with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He doesn’t appear to be even the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

  Aroused, yes. That’s blatantly obvious.

  My voice quivers. “Are you thirsty?”

  “Oh, I’m thirsty,” he drawls.

  I brush against the length of his side. Heat pounds through my body, like I’ve stepped too close to a furnace. My hands
tremble as I rip open the packet of Folgers and pour it into the cup. It takes two tries to punch the time into the microwave. When it’s done, I wilt. How could such a small chore be so difficult? It doesn’t take half a brain to heat up water. I need to calm the fuck down before I hyperventilate and pass out at Ferdinand’s feet. Wouldn’t that be classy?

  I stare at the microwave, trying to regulate my rapid breaths. The timer counts down: sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…I peek at the silent man from the corner of my eye, hyperaware and aching for his touch. He shifts his stance, pressing fully against my side. His heat warms my damp skin. He slides a hand down my bare back, and I find myself leaning in to him.

  The microwave beeps, and I jump. I forget the mug’s hot until I grab the handle. I drop it on the cabinet with a hiss. Ferdinand lifts my hand and studies my stinging fingers, then draws them into his mouth. First one. Then the other. His wet tongue rolls across the pads, soothing the burn. His eyes never break the connection between us.

  Just when I think I can’t handle any more, he presses a soft kiss on my knuckles. “You gonna be okay?”

  My brain’s on fire, so I answer with the truth. “I’m not sure.”

  Everything seems to be moving too fast. Just this morning I almost put a bullet in this man. I hated him. But I never wanted to kill him. He put me in that position when he stormed the hospital like some crazy vigilante instead of calling the law. Me. I could’ve helped him if he’d asked.

  No, that’s not true. I would’ve done exactly what I did—locked him up.

  Damn, I left my handcuffs in the bathroom. My eyes drift to the bed, but I tear my gaze away and focus on the coffee. “How do you take it?” I’d like to try doggie style. My cheeks warm at the intrusive thought. “Your coffee, I mean.”

  His eyebrows rise. “I figured. A little vanilla and honey, if you’ve got it.”

  A laugh lurks in his rich tone. It dances across my sensitive skin, and I shiver. Biting my lip, I pull out a brown paper sack and dump the contents onto the countertop. “I’ve got packets of French vanilla creamer and…oh, tupelo honey. My caretaker raises bees, and he gave me a bottle.” Breathless, I face him. “Is that okay?”

  “Honey? Oh hell, yes, but not in my coffee.” He traces a finger around my nipple. “I want it here.” His fingers stroll leisurely down my stomach. He brushes a fingertip across my navel. “In here, too.” My muscles clench. I’ve never been so glad for Abs of Steel in my whole life, except maybe the time when a tweaker biker thought he could pin me and steal my gun.

  God preserve me. I’m losing my mind.

  Ferdinand’s hand lowers. My heart races in anticipation of where he’ll touch next. He reaches past me and picks up the coffee.

  “Thanks.” He salutes with the cup and turns toward the bed.

  “Mr. Lafitte. Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  His eyes widen, but a spark flashes. “To bed. It’s big enough for both us. Surely you won’t make me sleep on the floor with the spiders and snakes.”

  “Humph. It would serve you right if I did.” I saunter over and take the cup out of his hands. “Would you rather be holding something a bit more substantial right now?” I slide his hands around my back.

  He nuzzles my neck. “I thought you wanted to eat?”

  “Guess I realized food’s not really what I’m hungry for.” I press my cheek against his thrumming heart. “Honestly, I got scared. I haven’t felt this strongly for anyone since my husband passed. I focused all of my attention on raising my daughter. Now she’s married and living her own life. I can focus on my own needs, but I’m not sure…” I swallow, but the painful words slip free. “I’m not sure if I can handle the grief of losing someone I care about again. What if this doesn’t work out?”

  “It will.”

  The assurance in his voice makes my eyes burn. But I won’t cry. Not yet. “You can’t predict the future. You once told me so yourself.” My arms tighten. “Nothing’s promised. And we live perilous lives. Let’s not waste this precious moment, Ferdinand. We can figure everything else out later.”

  “You’re sure? No regrets?” He brushes his nose down mine. My skin catches fire where he touches. I nod, mouth opening. His lips steal my answer. Not that I’d be stupid enough to disagree. His free hand goes to my bun, and he unwraps the elastic band taming my thick curls. He massages the nape of my neck, which tingles as blood flows through my scalp.

  “I love your hair,” he whispers. “Why don’t you wear it down more often?”

  “What? My hair?” Oh, damn. My heart races. My blood’s pumping. But my mind won’t settle. Now that the time has come to do as I will with this beautiful man, I’m nervous…vulnerable. I want to open myself up to the experience. Smash a sledgehammer against the remainder of the wall closing off my heart. Take a blinding leap of faith into the abyss and hope he catches me before I hit the ground.

  Stupid. Answer his question, Bessie. “Wearing my hair down is against the sheriff’s office regulations. If a perp got ahold of it, he could use it against me.”

  “What? Like this?” With a tug on the strand, he pulls my head back, exposing the length of my neck. Adrenaline crashes through my body, demanding action. I gasp, instinct directing me to fight back. My hands ball into fists. I force myself to hold steady—to release my inhibitions and give in to the building pleasure. To trust Ferdinand won’t hurt me.

  Soft kisses pressed along the underside of my jawline are my reward. At the same time, he caresses my shoulders, then unravels the pink towel. It drops to the floor, and he kicks it under the bed.

  I moan in protest. “Now I’ll have to crawl under there with the spiders and snakes to fetch it out.”

  “I’ll lift the bed for you,” he says, unrepentant. His gaze warms my skin. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I trace my hand down his chest. “You’re not hard on the eyes either, Mr. Lafitte.”

  “Ferdinand,” he whispers against my mouth, then steals my response. His lips cover mine, insistent, and I match his kiss and counter with my tongue. He tastes better than those MREs ever could, and I’ll be well satiated when I’m finished. I know that for a fact.

  I lightly step on his feet, using him for the extra boost in height, and wrap my arms around his neck. His arms tighten until I’m flush against his long, muscular frame. Not even an inch separates us. Our kiss deepens, if possible, and I feel the surge all the way to my tippy-toes. His large hands cup my butt, like he palms a basketball. He lifts me until I can wrap my legs around his narrow waist. It’s terrifying how much I could really get used to being held in his arms.

  He takes two steps, not breaking the kiss, and goes down on one knee on the bed. He gently lays me on top of the blanket, then kneels above me. I caress him. Unable to get enough of his soft yet firm body. I want to touch everywhere. Shower him with kisses.

  He pulls his mouth away, and his head drops. His teeth graze my collarbone, sending tingles along my spine. The raspy stubble on his cheeks scratches against my sensitive skin as he trails kisses down my chest, then licks my navel. He suddenly frowns toward the cabinet. “I forgot the honey.”

  I grab his face and guide it between my thighs. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, all hot and wanting.”

  His tongue licks up my fold, and I clutch at the sheets as I buck. “Guess you’re sweet enough as it is. Let me taste again to be sure.” His head lowers. This man prefers action to words, and I adore him for it.

  “Oh…Oh God. What are you doing to me?” I writhe on the bed, slowly going mad. He takes his time, leisurely, tauntingly. Excruciating. One final suck and I fall over the edge of the precipice I’ve been teetering on. Pleasure rolls over me in waves. I drown.

  I fight to come up for air, gasping and quaking in Ferdinand’s arms.

  His erection presses against me, and I gasp. I can’t wait one minute more to have him inside me. “Now.” I reach for him.

  He slides his tip over me, and I
squirm. “Stop teasing.”

  “I told you I don’t joke about sex.” He pauses, and I hear the crackle of a wrapper. Thank God. He has a condom. I’d be kicking myself seven ways come Sunday if he didn’t remember, ’cause I forgot everything but how good he feels. His hands lift my hips, and he plunges in. At my gasp, he pauses. His hands cup my face, and he showers kisses across my cheeks. “You feel good. Tight, but wet.”

  Panting, I wiggle my hips, adjusting to his fullness inside. “You feel pretty damn good, too.”

  His hips flex. He slides deeper, if that’s even possible, then slowly slides out. He rocks forward again, and my hips lift to meet his thrust. We fall into a rhythm. Our breathing is in sync. We anticipate the other, sensing the other’s needs. The pressure builds until I feel like I’m about to fly apart, only Ferdinand holds me together. When his back arches in his final release, I let go and soar. My thighs squeeze, holding him inside for as long as possible.

  When he rolls over, he brings me with him. I lie across his warm chest, listening to his heart. It beats like this for me, and mine beats for him. He runs a hand down my back, then wraps his arms around me. “Sleep.”

  I don’t know how long I sleep, but something warm and sticky on my breasts opens my eyes. Ferdinand’s on his knees above me with a bottle of honey in his hands. I shake my head and laugh. “Should’ve known.”

  “I had a plan. Out of necessity it was delayed, but I always follow through on my goals.”

  He says it with such arrogance that I want to dispute his claim purely on principle. But he’s so incredibly sexy right now. The gleam in his eyes makes my stomach clench in anticipation of him carrying out his plan.

  I dip a finger in the honey pooled in my navel and lick it off. “Sweet.”

  Ferdinand grins like a little boy with his hand stuck in the honey jar. Then I giggle as I realize, I’m the jar. He leans forward and traces his tongue over my lips. “Very tasty. Give me more.” He starts with a kiss, then follows up with a lick, and finally nibbles down my neck. He does this with infinite patience, following the trail he poured down my body. He pays special attention to my breasts. He draws each one into his mouth and sucks the honey off. I’m barely coherent by the time he reaches my belly. He swirls his tongue in my navel, while at the same time his hand’s between my legs, stroking me.