by Jinsey Reese
“You were sprawled on the sidewalk crying because you fell?”
I swallowed. “It’s been a monumentally shitty day, okay? Can we just leave it at that?”
He was quiet for a few minutes as he spread ointment over the cuts and covered them with gauze, taping it in place.
When he lifted one of my hands in his, my breathing hitched. He was being so freaking gentle it was breaking my heart.
“So,” he said as he cleaned the scrapes, “seeing me was really that bad, huh?”
My eyes flew open, and I shook my head. Which hurt. Fuck.
“No,” I said, trying to smile through the pain. “That was the least shitty part of it.”
The corners of his lips lifted, a ghost of a smile touching them. Which only made me smile for real. For a moment. Until I thought about the truly shitty part of my day.
“It’s just…my roommate…he’s giving me the creeps. He watches me all the time, tries to put his hands on me—”
Dare’s eyes narrowed. “The guy you were with earlier?”
“Yes.” My voice came out shaking and breathy. “He followed me to the club tonight and was trying to take me home. I just…he reminds me of…”
“Of what?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to think about it. Not now.
“I don’t know what would have happened had I gone home.”
Dare’s jaw clenched and he blew out a slow breath as he wrapped my hand in gauze. Then he picked up the other hand and started cleaning it.
That sentence hung in the air between us, causing me to shudder at the memory of Lucien’s hands on me, his eyes gliding over my body all evening long.
“Sabine set me up in the apartment. You remember Sabine?”
He nodded, his lips pressed tight. The hard lines of his face only made him more breathtakingly handsome. How had I forgotten how beautiful he was? How had I fooled myself into not remembering each and every angle to his face? I wanted to reach out and feel them under my fingers.
“So just tell her you can’t stay there anymore.” The way he said it sounded reasonable, but what would I tell her? That I didn’t like the way Lucien looked at me? That he was being too friendly for my comfort? Aside from his overt sleaziness, nothing had technically happened. More importantly, I had nowhere to go.
I shook my head. “There’s nothing to tell. It wasn’t his fault that I hurt myself. I mean, yes, he’d grabbed hold of me, but he let go when I told him to. And I fell.”
“He grabbed you?” Dare’s gaze snapped to my face as his hands stilled around mine. His eyes were different after three years—there was no light. Or maybe that was just because he was with me. Little things stood out to me as I stared at him. His face was thinner, his jaw more tense. Everything about him seemed just a little…harder.
“It was nothing,” I assured him.
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he said, focusing on my hand again so he could wrap it as he had the other. I watched him work, exhaustion overflowing and weighing me down.
“It’s late,” he said as soon as he’d finished.
“I know. I’ll g—”
“Stay.” He placed his hand on my arm to stop me from getting up, and my eyes widened in response to both the touch and his words. “It’s late.” He searched my face for a moment, as if waiting for my response, but I’d lost my voice. All I could do was nod.
Dare wanted me here?
“You hit your head,” he said, as if reading my mind. “I just want to be sure you’re okay.”
Right. Well, his concern, at least, was something. At this point, I’d take anything I could.
He motioned for me to follow, leading the way down a short hall. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. Three years ago, the first REAL night we’d spent together had been in part due to his head injury. The one I’d caused.
Except that night had been perfect, sweet…back when I couldn’t fathom sweetness. Tonight was just painfully bittersweet.
We stopped inside his bedroom. I stared at his bed—unmade, the sheets askew as if he’d wrestled with them all night long—while he walked over to his dresser and opened a drawer.
“You take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I can—”
“No.” He stopped riffling through the clothes inside and turned to look at me. “You’re hurt. You need the bed.” He handed me a t-shirt and nodded toward the hall. “The bathroom is out there, the only door on the right.”
“Thanks.” I took the shirt, my fingers brushing his in the process.
Dare stiffened at my touch, his jaw tightening, liquid heat shooting into his eyes. He stared at my lips, and for a split second I thought he was going to reach for me. But then his fist clenched and he walked away. If that wasn’t a clue that I wasn’t entirely welcome…
I practically ran into the bathroom, only able to catch my breath once I was leaning against the firmly shut door. I knew I was a wreck even before I looked in the mirror, but the confirmation of the horror of my face was the last blow to my trampled self-esteem. Dark streaks ran down my cheeks from the black circles around my eyes, and my long hair was a tangled mess.
But it wasn’t my outer appearance that bothered me as much as the mess inside my head that was clearly reflected in the watery depths of my gaze. For three years, I’d managed to stay cool, collected, unfeeling. At least on the outside. One day and one look at Dare and the reservoir had overflowed, allowing all those suppressed feelings to come spilling out.
Christ. I had to get a grip. Now.
I itched to take a shower and wash away the disastrous night, but with my knee and hands bandaged, that wasn’t going to happen. I found a washcloth, dampened it, and scrubbed my face until it was clean. Then I used a comb to smooth out the tangles in my hair, wishing I had an elastic band to pull it back into a ponytail. When I looked in the mirror again, my honey-brown locks hung straight and silky down my back and although there was nothing I could do about the sorrow in my eyes, I looked more like the girl Dare used to know.
Reaching behind me, I tried to slip off my dress, but couldn’t get it unzipped with my hands all wrapped up. So I opened up the bathroom door and peered out. I padded over to the bedroom and froze in the doorway as a drawer slammed.
Dare’s back was to me, his arms reaching behind him to pull off his t-shirt. His muscles rippled as the material slid up and over his head, revealing the phoenix tattoo on his shoulder. The warm tan of his skin looked velvety smooth in the low light of the room and it took every ounce of self-control not to reach out and touch him.
No, I couldn’t. He wasn’t mine to touch anymore.
He picked up a clean white shirt, stiffening when he heard me shift in the doorway.
“I’ll get out of your way,” he started to say.
“Actually,” I said, turning my back to him and pulling my hair over my shoulder, “I need your help, please. I can’t undo it.”
He paused and I stood completely still, waiting for him to make a move. Just when I thought he wouldn’t, I heard him toss his shirt aside and cross over to me. His fingers grasped the zipper at the middle of my back, brushing my skin and sending a shiver through me. As he slid the zipper down, the dress slipped off my shoulders and fell to the floor, leaving me standing in front of Dare in nothing but my yellow lace panties.
He didn’t speak, but I could feel his quickened breath as it grazed the bare skin on my neck. I imagined his gaze heating as he reached out for me, wanting to touch me as much as I needed to touch him. I wished I could just lean back into him and meld my body with his, back to hard front, skin to warm skin. A charged shock ran down my spine as I felt him close the distance between us, his hands hovering dangerously close to my waist. But then he cursed and moved away, jolting me back to the cold, harsh reality.
He wasn’t mine to touch.
And I wasn’t his to have.
So we were stuck in limbo—so close, yet much t
oo far away.
I shook out the t-shirt he’d given me and quickly pulled it over my head. Then I lifted my hair out and let it fall down my back. When I turned to face Dare, he was staring at me, his expression one of pure torture.
Taking a deep, slow breath, he said, “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.” He started to move forward, to go past me and out to the couch, when I panicked and reached out my hand to stop him.
“Would you…” I didn’t want to be alone. I couldn’t be alone. Not after Lucien and the memories. I didn’t want to touch my pills tonight—not around Dare. But I would never get to sleep on my own otherwise.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Would you stay with me?” When his eyes narrowed and he started to shake his head, I barreled on. “Not because I want to…you know…I just…” My breaths were coming in quick little pants as I tried to keep my panic at a manageable level. “I can’t be alone tonight. Not after…everything.”
Not after YOU.
He searched my face as if the answer was written in my eyes.
“Please, Dare? I promise—”
He nodded once, but didn’t say anything, so I shuffled over to the bed, so freaking grateful I couldn’t even speak. I climbed under the covers, sliding all the way over so there’d be plenty of room for him to lie down without having to touch me. I turned my back to him and tucked the pillow under my head. I’d taken a couple of aspirin from his medicine cabinet, and the pounding in my head was already starting to wane.
Dare pulled the covers up on his side of the bed, then lay on top of them. The feel of him next to me—not even touching me, just his mere presence—put my whole body at ease. I felt myself relax like I hadn’t been able to in ages. My exhausted mind and body felt weighed down after the events of the day, and I drifted off to sleep with the sounds and smell of Dare all around me.
five
I woke in the middle of the night snuggled up next to Dare, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist. For a brief, insane moment, I thought I’d imagined the whole thing—that the past three years had simply been a bad dream and we were back in his apartment in Brooklyn. And this whole fucking nightmare was just a warning from my subconscious to save me from my own self-destructive stupidity.
But instead of the sounds of New York City, I could hear the streets of Paris below. Soft melodious French drifted in through the open window and I remembered, with no small amount of embarrassment and horror, the details of the previous evening.
Dare’s hand was warm on my stomach, keeping me securely fastened to him as his long legs entwined with mine. The whole length of him along my back set my senses on high alert. With each lungful of air he took, I could feel every hard, tight muscle in his chest expand and contract. His soft, warm breath caressed the back of my neck, bringing with it the sweet, minty smell of toothpaste and something more familiar.
Something all Dare.
Being here in his arms again, even though I knew he would never have touched me like this consciously, made me miss him even more. It brought all that I’d lost front and center, giving fresh intensity to the gaping hole in my heart. I couldn’t stop the silent tears from slipping down my face as I lay there listening to him breathe, the pain of all that I’d never have again nearly splitting me in two.
I’d been so fucking stupid. How could I have let him go?
Why hadn’t I been stronger? Why didn’t I fight tooth and nail for us?
If anyone was worth sacrificing everything for, it was Dare.
I slowly turned my head so that I could glimpse his face. Three years had changed him. Made him rougher around the edges, even in deep sleep. But he was still Dare—arresting beauty of an art masterpiece and striking hardness of a sculpture.
My Dare.
How painful those two tiny words were to even think now that I was right in the middle of everything I so desperately needed and wanted in my life…and all that I no longer had. Not having him was the worst feeling in the world, like trying to exist without a vital organ.
My Dare wasn’t mine anymore.
I turned away again, and he shifted in place, his hand tightening around me. I reached down and slowly lifted it up. I stared at it for a moment, studying the length and thickness of his fingers, the lines of his palm. I’d always liked those hands, was easily mesmerized by them—especially when he sketched—and had once known the feel of them so well.
The faint smell of turpentine still clung to his skin as I brought his hand closer to my face and pressed my lips against his palm, breathing him in. At my touch he drew in a quick breath. I could feel his shoulders stiffen, his whole body going rigid.
Shit, shit, shit. I had not meant to wake him; I’d just wanted to bask in his nearness. I froze, anticipating the loss that was surely coming.
Was he going to pull away? Would he get up and move to the couch?
To my surprise, Dare didn’t remove his hand. He stayed as still as me, like he was waiting for my next move. So I opened my lips and slid my tongue along his palm, tasting him. He exhaled sharply and groaned. As I pressed another kiss to his hand, I could feel him hardening against my lower back. So I kissed him again. And again.
He moved then, leaning up on one arm and pulling my shoulder toward him so I was facing up. My heart raced and my head spun at the sight of him looking down at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I was too afraid to say anything, too scared to break the spell. He just kept looking at me, searching my face, hungry want pulsing so clear in his eyes—the same want I felt deep within my soul.
Slowly, he reached out and trailed his fingers over my cheekbones and along my jawline as if making sure they were exactly how he remembered them. When he traced my lips, I parted them. His eyes were fixated on my mouth, his fingers just skimming the rim, driving me wild. The tip of his index finger slid toward my tongue and I closed my lips around it, sucking it deep into my mouth.
He grunted and lifted his gaze, his eyes scorching mine. Slipping his finger out of my mouth, he stared at my lips for a moment, then leaned down and crushed his mouth to mine with so much unbridled desire I saw stars behind my eyes.
And I met him. Just as eagerly.
His hand gripped my chin, keeping me locked to him while his tongue consumed me. Dare kissed me as if he were dying of thirst and I was life-giving water. He drank me in—hard and fast—and then drank some more.
And I drank him. Just as greedily.
He left my lips, kissed down my jawline to my neck, sending shivers over my whole body—the body that was waking up in places that had been dormant since the day he’d left. Pulses of pleasure shot through me, heating my skin and making me wet with want.
Still not saying a single word, he grabbed hold of the t-shirt I was wearing and ripped it right down the middle, exposing me to him. His mouth found my breasts, licked and kissed around them, getting maddeningly closer and closer to my nipples. When he finally claimed them, sucking, nipping, making me ache for him, I cried out and arched my back, rubbing my throbbing core against him.
I tugged on his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine, needing to feel all of him. He yanked it over his head and threw it to the floor. Overwhelmed by the sight of him, I ran my hands over his chest and stomach, caressing every ridge of hard muscle. He watched me as I explored him, his eyes turning darker still. Feeling the familiarity of him under my hands was almost too much to handle. I lifted my hips to press against him again, and his gaze shot straight to my panties.
He sucked in a sharp breath and ran a hand down my stomach, his fingers skimming the lace as he leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, and then the other, licking and teasing them into tight buds. Leaving my breasts, he kissed and bit his way down the center of my chest and stomach, then reached down with his other hand to pull my underwear off, tossing it down next to his shirt.
His kisses grew rougher and fiercer as he made his way along my inner thigh, lingered right above my ach
e without touching me, and trailed a path of kisses to the other. Then he did it again. And again. Almost like he was punishing me by purposefully depriving me of him. The next time he paused at my throbbing center, I wove my fingers into his dark hair and lifted myself up to his mouth. His tongue flicked out and licked me. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he lowered himself down, took me into his warm, wet mouth, and sucked.
And I became completely lost, totally absorbed by him. The rhythmic feel of his mouth on my clit sent electric bursts spreading out from my core, building up to a feverish charge that pulsed through my body. I was almost at the moment of bursting into flames when he pulled his mouth away, leaving me a raw, writhing mess, aching with so much want.
I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes for the release only he could give, but he’d gotten off the bed to pull a condom out of the bedside table. He slid out of his shorts, his erection so strained and huge it caused a whole new throb within me. Every muscle on his body was its own masterful work of art, so beautifully sculpted he almost seemed unreal. As unreal as what was happening right now in this room.
A small sigh of relief escaped me when he returned to my side. I didn’t want to be separated from him. Ever again. Dare was my answer to a three-year-long call, a fire that ignited feelings and emotions after a lifetime of cold, harsh nothingness. He wreaked havoc on my body, but soothed my mind and healed my soul.
I needed him. So fucking badly. And I wanted to make sure he knew it.
Before he had a chance to unwrap the condom, I reached for him, filling my hands with his hardness, running my lips over the hot, smooth velvet of his skin. Even in the dimness I could see his eyes flash dangerously, but he didn’t resist, allowed me to slide my tongue over him and take him into my mouth.
God, I’d forgotten how good he felt, how perfect he was.
I took him deeper into me, all the while keeping my gaze locked on his. His jaw tightened and his hands fisted at his sides as if trying to resist the urge to grip my hair and agitate the bump on my head. I rewarded his concern by licking and sucking faster, taking in as much of him as I could. His head fell back and he groaned, his hips starting to move with me.