Kiss and Make Up

by Serenity Woods

  “Um…” Her breasts heaved as her breathing grew quicker. “Oh God.”

  “He’s not coming to save you.” His gaze dipped to her breasts, which rose and fall.

  Tabby’s head spun. She wanted him so badly it hurt, but her mouth had gone dry with nerves. She wasn’t that experienced in bed, and didn’t know how to deal with his passion. This was a whole new level of desire she’d never encountered before, and she shrank against the wall, his hot gaze raking her.

  He grabbed the sides of her scarlet shirt and yanked hard, and the buttons popped, flying off in all directions.

  “Eli!” She scrambled to tug the sides of the shirt together, but he pushed it off her shoulders to the floor. He captured her lips with his, slipped a hand to the nape of her neck, and held her in place as he squeezed her bra clasp with his other hand and it sprang open.

  Within seconds, her bra lay on top of her shirt and she stood before him, naked from the waist up.

  At that moment, she didn’t know if she was turned on or irritated with this new side of him. Possibly both. He kissed her again, hard, and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Holding her tight to him with one arm, the other found her breast and squeezed her nipple, and she inhaled, her knees giving way under her. Keeping her tight to him, he turned to face the bed and pushed her back, falling on top of her.

  All the breath flew out of her, and she lay there for a moment, winded, as he laughed and captured her wrists, pinning them above her head easily with one hand. He slid the other hand up her skirt, and hooked up the leg of her panties before slipping his fingers into her soft folds.

  She cried out, speechless with frustration and fury and passion, trying to wrench her wrists free, but his hand was like a steel manacle.

  He stroked her firmly. She felt his fingers slide easily inside her and knew she must be wet. He smiled, irritatingly sure of himself. “Tell me you want me to stop,” he said.

  “Eli…”

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “And I’ll stop.”

  She met his eyes, about to yell at him, but something in his gaze made her hold her tongue. There was desire and arrogance there, but also something else, visible in the slight frown between his eyes, the way he looked at her longingly. Hurt. She’d hurt him when she’d called him “nice,” and when she’d intimated she only wanted him as a friend. His feelings for her ran deeper than she’d realized.

  Her frustration and anger faded. He’d broken Will’s nose because the idiot had been rude to her. He’d risked his job, maybe even his career, because he felt the need to defend her. It was practically prehistoric, but he thought of her as his. And he wasn’t sure she felt the same way. He saw her desire for him as a by-product of her need to feel comforted. He didn’t think she really wanted him.

  And that made her melt.

  She looked deep into his eyes. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Something shot between them—an understanding, a connection, and every emotion inside her reflected back at her in his eyes. He blinked, and she knew he must be reading the same in her gaze. There was no hiding now—their feelings were out in the open. They were in trouble, and they both knew it. How could something feel so wonderful and hurt so much at the same time?

  Eli kissed her again, but this time he released her hands. She put her arms around his neck, slid her hands into his hair, and returned each thrust of his tongue with one of her own. He groaned, pressing his erection against her, then held her tightly and rolled so she was on top of him, letting her stretch out along him. She molded her body to his and moved her hips to arouse herself on him. Before long, the need to feel him inside her made her rise and shed the rest of her clothing.

  Keeping his gaze on her, he ripped off his T-shirt, unzipped his jeans, and kicked them off with his boxers.

  They climbed back on the bed. The urge to take away the memory of the hurt in his eyes was overwhelming. She wanted to please him, to take him to the edge of desire. “What do you need?”

  He moved his hand in a circle, gesturing for her to turn over. She shifted onto her left side, his chest warm against her back as he moved up close to her.

  He kissed her shoulder and looked past her at the wall, and she followed his gaze, only then realizing the doors of the built-in wardrobe were fitted with mirrors. He stroked her from shoulder to hip and then moved his hand forward to cup her breast.

  “You’re going to watch me turn you on,” he said, his deep voice making her tingle. “You’re going to watch yourself come. And then you’re going to watch me come inside you.” He touched his tongue to her ear and blew into it gently. “And you’re going to tell me you’re not my friend.”

  Tabby felt as if she wasn’t made of skin and bone anymore. She consisted only of hormones and pheromones and sensitive, swollen skin that ached for his touch.

  He began to stroke her, firm but gentle brushes up and down her body as he kissed her ear, then took the lobe in his mouth and sucked. She closed her eyes and shivered. He laughed and pressed his erection against the cheeks of her ass, stroking her stomach, then lower.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered. She did so, and caught her breath at the sight of him sliding his hand between her legs, his dark head bent as he watched her watch him. “God, Tabby, you are so fucking sexy.”

  She groaned and closed her eyes, opening them again as he nudged her. He wanted her to watch them make love, to be turned on by nothing more than the sight of the two of them, naked, hot, entwined around each other.

  He slid his fingers deep inside her. Still stroking her, he nibbled her shoulder and neck, and she arched against him, thinking how beautiful he was, his body tanned and toned, muscular and strong, not an ounce of fat on him.

  He lifted his head to study her, knowing she was watching him in the mirror. “Do you like what you see?”

  “Mm,” she murmured, closing her eyes and tipping her head further so he could kiss her neck.

  “Does my body turn you on?” He kissed the line of her jaw.

  “Yes.”

  He stroked her gently, his fingers finding her most sensitive spot. “You want me inside you?”

  “Oh God, yeah.”

  His breath was hot on her ear. “Open your eyes.”

  She opened them once more at his urging. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half closed with desire. “You’re so wicked,” she reprimanded him as his fingers tormented her. “You lead me astray.”

  He bit her ear. “Right back at you, babe.”

  “And you’re so innocent.”

  “A regular saint.” He chuckled in her ear.

  His anger and frustration had evaporated, and all that was left between them was the passion and warmth she’d felt from the very first time she saw him, even with the stupid wig and teeth. She adored this Eli—strong and funny, affectionate and sexy. And while angry Eli had told her he didn’t want to be friends, she knew they were. It was just that he wanted them to be more than that. He wanted her to want him. And oh…she did. Very much.

  “I’m glad I met you, Tabby Rogers, my little sex kitten. You amuse me. You also turn me on.” He pushed his hips against hers. “Can you tell how much?”

  “Well, yes. It’s not exactly subtle.”

  He laughed, his deep voice making her shiver, nibbled up her shoulder, fastened his mouth on her neck, and sucked. He took both her hands and pinned them in front of her, then leaned heavily on her, nudging her legs wider apart.

  “I’m not letting you escape now.” He continued to take small nibbles out of her neck and ear, making her squeal and writhe beneath him. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “So stop biting me,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t.

  “No.” His tongue was warm as it laced across her skin. “You taste divine. I need you, Tabbs. I want you. And I’m going to take you now. Are you ready?”

  “Would it matter if I wasn’t?” she asked, breathless, nearly dying of lust.

 
“Not really.” He moved on top of her. “You have no say in this whatsoever.”

  “As long as we’re clear on that.” She watched him guide himself between her thighs.

  He slid the tip of his erection into her slippery folds and kissed her cheek. Then he pushed his hips forward and slid right into her. She let out a long, heartfelt moan.

  He waited for a moment, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She felt hazy with desire, dizzy with longing.

  He raised his head and kissed her shoulder. “You feel good.”

  She widened her legs. “You, too.” He pulled out and slid back in, and she moaned again. “Oh, that’s fantastic.” For some reason, the position, and the fact that she was watching him thrust into her, filled her with reckless abandon.

  He shifted his weight onto his left hand and slipped his other underneath to stroke her breast, squeezing her nipple as he moved inside her. Then he lowered his hand down to stroke between her legs, his fingers parting to feel himself sliding in and out of her. He shuddered. “Your body drives me crazy.”

  “Good. Now you know how I feel.” Her orgasm was starting to build.

  He lifted his hand and stopped moving, and the delicious ripples died away.

  “What…?” She looked over her shoulder at him, trying to focus her gaze.

  “Tell me we’re not just friends.”

  Her heart melted. “We’re not just friends, Eli.”

  He gave a shallow, gentle thrust. “Tell me I’m not ‘nice.’”

  He was nice, even when he was being naughty, but she knew what he wanted to hear. “You’re not nice. You’re wicked, and I like the way you make me feel, like nothing matters but the two of us lying here, in this bed.” Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her cheek and began to thrust again.

  “Open your eyes…”

  She did so reluctantly. Part of her didn’t want to see their pleasure, because it hurt to think they were so good together. But he bit her ear, so she opened them and looked at their reflections, and tried not to cry at the tender affection on his face.

  Her climax swept over her, and even though she couldn’t help but screw her eyes shut as the pulses of pleasure racked her body, she knew he was watching her.

  Moments later, he went still as his body tightened, and she pried her eyelids open to watch as he came inside her. How wonderful, to see the sharp pleasure cross his face, to hear his low groans, and know she was the cause.

  She felt him shudder, saw all the tension drain out of him, and watched him fall on top of her as the spasms died away.

  “Squashed,” she managed to say as he squeezed all the breath out of her body.

  “Sorry.” He raised himself up slightly, but didn’t move.

  “The poor neighbors.”

  He kissed her neck. “They’ll just think it was an earthquake.”

  “It had to be at least an eight-point-five.”

  Laughing, he withdrew from her and rolled onto his back. She turned to look at him and smiled as he stretched and yawned, obviously sated.

  And then his body went still. “Shit.” His eyes widened with alarm.

  She lifted her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot to use a fucking condom.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eli stared at Tabby, and his mouth fell open in shock. He’d never forgotten about protection before—he’d never had sex without a condom. What had gotten into him?

  She touched between her legs, as if looking for confirmation. “Huh.”

  He reached over to the bedside table, extracted a couple of tissues from the box, and handed them to her. “I’m so sorry, Tabbs. That was…unforgivable.”

  She threw the tissue into the bin. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

  “I should have been. It’s my responsibility.”

  “It’s our responsibility, not just yours. I guess we got carried away.” She made the little jest, but she was frowning, and her eyes were cool. She sat up against the headboard and hugged her knees to her chest.

  He ran a hand through his hair. He was such an idiot. He’d felt closer than ever to her as they’d made love, and now he’d blown it. The repercussions made his head spin. She could get pregnant. That put a whole different perspective on things. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I know.” She gave him a small smile. Then she lowered her gaze to the duvet and picked absently at an embroidered flower. He watched her, tongue-tied with shame, wishing there was something he could say to make her feel better. Her hand stilled on the coverlet, and she stared at her fingers for a moment.

  His stomach knotted. “We should talk about this.”

  She blinked and looked up at him, rubbing her nose. “I’m very tired. Can we discuss it in the morning?”

  She did look tired, but he sensed there was more to it than that. Perhaps she wanted time to think about it. He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Do you…” She cleared her throat. “Do you want me to leave?”

  She looked very young and unsure, and his heart swelled with affection. “Of course not. Roll over, let me pull the covers back.” He retrieved the duvet and drew it over her.

  She snuggled against him, her back to his chest, and he wrapped her in his arms, relieved she hadn’t left.

  Her breathing grew shallow and regular. But when he raised his head to look at her in the mirror, he found her gaze fixed on a point in the distance, and there were tears on her cheek. He went to say something, but she closed her eyes.

  He lowered his head back down. They lay silently in the dark until they fell asleep.

  …

  Early the next morning, Eli went for a run through the streets of Taupo. He’d left Tabby still sleeping, fighting the urge to curl around her and awaken her with kisses, wanting instead to clear his head and think about the coming day and what the future held. The bright sun reflected off the windows of the shops and bars he passed, dazzling him. Good thing he only needed a few hours’ sleep, because he hadn’t gotten much the night before.

  Tabby could be pregnant. The thought resonated through him as his feet struck a regular rhythm on the wide pavement. His stomach didn’t churn as much as he had thought it might have at the idea of being a father, but his chest tightened with concern. What would she do if she took a test and it turned out to be positive? Surely she wouldn’t still insist on moving to London?

  They do have babies in the UK, asshole. Why shouldn’t she carry on with her plans? They had child care centers in England, au pairs, nannies, didn’t they?

  He couldn’t change how Tabby would react if she were pregnant. The only things he had any control over were his own actions. Of course, he would do the right thing by her—in fact his mother would probably dance with joy over the thought of a grandchild, unless she murdered him first for having unprotected sex. How many times had she tried to drum that into his brain over his teenage years?

  But there was more to this than “doing the right thing.” The thought of losing Tabby filled him with pain he could no longer ignore. He didn’t want to let her go.

  He wanted her to come to LA with him.

  He was pretty convinced she’d say no if he asked her right away. Her ex had done irreparable damage there, and he was certain there was no way she’d give up her dream for a man, whoever he was. But if she were pregnant, and if he were willing to show he was committed to her, it might be a different matter.

  So what if he asked her to marry him?

  He processed that thought. Did he want to get married? He’d never even considered getting hitched to a girl before. But then he’d never met anyone like Tabby. He hated being apart from her. When they weren’t together, she was all he could think about. He was crazy about her—even when they were together, he wanted to touch her all the time, even if it was only to hold her hand or kiss her cheek. And he knew there could only be one reason for this.

  He loved her.

  He’d tried to ignore it, convincing himself they were on
ly having a fling, but that was patently nonsense after his behavior of the night before—the display of jealousy, the way he’d dragged her back to his room and seduced her until she admitted they were more than friends. Pathetic, really, when he looked at it like that, but love did strange things to a man.

  So, should he ask her?

  He cursed aloud, making a nearby shop owner stare at him, and he held up a hand in apology as he passed. Pregnant women still went to England. Why did he think if he magically produced a small golden circle, she’d decide not to go? What if she says no? Also, the amount of ego involved in his plan could have filled the whole of the north island. Why should she give up her dream? Why shouldn’t it be him?

  He slowed to a walk, stopped, and leaned over, hands on knees as he tried to catch his breath.

  This had always been Charlie’s favorite time of day. The remembrance made his chest tighten even further. They used to get up to go running together, although Eli was never as fast as Charlie, who had two years on him. But he’d loved those early morning runs through the forest where they’d lived at the time, before the memories drove his parents to move to the city. Before life had pulled its rug out from under his feet, and nothing had ever been the same again.

  He leaned against a shop window, running his hands through his hair. Usually he avoided thinking about Charlie because this was always what happened. Sorrow overwhelmed him, along with frustration and helplessness. Charlie was gone—there was nothing he could do about it. And Eli had made his promise to the dying boy. He could still remember sitting by his brother’s bedside. The once-tanned seventeen-year-old had become emaciated and pale, his sparkling eyes—so like Eli’s own—turned to sunken pits in his head.

  “Promise me,” Charlie had said fiercely when their parents had left them alone for five minutes to get a cup of coffee. “Promise me you’ll still do it. You’ll still go to LA and be a stuntman, Eli. I don’t want you not to go because of me. Promise me you’ll do it.”