Between Hearts: A Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Erica

  His lips brush mine softly and he whispers again, “I’m sorry.” I whimper softly in spite of myself. His lips and his words are so soft.

  My whimper seems to spur something in him, and suddenly his mouth covers mine. The softness is gone. His mouth devours mine, our tongues tangle, and our breaths come fast and hard. My hands snake upward to pull him more tightly to me. I feel the hard evidence of his arousal against my hip and I press forward, causing him to groan.

  The sound of his pleasure reminds me that I’m not here for this. “Dean,” I gasp. “No. You don’t get to do this now. You don’t.”

  He responds immediately, “I’m not doing this. You are.” With that, he wraps his arms around me and drags me backward to the couch, collapsing and pulling me down on top him. I straddle him purely on instinct. When I involuntarily grind myself against his erection, we both moan. His hands move to my ass and press me against him.

  The sorrow in his eyes surprises me. “Melissa, all I have to give you is tonight. You know…”

  He’s giving me an out.

  I cut him off. “Yes, Dean. I know. But I know because I’m not stupid and because I understand. Not because you bothered to talk to me about it.”

  His hands leave my ass and reach up to cup my face. “I’m sorry. More than you know.”

  I can’t stop the solitary tear that escapes down my cheek. Damn him. This is the man I liked so much. Not the coward, but the sweet one. This is not how this was supposed to go. I shut my eyes and take a shuddering breath, bracing against the onslaught of unwelcome emotions. Asshole, asshole, asshole. Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me. I chant it to myself in an effort to remember why I came here in the first place.

  Dean’s thumb sweeps across my cheek to wipe my tear away and I can’t stop myself from turning my head to kiss it, the salt of my tear lingering on my lips. I suppose straddling his lap, my hands roughly holding his shoulders and kissing his thumb, would officially signify that my tirade is over. I sigh deeply. “Damn you, Dean Pitts.”

  “Yes, Mel. Damn me. Damn your issues and mine. Damn your pain. Damn this life. Damn everything outside of this room this night. Only this night.”

  I open my eyes and see the pleading in his eyes. I know what he’s saying. I know I want to say yes. I know I should say no. I know if I do this, the pain is going to multiply a thousand fold. I stare at him, seeking something. I don’t even know what. Reassurance? Honesty? Care? Need? I can’t tell if I’m seeing all of them or none.

  I'd rather grope for you within the great abyss than claim another’s kiss… The line of a poem I read once echoes in my mind, and I know that I’m not leaving here the same woman I was when I walked in.

  Damn him. Damn him a thousand times.

  My desire having won this battle against reason, I allow him to pull my face gently toward his. He doesn’t kiss me, though. Instead, he seems to seek an answer in my eyes. I give it by brushing my lips across his. Once. Twice. Three times.

  One of his hands moves backward to clasp my hair, the other slowly stroking over my back, down across my hip, to my thigh. My jeans should block the sweet torture of his fingertips, but they don’t. I’m afire with need.

  My hands have begun their own exploration — across his shoulders, down his arms, up his chest. I feel the hard point of his nipples and grin inwardly when I tweak one roughly causing him to grunt and grind his pelvis against me. His nipples aren’t the only things that are hard.

  With shaky fingers, I pull at the hem of his t-shirt, wanting to get at his skin. He sits up just enough to let me pull it over his head and immediately grabs mine and does the same. I smile a little as I remember the pleasure I’d taken in deciding to wear the simple grey tee, which reads only “Oh Hell No.” I’d chosen it both for the timely message and the fact that it stretches across my chest in a way that I know highlights my ample breasts. I wanted to make sure he knew what he’d missed out on. The best laid plans of mice and wronged women often go astray, I suppose.

  I lose all thought when Dean gathers me in his arms and twists us both to his right, my back against the couch, his body covering mine. I can do nothing but feel as his lips travel across my cheek, my neck, my ears. He nips at my shoulder and I shiver. My hands are moving of their own accord, through his hair, across his cheek, clutching at his arms where they are braced beside my head.

  He kisses the swell of my right breast where it rises above my bra line. There are still too many clothes between us.

  Finally, I find my voice. My words aren’t articulate, “Clothes… too many…” Fortunately, he gets my point and slides his hands beneath my back to unclasp my bra. My hands go to the button of his jeans. I need to feel him against me. If I don’t feel his skin on mine soon, I’ll explode. Even if we stop, even if this doesn’t happen, I need this right now.

  I rise to let him pull my bra from my arms. Before he’s even dropped it to the floor I’m pushing his jeans down his hips. He stands and finishes stripping. Commando. I should have known. Why the fuck does he have to be so sexy? It’s not fair.

  I let my eyes linger over the length of his body, appreciating all its spectacle — the matte of hair on his chest, the planes of his trim abs, down his strong legs and back up again, stopping on the proof of his arousal. I swallow hard. I’ve actually seen it before. Just not in person.

  In the weeks leading up to this one, we’d spent hours texting, much of which turned exquisitely carnal. As much as I wanted him, I wasn’t rushing. It’d been a long time since I’d felt the quick pulse of anticipation thrumming through me. I wanted to savor it and I wanted to build the same fever in Dean. We’d exchanged several sexy photos, including a look or two at the erection now mere inches from me. The photos did it no justice. Christ, there’s no turning back now.

  I reach out for him, the temptation of his flesh more than I can resist. Before I wrap my hands around his hardness, he bends and yanks my jeans down roughly. I’d nearly forgotten my own clothes. On? Off? On fire? I’m not sure I care right now.

  As soon as my jeans have cleared my legs, Dean is on top of me. The pressure of his form on top of mine feels so good. All I can do is hook one leg around his, letting his hips grind against mine. He’s kissing me again and my hands are in perpetual motion. I run my fingers down his back, then drag my nails back up slowly, squeezing at his shoulders, his biceps, tangling in his hair. Still he kisses me.

  I’m panting and I don’t care. I wrap my free leg upward, spreading my thighs, letting his hips nestle against the burning need at my core. I can feel his cock sliding along the seam of my lips. I press my hips upward, my hands moving down to cup his ass and pull him hard against me. So close. He’s so close to where I need him.

  I’m momentarily distracted by his rough kisses moving to my neck. His teeth sink into my earlobe hard enough that I cry out. It’s the perfect bite of pain mixed with pleasure. I tighten my grasp on his ass, my nails digging into his skin and my desperation overtaking reason.

  “Please, Dean. Please.” I don’t know exactly what I’m begging for. I hope Dean does. My brain can only process need. Deep need.

  I’m squirming under him, trying to align his hardness with my heat, but he pulls back. I can’t stop the objection falling out of my mouth. “No!”

  “Yes, Mel. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”

  Dean whispers soft assurances as he kisses downward. Any worries I have about the curve of my stomach or wideness of my thighs are obliterated as he tells me how beautiful I am, how soft my skin is, how good I feel under his fingers. His right hand cups my left breast, bringing it upward to his mouth where he sucks and nips relentlessly. His left hand pinches and pulls my right nipple. My hands slide through the short hair at the back of his head and knead at his scalp. My hips are shifting uncomfortably, seeking the pressure he has stolen away from me.

  “Dean…” I say his name and I don’t even know why. Just that I’m here, he’s here, and we’re together. Maybe I just need to tell myself
he’s real.

  He doesn’t answer but moves downward again, kissing the underside of my breasts, my stomach and then pauses only briefly before sinking his mouth onto my pussy.

  I’m completely lost now, my hands clutching at the couch cushions, desperately trying to keep my hips still and focusing on the suction I feel at my clit. He flicks and swirls, sucks and strokes my sensitive skin. He moans as he suckles at one of my labia and my whole body is electrified. His hands roam the length of my legs. Finally, he reaches up to strum at my clit while he fucks me with his tongue in an incredible way.

  I can feel my orgasm building. My voice echoes off the walls as I pant and groan. I gasp, “Going to come…” only seconds before it hits me. Dean is relentless, never slowing or changing the motion of his hands or his mouth. The only change is his free hand pressing on my hips to try to keep me from sliding away from the overwhelming pleasure racking my body.

  When the waves of pleasure finally subside, I throw my head backward, panting, trying to catch my breath. Dean finally slows the assault his tongue has inflicted on me, placing one quick kiss at the top of my mound before moving up my body to cover me again.

  “I could listen to you come a million times and it would never be enough.”

  His words are sexy, meant to encourage me, but they actually make me sad. I peer straight into his eyes with a sad smile, “It has to be enough.”

  A flash of sadness enters his pale blue eyes and I worry that the moment is over. But as quickly as I can recognize the emotion, a new one appears. Deliciously evil. “Tonight might have to be enough, but one definitely isn’t.”

  With that, he kisses me roughly again. My salty sweet flavor still lingers on his lips. Our bodies are pressed together from top to tip. I hook one leg over his and let my nails trail down his arm. Dean’s hand slides slowly up my hip, along my side, and tickles my stomach lightly before he cups my right breast. He breaks our kiss and moves to suckle my nipple. My hips flex of their own volition. I should be sated, but all I want is more.

  “Dean…” I tug the hair at the back of his neck, using it to tilt his head back so I can watch his face as he tends to my sensitive skin.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “More. I need more.” I’m beyond feeling any embarrassment. We’ve agreed to have tonight. I need to make the most of it.

  “More what?” he asks, the crook of his smile telling me he’s enjoying my willingness to beg. I’m tempted to tease him by pulling away but decide to go a different way.

  “More orgasms.” I punctuate the sentence with a swirl of my hips that causes my pussy to grind against the impressive erection pressed against it.

  He groans—whether from my blunt request or the grinding, I don’t know — but I’m rewarded by him taking over the motion at our hips. He shifts slightly, just enough to line his cock up with my entrance. When I think he’ll press forward to finally, finally join us, he surprises me by reaching between us and sliding his cock up and down me. He brushes my clit with the head of his cock and then pushes back down again, coating himself in my wetness.

  Back up and down once more, he then presses in such a way to rub our most sensitive places together without ever entering me.

  Jesus, this feels good. The man understands foreplay like no one else I’ve ever known. The sad fact that this will be the last time I’ll get to experience it threatens to take me out of the moment, so I quickly brush the thought from my head. Instead, I focus on making him feel as good as he’s making me feel.

  While he focuses on rubbing our genitals together in a delicious tease, I let my hands explore. His strong back feels amazing under my hands. I knead the tightness I feel in his shoulders and then lighten my touch again to cup his cheek, nudging him to look at me again.

  When he does, I raise my head to kiss him slowly, sweetly, trying to channel every erotic thought I’ve ever had about him into this moment. I ache to mark him with my nails or my lips but know I shouldn’t. All I can hope for is to stain his soul so deeply he’ll never forget me.

  Dean seems to accept all I have to give him and gives it back to me as deeply. I’m almost angry at how much this kiss is affecting me. Somewhere in my subconscious I register how much this is going to hurt as a memory and not a reality. Spurred by the need to make the most of the night, I grasp Dean’s ass and pull it hard against me. “Dean. Now.” If I don’t get him inside me soon, I’m afraid I will cry.

  “Mel,” he answers. “I want to make you feel good.” He seems unsure how to proceed.

  “Dean, nothing in the world could feel better than you inside me right now.”

  He pulls back and guides himself back to my opening. I’m so sensitive from the way he’s been rubbing on my clit, I’m almost in pain. He looks up once more to confirm my readiness, and when I give a slight nod of encouragement, he plunges into me.

  The wave of pleasure pulsing through me causes me to cry out a long “Ooohh.”

  “Are you okay, baby?” Dean’s gone completely still.

  “I’m perfect. Just fucking perfect. Please…” Please what, I’m not sure. Please move? Please fuck me? Please stop talking? All of the above? I press my hips upward.

  He needs no more confirmation and begins a slow assault on my senses. While his hips begin a slow, steady rhythm, his mouth maps every inch it can reach. Kissing my eyelids, my temples, grazing our noses together, making me smile.

  His kisses on my neck, further igniting my nipples. He nips at my earlobe as one hand steadies himself over me and the other explores a rock hard nipple.

  I don’t know what to focus on. There are so many points of pleasure on my body at once I feel like I’m spinning. I am trying to focus on adding to his pleasure but all I can do is raise my hips to meet his pace and revel in the amazing feeling of his body joined with mine.

  Dean quickens his pace and shivers run through my body. He’s so thick inside me, the nip of pain is excruciatingly blissful. “Dean, so good.” I need him to know how good I feel.

  He groans and crushes his mouth against mine again. I’m not sure if this reward is because he likes my words or if it’s his way of agreeing. I just know I’m grateful. Dean’s mouth is soft and rough, his tongue seeking mine and stealing my breath. I could kiss this man until the end of time.

  Abruptly, he pulls back and stares down at me. “You’re beautiful.”

  Chapter Three

  Oh wow. How am I ever going to give up this man in the morning? I close my eyes against the wave of emotions lest I start crying. There is nothing sexy about crying during sex.

  Dean refuses my self-protective move. “Open your eyes.” His voice is commanding, but I can’t. I simply shake my head and press my hips upward trying to encourage him to resume our lovemaking.

  “Look at me!”

  My eyes open to meet his. And damn it, I can feel tears welling up. This cannot happen. “Just fuck me, Dean.”

  It’s his turn to close his eyes, a low growl emanating from his chest. He presses into me slowly, as if his hips are moving on their own and he’s fighting them.

  “No. This is not fucking, Mel…”

  I cut him off. “Yes, it is, Dean. You know it and I know it. Fucking is all this can be.”

  Suddenly he pulls back farther, his hands pulling my thighs up and over his legs. He’s still buried deep inside me, but this new position spreads my body before him and angles his cock upward against my g-spot. Oh shit.

  “All this can be is tonight, but it’s more than fucking. You’ll leave here knowing that even if it fucking kills me.”

  All talking over, he moves his thumb to rub at my clit while he continues a slow pace of lovemaking. Yes, lovemaking. I wish it felt like fucking. Fucking would be so much simpler.

  The pressure against the sensitive bud of nerves is too much and I can feel an orgasm building quickly. Jesus he’s good at this. Two orgasms in one night and I have a feeling we’re not even close to done. When the wave of pleasure crests, all I
can do is cry out his name. “Dean… Oh God, Dean!” I feel my pussy contracting around his cock inside me. Jesus fuck, I hope this feels as good to him as it does me.

  I get my answer when he once again leans forward and slams into me hard, extending the tremors of pleasure still washing over me.

  I never get a chance to catch my breath as he’s now slamming into me, and I know he can’t last much longer. I’m relieved because I really need a break. Though not nearly as much as I want to see him come. I need to see him finish more than I need air right now.

  “Dean, baby… yes. Use me,” I encourage him. Now that I’m spent I can concentrate on his pleasure.

  When he looks up to meet my eyes, I realize he’d been watching the place where we are joined. That’s so hot. Why does he have to be so damned hot?

  I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but I see his own gaze change from concentration to feral. He pulls out and swiftly flips me over. Oh shit. He really is going to use me. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous or excited. I start to tell him I guess we really are fucking now, but I don’t want to end the moment. If all I get is tonight, I want to see all sides of him. His hands are on my ass, rubbing, massaging. His finger slides slowly down my crack and I suck in my breath. I’m not sure what he has in mind but suddenly nerves are winning over excitement.

  “No,” he growls.

  No? No, what?

  Before I can utter those words aloud, he flips me back over, gathers me in his arms and is heading down a short hallway. Oh. I guess he objected to the location. I don’t disagree even if his couch is really comfy.

  He lays me on his bed gently and then kisses me just as gently. This man makes my head spin. I can’t keep up with his moods — angry, sad, feral, sweet. What’s next?

  My lips are sore from his kisses, the faint burn on my chin a result of the stubble on his chin. He moves over me again, slightly off center and begins a slow exploration of my body. His rough fingertips trail across my shoulders, down between my breasts, to my stomach, my hips and back up again. This is why women love guitar players. We fantasize about how great those calloused fingers would feel on our bodies. We are so, so right.