While They Watch

by Sosie Frost

  I had no memory of this sort of pleasure.

  And I wanted nothing more than to explore that wild release with him.

  I arched into his kiss, and he hauled me into his arms just to drop me on the couch.

  I shouldn’t have let him kiss me as he stole my strength. Shouldn’t have let him tug at my shirt, praise my curves, or touch my bare skin. I should have stopped him before my heart wanted exactly what my body demanded.

  I wasn’t strong enough to deny my desire.

  And I wasn’t foolish enough to lose this moment, nestled in his arms, heated by his gaze, trapped within our lust.

  My shirt and bra tumbled to the floor, the only distraction that broke our kiss. His strong arm looped behind my back, pinning me close as my fingers brushed over his jaw, tickled by the close trim of his beard.

  My heart and stomach battled it out in my chest, leaving just enough room for my core to heat—dangerous and wanting. Shepard tugged at my jeans.

  It had been four months since I gave birth, and I had no doubt my body had changed.

  But Shepard was…

  Amazed.

  His breath shuddered, lost in a quiet profanity meant only to praise me. My jeans tucked down and revealed the smooth darkness of my legs. He stroked my calf, light against dark, pale against rich and vibrant. He tickled along my knees, grazed to my thigh, and paused over the elastic of my pink panties.

  “You’re absolutely beautiful.” His words teased me like another touch. “Evie, I never thought…”

  That we’d be doing this?

  I wished I had the same thought.

  But from the moment I saw him, the instant he stepped into my life, something had changed in me. A flicker of heat that no memory could extinguish.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve needed this…” He kissed my tummy—not quite flat but sexy enough to make his fingers tremble and words rasp. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  And he was everything I’d known. The only romance. The only kiss.

  I was practically a virgin, aching beneath this perfect man. I couldn’t remember my last touch. When I conceived Clue. Who I had been with.

  Or why I had so regretted imagining Shepard’s face in those fantasies these past few weeks.

  Why deny this? Why fight whatever it was that locked us in this heated, beautiful fight between what we needed and what was right?

  Why not steal the kiss? Arch against the brush of his lips against my navel?

  Why not encourage him with a timid gasp as he cast my panties away?

  We both stopped breathing.

  His gaze tickled my body.

  Nude.

  Dark.

  Tensed.

  Waiting.

  “I haven’t…” I swallowed, hard, as he lowered himself, his hand gentle against the softness of my skin. “I don’t remember the last time…”

  “I’ll make you feel like this is the only time.”

  “I don’t know what I should do…or how to do it.”

  Shepard’s kisses trailed down, past my navel and to the sensitive angle created by my spread hips. “I don’t expect anything from you but pleasure.”

  “No pressure.”

  His grin was wicked. “Your pleasure.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I plan to show you everything sensual.” He kissed. “Titillating.” His hand tickled low. “And erotic that you’ve forgotten.”

  His fingers traced over a part of me that burst to life at his touch. A flood of heat, confusion, and utter delight pulsed in my core.

  “It’s been so long for you…” He stared at me. “Much too long.”

  It was the truth. A truth I’d tried to ignore.

  I tensed as he kissed the inside of my thighs. His breath puffed warm over my slit. I stiffened. Waited.

  Ached.

  Was this his plan? To watch me squirm? To make me imagine all the pleasures he could offer?

  No.

  Shepard wanted me to explode.

  He dove into me, his mouth sealing over my sensitive folds, devouring every slickened and velvet secret I could offer.

  He set me on fire and tamed the flames with his kiss.

  He roused an inferno deeper in me, and he fanned it with the flick of a tongue.

  I arched, begged, and clutched at the couch, dizzy with intensity. He wasn’t just generous. Shepard sunk within my slit, eager to prove something to me. Was it excitement? Gratitude?

  A passion I couldn’t begin to understand?

  Every lick and suckle was meant to tease me in a beautiful and selfless pleasure. But I hadn’t been touched for so long, hadn’t even attempted to discover what passions and desires twisted within me that belonged only under the cover of night.

  But he was the only one I wanted to help me explore that delight.

  I had no idea what I needed, but I knew that it was this man. His touch comforted me. His kiss enthralled me. His generosity practically paralyzed me under his tongue. Shepard was as protective as he was attentive. As kind as he was wicked. He pleasured me as if he already understood everything about my body.

  I trusted him

  I wanted him.

  And I had no idea what sort of woman it made me—but I hoped it would be his.

  I groaned, the sound muffled as I bit my lip to stay quiet. Shepard wasn’t satisfied with my throaty purr. He dug his fingers into my thighs and pulled me closer. His lavish attention trembled my slit, and every rattled burst of shivers ricocheted from my core to my mind.

  I shouldn’t have gotten so excited so quickly. Should have enjoyed it. Let the warmth wash over me in gentle waves.

  Instead it crashed. Ripped. Sliced through me with jagged edges of demand and unrelenting shudders.

  I stood no chance against Shepard’s skill. Every lick, move, breath, pause, and attack came before my body even realized what I needed. Shepard practically demanded my pleasure, rushing me to that peak just so I’d cross over and plummet down, down, down until I sunk into his arms, and then…

  I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  What would he want next?

  And how soon could I give it to him?

  My toes curled first, and the breath squeezed out of me. The crash of intensity started low, and Shepard devoured every single quake and quiver that burned from that sensitive secret between my legs.

  My arms went back, over my head. I stretched for him, whimpering as his skilled touch wove me into knots. I arched, breathless, soundlessly crying his name.

  And Shepard snarled in victory. He suckled hard against me and reached up, pawing at my hips, my waist. His fingers curled over my breast as the excitement shot through me, tensing every part of my body. Aching me, defeating me, rebuilding me—

  He squeezed.

  Uh-oh.

  That familiar tingle gave me just a half-second of warning. I tried to escape.

  Too late.

  I expressed my pleasure in a more mortifying fashion.

  The fountain erupted, and my distance was impressive, but I yelped as the spray doused Shepard.

  Right in the eye.

  Man-down.

  Well…man-back-up now. No way in hell he was heading down again after I almost drowned him in gratitude.

  “Oh my god.” I bolted upright, cupping my hands over my loaded and primed missiles. The tingling didn’t stop, and I either needed a nursing pad or a cookie to sop up the mess. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  I leapt off the couch. The jiggling didn’t help. This faucet had turned on, and I bolted to the kitchen, drip-drip-dripping along the way. I had nothing to stem the tides with, and this wasn’t the sort of thing that I hoped would never, ever clot. I reached for anything in the cupboard to help stem the tides.

  Why did it have to be the champagne flutes? At least the crystal was fancy, even if I was better suited for Farmer Brown’s metal pail.

  Was this how I thanked a man for delivering me to the height of ecst
asy? Nothing said Let’s get lucky like lactose.

  I stared at the champagne flutes. This was so not worth celebrating.

  But Shepard?

  He found it absolutely hilarious.

  He rolled from the couch, hooting loud enough in the living room to wake the baby. Her cries echoed over the apartment.

  And that flipped the faucet from steady drip to a damned flood.

  “Evie…” Shepard laughed, wiping away what I prayed was tears. “It’s okay.”

  Great. I was naked. Trembling. Attempting to build a levee over my chest so I could function as a normal member of society again.

  He offered me a blanket from the couch. I tucked it over my shoulders though I should have hidden my face.

  “Was that as fun for you as it was for me?” He leaned against the door frame.

  Somehow I doubted it. “Yep. That was…udderly enjoyable.”

  I busied myself at the counter, attempting to hide the leaky ladies.

  “Need any help?”

  Oh God, no. A quick slice of my wrists was easy enough to do on my own. I searched the kitchen, looking for anything to distract us. “Nope. I’m just…making coffee.”

  He stole a paper towel from the counter and patted himself dry. “I’ll take a cup. No cream for me though. I’m set.”

  “Shepard!”

  “I’m kidding!”

  “Oh my God.”

  He tugged me close, awkwardly removing the champagne flutes to capture me in his arms again.

  “I learned a valuable anatomy lesson tonight,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. Moo.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I should ask you.”

  “I think I’ll survive.” He leaned down close, lowering his voice. “Besides. It’s kinda hot.”

  “Oh, shush.”

  “Every part of you is amazing, Evie.”

  His hand cupped my chin, but this kiss wasn’t as wild as before.

  Patient. Tender.

  Calm.

  I sighed against his lips.

  “You know how badly I want you,” he whispered. “But I’m willing to wait.”

  “I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

  “Every minute I spend with you is a gift. More than I ever hoped for.”

  The baby still cried. She made for a good escape. “I have to check on her.”

  “I know.”

  “About…what happened.”

  “Don’t worry.” He kissed me again, softly. “That was all for you. I promise. It’ll always be for you.”

  “Always?”

  “I learned a lot from my past relationships. Like not to ruin something this perfect.”

  “I’m not perfect. I’m not even whole.”

  “Imagine how hard I’ll fall for you when you are.”

  I couldn’t move. He stepped aside, nodding to the baby’s room.

  “Go get her,” he said. “I’ll let myself out. Remember to lock up once she’s settled.”

  My words stuttered. “You’re overprotective.”

  “I have a good reason to be.”

  My breath hadn’t returned, and yet I gasped for more, unable to bring myself to whisper the words I longed to say.

  Four months gone.

  No past. No name. No family searching for me.

  Suddenly, I knew what it was that I wanted more than anything in this world.

  It wasn’t answers. It wasn’t to be healed.

  And it wasn’t the man from my memories.

  I wanted Shepard.

  12

  This was a stupid idea.

  I paced the lobby of the local news station, bouncing a baby who refused to sleep and regretting the decision to look at my email.

  For four months, I’d meticulously tended to my blog. Making updates. Trying to figure out new Wordpress themes. Chronicling my most intimate and personal of thoughts and fears and memories.

  No one from my past had found it.

  But the local news sure did. And they sensed a juicy human interest story they could exploit.

  Still, they’d promised that it’d get visibility. I had no idea what a journalist could do, what questions they’d ask, or what would happen if the story went public…

  But could I afford not to take that chance? Hell, Doctor Clark wouldn’t let me live it down. Why are you still hiding from the truth, Evie?

  Yeah, well, I didn’t see my psychologist waiting in the bright, glass-enclosed lobby of the local WTEA station, waiting to reveal her innermost hopes and prayers for a stranger to broadcast to the world between the weather and highlights of the Rivets’ game.

  I had to do this. I deserved to know my family.

  And if they couldn’t locate me, I had to find them.

  Clue babbled, and her coos echoed in the lobby. I’d answered the journalist’s email, but I didn’t have the guts to announce myself to the receptionist yet. Just paced. Worried. Waited.

  And they noticed.

  “Excuse me?” The receptionist put a call on hold with an exasperated sigh. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  No. Maybe.

  Hell if I knew.

  I shrugged and approached the desk, balancing Clue on my shoulder as I fretted.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I need a couple minutes.”

  The receptionist arched a cinnamon red eyebrow, the same color as her now fading hair. “Who should I call. I can tell them you’ll be late.”

  “No one yet.”

  “Is there something—”

  “Look, I’m not even sure I should be here. I’m thinking.”

  Her head cocked to the side. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I mean. Mostly. It’s as well as can be expected.”

  “Uh…huh.” The receptionist grabbed a pen. “What’s your name?”

  I laughed. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, I guess.”

  “You don’t know your name?”

  At least I could read the name they put on my ticket for the one-way trip to crazy town. “I have a name.”

  “Would you prefer to be anonymous?”

  “I think I am anonymous now. Or invisible. Can’t tell sometimes.”

  She glanced at the baby. “Is…she yours?”

  “Better be. They let me out of the hospital with her.” The joke wasn’t getting old, but it started to worry people. “I mean. Yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Today I’m trying out variations of Rae.”

  Now the pencil dropped. “Ma’am…if you aren’t meeting someone, and you can’t tell me why you’re here, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “I need a couple minutes to gather my courage. I’m making a big decision. This might change a lot of people’s lives.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m just saying. Something like this? It’s…explosive.”

  Now I terrified her. “Ma’am, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Oh, they can’t help you.” I sighed. “Can’t help anyone.”

  Her eyes widened. She dove for the phone, and I stopped her with a wave of my hand.

  “I’m not crazy.” I wasn’t making a great showing of it. “One of your reporters reached out to me for an interview. But this is probably a bad idea. I’m sorry for wasting your time—”

  “You must be Evie!”

  A bouncy, bubbling, toothy-grinned blonde bounded from the offices and into the lobby. She waved the receptionist down.

  “I got her, Anna. This is my exposé.”

  Exposé?

  The reporter took my hand before I had sufficiently checked it for baby drool.

  “So, you’re my amnesiac!” She dragged me through the station. “I’m sure you already know, but I’m Cara Higgins.”

  “Miss Higgins—”

  “Cara, please.”

  I swallowed. “Cara, I’m sorry. I think there’s been some confusion—”

  “Don’t worry. You’re right on
time. I’m going to pop you into makeup, and then we can sit down in front of the cameras.”

  “Cameras?”

  “I have about an hour before the evening reports start. We can knock this out in fifteen minutes or so.”

  “But I don’t know if I’m ready to…” My tongue felt like it swelled. Or maybe my throat had closed. “This is all so fast.”

  “The easiest way to get your story out to the city is through our broadcast. We are the number one trusted new source in Ironfield.”

  “I understand that—”

  “Three years running.”

  “That’s fantastic, but—”

  Cara led me through a dizzying maze of halls before twisting me in front of a closed door labeled makeup. She rapped on the wood and called to the attendant inside.

  “My interview is here. We need her in front of the cameras in ten.”

  Cara pointed at her jeans. “I’m going to change. They’ll lead you to the interview, and then we’ll do this thing.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You’ll do great. Well, I’ll do great.” Cara clapped, and the makeup artists flinched, rushing to the mirrors to begin their work. “We’ll find an intern to watch the baby.”

  Whoa. I tightened my grip on Clue before the artist got too grabby. They led me inside, but I wasn’t ready for the barrage of powder and lighting and brushes toiling in my hair to adjust the curls.

  “You’re interviewing with Cara?” The artist asked.

  “I…guess so.”

  Jesus, I was still in a hand-me-down shocking pink t-shirt with the word SWEET emblazed across the chest. And while I had no doubt my supply was pleasing, at least to my child, I wasn’t sure I should advertise it to all Ironfield.

  “You’re so brave,” the artist said. “Very brave.”

  “Cara said there’s a lot of viewers?”

  “I couldn’t do what you’re about to do.” She brushed my hair aside and assaulted me with a powder. “Remember…smile.”

  “Might be the only thing I can remember.”

  “Everyone gets flustered. Just…try to keep breathing. You’ll survive.”

  The encouragement was nice, but I still doubted that I did the right thing.

  The blog felt anonymous. Safer. I could vet anyone who emailed me with the click of a button.

  But this?

  My face would be plastered across the evening news.