by Stewart, JM
She straddled his waist and bracing her hands on his chest, pushed upright and sat back on his thighs. He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small foil package, his mouth curling into that heart-stopping grin when he handed it to her.
“Be gentle.” His voice drifted low, husky and suggestive in the space between them, and an answering smile spread when she took the package from him.
Her gaze locked on his. She leaned forward and dragged the tips of her nails lightly down his chest, delighting in the way his body trembled beneath her touch. His breath caught, his chest rising and falling at an increasing pace. When she skimmed her nails along the skin just above where she knew he wanted her to touch him, his stomach muscles jumped, his hips rocking forward beneath her.
She closed her hand around him, delighting in the feel of him, the soft, silky skin. She loved watching his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. He looked like he was in agony and it made her desire that much headier and drew her own out to a feverish pitch. It gave her a delicious sense of freedom, of feminine power, to know she had that much affect on him, that she did to him what he did to her.
All too quickly, his eyes popped open and his hands shackled her wrists. His heavy-lidded eyes blazed at her. “You keep that up, and it’ll be all over before it even starts.”
Grinning, she tore open the foil package and sheathed him, pleased beyond measure when his eyes slid shut again, then she moved up his body. The tip of him nudged her heat, but she held herself out of reach, rolling her hips, teasing him.
Mischief danced in his eyes. His soft hands caressed up her thighs to the juncture in between, then dipped in, finding her center. He massaged her, drew her need out to a feverish pitch, and she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and let him take her. Just when she reached that fine, sweet edge, he stopped, his fingers skimming away, circling around the aching bundle of nerves, deliberately not stroking her. He left her trembling on that precarious, sweet edge.
“Dillon…” His name left her lips on a needy moan. “Please.”
His hands seized her waist and his hips rocked forward. At the same time, he pulled her down onto him, burying himself within her in one swift stroke. The pleasure engulfed her, and she shattered, gasping for breath. He began to move within her, his fingers resuming their gentle stroke over her sensitive nub, drawing her climax out to near unbearable heights. She came apart in his hands. On some vague plane, she heard his name roll off her tongue on a desperate needy cry.
They spent the next several hours wrapped around each other, feasting on each other. Dillon’s patience awed her. He indulged her, allowed her the luxury of exploring every inch of his body, letting her take her time. She luxuriated in his reactions, the way he responded to her touch.
Not once did he ever rush her. He merely gave himself over to her, made love to her slowly, bringing her to heights she was once sure only couples in romance novels ever experienced. The soft, gentle side of him set her at ease, told her without a doubt she wasn’t wrong about him, and a piece of him stole inside, a piece she knew would be there forever.
* * *
The following night, Dillon entered his bedroom, yanking his shirt off over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. Four a.m. Saturday no, make that Sunday morning. It had been a long busy night, mostly spent trying not to look forward to seeing Emma when he came home. The woman consumed him. He wanted nothing more than to go crawl in bed with her in the guest room. He fell asleep wrapped in her arms the night before and he had to admit he found it an addicting place to be.
All of which left him tied in knots. It was only supposed to be sex. Albeit phenomenal sex, but just sex, nonetheless.
Except a sense of closeness grew between them he couldn’t ignore. He was closer to her than anyone else. She soothed something deep inside of him, filled a place within he’d forgotten about over the years. Laying with her, holding her, he felt at peace with himself.
A fact that told him without a doubt he’d gotten in way over his head. He couldn’t resist her. She had a hold on him nobody had had in a long time.
Shaking off the onerous thoughts, he pulled off his khakis and tossed them with his shirt. They landed with a quiet shush half in and half out of the hamper.
“Have a good night?”
Emma’s quiet voice, husky from sleep, wrapped around him, teasing his senses, and he jerked his head toward the sound.
He couldn’t contain the grin that spread itself across his mouth at the sight that greeted him. The little minx lay in his bed. With the moonlight drifting in through the window, softly illuminating the room, he followed the swells of her curves beneath the comforter. Her glorious hair fanned the pillow behind her.
He made quick work of his shorts, tossing them at the hamper, and then crawled in bed. Curling around behind her, skin hit silky, warm, enticing skin and every inch of him became immediately and intensely aroused.
“You’re naked.” He couldn’t hide the awe in his voice. Unable to resist, he slid his hand over her hip, up her flat stomach, to curve around the swell of one breast and flicked his thumb over the tightening nipple. The quiet, mewling she let out was music to his ears, and he flicked his thumb once more to hear it again.
She wiggled her rear against him, reached back and slid a hand down his hip before pulling him harder against her. “I thought you’d like that.”
The tone of her voice told him that if he was able to see her, he’d find heat in her eyes. His heart skipped in his chest. He was right about her. She had a passion that surprised him, more than matched him, and he found it completely addicting.
“Be careful…” Reaching back into the nightstand drawer, he quickly sheathed himself then grabbed her hips and sank into her warmth.
The rest of his thought fled. She gasped and pressed that backside tighter against him. He groaned, moving with her, their rhythm increasing with every stroke, until he lost himself in her. In a matter of minutes, she drove him to the brink of madness, tossing him headlong into the abyss. Her soft cries filled his ears. Her body shuddered against him, massaging his heat, and drawing his climax out to an intensity that rocked him.
“Oh damn,” he whispered, still shaking.
“Be careful what?”
He nipped at the curve of her neck, slid his arm around her waist, and held her tightly against him. “Be careful. A man could get used to this.”
Chapter Eleven
Sometime after six Sunday morning, Emma lay with her head on Dillon’s chest, one leg tucked in between both of his. Outside the window, the morning sun chased away the shadows, filling the room around them with the first strands of light. She sifted her fingers through the wiry curls covering the center of his chest, while his trailed up and down her back, sending goose bumps skittering across her oversensitive skin.
Neither had said anything for some time, they’d been moving by touch for hours now. An unspoken air of intimacy flowed between them, a quiet sense of shared contentment that made her feel warm and cozy. She’d never experienced this sense of closeness with anyone before and couldn’t imagine a place she wanted to be more right then than in his arms. Oddly enough, lying with him this way felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“How is it you’re a thirty-year-old virgin?” Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest beneath her ear. His words held a slight hesitation that matched the somber edge in his tone.
His question shattered the blissful moment, and she let out a sigh. “I hoped you wouldn’t ask me that. There isn’t an easy answer.”
“The bad experience you had.”
“Yes.”
He paused, his voice softer, more somber. “You don’t have to tell me.”
The ugly memories rose to the surface, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the soft thud of his heartbeat for a moment, letting the rhythm soothe her.
“I was almost raped once.” The ease with which the words tumbled
from her mouth surprised her. “In high school.”
His body tensed beneath her and she waited on pins and needles for him to say something, for the judgment to come. She kept talking, to fill the awkward silence, to fill the ache of remembrance that settled into the pit of her stomach. She’d never told anybody about that night, not even Janey, but she remembered it like it happened only yesterday.
“It was a guy I was dating. We’d been going out for a few months. He took me up to the bluffs one night. We were the only ones up there, and I decided I was ready to give him my virginity, was so sure he was the right person. He…made me feel special. I feel stupid now, thinking about it.”
His warm palm stroked her back. “You were young and inexperienced maybe, but not stupid. There’s a difference.”
His words soothed the ache in her chest.
“When clothing started to come off, I panicked and changed my mind. I told him to stop.”
Beneath her, Dillon’s body tensed again. “He wouldn’t let you.”
She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. The memory flooded her mind, vivid and ugly, and a cold chill ran the length of her spine that wanted to suck her into the past. Emma kept talking, compelled for some reason to share the ugliness with him. The power of his presence and the feel of his arms tight around her somehow soothed her.
“He held me down, tried to force my legs open while at the same time trying to get my pants and underwear off. Told me it was my fault. Called me a whore and told me I deserved what he gave me. Said I was a tease and I owed him because I wound him up and he couldn’t just stop.”
Long moments of awful silence passed. No matter how many times over the years she told herself otherwise, no matter how much she knew everything to be untrue, her body still tensed in preparation of bad news while she waited for Dillon to say something.
Finally, his arms wrapped tightly around her. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Em. Nobody should have to go through that.”
A tight muscle in her gut eased, and she released her held breath, something he apparently caught.
He rolled onto his side, facing her. His gaze searched hers. “You didn’t expect me to say that.”
She shook her head and looked down at his chest, the heat of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. “You kept tensing and—”
He stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the thought of someone hurting you. I was trying to think of one good reason why I shouldn’t go find him and beat the hell out of him.”
She looked up and expected to find amusement in his eyes, but found somberness instead. Anger simmered in the depths of his eyes, his jaw tight. He was serious. Somehow, seeing the expression on his face lightened the load. “It’s been almost fifteen years, Dillon.”
“He still deserves it.” He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and tucked her against his side then wrapped both arms around her. “He’s wrong, you know. No matter how hard it may be, no matter how much he doesn’t want to, a man can always stop.”
“Always?” She asked more out of a childish need to hear him say the words than an actual need to know.
“Always.” He kissed the top of her head. “You said almost. How’d you get away?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I fought back. Kicked and squirmed and screamed. He had to let go of me in order to get my pants off, and I brought my knee up. Managed to hit his groin. It loosened his hold enough that I was able to scramble into the front seat and out of the car. After that, I ran. I didn’t look back to see if he chased me. I just ran.”
She ran for miles before she realized he wasn’t coming after her. Then she had to walk the rest of the ten miles home alone, in the pitch black darkness, in a torn blouse, with her face bloodied where he struck her.
“Good for you.” Dillon stroked her back, his voice warm and reassuring. “Did you report it?”
She hesitated, loathing to tell him. “No. I was too afraid. After a while, it just becomes too late.”
She wrapped her arms tighter around him, somehow lighter for having shared her ugliness with him.
He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why me? After what happened to you, why would you choose me?”
The answer came like her next breath, easy and natural. She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Because I feel safe with you.”
A strong sense of intimacy flowed between them. The tenderness in his eyes melted her heart. He reached down and pulled her to lie on top of him. Taking her face in his hands, he stroked her hair back from her face. Then he kissed her, soft and gentle. His lips lingered over hers. “I never want to hurt you.”
She kissed him, whispering against his mouth. “I know.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and tucked her face into the curve of his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her back. Laying there, that blissful feeling of warmth and safety settled over her again. She’d just started to fall asleep when Annie’s voice drifted over the baby monitor on the nightstand. The sense of having come home gripped her again. They were like a family, the three of them. Not a typical family, but a family, nonetheless. It surprised her how very much she wanted it to be true.
Dillon’s deep even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. Emma lifted her head and slid off to his side, propping herself on an elbow. She stroked her fingers over his stubbled jaw. The sight of him awed her. She could imagine waking to his face every morning.
The thought seeped inside and rolled around in her brain. The truth stared her in the face, daring her to deny it. She was doing what she promised herself she wouldn’t.
She was falling in love with him.
* * *
Dillon stood in the kitchen later that afternoon, staring down at the white envelope on the counter. His gut knotted. The envelope had arrived yesterday, but so far he hadn’t had the courage to open it. The white paper taunted him, daring him to face reality.
The results from the lab. The answer he’d been sure he wanted three weeks ago now stared him in the face. If it turned out to be negative, if Annie wasn’t his, Emma would have the right to take her and walk away. His life would go back to the way it was before the two of them marched in and took over.
He turned his gaze to Emma. She flew an airplane of applesauce into Annie’s open, giggling mouth, tenderness lighting her eyes when her gaze shifted and collided with his. The building sense of closeness between them wasn’t what scared him. It was the thought of losing her, of losing both of them, of waking up one day and not finding them there. Or worse, having to watch her take Annie and leave. He didn’t think he was strong enough to do that, watch her walk out of his life. Spend another eight years wondering if he’d ever see her again.
Emma smiled. “What’s the matter?”
“The test results came back.” A sense of numb shock stole over him. He held up the envelope.
Her brows rose, curiosity lighting her eyes. “What’s it say?”
He held the envelope out in front of him. His mind tried to process what he knew to be true and the paper trembled in his hands. “Don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
He met her gaze. “I’m not sure I want to know anymore.”
He’d rather live with the uncertainty of not knowing whether Annie was truly his or not, than have to face the possibility she wasn’t and watch Emma take her and walk out of his life.
Emma stared at him for a long moment. Slowly her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you hoping she is yours…or hoping she’s not?”
Her question twisted at his gut. He dragged shaky hands through his hair. How the hell had he gotten to this point? Three weeks ago he hadn’t even been sure how he’d fit a baby into his life. Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Couldn’t imagine his life without Emma. Had no idea how he’d go back to the place where he came home to an empty house, an empty bed
.
A place that scared the hell out of him because he wanted to go to her, fall to his knees at her feet, and lay his heart on the line. He wanted to make the three of them a family and the thought had cold, blind panic closing around him. His heart threatened to come out of his chest and breathing became near impossible. Every bad relationship he’d ever had flashed before his eyes. Every heartache when he discovered he’d been used again rose up around him, tightening his chest. Deep down, he knew Emma was different, but that wounded part of him couldn’t help wondering—would she be next?
Acid rose up the back of his throat, and he twisted away from her. Right or wrong, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, go there again. Not now. Not ever.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words slipped off his lips on a vague whisper, his voice trembling along with the rest of him.
Annie was different. Annie was simple. Whether she was his or not he’d stand by her.
His feelings for Emma were all kinds of complicated. He couldn’t go down that road again. He couldn’t go back to that place where he put his heart in the hands of someone else. Wait to see if she shredded it like all the rest. He’d been there one too many times, been let down once too often. While his head told him Emma would never hurt him like that, his heart simply didn’t want to find out. He could deny it all he wanted, but he knew damn well what he felt for her went beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Lying in her arms was like coming home. He felt safe there. Safe and secure.
He’d been wrong before. At one point, he was positive Leila wouldn’t ever hurt him like that either.