by JC Harroway
‘I want to help.’ I cup his face, stroke the hair at his temples with my thumbs. ‘You’ve done so much for me, for Tilly.’
‘You are helping.’ His kiss is warm and wine-scented, tempting me to trust his assertions. ‘We have all night to talk,’ he whispers. His hips shift under me and his erection presses between my legs. Another distraction I can’t ignore.
But now I have him talking, I won’t allow him to retreat. ‘Promise. This is important.’ He’s important to me. ‘I want to understand what you’ve been through.’
‘Sure.’ He shrugs, kissing me again. ‘But I also promised you sex.’ His avoidance is bordering on evasive, but his lips on my throat remind me we have all night and all day tomorrow. I can’t expect him to spill all his feelings out in one sitting. But I want to know everything he’s holding in check. Not just from me, but from living his own life to the max.
His hands are under my sweater now, skimming up my back and expertly opening my bra, single-handed. I succumb to his diversion tactics with a sigh. ‘I probably smell like sautéed onions. Do you want to take a shower?’
‘You smell like you taste...delicious.’ His mouth grazes my neck and his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging my messy bun loose.
I arch my neck, giving him access to all the sensitive spots that curl my toes and thrum my pulse between my legs at the scrape of his mouth.
The usual wave of arousal drags me down, but in the background I’m hollow, empty. It’s not enough. I want more of this incredible man than great sex. I want his confidence. His trust. The knowledge that, if he needed someone to talk to, he’d come to me, just like I know I could ask for his help or advice.
I try to relax, to enjoy him raining kiss after kiss on my neck, my face, my mouth while I tug at his broad shoulders and thick biceps, loving the size and strength of this big man under my greedy hands.
Soon we’re panting hard, my reservations sidelined, our sweaters in a heap in front of the fire. Drake pulls away, all action, dragging me to my feet. In seconds we’ve made it to the bathroom and we’re stripping off the rest of our clothes while the double-sized shower cubicle fills with steam.
We’re about to step inside when I still Drake with my hand on his arm. I’m kind of killing the moment, but I know how this is going to go. We’re naked, I want him inside me more than I want my next breath, and there are no condoms in that shower cubicle.
‘What is it...? Changed your mind?’ He hides his disappointment well, his hand gripping mine, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on the back of my hand.
‘No.’ I kiss him, showing him I’m completely invested. ‘I just... I had a sexual-health check a few weeks back...’ I shrug. ‘Just in case. I’m on the pill and I—’
He silences me with another kiss, his groan buzzing at my sensitised lips. ‘Fuck, Kenzie. You’re killing me.’ He cups my face, his expression earnest. ‘Just for the record, as we’re being responsible, I haven’t slept with anyone since my last screen. I wouldn’t have touched you without an all-clear.’
That he’s already thought of this, that he respects me enough, is mature enough to take care of the women he’s intimate with, seals my decision. Not that I want to think about those women who came before me. And the women who will come after...? I want to think about them even less.
I grip his waist, taking a next step with him now imperative. ‘If you want...we could forget about the condom.’ So he’s struggling to open up. I know he cares. He’s shown me over and over—his patience with Tilly, his encouragement of my dreams, even feeding me and remembering my wine of choice.
I tug him towards the shower and step under the hot spray.
A feral gleam enters his eyes as he grips my hips and backs me up against the tiled wall. His naked body covers mine, shoulder to hip, as water rains down over his back. But for Drake the subject isn’t closed. He tilts my chin with one finger, eyes searching.
My breath catches.
‘You sure?’ His intense stare brands my skin. Is this moment as momentous to him as it is to me?
Because we’re responsible adults. What we’re really saying is ‘I trust you’ on a whole new level.
I nod, words trapped in my aching throat.
‘You trust me?’ His strength pins me to the tiles where the look of sincerity on his face would buckle my knees. ‘To take care of you...?’
‘Yes.’ No hesitation.
His pupils dilate, swallowing the colour of his eyes.
‘Do you trust me?’ I whisper. That we have each other’s backs, even in this small way, makes me feel like there’s less room in my chest. Less room, because a new heart—fragile and tender, but with the potential to thrive and overcome—has grown alongside the old.
I don’t need his words, because confirmation is written on his face, but they replenish me.
‘Of course.’ He looks so vulnerable in that moment, I drag him close, wishing we could somehow merge, so I knew his thoughts and there was nowhere for either of us to hide. We don’t kiss, simply stare, our foreheads touching, our soft pants mingling as we breathe each other’s air.
‘Drake...’ Forbidden thoughts materialise into words I’m too scared to free. I swallow hard, sidestepping the terrifying admission of emotion I can’t trust. ‘Thanks for bringing me here.’ It’s not what I want to say, but he seems aware of the gravity of the moment.
His hands trail over my skin with lazy reverence. ‘Thanks for running away with me.’
I want to ask what he’s running from but refuse to kill the moment. He promised we’d talk later.
Almost reluctantly, Drake reaches for a bottle of body wash and soaps every inch of my skin, his eyes following his hands as if in fascination. ‘You’re beautiful. Inside and out.’ The husky words scrape my senses like his slightly calloused palms. ‘When you’re ready, any man would be lucky to have you in his life.’ His reference to our earlier conversation hurts my ears.
Any man but you...
I almost say the accusation aloud. Instead I slide my soapy hands through his chest hair, over his muscular shoulders and down his back.
‘You’re beautiful, too,’ I whisper.
His eyes flare with heat and his hips flex, pushing his erection into my belly. A swell of emotion builds like trapped lava inside me. I know first-hand the futility of the ‘what if’ game, but for a decadent second I imagine a different life for myself, a life shared with Drake.
My heart thunders, the realisation as cold as the tiles at my back. I want more than sex. I want the possibility not just of some future man, but of this man. But wanting someone is dangerous. Pain inevitable.
I focus on the physical so the panic squeezing my lungs abates. I kiss him, pouring my conflicted feelings into the slide of my lips against his and the tease of my tongue.
Drake groans against my mouth, his hands cupping my backside so he can grind against me. His fingers roll my nipples and my legs grow weak. I curve one leg over his hip, raising my hips to align my clit with his hard length, my flesh sliding over him making us both moan and break from the frantic kiss.
With a curse, Drake slams off the water and leads me from the shower. We’re sopping, leaving puddles on the tiles, but there’s no time for drying, because Drake scoops the fluffy white towels from the heated towel rail and strides into the adjoining bedroom, dragging me in tow.
The room is warm, an intimate glow coming from the two bedside lamps. In seconds he’s spread the towels over the duvet and lowered us on top as if he, too, has no patience for the trivial.
Drake licks the droplets of water from my breast, his mouth sucking hard on my nipple until I cry out, throw one thigh over his hip and lift my pelvis towards him, seeking the friction I need.
‘I want you.’ All of you. I clamp my lips closed on the latter and tug his hair, cradling his head so he continues the delicious to
rture that’s almost too good to trust.
‘I want you, too. So fucking much. You have no idea.’ Need brands his features, as if he’s reached his limit. His fingers slide through my slickness as he plunges two inside me and thumbs my clit.
But I want more.
‘Give me everything, then.’ I grip his erection, pumping him until he growls, rises up to kiss me, his teeth scraping my lip.
‘Don’t say that.’ His tongue delves into my mouth, his eyes wide open to capture my reaction to his touch.
I pull away, panting, staring, provoking. Because he may not give me his confidences, but he’ll give me his trust this way. ‘I mean it. I want everything you’ve got.’ Does he feel it, too? That it’s no longer about sex? That every touch, every look, every word tonight seems amplified, bigger than either of us, as deep as the ocean outside our hideaway’s windows.
‘Kenzie...’ His gruff voice holds a note of warning, but he kneels between my thighs, spreading them wide with his big hands.
I roll my nipples, because I’ve seen what it does to him. ‘Drake, you’ve given me so much...don’t hold back now.’ I sit up on my elbows and we watch together as he angles his cock to my entrance with one hand and slides inside me, skin to skin, his beautiful, earnest stare and the low growl in his throat giving me everything his words can’t.
It’s so good, I want him to both hurry and slow down at the same time. But then he’s gripping my hips and pulling me towards his thrusts, his lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself plunge inside my body.
I’m jealous. I want the view he can’t seem to drag his eyes from, but then his thumb finds my clit once more and I’m past caring, too focussed on the last ascent and the almost euphoric possession on Drake’s face.
I spread my thighs and hook my legs around his hips. He sinks lower, coming to rest fully on top of me, his weight crushing me into the bed and his mouth on mine in kiss after breath-stealing kiss.
‘I’m going to come so hard for you.’ His fingers lock with mine, squeezing as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
‘Yes!’ I buck my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.
‘Kenz, come for me.’ His eyes cling, pleading something I long to grasp. But his request is easy to grant, because he’s powering into me, his thrusts deep and fast and his kisses pushing me over the edge.
‘Drake...’ My nails dig into his back as the orgasm takes me. But he’s only seconds behind me, his groan, buried against the side of my neck, almost feral and his arms banded so tightly around me, for a second I think he’ll never let me go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kenzie
WEARING ONLY DRAKE’S T-SHIRT, I pad on bare feet down the hallway, my steps hesitant as I balance the contents of the tray—what’s left of the wine and doorstep sandwiches. I expected him to come looking for the post-sex snack I’ve made, so loud was the rumble from his stomach only five minutes ago.
I pause outside the room, hoping he hasn’t fallen asleep. The bedroom door is ajar; I peek through the gap, an indulgent smile on my face.
He’s not asleep.
He’s perched on the side of the bed, dressed only in his jeans, his attention focussed on the object in his hand—Sam’s coin.
The smile slips from my lips.
The expression on his face, like a harsh slap across my own cheek, makes me certain all his previous expressions up to this point have been masks. Defeat drags at his broad shoulders and his teeth scrape repeatedly at his lip as he flips the coin over and over between his fingers.
I’m frozen, my pulse leaping. Interrupting feels intrusive.
I grip the tray, backing up a pace, desperate not to rattle any of the contents and give away my position. And then my feet stall, shocked still.
Drake’s face twists with disgust.
He hurls Sam’s coin across the room before plunging his hand into his hair with a curse.
The blood drains from my head. I’ve never seen controlled, caring Drake so upset. My heart thunders, slinking away undetected now the priority, because if he looks up, sees me snooping, he’ll know I’ve just witnessed his outburst. But worse, I’ll want answers I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
Is he angry with Sam? With me? Has my gift slashed open painful memories?
With a frustrated hiss, he jerks to his feet, turns his back to the door and strides in the direction he threw the coin. While he drops to his knees, his hand searching the floor under a chair, I seize my chance.
I scuttle back to the living room as quickly and as quietly as I can. I place the tray on the low coffee table with trembling hands, dragging the whole thing aside so I can spread one of the throws in front of the freshly banked fire and finish the impromptu carpet picnic with a handful of the brightly coloured cushions.
I sit on the throw and pour myself a bolstering glass of wine, the whoosh of blood through my head deafening.
This is how Drake finds me, moments later.
‘Food looks delicious.’ He helps himself to a glass and joins me on the rug. He’s donned another T-shirt along with a fresh mask and I wish I’d taken the time to dress properly. I, too, could use the armour.
‘It’s just sandwiches. I think the gourmet fairies have visited, because the food in the cupboards resembles the selection at your place.’ I force a smile and hand him a plate. He selects a sandwich, taking a massive bite. He grins but he’s too busy eating my pulled pork and watercress to speak.
Perhaps he’ll be more talkative with his belly full.
What should I say? He won’t want to talk about whatever momentous thing just happened in the bedroom. But I can’t ignore his pain. I need more than the parts he’s willing to share when we’re naked. I brush a crumb from his chin and cup his cheek, seeking his stare with mine, hoping to find the answers I need.
His chewing slows, his hand coming up to cover mine and holding it against his face while he finishes his swallow.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ He washes down the mouthful of sandwich with a hesitant sip of wine and I take a drink of my own, although I want a clear head for the conversation to come.
I lie. ‘I ate one while making them.’
He accepts my answer, but he must sense my change of mood, because he pushes his plate aside, settles back against the mound of cushions and tugs me between his legs so I’m resting on him, back to chest. His arms encircle me and his chin rests on my shoulder as we stare at the flickering flames for several silent minutes.
‘What is it?’ he murmurs against my temple, his lips whisper-soft.
I draw a deep breath. The last thing I want is to spoil our romantic getaway. But this has moved past casual. I care. A part of me always has.
I clear my throat. ‘That was going to be my question for you.’
He stiffens.
I’m done letting him run. And the first thing that springs to mind is something I’ve often wondered—that Sam must have confided in Drake about his indiscretion. If Sam told anyone, it would be Drake.
‘Did he tell you?’ I whisper. ‘That he’d cheated on me?’
He holds his breath because his chest stops moving at my back. I stroke his arm with my thumb, letting him know I understand his torn loyalties. ‘It’s okay. It wasn’t your place to tell me.’ Shooting the messenger is unfair for both of us.
‘You knew?’ His breath ruffles my hair as he presses his mouth to my temple with almost punishing force and sucks in a deep breath. ‘He told you?’ His arms tighten around my waist.
‘No. But I’m not stupid—he’d grown distant, cagey, always checking his phone. Sam was a crap liar. And now you’ve confirmed it.’ Of course, the part of me that had lost my parents had somehow expected his desertion; I just hadn’t anticipated the permanence of his death to rob me of closure.
Drake’s soul-deep sigh reverberates through
my bones. ‘I only found out at the end. I swear.’ He grips me tighter. ‘We fought about it. I made him promise he’d confess when we got home.’
I nod, the uncertainty I’ve carried all these years slipping away. ‘I saw a text on his phone before you left on that final tour.’ I twist my head on his shoulder to press a kiss to his lips, free at last to kiss him with a lighter burden of guilt at betraying Sam.
He frowns, his eyes stormy, as if he’s just been told Father Christmas doesn’t exist. ‘But you didn’t confront him?’ A hint of accusation sharpens his tone.
I look back to the fire, the memories of that horrible time, Sam’s unfaithfulness and then the finality of his death rising up afresh to burn and shame. ‘I didn’t want him leaving me feeling guilty or defensive. He needed focus. I thought there’d be time to confront him later.’
We fall silent, the tension in Drake’s muscles telling me we’re both processing.
Drake’s loyalties would be divided between Sam and me, a no-win position. Is that why he threw Sam’s coin? New resolve thrums through my veins. My fresh start and any future Drake and I might have is dependent on letting go of some ties to the past. For both of us.
‘I know it’s not fair to ask,’ my voice wobbles, ‘but would you tell me...about that day?’
He knows what day I mean. The day Sam died.
Half of me wants to know what Drake went through, the other half curls into a ball at the idea of hearing, from the horse’s mouth, how my husband, an imperfect man I loved, died. But perhaps it’s a conversation we both need.
I place my hands over his, my fingers tracing the strong tendons and smattering of dark hair on the backs of his hands.
His stillness is ominous, but he says, ‘Didn’t the army fill you in at the time?’ His voice is quiet, measured, as if he’s afraid to reveal too much. For a minute I think I’ve imagined our closeness, because this is distant, disciplined Drake talking.
‘Yes, they told me it was quick...that he wouldn’t have felt any pain.’ I turn my head to the side, pressing my mouth to his. ‘Please, Drake. Don’t shut me back out.’