Sustain
Page 57
I held my breath.
She was coming to me. She was initiating this, and if I let myself breathe, she’d go away again.
As she stopped right in front of me, her hands went to my shirt. She touched me how I had touched her only moments ago. Her fingers, so soft and warm, caressed my skin. I wanted her. She lifted my shirt, her hands grazing against me, all the way up until she pulled my shirt from my head. But she wasn’t looking at me. My chest rose up and down, and I fought to keep myself under control. Every part of me wanted to gather her in my arms, carry her to my bed, and be with her. She would go with me. I could always claim her body. She gave that to me. It was her weakness, but her heart… My gaze fell to her chest, and I pressed a hand between her breasts, under her shirt, and she let out a ragged breath at the touch.
“Bri—” I whispered, but she shook her head, stopping me.
“I love you.” She was so quiet. Her head dropped to my chest, but her hands began to trace my scars. I had one that started from my arm and ran all the way down my side until it disappeared under my jeans.
“You took your shirt off for that magazine cover.” She pressed her lips to my third and smallest scar. It was on my neck. “You never take your shirt off. I thought it was because you were ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” I glanced down at myself. “Of the scars? Girls love them.” Her finger kept outlining the one on my neck. I caught her hand. “I never think about them. Do they bother you?”
She pulled her hand from mine, falling back a step. Her eyes were glued to a fourth bird that I had tattooed. I saw the question forming in her depths. She was wondering if the new tattoo represented her, and it did, but not in the way she was thinking. I had left her, not the other way around.
Then she looked away, but I grabbed her hand again and placed it on the scar on my neck. “This was when he took a knife to me on my fourteenth birthday.” She’d been there. She had helped to mend it. I pressed her hand to the second one. “This was that night.” I held it underneath my jaw, so she could feel the third one. “When he knocked me unconscious the first time.” The photographer for the magazine shoot had gone crazy when she saw my scars. “They sell covers, Bri. Priss Bitch told me so.”
“Priss Bitch?”
“Our manager.”
“I know. I didn’t know that’s what you called her.”
“Braden hasn’t told you about her?” It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to talk about my manager. I was holding Bri. She was touching me. She was right in front of me, and I didn’t want any part of this moment to stop. I drew in a shuddering breath, and my forehead slowly lowered to rest on hers.
She looked up at me, seeing right into me, and her hands were gentle as they held on to my arms. She whispered, like she was afraid to ask, “What are you thinking?”
I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t want to break this moment. Closing my eyes, I just breathed her in. This felt so right.
“Luke,” she murmured again, stepping into me so every inch of her was pressed into me.
“Hmm?” I ran my hands up her arms, then back down, letting them fall to her hips. I should be shoving her away, but I clasped her even tighter to me. Tonight. I wanted tonight.
“I…” She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her breasts higher up against my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck, embracing me.
To hell with this. If she wanted a loving hug, I wasn’t the guy for that. Bending down, I grabbed the back of her hips and lifted her in the air.
She gasped, but held on to me.
I turned and walked to the back bedroom, carrying her inside. Kicking the door shut with my foot, I placed her back on her feet at the foot of the bed. My eyes held her, and I wanted her. I wanted to push inside her. One night. I trailed a hand down from her neck, through the valley between her breasts. She closed her eyes, and her chest rose as my finger continued down, all the way to her stomach, and then I unclasped her jeans.
I knew one time wouldn’t be enough. I would want her until the day I died. She was a drug to me.
Then, seeing the answering desire in her eyes, I turned for the door. Locking it, I went back and undid my own jeans. Bri’s hands reached for her shirt, but I stopped her. “No, I want to.” My voice was husky. Taking hold of her shirt, I ripped it off her and tossed it to the side. When she left, she’d be wearing my shirt.
She’d be wearing everything of mine. My scent. My taste. The feel of my hands on her. I would be stamped all over her.
Then she reached up, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked me down. As our lips collided, I stopped thinking all together and rolled her underneath me.
She was mine.
I was in trouble. Waking up next to Brielle, hearing her soft breathing, feeling her skin next to mine, made me groan. I could touch her, kiss her, breathe her in, and I could see her wake with a smile. That had my heart pounding. Fuck. One night hadn’t been enough. I gazed at her now, resting with her head turned into the pillow. She was facing me, with those damn soft eyelashes and lips that seemed to already be smiling back at me even as she slept. I didn’t think one lifetime with her would be enough.
She had my balls in the palm of her hand. One squeeze and I would crumble. I gazed down her back to the arch of her spine until where the sheet covered her, and I already ached to slide back inside her.
Then her eyes opened, and that old feeling of my world clicking into place came over me. Everything lined up. Everything was right again. It was damn cheesy, but it was true.
Again. I was in trouble.
“Hey.” She smiled at me.
“Hey back.”
Her eyes were shining, but a shadow came over them, and she moved to sit up. Resting against the headboard, she pulled the blanket to cover herself and fiddled with her hands. “Luke…”
It was coming.
“Wait.” I crossed the room to grab my jeans.
“You’re getting dressed?”
“No, just the jeans.” The corner of my lip twitched up. “If we’re going to have this talk, doing it naked would make me feel weird.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the blanket.
I was an ass. I could grab her clothes and toss them over to her, but I liked having her naked. I liked having her in my bed. I should even the playing the field, but I didn’t want to. She was mine. I made a vow to myself. Every chance I got, her clothes were coming off. That vow would stick, no matter how this conversation went. Being away from her for another year had been the worst thing I’d done in my life. It was time to rectify that.
She was coming to me. She was initiating this, and if I let myself breathe, she’d go away again.
As she stopped right in front of me, her hands went to my shirt. She touched me how I had touched her only moments ago. Her fingers, so soft and warm, caressed my skin. I wanted her. She lifted my shirt, her hands grazing against me, all the way up until she pulled my shirt from my head. But she wasn’t looking at me. My chest rose up and down, and I fought to keep myself under control. Every part of me wanted to gather her in my arms, carry her to my bed, and be with her. She would go with me. I could always claim her body. She gave that to me. It was her weakness, but her heart… My gaze fell to her chest, and I pressed a hand between her breasts, under her shirt, and she let out a ragged breath at the touch.
“Bri—” I whispered, but she shook her head, stopping me.
“I love you.” She was so quiet. Her head dropped to my chest, but her hands began to trace my scars. I had one that started from my arm and ran all the way down my side until it disappeared under my jeans.
“You took your shirt off for that magazine cover.” She pressed her lips to my third and smallest scar. It was on my neck. “You never take your shirt off. I thought it was because you were ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” I glanced down at myself. “Of the scars? Girls love them.” Her finger kept outlining the one on my neck. I caught her hand. “I never think about them. Do they bother you?”
She pulled her hand from mine, falling back a step. Her eyes were glued to a fourth bird that I had tattooed. I saw the question forming in her depths. She was wondering if the new tattoo represented her, and it did, but not in the way she was thinking. I had left her, not the other way around.
Then she looked away, but I grabbed her hand again and placed it on the scar on my neck. “This was when he took a knife to me on my fourteenth birthday.” She’d been there. She had helped to mend it. I pressed her hand to the second one. “This was that night.” I held it underneath my jaw, so she could feel the third one. “When he knocked me unconscious the first time.” The photographer for the magazine shoot had gone crazy when she saw my scars. “They sell covers, Bri. Priss Bitch told me so.”
“Priss Bitch?”
“Our manager.”
“I know. I didn’t know that’s what you called her.”
“Braden hasn’t told you about her?” It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to talk about my manager. I was holding Bri. She was touching me. She was right in front of me, and I didn’t want any part of this moment to stop. I drew in a shuddering breath, and my forehead slowly lowered to rest on hers.
She looked up at me, seeing right into me, and her hands were gentle as they held on to my arms. She whispered, like she was afraid to ask, “What are you thinking?”
I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t want to break this moment. Closing my eyes, I just breathed her in. This felt so right.
“Luke,” she murmured again, stepping into me so every inch of her was pressed into me.
“Hmm?” I ran my hands up her arms, then back down, letting them fall to her hips. I should be shoving her away, but I clasped her even tighter to me. Tonight. I wanted tonight.
“I…” She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her breasts higher up against my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck, embracing me.
To hell with this. If she wanted a loving hug, I wasn’t the guy for that. Bending down, I grabbed the back of her hips and lifted her in the air.
She gasped, but held on to me.
I turned and walked to the back bedroom, carrying her inside. Kicking the door shut with my foot, I placed her back on her feet at the foot of the bed. My eyes held her, and I wanted her. I wanted to push inside her. One night. I trailed a hand down from her neck, through the valley between her breasts. She closed her eyes, and her chest rose as my finger continued down, all the way to her stomach, and then I unclasped her jeans.
I knew one time wouldn’t be enough. I would want her until the day I died. She was a drug to me.
Then, seeing the answering desire in her eyes, I turned for the door. Locking it, I went back and undid my own jeans. Bri’s hands reached for her shirt, but I stopped her. “No, I want to.” My voice was husky. Taking hold of her shirt, I ripped it off her and tossed it to the side. When she left, she’d be wearing my shirt.
She’d be wearing everything of mine. My scent. My taste. The feel of my hands on her. I would be stamped all over her.
Then she reached up, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked me down. As our lips collided, I stopped thinking all together and rolled her underneath me.
She was mine.
I was in trouble. Waking up next to Brielle, hearing her soft breathing, feeling her skin next to mine, made me groan. I could touch her, kiss her, breathe her in, and I could see her wake with a smile. That had my heart pounding. Fuck. One night hadn’t been enough. I gazed at her now, resting with her head turned into the pillow. She was facing me, with those damn soft eyelashes and lips that seemed to already be smiling back at me even as she slept. I didn’t think one lifetime with her would be enough.
She had my balls in the palm of her hand. One squeeze and I would crumble. I gazed down her back to the arch of her spine until where the sheet covered her, and I already ached to slide back inside her.
Then her eyes opened, and that old feeling of my world clicking into place came over me. Everything lined up. Everything was right again. It was damn cheesy, but it was true.
Again. I was in trouble.
“Hey.” She smiled at me.
“Hey back.”
Her eyes were shining, but a shadow came over them, and she moved to sit up. Resting against the headboard, she pulled the blanket to cover herself and fiddled with her hands. “Luke…”
It was coming.
“Wait.” I crossed the room to grab my jeans.
“You’re getting dressed?”
“No, just the jeans.” The corner of my lip twitched up. “If we’re going to have this talk, doing it naked would make me feel weird.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the blanket.
I was an ass. I could grab her clothes and toss them over to her, but I liked having her naked. I liked having her in my bed. I should even the playing the field, but I didn’t want to. She was mine. I made a vow to myself. Every chance I got, her clothes were coming off. That vow would stick, no matter how this conversation went. Being away from her for another year had been the worst thing I’d done in my life. It was time to rectify that.
