I wanted his cock inside me.
Tugging at his shoulders, I begged, “Gil...now. I need you. Now.”
His glowing, furious eyes met mine. His mouth remained on my pussy, his fingers inside my body. Mud marked his cheekbone; a bruise shadowed his temple.
His gaze kept me captured as he arched his fingers and sucked me hard. The painful, exquisite beginnings of an orgasm brewed in my belly. It teased down my legs, throbbing around Gil’s fingers.
I bit my lip, fighting it off.
But Gil smiled savagely and drove his fingers deeper. His breathing rasped as we never looked away from each other. He looked wild and untamed, totally unhinged with sex.
And I couldn’t stop it.
I couldn’t balance on the knife’s edge. Not when he looked into me. Not with his touch inside me.
I gave in, throwing myself headfirst into the ricocheting bands of pleasure.
I cried out as it ripped me apart.
Each wave, Gil sucked me harder, thrusting his fingers, sending me higher, adding to the bliss. The power of it echoed in my teeth, stole my vision, and distorted my breath.
On the final pulse of release, Gil soared up my body. His mouth glistened from licking me, his lips swollen with heat. He kissed me, slamming my head against the floor with the force.
I kissed him back, loose and lost, swimming in the aftershocks.
“I missed you.” He kissed me deeper. “Missed you every goddamn day.”
My eyes flew wide.
I struggled away from his kiss even as his fingers drove into me again, punishing oversensitive nerves.
I searched his face, but his eyes held barriers, trapping his demons. His lips twisted as if he hadn’t meant to say such vulnerable things all while his fingers dominated me.
He kissed me again, his mouth pressing hard, bestowing sensual affection layered with dark complication.
He didn’t just kiss me.
He poured devotion and bitterness down my throat. He wrapped us in history even while smashing apart time that had distanced us.
“Why did you leave?” I whispered. The question was for a younger Olin. The one who’d been so happy and then so heartbroken by the boy who said he loved her.
The hitch of his breath sent my heart roaring and the same sort of hunger he’d attacked me with sat up nasty and needy in my veins. It didn’t matter why he left. Only that he did.
Old anger and agony rose, and my fingernails scratched down his back, grabbing the hem of his hoodie and tugging it up his body.
I trembled with the undeniable need to finish this. To have him naked and glued to me while he took everything that had always belonged to him.
“Off,” I hissed. “I need this off.”
Thoughts raced in Gil’s eyes, totally tangled and undecipherable. Why couldn’t I figure him out? Why couldn’t I learn his secrets all while he lay in my arms?
His fingers withdrew from my body as he climbed to his feet. He stood over me, his blood still swimming with liquor, his clothing still filthy. Without a word, he tore his hoodie off, removed his T-shirt, and unbuckled his jeans while kicking off his boots.
He didn’t waste time, shedding the items as if they were a hindrance he wanted to burn. His paint-speckled boots clattered by the couch as his zipper came apart and his jeans were torn from his legs.
I sat up slowly, unbuttoning my blouse with trembling fingers.
I couldn’t blink, drinking him in.
It’d been a lifetime ago that I’d seen his naked chest, and he’d filled out since then. He rippled with etches and shadows, his stomach flat and carved with ridges. He didn’t have much hair; just a splattering between his pecs and a dark line disappearing into his black boxer-briefs, but it wasn’t the perfection of his body that entranced me.
It was the wounds.
Old scars, new bruises, ancient injuries, and fresh cuts.
He looked as if he’d stepped through time and off a battlefield. His eyes matched the illusion, heavy with sorrow and hard with remorse.
My heart kicked, wanting to protect him all while wanting to bow to him.
Scrambling to my knees, I reached back and unhooked my bra. Gil sucked in a groan as I threw the lace away, revealing myself to him. He’d seen my breasts. He’d painted my nipples and airbrushed my cleavage.
Yet the way he watched me made me feel like the most powerful creature in the world.
Rubbing his mouth, he shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. His hand dropped to his cock. With a bite of his lip, he squeezed his erection, proud and encased in underwear. “I’ve dreamt of this, did you know that? Fantasied about fucking you so many times.”
I didn’t move, panting as his thumbs hooked into his boxer-briefs and pulled them down.
His mouth lined with regret. “I’ve had nightmares of losing you...hating myself for walking away.”
My body broke out in hot desire. “You didn’t need to walk away.”
“I did.” He hung his head as his cock sprang free, hard and long.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re together now.”
“There can’t be an us.” His voice twisted. “I shouldn’t do this. I should fucking have the strength not to do this.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I swallowed. “But you don’t have a choice. We don’t have a choice.” Another orgasm spindled, heated and wet, just at the sight of Gil stripping. His unwanted boxers slid to his ankles, only to be kicked away to join his boots and socks.
For the longest moment, he didn’t move. As if afraid I’d judge him, not want him.
Terror filled me that he’d stop this. That whatever freedom he’d found thanks to alcohol wasn’t enough for us to finish this.
But then, he closed the distance between us. Two swift, determined strides even as condemnation sketched his face. “Fuck, I want you.” He ducked and captured my cheeks, kissing me.
Instead of accepting the kiss, I tore my face away. My hand shook as I reached for his cock, shivering at the hard steel of him as I tugged him closer.
He grunted and tripped into me.
His mouth opened to speak.
But it was too late.
His velvety heat was a trigger on my self-control.
My lips encased his tip. I sat higher on my knees squeezing his hot length with my hand. My fingers latched tight and unforgiving, not asking for permission—just like he’d done to me.
He’d owned me. Tasted me. Controlled me.
It’s my turn.
My eyes skated up over the furrows and hills of his stomach until I met his gaze. Gil shuddered as I pumped him into my mouth. The winter frost of his eyes blazed like wildfire, hinting that what I took as annoyance and anger were actually tightly reined need.
He buckled with a will of iron.
He didn’t give in to the urges beating him to submit—the urges between us. The urges that had always been there, despite our tempers.
I stroked him again, sucking him deep.
His head fell back, and his fingers threaded through my hair. He didn’t just hold me steady, he pulled me forward, pressing more of his cock into my mouth.
Everything inside quivered. My wetness would’ve been embarrassing if I didn’t know Gil wanted me as much as I wanted him. I knew it in the tension in his muscles, the groan in his chest, the violence in his fingers.
I opened wider, sucking his girth. My tongue lapped underneath as my fingers corkscrewed around him.