She snuggled into his side, the smell of her hair surrounding him. He couldn’t place the scent, too earthy to be vanilla yet too sweet to be herbal.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice clearer than he expected in the pitch of night. “I slept so much today and now I’m wide-awake. I’ll try not to bug you.”
“You’re not bugging me,” he grumbled. He hadn’t found pleasure with a woman in nearly two decades, but his body had no problem remembering, and every nerve rippled awake in anticipation.
He didn’t have to wait long for Helia’s restlessness to take over, and her hand slipped under his shirt, splaying across his hip.
“Can I touch you?” she whispered. As if he’d say no now. He’d laid all his cards on the table already. So had she. If she still wanted to play—metaphorically and literally—who was he to tell her no? Not when he wanted the same. Desperately.
“Yes, remember who you’re with, though.”
He’d meant to remind her of his past and his lack of experience. He’d meant it as a warning that he wasn’t entirely sure how much he’d be able to take before his body did what aroused bodies do. But she chuckled and ran her hand up his chest, settling it over his heart. “I’m not likely to forget, Collin.”
He sat up, and she rolled to her back, cocking her head in curiosity. The room was too dark to see her eyes, though, and he didn’t like that. Rising from bed, he walked to the window and pulled the drapes open. Between the privacy of Bacco and being on the third floor, he wasn’t concerned about anyone seeing him. In the moonlight, he pulled his shirt off, tossing it on a nearby chair.
Helia sat up, crossing one leg in front of her. She’d fallen fast asleep when he’d carried her to bed earlier, but he’d managed to divest her of her socks and jeans. At some point, she must have taken her bra off. Now she sat watching him wearing nothing but a T-shirt and underwear.
“Take the rest off,” she said.
He complied, sliding his boxer briefs down and stepping out. In the filtered light of the room, her eyes took in every inch of his body. He swelled, a welcome pain, under her eager attention.
“Your tattoos, they mean something,” she said.
“They do.”
She studied him another minute, and he almost turned around to give her the full 360 view but froze when she tore her own shirt off and tossed it on the chair beside his.
Shadows fell across her body, tracing the lines and curves of her skin. He ached to be touched, to feel her sliding overhim, taking him inside her. His heart pounded, heavy and thick against his ribs, in anticipation of feeling her close around him. Of hearing the sounds she’d make. Of feeling her body bow, her muscles contract, and the vibration of her voice when she cried out.
He chose not to think about why he’d never been able to experience what he experienced with Helia with another woman. Or everything his father had done to him. None of that belonged in the room. None of it belonged between them.
“Take the rest off,” he said, repeating her words.
She scrambled on the bed and soon her little black panties landed on the floor beside his boxers. Again, she crossed one leg in front of her, opening her thighs and exposing all of her to him.
Need, heat, desire slammed into him, and he all but growled as he stalked back to the bed, intent on only one thing. Touching Helia. Every part of her.
Sliding a hand into her hair, he tipped her head up, slamming his mouth down on hers in a demanding, feral kiss. Her hands gripped his biceps and although he had the height advantage, she gave as much as she took.
They kissed for hours, minutes. Who knew how long they spent feeling the heat, the history, and the longing that had always existed between them roar and soar back to life.
Then abruptly, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed more of her.
Taking a half step away, he sank to his knees, setting his hands on her knees as he lowered. Untangling her legs, he spread her thighs, tugged her to the edge of the bed, and set his mouth on her.
She jumped at the sudden contact, but a reverent moan followed as her nails dug into his hair. He took that as a green light to continue tasting her, devouring her. He wasn’t sure howlong he’d last once inside her, but he could stay here on his knees for her for hours.
Her first orgasm hit, and she arched her back into his eager lips, calling his name and chasing away any lingering doubts. Freedom replaced the shackles of his history, and trust flowed between them as strong and as unstoppable as the tide.
Reveling in the power of it, he slid a finger, then two inside her. She panted and moaned and whispered his name. His body wept when she came again, squeezing him, reminding him of what it felt like—what it would feel like—to be buried inside her.
He eased her down from her second peak, then kissed his way up her belly, pausing to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other. Her hands slid from his hair to his cheeks, and she tipped his head up and lowered her lips to his. She had the height advantage now, and she teased and tasted him before urging him over her.
He rose slowly, unwilling to release contact with her, and kissed her as she scooted back on the bed, making room for him. No words were spoken when he settled between her thighs, when he ran his hands down her sides, tracing the dip of her waist and the curve of her breast. When her hands stroked the line of his back and curled over his behind. No words were spoken when she lifted her hips and pulled him into her body.
He closed his eyes as he moved, her heat and her body so familiar yet all so new.
“Collin.” Her fingers dug into the small of his back, her heels against his thighs.
