Her breath hitches and I pull the sound deep into my mouth. I might regret my weakness later, but the silk of her lips, the sweet flavor I’ve never forgotten, spins my head, and trumps all rational thought or common sense.
I tug the band from her hair and grab two fistfuls of curls. And Dee’s right with me. No token resistance. No pretense. She gives back, just the way I need it. Hot and mindless. Going up on her toes, she winds her arms around my neck and molds her body to mine. Our tongues collide in a rush of longing. Tasting, tangling.
No woman has ever filled me so completely, to the exclusion of everything else. In that moment of frenzy, the past, my anger, and her transgressions are all white noise against the clamor of something louder and more powerful roaring in my blood.
I crush her back into the counter and muscle my thigh between her legs, leaving no doubt as to how intensely I want her. Releasing my grip from the twist of curls I cup her unfettered breasts through the thin material and squeeze their ripe fullness. The nipples harden to bullets beneath my palms, and when I whisk my thumbs across the peaks, Dee’s breathy moans drive me full throttle.
I drag my mouth down her neck and chest, sliding my tongue across the points, dampening her shirt until the little chocolate morsels are visible through the cotton. Alternating between the two, I suck the tips into my mouth, hard enough to entice her to the edge, then lick them softly so that the next sharp pull is all the more acute.
“Oh, God,” she moans and turns away to grip the counter as if it’s too much.
But I’m not nearly done. I haven’t even begun to do all the things to Dee that I fantasized about on those lonely nights when the hurt had receded into the shadows and all I was left with were the bittersweet memories of touching her, and tasting her, of driving inside her hot, wet body.
Her back to me, I slip my hand beneath the elastic waist of her pajama bottoms and splay my palm across her feminine belly. Dee feels even better than I remembered in my dreams. There’s not a single straight line, just soft, luscious curves. The body she never seemed comfortable with I still find sensually opulent.
Her skin scorches me as I slide my hand lower. Without any panties to hinder me, my fingertips encounter silky, damp curls and plump, slick lips. Pure luxury. I press snugly between the globes of her juicy ass and, whispering her name, thrust two fingers into the creamiest heat a man could ever imagine.
“Mick!” Dee cries out and rolls her hips in a tantalizing rhythm against me.
Desire snapping like a whip, I nose her hair aside, exposing her neck, and greedily suck the fragrant flesh into my mouth. I sink my fingers deeper and faster, while circling her swollen clit with my thumb. I’m drowning in the feel of her, in the wispy breaths of her pleasure.
My need raw, I grate against her ear, “Come for me, Dee. Come all over me.”
“Ohh.” Her wet vise clamps tightly around my surging fingers, her hands clench the counter, and with a sob of my name, Dee doesn’t just come—she explodes—one shuddering spasm on top of another, hitting me so hard I want nothing more than to rip open my jeans and plunge inside her. But letting her ride out her orgasm, I lock my back teeth, fighting for control until she goes lax and limp over the band of my arm.
I give myself a moment for my world to right itself before removing my hand from inside her warm, milky body. I curl my palm around her nape and turn Dee to face me. Her hair is a crown of unruliness; the perfect frame for hooded eyes that are a dark liquid gold and bruised lips that are red and swollen. I love how sexy and sated she looks. Love that I’m the one who put that look there.
A lot might have changed in a decade and a half. But not this. Not the way Dee responds to my touch or how freely and completely she gives herself to me. Beginning to feel as if my world may never be the same again, I seal my arms around her—my hold possessive, my desire to reclaim her strong. “You’re still mine.”
She freezes, going rigid, right before she moves her hands up to my chest and shoves me away. “Don’t touch me!”
A multitude of emotions strike me in rapid succession—total shock, chased by razor-sharp hurt, with burning outrage fast on its heels.
“You didn’t seem to mind my touch a few moments ago.”
Dee’s cheeks flame and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Fine, you wanted to prove something to yourself. Well, you did. Your manipulation…the flowers…yourfriendlypretense…your lures worked into seducing me to feed your massive ego.”
Muscles jumping in my jaw, I go nose to nose with her. “If I played you so well, sweetheart, then tell me why you were the only one who got lucky.”
I don’t see it coming. Her palm cracks across my face with a force that resounds through the kitchen like a cannon shot. Stunned, I bring a hand up to my left cheek.
“Get out!” she yells.
I grip her arm. “Like hell I will.” My voice is a low throb of fury. “The least I expect for getting you off are answers that are fifteen years overdue.”
Face flushed and eyes sparked with anger, she replies, “The only people I owe answers to are Cayo and Rita Torres.”
And I see my chance to hurt her back. “Then you’re too late on one count.”
She twists in my grasp. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Cayo Torres is dead.”
“Noo.” The sound comes out as a broken wheeze, deflating her anger like a popped balloon. “That can’t be true.”
“You’d know it was true if you’d been there,” I say with venom. “The man who loved you like a daughter...the man you deserted…is now dead, but I doubt that matters to a coldhearted bitch like you.”
Past my red haze, I see the sad realization dawn in her eyes. I don’t like myself at the moment. But I like Dee even less.
