Chapter 13
Claire
My body is fire.
Ten years of pent-up sexual frustration.
A decade of anger and lust and twisted vengeance and guilt. People end up who they are for so many reasons, but our lives—mine and Vaughn’s—the people we became grew directly from our parents’ affair. We never had a choice. We never had a chance. We were cut short, aborted, our obsession with each other slashed dead in a single instant. One significant moment that bitterly transformed the rest of our lives.
I never considered that seeing him again I would be hit so hard by memories, the intense emotions, and this overwhelming sense of need. It makes me feel as if someone has taken all my bones from my body, and I’m nothing more than liquid flesh and blood melting into this bed. Melting into him. Vaughn Montgomery was my cancer, lying dormant in my heart and bones for years, just waiting to arouse and poison me the first chance he could.
But my bodyyearnsfor him.
I want…
I want the inconvenience of us; the savage desperation, the filthy sins. I want to revel in these sheets and steal back what was so harshly taken from me. The most profound truth that was taught to us at age fifteen, love cannot conquer all; and I want to revolt against the life lesson.
There’s a long silence between us. Vaughn stares at me, unblinking. The intense gray depths of his eyes, the reality of him, makes me want to fight against my body, and catapult myself out of this room, out of this life. Ican’twant any part of him.
But I do.
Desperately.
Was there something magical about the Montgomery men that the women in my family were cursed to desire them no matter the cost? I’ve been with a few men after Vaughn, I tried, I really did, but each one was less meaningful than the last.
Loving him ruined me.
There’s so much I should say to him right now, so many things I should tell him. Yet I say nothing. I say nothing because hate is so much safer for us. Love needs too much, forgiveness is too daunting, too much hard work. Love is too vulnerable and tragic. It can crumble away and die so easily when it’s not cared for. Hate—hate can flourish and grow all by itself.
Vaughn pulls on one of the blankets we’re wrapped in, loosening its grasp on us. When I start to pull away, our eyes meet, and there’s an ache in his expression that paralyzes me.
Neither of us move, but I can feel every inch of my being liquify under the weight of his stare.
Then, slowly, he reaches out, bringing his fingertips to my collarbone. It’s barely a touch, yet it sends a pulsating ripple over my skin. Goose bumps surge over my arms and legs. His hand trails down, slow and deliberate, lowering through the valley of my chest, inch by delicate inch. My skin tightens. Heat blooms and swells low in my belly.
His fingers stop on my ribs just below the bottom of my breast.
I know I need to stop this, whatever this tangible thing I can feel, thick and real between us. But the words just don’t come out. It feels like my body has taken over, my brain clicking into autopilot, and it only wants me to surrender to his touch.
He lowers his face to mine with small hesitant movements until his forehead presses softly down against my temple. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers.
Apparently, I’ve lost all ability to speak and use common sense.
My brain is screaming for me to get up and run away from this man, but my body feels tethered to the tips of his fingers. For Vaughn, I bet this would be fun. Just another easy mark, a plus-one to his body count. For me, it would be catastrophic. Once we leave this den of sin, once I find what I came here for, Vaughn would discard me without a care, and I would shatter apart. Just like last time.
So why can’t I find the strength to push him away?
The hand on my ribcage lifts, and the slow, delicious slide of his knuckle drags up over the bottom of my breast, until his fingertips curl and circle around my aching nipple.
A low humming sound vibrates from somewhere deep in my throat. I can’t control it. Can’t silence it.
His lips brush across my cheek then slide along a path from just behind my ear to the base of my throat. He isn’t kissing me or using his tongue. It’s a slow tease of his breath over my skin and the heat of his mouth that lights a fire between my thighs.
He moves the smallest bit closer and his erection presses against my upper thigh. He groans and I feel his cock pulse and throb between us.
“Jesus, Vaughn.” My breathing becomes shallow.
So does his.
