In one swift motion, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him as his mouth captured mine, possessive, demanding. One kiss led to another and another until all else faded away, until all that existed was the heady desire that stole my breath.
At some point, we moved inside. He shoved the door shut then lifted me, his hands grasping the fabric of my shirt when I wrapped my legs around his waist. Then my back was against the wall and we was pressing kisses to my jaw, my neck.
I whispered his name and dragged his face back to mine, eager to get lost in his kiss again.
I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t know when he carried me to another room and lowered me to his bed. There was only his mouth and his hands as they explored my body, his touch gentle, patient as his hand slipped beneath my shirt, caressing my back, smoothing along my ribs, over my hip, pressing me closer. When his thumb skimmed across my nipple, I gasped, the contact sending a lance of heat straight to the core of me.
He immediately stilled and pulled back. “Should I stop?”
I shook my head vehemently. “God, no.”
He still hesitated, so I covered his hand with mine, guiding him down along my belly to the waistband of my pajamas.
“Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”
When his fingertip brushed against the bud of nerves, so tender, so careful, I moaned, arching against his hand, needing more.
He hissed a curse and then his mouth was on mine again, his breath ragged as he then broke away, to watch me as his touch brought me closer and closer to release, only to back me down again then drive me toward that blissful precipice until I couldn’t take it anymore, my moaning growing louder, more fevered as his finger slid inside me and then a second and his thumb continued to caress. I panted, grasping his sheets in my fists, when sensation overtook me. My cry of release filled the room.
I was still burning, still aching as his thrusting fingers slowed again, backing me back down to a simmering desire that would soon need to be released again. He brushed his lips against mine, then kissed my cheek, my temple, before finding my mouth again.
When he lifted his head to gaze at me, I took his face in my hands. “I want you. All of you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll get there,” he assured me. “But not yet. I want to take my time with you, Zellie. I want you to know how beautiful you are, how precious you are to me.”
With this, his touch became more insistent. I gripped his shoulders, gasping as he made good on his promises. And then there was only pleasure. And love. Such intense love, it enveloped me, cradled me, filled my soul.
Much later, when we drew one particularly languid kiss to a close, he lifted his head to gaze at me and brushed a lock of hair from my eyes. Neither of us said a word. There was no need. He rolled to his side, pulling me against him, holding me close.
“Should I walk you back to your apartment?” he asked eventually.
“Are you asking me to go?” I replied.
His arm tightened around me. “No,” he said. “I’m asking you to stay.”
I curled into him. “Then I’ll stay.”
Held in his arms, I fell into the most restful, peaceful sleep I’d ever known, feeling truly loved, truly safe for the first time in my life.
Chapter fifteen
Feather-soft fingertips trailed down my arm, so light, so gentle, as the caress stirred me from my sleep. I grinned, thinking I could get used to waking up this way every morning. I opened my eyes to tell Whit exactly that, but the words died on my lips.
Inches from my face was a putrid, rotting face, twisted with rage. She opened her mouth in that terrifying, silent scream.
I yelped, scrambling backward over the top of Whit’s legs, so anxious to put distance between me and the screaming woman, that I went too far and fell off the bed, slamming my shoulder into the floor. Pain shot down my arm and up my neck, but I rolled onto my knees just as strong hands gripped my upper arms.
I screamed and struggled to get away, until arms wrapped around me, drawing me close, trapping my own arms to keep them from lashing out.
“Zellie!”
I immediately stopped moving and looked up to see Whit’s concerned expression, a long scratch along his cheek. “Whit,” I whispered. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry!”
He touched the scratch, smearing a few drops of blood. “It’s fine. What happened? What’s wrong?”
Sobbing with relief, my fear and frustration spilling out in my tears, I opened my mouth to tell him everything about the screaming woman, the dreams of Susanna, all of it. But, for some reason, I just shook my head and managed to pull myself together before saying, “Nightmare.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not really.
