Chapter Seventeen
Bree
Too soon. This was too soon. They hadn’t resolved anything. She hadn’t said she’d forgiven him. But he was here. Eric was in her living room, and she was in his arms, and for the moment there was nothing outside the doors battering to get in. If she concentrated on the heat wrapped around her shoulders and the scent that was strictly Eric, she didn’t need anything else in her world.
“Come to bed with me,” she said again. Why wasn’t he saying anything? God, maybe she’d misread the situation.
He hesitated, and little scar on her heart started to bleed again. “Do you know what you’re asking me, Bree? You let me in again, and I’m not leaving.” His voice had changed from the caring, reassuring rumble he’d used to ask if she was okay into a harsh, gravelly rasp. Like the words hurt him.
“I want you to stay tonight,” she whispered. She needed him to be the strong one, even if it were only for a few hours. Bree hated being someone who needed to be taken care of. But she’d been alone for a year, and she was revelling in the memory of having someone stand beside her.
Bree tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling the thin cotton loose from his waistband, revealing his thick, black leather belt, and a glimpse bare skin above it. A dusting of nearly black chest hair, a couple shades darker than his head peeked out at her.
She pulled harder, lifting his shirt past his stomach until he lifted it over his head and threw it on the couch. Bree ran her fingers up his chest, over his shoulders, and wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck. Eric let her take the lead as she pulled him towards her mouth. Bree refused to close her eyes to what was coming.
The scratch of five o’clock shadow brushed her chin. It was barely enough to process once she settled her lips on his. Chocolate. And Eric. Bree nipped at his lower lip, asking to be let in.
He did more than that. He crushed his mouth against hers, spearing her lips with his tongue to get inside her any way he could. She let him in and groaned at the sensation of Eric filling her senses.
He tore his lips away, and Bree almost cried. “Bed. Now,” he growled.
Bree lost her t-shirt in the living room, and her bra in the doorway to her bedroom. Eric walked her backwards to the bed, his mouth trailing down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. When she couldn’t take another step, Eric’s hands locked around her waist. He unfastened her jeans and shoved them over her hips without hesitation. Bree squirmed to work them past her knees so she could kick them off.
“Crap. You’re wearing those panties. Anything else and I’d tear them off.”
Bree smiled at the complaint. Eric was one of the strongest men she’d ever met in her life but he had an inescapable weakness. Lace. If she had lace on her anywhere, Eric was mesmerized. He’d lose himself in the texture as he stroked it, and as fun as that was, Bree wanted him stroking other things. The panties dropped.
She did her best on his belt but the buckle defeated her. She could have figured it out, but Eric’s fingers playing up and down her back distracted her. He let her go with a groan and yanked on his belt, quickly unfastening it and dropping it and his jeans to the floor. Bree took advantage of her momentary freedom by falling back on the mattress and scooting up the sheets. “Get back here,” Eric said.
She shook her head and crooked her finger. “Come and get it.”
She’d forgotten what he was like. How he went after what he wanted. Eric launched himself and came down fast, caging her on the bed. “You asked for it,” he said.
He lowered his mouth, and she licked her lips just before he made contact. He relaxed as they gave in to the kiss, and Bree wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him there. He was so warm. If she kept him close enough, he might be able to melt the block of ice that had settled in her chest.
The hard heat pressing into her thigh twitched. “I could ask if you’re ready, but I can feel how wet you are,” he whispered into her ear.
Bree hesitated. She wanted this. Really wanted it, even though a part of her was still holding back. “Condom. Box in the nightstand drawer,” she said. She was still on the pill; it was easier to stay on than stop and restart. But Eric had been out of her life for a year, and dating, and she had to protect herself even as she took a chance on him.
He tensed all over, and his breath hitched in a not-good way. But Eric fell to his side and reached for the drawer.
He had a new scar on his back, running from his spine and along a rib until it faded out at his side. Bree’s hand reached of its own accord and traced the thick, red line. Then she leaned forward and gave it a kiss.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing it better,” Bree said. She kissed her way across the mark but froze when Eric threaded his fingers through her hair.
“Other parts of me hurt worse.” Bree worked his way up his abs, across his pecs, moving towards his neck as he guided her. She hit a spot halfway down his jaw that made him shiver.
“Fuck, Bree.”
Then he was kissing her breathless and the rest of her caught fire as he touched her everywhere. When he slid his hand between her thighs, Bree gasped before he had a chance to touch her crease.
“What’s wrong?” Eric asked.
“Been a while. Nerves,” she admitted.
“I can fix that.” His fingers teased around her entrance. It was all she could do to keep from trembling. “Not even one shiver? I’ll have to do better than that,” he said, before he shifted his hand.
