Chapter 23
Marie-Terese had been convinced Vin was going to kiss her on the mouth.
And there was a part of her that wanted just that, but she'd been panicky, too: She might have technically been having sex at the club, but it had been three years since she'd actually been kissed. And the last time it had happened it had been forced on her as part of an act of violence.
Instead of giving her what she both wanted and feared, though, Vin had just pressed his lips to her forehead and eased her up against his chest—and here she was, in the strong arms of a man whose heart was beating close to her ear, whose warmth was leaching into her own body, whose big hand was making slow circles around her back.
Marie-Terese smoothed her palm up his pecs. Underneath the cashmere, his body was hard, suggesting that he exercised a lot.
She wondered what he looked like without his clothes on.
She wondered what his mouth would feel like on hers.
She wondered how having him skin-to-skin would be.
“I guess we should probably go,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest.
“Do we have to?”
His breath caught and then resumed. “I think we'd better.”
“Why?”
Vin shrugged, the movement rubbing his sweater against her cheek. “Just think it's for the best.” Oh, man… how about that for a polite brush-off. Good God, what if she'd read it all wrong? Abruptly, she shifted upward, pushing herself off of him. “Yes, I think you're right—”
In her haste, her palm slipped on the fine nap of his sweater and brushed over something that was hard below his waist. And not hard as in bone.
“Damn, I'm sorry,” he said, moving his hips away. “Yeah, it's definitely time to pull out of here…”
She looked down. His erection was unmistakable, and what do you know, she had a roaring sexual response to it. She wanted him. Needed to have him inside of her. And all the rational reasons not to go there were suddenly nothing more than yada, yada, yada…
Locking eyes with him, she whispered, “Kiss me.” Vin froze in the process of getting up. As his chest expanded, he stared at the floor and didn't say a thing.
“Oh,” she said. “I understand.”
His body might have wanted her, but his mind was jamming at the thought of being with a whore.
In a horrible rush, she saw the faces of the Johns she had been with…or at least those she could recall. So many of them, more than she could count, and they crowded the space between her and this man who sat on his boyhood bed, looking as sexy as anything.
She hadn't wanted the others. Had taken pains to be as separate from them as she could, layers of latex and dissociation barriers she used to try to stay as untouched by the contact as she could.
Vin, however…Vin she wanted close, and he couldn't go there.
This was the real damage she had done to herself, wasn't it: she'd assumed that as long as she stayed disease-free and unharmed physically, the long-term effects were going to be limited to a store of memories she'd be desperate to forget. But this was cancer, not the flu. Because she could barely see Vin through the cast of hundreds, and he was as blinded by the anonymous, invisible crowd as she was.
Swallowing hard, she thought…in this moment, she would have given up everything to have had a clean slate between her and Vin. Everything…except for her son.
Marie-Terese shifted off the bed, but he caught her hand before she could shoot out of the room.
“I can't stop at just kissing you.” His hot eyes locked on her. “That's the only reason I'm holding off. I'd like to tell you I'm a gentleman and could pull back or out with only a word from you, but I can't trust myself. Not tonight.”
Caught up in the distance between them, all she could hear was,
In a hoarse voice, she said, “You already know I'm a slut. So I won't stop you.” Vin's expression went cold and he dropped his hold on her.
After a moment, he rose to his feet and glared at her. “You don't ever refer to yourself like that in front of me again. We clear? Never again. I don't give a fuck who you were with or how many there were—you're not a slut to me. You want to beat yourself up, do it on your time and don't try to drag me into it.”
On a survival instinct, she cringed back from him and shielded her head, expecting his hands to curl into fists and come flying at her.
She'd been trained thoroughly in what men who were furious did to women.
Except Vin just stared at her, the anger in his face draining out and leaving a pale panic behind. “He hit you, didn't he.”
Marie-Terese couldn't answer that. Because even a nod would have sent her into a spiral of tears. Tonight… as Vin himself had said, tonight was not the night for trusting herself: Whereas quitting the business had made her feel stronger, that had been temporary. Here and now, she was vulnerable as hell.
“Jesus…Christ,” Vin murmured.
Before she knew it, she was back in his arms, back in them and up close. As they stood together, something occurred to her about the choices she'd made…something that she didn't want to look too closely at, so she pushed it away and locked it up tight.
Lifting her head to look up at him, she said, “Be with me. Now.”
Vin went stock-still…and then cupped her face with his gentle palms. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
After a long moment, he closed the distance between their mouths and kissed her sweet and slow. Oh…soft. He was so soft and careful, stroking, tilting his head to the side, stroking some more.
It was better than she remembered, because it was better than she'd ever had.
Running her palms up his arms, she felt as if the two of them were suspended in air, tethered by choice, not trapped by circumstance. Light as the contact between them was, gentle as his lips were, careful as her hands were, power sizzled between them.
Vin pulled back a little. He was breathing hard, the muscles in his neck straining. And that wasn't the only thing. As he looked at her, his body was even more ready for what was going to happen next. He cleared his throat. “Marie-Terese…”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to call her by her real name, but she stopped herself. “Yes?” she whispered in a voice as husky as his.
“Lie down with me.”
When she nodded, he gathered her into him and pulled her onto the bed so that they ended up with her top. As their bodies adjusted to glorious effect, his hands brushed her hair from her face and lingered on her shoulders.
“I like the way you feel under me,” she said.
He smiled. “And how do I feel?”
“Hard.” She arched into him, rubbing herself on his arousal.
As Vin reared back into the pillow and hissed, she put her mouth on the rigid cords that lined his neck, kissing her way up them until she got to his sharp jaw. Now she was the one fusing their mouths, and he was following her, tongues sweeping in and out, hands roaming, hips moving in the ancient surging motion of raw sex.
It wasn't long before she needed so much more. Her breasts were aching, the tips straining against her bra, and she took his hand and eased it under the shirt she had on. The contact of his palm on her ribs made her suck on his tongue and to urge him onward, she guided the contact over to her—
As he palmed her breast, he groaned and rubbed his thumb around her nipple. “You're hell on my willpower.
