Straight From The Hip

She didn’t know who his friend was, the one who’d been with him through the torture, but she was grateful to him. She believed down to her bones that if Nick had been alone, he would have surrendered to the torture, thinking it was his due.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. I got what I deserved.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Yes, Nick had been young and stupid and three people had paid the ultimate price. But she refused to accept there was no place of forgiveness. No moment of being allowed to go on living. Not forgetting and wanting to make amends was very different than a lifetime of self-punishment.

“What about what you learned from the experience?” she asked. “What about the lives you touch now? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Not enough.”

There was raw pain in his voice. And resignation. As if this would never end.

Without thinking she reached out to him. Her fingers found his shoulders. She turned him toward her, then raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him. She wasn’t sure what she meant by the action, but she knew she had to touch him, try to heal him in some way.

He resisted her at first. He remained straight and unmoving. His arms hung at his sides. She kept her hands on his shoulders and continued to press her mouth against his. Somehow she had to get through to him.

Finally he grabbed her and pushed her away from him.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice thick with what sounded like pain. “I don’t deserve this.”

Meaning what? He wouldn’t allow himself to be with a woman? That he couldn’t risk any pleasure at all?

She stared at his face, wishing she could see into his eyes. Wishing she could see him.

“Maybe I do,” she told him. “Maybe this is all about me.”

He brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Liar.”

She shook off his hold and stepped close. Once again she found his mouth without hesitation. As if being guided by an inner sight that knew everything about Nick. Because now she did. Now she knew the best and worst about the man. She knew why he avoided the dark and because she had her own demons, she could accept his.

He was still for a second, before angling his head and kissing her with an intensity that stole her breath. He hauled her against him, as if he would never let her go.

She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to feel all of him. His strength and even his scars. He was tall and muscled and made her feel protected. She who had never needed protection from anyone.

Their lips clung, pressing until she parted unasked and he swept his tongue inside her mouth. It was electric and thrilling. His kiss aroused her, teased her, made her want to give back more than he was giving her. His hands were everywhere-up and down her arms, stroking her back, before moving lower, to her hips.

She leaned into him and felt the thick hardness of his erection. He wanted her.

The last of her doubts faded. The last of her fears melted until she was practically giddy and giggling. He wanted her. Those kisses hadn’t been about pity. They’d been the kisses of a man who wanted her.

She moved her hands to his back, then stilled when she encountered more scars. There were so many, she thought, feeling sick again. Dozens of thick raised lines where Francisco and his friends had cut through living flesh.

Nick must have sensed her distraction. He pulled back. “We should stop.”

Because he didn’t deserve to make love or because he thought she couldn’t handle what had been done to him?

She stood in his room and stared at the blurry shape of him. While the details were impossible to see, she could sense his pride at work. He wouldn’t take what wasn’t offered. Wouldn’t beg. He would do without because that’s what he believed he deserved.

What did she want? This man? Nick? Or was this just a fun way to pass the night?

The answer was clear. It was what it had always been. There had been plenty of men in her life, but none she respected as much. None who understood the best and worst about her.

She pulled off her oversize T-shirt and tossed it away, then slipped out of her thong. She moved closer, took his hands and placed them on her breasts.

“We’re not stopping,” she told him. “At least I’m not.”

How was he supposed to resist her? Nick stared at the beautiful, naked woman in front of him. The aching, pulsing desire wasn’t about getting laid. That would be easy. Instead it was about Izzy-about wanting her in his arms, in his bed, under him. He wanted her wet and moaning and begging. He wanted to fill her until she screamed, then lose himself in her, surrendering all he had.

The power of his hunger nearly drove him to his knees. But he couldn’t move, not with her small hands holding his against her bare breasts.

He was aware of every inch he touched. The full curves, the smooth skin, the pebbled texture of the skin around her nipples. Unable to help himself, he moved his fingers against her right nipple. Her mouth parted as she sucked in a breath. His gaze dropped to the dark curls between her legs. If he touched her there, would she be swollen and wet already?

He had to find out.

He moved his hands to her waist and pulled her close, then lowered his head and kissed her.

“Finally,” Izzy murmured against his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as if she would never let go.

He kissed her deeply, wanting to take all of her. When he touched her back again, this time there was warm, bare skin. The hard bone of her spine, the soft curve of her waist.

She wiggled closer still, until he felt the heat of her against his hard-on. Then she dropped her hands to his ass and squeezed.

It was a playful touch. But he went from hungry to desperate in a tenth of a second.

Without considering what he was doing, he swept her up in his arms, crossed the room and lowered her onto the bed. He paused to push off his sweatpants and briefs before joining her in a tangle of arms and legs.

He touched her everywhere. Her breasts, her belly, her thighs. He swept his fingers between her legs and nearly lost it when he felt the sweet, damp, swollen flesh. But he didn’t linger. There was more to touch.

The back of her knee, the arch of her foot, the tiny dimple on her cheek when she smiled. He kissed her again, then moved his hand lazily over her breasts. The full curve more than filled his palm. He brushed her nipple again and again, enjoying the catch in her breathing. When he bent down and took her nipple in his mouth, she groaned.

She tasted sweet and tempting. He circled the tight tip, then sucked. She grabbed his head, as if she didn’t want him to stop, which was good with him. He could do this forever. He moved between her breasts, first one, then the other, matching the movements of his tongue with his fingers. She held on, her breathing faster now, her hips moving slightly.

His erection thickened to the point of aching. Pressure built at the base. It would take so little, he thought grimly. A few strokes. But he held back, refused to think about what it would be like to be inside her. Eventually it would be his turn.

He shifted on the bed so he could kiss his way down her belly. Moving his hands to her sides, he slid along her body, tracing curves. He used his tongue to tease her belly button and make her squirm. She laughed, then gasped as he nipped the skin just to the side.

“You’re killing me,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

It was his plan. He wanted her complete surrender. He wanted her so far lost in passion that she would have trouble finding her way back.

He continued to kiss and lick and nibble his way down. Over her hip bone, across her thigh, to her knee where he discovered she was ticklish. He crossed to the other leg and worked back up, pausing just shy of her curls. Then he waited.

Izzy tossed her head back and forth. She pumped her hips, as if urging him to finish what he’d started. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, he moved a single finger through her curls to her waiting center.

She moaned.