Random Acts of Hope (18 page)

Gently pushing her onto the bed, I rested the length of me against the length of her, our bodies one heat source, one flesh, one pounding series of blood flows going crazy under the surface. Her fingers found the base of my neck, tickling me, and her mouth was eager and bold like mine. Charlotte had never been shy. Never been tentative or hesitant when it came to sex, and she’d been my first and only for so long, our bodies each other’s road maps in the world of Sexland.

She was my compass. I was her legend. We were the rivers and the lakes, the highways and the back roads, the mountains and the borders.

I finally knew where I was. Charlotte was my You Are Here point
on the map of life
.

Charlotte

Oh, this man. His mouth traced wet heat through me, tongue parting my lips and seeking refuge and answers. We could use whispers and promises, words and apologies, to talk our way through this, but instead it was his tongue that said, “I’m sorry.” The brush of his fingertips against the soft skin of my collarbone that said, “I was wrong.” The press of his hardness against my hip that spoke aloud the words, “I want you.”

Words weren’t enough. And yet words were also too much. My mind shook with the gravity of this, with the hush of his breath against my ear, the low groan of satisfaction when my hands roamed over his spine and down to his muscled ass, his hitched breath as our kisses deepen
e
d and he entered a new state, one that burned our skin with desire.

Giving in meant erasing five years of pain and misunderstanding, of cruel abandonment and loss. So much loss. And yet maybe—maybe, oh, so gingerly—we could mitigate the loss right here, right now, with a coming together that wouldn’t be enough to atone for the last five years, but that was an acknowledgement of the pain of missing each other?

Ravaged by my own doubt, my rational mind fought for its place inside me as Liam’s hands worked to unmoor it, setting it adrift in a sea of righteous thought that knew this was somehow wrong, that I should exercise my “no,” that I should cling to the pain and misery and hold out for Liam’s tortured apology for what he did to me. To our baby. To—the world.

And that
wa
s when the thin line connecting my rational mind to the world snapped with the tiniest of sounds, the noise so soft you could confuse it with the whimper from the back of my throat as Liam reached under my shirt and flattened his palm against my belly, moving up under my bra and finding one nipple.

Alight with the understanding that all my fantasies, fevered wet dreams, and tormented imaginings were about to come true, my body decided for me, sitting up as Liam coaxed off my shirt, then with a flick of fingers and wrist unbound my breasts, flinging the bra to one side with a practiced hand. In the moonlight his eyes
shone
with appreciation, then his face dipped down, that warm, eager mouth taking one nipple in and sending me to the moon.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat, the end
stutter
ed and rough. My hips arched to meet his body, some part,
any
part, so that our heat remained in constant flow. As his tongue turned my skin hard as pebble, my hands sank into his hair. He gave my other breast the same attention, licking and blowing lightly, making my skin react at his command.

W
e were beyond choice and decision now.

He pulled up to kiss me, lips sucking and demanding, tongue insistent, taking as much flesh as he could like an explorer, claiming lands for an entity in power. My hands were a blur, trying to touch every part of him, the smattering of hair on his chest thicker than it had been years ago.

Comparing—I couldn’t stop comparing, because five years is a long time to remember, to go over each excru
c
iatingly delicious detail of sex and lovemaking and quickies and longies. I’d memorized Liam’s long, lean body in my mind, in my fingers, in my heart, and now that I had him—real, whole, divine—with me, I couldn’t stop cataloguing the difference between Then and Now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he pulled away, hovering over me, hair a wild mess of golden waves, eyes dark and smoldering for me. He dipped down to plant a nearly chaste kiss on each nipple, nuzzling the valley between my breasts, and then—

Oh,
and then!

He began a trail of kisses downward.

Comparing? I couldn’t compare, because the Liam McCarthy I knew from five years ago had never done
this
.

He seemed to read my mind, his mouth spreading into a smile as he pressed it against my navel, the feeling luxurious and secret. “Is this okay?”

Is this okay?
Is this okay?
That
wa
s like asking if a
pistachio mocha crepe with a side of salted caramel ice cream
at Jeddy’s Diner
wa
s okay.
Like asking if giving you a Tesla Model S for free was okay.
 

My answer was remarkably witty.

“Uhhhhhh…”

His laugh rumbled against my skin. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

His fingers reached for my pants, sliding them off my hips with such reverence, slowly and with a sense of timelessness. He sat up on his knees, half naked and so gorgeous, all rolling marble and forged-steel lines.

Our bodies were a study in contrasts, his tanned hardness and my creamy softness like
y
in and
y
ang, opposites that fit seamlessly together, complementing and completing.

His eyebrows knitted together in a frown for a second, and then he pulled back. “Blank page?”

Here we go. Time to talk.

“Yes.” The less I said, the better. Especially right now when I was spread out for Liam, wetter than a beach after a hurricane and needy. So needy. Wanting release and wild cries and frantic thrusts and—

“So no guy has ever—”

“No.”

“And the last guy you slept with was—”

“Was someone who never brought it up.”

Shaking his head slowly, he dispatched with my pants, leaving me breathless and wearing my boy shorts. His eyes combed over me, roaming with abandon and ownership, taking his time.

“The last guy you slept with was an ignorant dumbass.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “He certainly had his moments.”
I gave Liam a grinning wink. “But he isn’t hard on the eyes, that’s for sure.” Liam’s shoulder and back muscles rippled with movement as his fingers gained purchase under the silk of my panties and the rush of sensation turned me to liquid need.
 

“Let me make up for lost time, then, Charlotte,” Liam whispered as he bent down to kiss each inner thigh, butterfly kisses that made
my breath stop and go faster all at once, my pulse thready and wild. “I’ve gotten bolder as I’ve gotten older.”
 

His palms roamed from my calves to my knees, then made a slow ascent up my valley, parting my legs with a delicious touch, so worshipful, so inviting.

A
nd then, just as my inner thighs began to quiver of their own accord, he sat up, retracing his steps with his hands, settling them on my thighs, right above my knees.

“This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” I said in a voice too
dark and sultry to be mine. But it was.
 

“You’re naked and I’m not.” And with that he stood, unbuttoned his jeans, and swiftly made everything in balance again.

Oh, sweet merciful deity. The man standing a few feet from me was like a marble statue of male perfection come to hot-flesh life.
His shoulders were broad, hands on hips that had carved divots where the pelvic bone dipped inward and down, a happy trail of hair thickening just where
everything
thickened.
 

His cock stood high and hard, ready and wanting me.

I nearly came on the spot, so out of practice for this. Plenty of plastic substitutes for what stood in front of me, radiating want and demanding my eyes, had passed through my lips over the years as I’d worked to compartmentalize my sex drive into something best
managed
with via battery-powered love.

The scent of him filled the room, mixed with my own heady release of something animal and filled with pheromones and a craven, feral desire that turned me into nothing more than instinct and impulse.

And I liked it.

“Come here,” I commanded, and that was the last time he obeyed anything I said in bed, for he was thoroughly in charge as he covered me with those strong thighs, that tight ribcage, the mouth that demanded I take him seriously—and, soon, take him in—in lieu of words.

This was our language.

This was our atonement.

And it had to be enough. Right here, right now, in these hours that unfurled before us. The harsh morning light would bring a new reality. Some crevi
c
e in my mind knew that. Pushing all worries aside, I reveled in that which had no formed sound, no precise definitions, no semantics or grammar or order.

Unleashed, we took and licked and gripped and groped, his hands everywhere, mine as well, and then his hot mouth pulled back from mine, leaving me panting, until seconds later he was between my legs, murmuring something about the taste of sweet nectar.

“
You…oh…your mouth,” I whispered, the air pushed out of me by muscles that clenched and gripped, pulled and shivered with shock and ecstasy.
 

One finger slid inside me, then two, filling me with exquisite completion as his tongue played guitar riffs from ancient love songs on my red, swollen center, teasing melodies from my mouth that I’d never before uttered, but that burned into my heart for time immemorial.

Who knew that a mouth could speak so clearly yet not utter a single word?

A ballooning of everything inside, the warmth, the wetness, the spasms and the revelation of his skill, his attention, his determination to give and give and give all morphed into a shockwave, the rhythm he set with callused fingertips and perfect frets, a tongue that sought home and my body, so desperate for more making the tsunami hit without warning.

“Oh, what is this?” I cried out, his hand firm against my left hip as I tried to pull away. His mouth and fingers followed me as I buckled and thrust against him, fireworks turning to strangely colored visions behind my tightly closed eyelids, my hair wet and sticking to my mouth, my hands balled into fists that pulled at my sheets.

“Too much!” I insisted. He stopped for a mere second, his words barely perceptible.

“Never,” he answered. “Just ride with me, Charlotte. Ride with me.”

His mouth returned and electric bolts pounded through me, my body arching up in uncontrollable movements. I cried out his name like a prayer, certain in the knowledge that he wanted me, needed me, missed me as much as I did him.

My hands raked his shoulders and arms, the smaller ripples of tiny orgasms wrung from me receding as he moved his mouth to the inner dip of my hipbone, my navel, and up to my mouth where he shared the taste of me, giving me a lick of my own pleasure he’d elicited.

I tasted like a woman well satisfied.

Or…almost.

“
Next time will be better,” he said, kissing my cheekbone, brushing the sticky hair from my face.
 

“Better?” I choked. “That was amazing. No one’s ever—”

“You were tense,” he murmured in my ear. “I have wanted to do that with you for so long. To you. Hearing you call out my name as you came was the best sound I’ve heard in my entire life, Charlotte.”

N
ext time.

By all rights I should have been a rag doll, boneless and drained, but Liam’s mouth and what he could bring out of me made me eager, wanting to explore. Slow, undulating kisses led to my moving him so he was spread out before me, feet crossing the end of the bed, my hands memorizing the wonderland of his grown self.

His hands couldn’t stay off me,
gliding up and down my shoulders, my breasts, my torso, as I kissed my way from his mouth, down his chest, and then found my way to the happy part of the happy trail. My fingers closed over his thick shaft and he tensed and relaxed at the same time, a strange contradiction that gave me a sense of power so strong I felt my mouth water.
 

W
hich was perfect timing, because I lowered my mouth and the tight velvet sleeve of skin was a perfect match for my moist tongue. Liam groaned, making that sound that only a man deeply mired in bedroom play can make.

I’d forgotten how empowering this could be, how fun, how delightful, as my hand moved up and down his shaft slowly, achingly, teasing out his pleasure.

“Charlotte,” he hummed through clenched teeth, but
he
didn’t argue as I took him in, the tip hitting the back of my throat, making me grin. Bent over and tonguing him like this, I used my wetness as lube for my hand, stroking him and laving at the same time.

He stretched like a great, muscled beast in the throes of pleasure, and just as his thighs tensed, he stopped me.

“You do more of that and I’ll fill your mouth.”

“
What do you want?” I crooned.
 

“You, Charlotte.” He sat up and caressed my temple, sliding the hair back from my face, eyes completely and utterly devoted to me. His hand traced thrills of joy on my skin while his mouth said words I wanted so much to hear. Not all the words, but enough to be a gift.

“I want you, to be in you, to touch as much of me against you as I can. And I will,” he murmured against my arm as he kissed the soft skin of my inner elbow, tongue peeking out to taste me. He trailed more kisses down to my thigh and hip, then stopped, hands wandering like he had permission.

Which he did.

“You have something?” he asked. “Because I do, but it’s in my pants—”

I laughed, the kind of chuckle that comes from the satisfaction of a completely different joke having its punchline revealed.
Reaching across him, I opened my nightstand drawer. Liam popped one rosebud nipple in his mouth as I stretched over his body, his hands on my ribs, mouth going to town.