Confessions in the Dark (15 page)

Shifting, spreading her legs, she rubbed all her slick, hot flesh over the bare length of him, and he wanted nothing more than to claim her. To press inside and fill her up, but—

“Condom,” he grunted out.

She shook her head. “Don't need one, I promise. I'm safe. I—”

His whole mind went white with static.

Bare. She wanted him to fuck her bare, and he was helpless. Nodding, he got a hand around himself to angle his cock.

The shout he made was punched clear out of him. She sank down on him like it was nothing, and she was an inferno, slick, hot silk consuming him, burning him to ash, and he didn't care.

Why had he been denying himself this?

Insane with it, he pulled her to his mouth and kissed his gratitude and his pleasure and his absolute adoration into her breath. She rose and fell over him in tiny rocking motions that kept him so goddamn deep, grinding her clit against him with every stroke, and he was breathless, wordless,
boneless
.

“What?” she asked, scraping her teeth across his lip. “Not going to tell me how good I feel now?”

Did he even remember how to speak English?

“Perfect,” he babbled. “Hot and tight, Christ, you're so wet, so perfect.” He bent his good knee to get his foot flat on the mattress, and it was enough leverage to thrust up into her. A whole new level of intensity burst through him with the longer slide. He slipped his hand over her breast, and fuck, why were they still clothed, but he could worry about that later. Get her naked
later
because he was fucking her now, and she was fucking him right back. He curled a possessive hand around her thigh and urged her higher. “Harder,” he begged, “need it, need you.”

She lifted up and he slammed into her, and then it was both of them chasing the edge of oblivion. She made the same sweet noises against his lips as she had when he'd been licking her pussy—close, she had to be close.

“Can you come again for me, beautiful? Want to feel you.” He got his thumb between them, digging at the hot pearl of her clit, rough flickering strokes that had her clenching around him. “Come on my cock, let me hear you—”

She rode him ever harder, and he held his breath. Every piece of him tightened, released a screaming pressure that beat against the walls of his restraint until with a wail she ground down into his thumb. Her whole body seemed to seize, voice breaking into a chanting of his name, and that was it.

The last thread of his control cleaved clean in two. Holding her in place, he fucked up into her, a half-dozen shimmering thrusts, her hot flesh pulsing through the echoes of her climax, and then the black haze of it was there, right
there
—

“Going to...in you...”

“Yes,” she groaned, “Cole.”

Pleasure burst across the closed darkness behind his eyes. His every nerve sang with it as he emptied into her. Throwing his head back, clasping her so tightly to him, like he would never lose her, like he could keep this forever, he gave her everything.

And let himself slip into a world where he could imagine that was enough.

S
erena woke up gradually, emerging from the dreamy haze of sleep, rolling over and rubbing at her eyes. Sunlight filtered in from behind the blinds she'd apparently forgotten to close the night before, and the bed was deliciously warm. Burrowing back down, she pulled the covers around her shoulders and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the hint of soreness in her muscles.

But then it all came back to her in a rush of heat—the reason she'd forgotten to draw her blinds. The reason why she was so sore. She shot up, blinking her eyes open as the too-bright world around her swam.

Cole. She patted the other side of the bed only to find it cold, and a sliver of ice formed behind her ribs.

He was supposed to be here. He'd finally broken down, that wall he kept around himself crumbling before her eyes, and then he'd given in. He'd kissed her. Her whole body tingled with the rush of sense-memory, and she dragged her fingertips over her lips just to remind herself it had been real. He'd put his mouth on her and made her come and
made love to her
.

She dropped her head into her hands. She'd given him a toothbrush, for God's sake. Stripped down to his boxers and an undershirt and the brace around his knee, he'd curled around her, holding her as she'd drifted off into the deepest, most perfect sleep she'd had...maybe
ever
. And okay, he hadn't actually said that he would stay, but she hadn't been crazy to assume.

Unless she had been. Her heart gave a panging little squeeze. She'd pushed again, hadn't she? The man was clearly still in mourning, and— Oh God. What if he hadn't been ready? What if he regretted it—or worse, blamed her? She'd just been trying to offer him a little comfort.

And in the process, she'd taken exactly what she'd wanted from him all along.

Her eyes stung, and she punched at the mattress hard. Stupid. This wasn't about her. She should've checked in with him more, should've asked him if he'd even wanted to stay at all. He'd seemed so into it, though. He'd seemed to want her.

When her lip threatened to wobble, she'd officially had enough. Flopping back down, she buried her face in her pillow and let herself have one frustrated scream. Then she'd pick herself up and march her way to his apartment. She'd make sure he was okay, and she wouldn't press, and if he didn't want this after all, she'd...well. She'd be devastated, but she'd accept it gracefully and then she'd come back down and have herself a good little self-pitying cry.

Nodding to herself, she dragged her face back out of the pillow.

And just about went out of her skin at the soft knocking at her bedroom door. A deep voice rang out. “Serena?”

Or he could totally still be here and she could be having a melodramatic fit.

“One second,” she called out, racing to catch her breath. She launched herself out of bed, skidding to a stop on the hardwood in front of her mirror. Her hair was a fright, but she raked her fingers through it the best she could. The tank top and shorts she'd gone to bed in were her least unfortunate ones, and he'd already seen her in them at this point, so there wasn't much sense freaking out about them.

Turning, she grabbed her robe off the back of the door and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Wrapping the tie around her waist, she squeezed her eyes shut for half a second to try to get some sort of composure.

Ugh, it wasn't any use. She was
giddy
as she flung the door open.

And there he was. In an undershirt and his dress slacks from the night before, cheeks dark with stubble, his always messy hair a fraction worse than usual, and she adored it.

“You're here,” she said, breathless, and she could have slapped herself.

But the line of his mouth lifted into the most beautiful smile. “I am.” He glanced past her toward the rumpled mess she'd left of her bed. “You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you.”

“I wouldn't have minded.” Her face flashed warm. She wouldn't have minded at all. She was usually an early riser anyway, and waking in his arms, held safe against the warm solid bulk of his chest...

Maybe rolling over into soft, perfect morning kisses, him hard against her, broad hands sliding up her thighs toward her hips...

She was snapped out of the fantasy when his smile wavered. “Are you all right? I thought I heard...”

Right. Because instead of morning kisses, she'd woken to a big fat load of morning panic. Her flush deepened, but it wasn't a sexy flush, this time. Caught off guard, she cast about for any kind of a reasonable explanation for the noise she'd made, but came up blank.

Fortunately, she was saved when a whiff of something
amazing
reached her nose. Her eyebrows rose. “Did you cook?”

He shrugged. “I couldn't sleep.”

He passed it off as casual, but the way he said it made it sound like that wasn't exactly something new for him. She paused. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord, reaching out to touch his chest, and she almost stopped herself. But she could do that now—touch him when she wanted to. After last night, she could probably do a whole lot more. The headiness of it was a rush after so much time spent holding back.

Watching his reaction, she let her palm settle over his heart. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Her concerns this morning might have been overblown, but they hadn't been unwarranted. He'd been through a lot last night.

Curling his fingers around her wrist, he let out a long breath that made his ribs rise and fall. “I am, actually. Better than, even.” The corner of his lips twitched, like there was more he had to say, but he thought better of it. Taking her hand in his, he tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on. You must be famished.”

She was, actually.

It only struck her as she fell into step behind him that he was using just one crutch. “How's your knee?”

“Dreadful,” he said, all cheer, and there was definitely a limp to his step, but he didn't seem to be letting it hold him back.

She frowned, but whatever protest she might have made got lost as she turned the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes went wide. “Wow.”

When she couldn't sleep, she read or did crossword puzzles. Apparently, Cole power-baked. The little table in the corner was covered in what looked like scones and maybe even some cinnamon rolls and she didn't even know what else. Half a dozen batches, at least.

Letting go of his hand, she stepped forward. “When did you wake up?”

“A few hours ago. I have a hard time sometimes, and...” He trailed off.

“And?” she prompted, glancing back at him.

His throat bobbed. “And we may have dredged up a few things last night.”

She turned around at that, the table full of sweets forgotten. Cole was leaning against the doorway, his one crutch tucked under his arm. There was something tired about him, though the shadows under his eyes weren't exactly new. But the signs of fatigue weren't what really stuck out to her.

He looked...looser somehow. Less weighed down.

“I...,” he started, before closing his mouth and beginning again. “What happened to Helen. I've never talked about it before.”

Serena's heart skipped a beat. “Never?”

“No.”

He flexed his jaw, and something inside her ached. Approaching slowly, she crossed the space to him. She put her hand over his, stroking the points of his knuckles with her thumb. A little of the strain seemed to seep out of him.

“I'm glad you told me.”

“I'm glad you made me.” He flicked his gaze to hers, a softness creeping over his expression. “Serena, I—”

And she wasn't sure she was ready for this. Whatever he was about to say, the gravity to his tone made the air around them go silent and still. She braced herself.

“Last night. It was a gift. A treasure.” He intertwined their hands, linking them. Making her hope that maybe the
but
that was hanging on the air wasn't about to come down on her head. “I don't deserve you.”

“Don't—”
Don't do this. Don't walk away.

The piercing darkness of his eyes robbed her of her voice. “But I want to. So badly.”

Her throat went dry. He didn't have to deserve her. Love didn't work like that. She shook her head, only for him to slip his hand from hers and reach up, cupping her jaw to still her.

“I don't know what there is left of me to give,” he said. “But I want to give it to you.” He swallowed wetly. “I want to try.”

It was all she needed to hear. Vision blurring, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hauling him close. The heat of his palm came to settle at the small of her back, and he leaned into her. Burying his face against her neck, he held her close, and it was everything she hadn't dared to hope for.

Blinking back the tears that clung from her lashes, she laughed. “I'd like that.”

She'd love that.

She'd love
him
. She'd love him until all the hurting pieces in him healed over, and then she'd just love him some more.

When he pulled back, she mirrored him, letting enough space between them so he could lean down. The touch of his lips to hers was like the sun rising inside her, and she opened to him, drinking in the light.

With a rough exhalation, he broke away. It was too intense, the way he gazed into her eyes. The grip of his hand at her side.

“I want to be so good to you, Serena.”

Only she heard the doubt inside that affirmation. A shadow of a cloud passed over the sun, and she fought to suppress her shiver at the sudden chill. Dropping her gaze to his mouth, she drew him in for another kiss.

Doubt was a thing for another time and another day. For now, he wanted to give her everything. He wanted to be good to her, and that was enough. If he couldn't...

Well. At least they got to have this. For now.

H
ow many times had Serena's mother warned her that she should be careful what kind of face she made, because it just might get stuck that way? Sure, she'd been trying to get Serena to stop sticking her tongue out at the time, but the phrase had taken on a whole new meaning today.

Serena. Could. Not. Stop. Smiling.

With the exception of Sunday dinner with the family, she'd spent the entire weekend with Cole. So much of their acquaintance thus far had been fraught with these confessions in the dark, but for that little, beautiful pocket of time, the shadows had receded. Maybe it was simply that they'd traumaed themselves out. Maybe they'd both been ready for some time to just
be
, watching movies in their pajamas and eating all the amazing things he'd baked in his insomnia.

Maybe it was all the sex.

A tickle of heat licked along her spine, and her smile turned positively goofy as she parked in one of the visitor spots at Upton, gathered up her bundle, and got out.

God, that man. She'd thought their first time had been incredible, and it had been. Filthy and revelatory and delicious, but he'd only just been getting started. If she'd known all the things he could do with his tongue when she'd met him...she still would've had to keep her hands to herself until he was ready. But she wasn't sure how she would have done it.

Someone else was coming out of the administrative building just as Serena was walking in. She shifted her bag to her other hand and got the door, her grin just about breaking her face. Ugh. This was going to become a problem at some point. Already today she'd let her kids get away with way more than she normally would have, but you try disciplining a misbehaving middle schooler with an idiotic sex grin stamped on your face.

And seriously, if a room full of preteens couldn't kill her smile, nothing could. Not even...

“Mrs. Cunningham.” Serena waved in greeting as she strode into the office, and nope. Not even that sour grinch could get her down today. “How are you?”

Mrs. Cunningham glowered. “Not as well as you, it would seem.” She glanced over Serena's shoulder. “Your friend didn't accompany you today?”

She was going to have to give Cole a hard time about that later. Apparently, he'd made quite the impression. For now, though, she shook her head as she made her way to the desk. “Just me.”

“Pity.” Okay, maybe this woman was going to be able to dampen Serena's mood after all. “It's a coincidence you should happen to stop by. Mr. Trousseau mentioned that he'd like to have a word with you.”

Never mind. If anything, Serena's smile widened. God, her face actually hurt. “He did?”

“Indeed.” She waved toward the rear of the office. “You can go on through.”

Serena could have kissed that ugly mug. Somehow, she refrained.

With a whole new lightness in her step, she headed on back. Just before Grayson's door, she paused, taking a deep breath before she stepped up and knocked.

At the first rap of her knuckles, he looked away from his screen. “Serena.”

Oh, this was fantastic. Maybe he'd pulled Max's file. Maybe he'd been impressed. “Grayson.”

“Have a seat.”

Serena hesitated. This wasn't quite the same warm man who'd danced with her half the night a couple of days ago. On the surface, nothing had changed. He was as impeccably dressed and as proper, but his expression was cooler.

“Okay.” A flash of nerves skittered up her arms. She pulled out one of the chairs in front of his desk all the same, refusing to let a little anxiety blow itself out of proportion in her mind. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her Tupperware. “Blueberry scone? Homemade.”

Not by her, but technically true.

“No. Thank you.”

“Oh.” Deflating another fraction, she returned the container to its bag and set both on the ground by her feet. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Mrs. Cunningham said you were hoping to speak with me?”

“Yes. I didn't expect to see you so soon, though. You'll excuse me for being unprepared.” The way he said it wasn't helping her unease.

“I was just in the neighborhood.”

“Right.” Grayson straightened in his chair. His gaze was so serious as he turned the full power of it on her. “About that.”

“Yes?”

“You and Dr. Stafford made quite the impression the other night, as I'm sure you're aware. So I asked around a bit about you and your prospective. Max.”

This was it. “Oh?”

“He's a strong candidate, I have to admit. We'll need to see how his admission scores come in, but based on his other application materials, I can't see any reason why he wouldn't be a good fit here.”

A bubble of relief popped in Serena's lungs. “He's such a great kid, and I think his exams are going to go great. He's been working so hard. If you knew how important this was to him.”

“I'm wondering how important this is to
you
,” he said, and that stopped her short.

“Excuse me?”

Something in his expression softened. It was almost too kind.

Oh damn. This was going to be bad.

“Serena. Did you know that Mrs. Cunningham has been keeping track of how many times you've ‘stopped in' over the last few months? She's asked the other office personnel to do so as well.”

“Oh.” A numbness buzzed in her gut.

“They appreciate your culinary talents, and the school is grateful for your support at our annual benefit.”

“Of course.”

“But.” And there it was. There was always a
but
. He tilted his head to the side. Oh no. Was that
pity
in his eyes? “I need to make sure this is absolutely clear. Our decision about your nephew's admission cannot be contingent on your...generosity.”

The numbness spread. “Oh.”

“The treats for the office staff. The visits. The benefit tickets, even. They can't have any sway.”

One lone flicker of anger curled through the gray fog settling over her. Generosity? If she'd bought them a new building, this would be a very different conversation, indeed. “I understand.”

“Then you'll understand if I insist that you refrain from additional visits in the future.”

Her stomach sank into her toes. “You're banning me?”

“Not at all. In fact...” He reached over to pull a business card from the holder on the corner of his desk. “This is my direct number. If you have any questions about the admissions process or about the status of Max's application, I invite you to contact me personally.”

“But you don't want me to come by anymore.”

“Not without a reason. Not if your intention is to sway our decision.” He extended his hand with the card a little farther until she moved to take it. He clasped her palm in his. “I'm sorry to put this so bluntly. It's nothing personal. But we need to remain impartial. Surely you understand.”

Her throat threatened to close. “Of course.”

An ugly sort of a laugh clogged her lungs. And here she thought she'd been helping. She'd thought she was doing so well.

She closed her fingers around the card, pulling her arm back as she rose. As an afterthought, she grabbed the bag of baked goods from the floor. Heaven forbid he thought she had left it on purpose. One last-ditch effort to bribe him into letting her kid in.

“I'm sorry to have taken up everyone's time,” she said, hating the edge she couldn't quite keep out of her tone.

Grayson stood as she retreated to the door. “It was lovely to have the chance to see you again, Serena.”

She wished she could say the same. The smile she hadn't been able to get rid of deserted her entirely now. All the acknowledgment she could manage was a nod and a little wave.

She was just so embarrassed.

With her head down and her shoulders tight, she took a back set of hallways out of the building. The last thing she needed right now was Mrs. Cunningham's gloating.

She retreated to her car and locked her doors before giving up. She slumped forward until her brow touched the steering wheel. A helpless, useless feeling made her clench her hands hard.

There was just so little she could do for Max. That kid deserved the world, and he'd gotten the short straw so many times. Between his absentee mom—who Serena still hadn't heard from since that awful dressing room phone call—and his apparently terrible math teachers and the kids who were giving him such a hard time at his neighborhood school, he was due for something good.

Serena'd been doing her best to give it to him. But it seemed she couldn't do anything right for him at all.

Cole was going to tear his bloody clock off the wall.

Scowling, he refocused on the columns of figures he'd scribbled out across the page. He was close to something, he was sure. For nearly a year now, he'd been chewing at this theory of his, and he'd had a breakthrough that morning. If he could only concentrate, he might even have something publishable soon. That'd show Barry—it would show everybody at his old university who'd written him off as washed up and done.

Except, for the umpteenth time, his gaze strayed back to the minute hand as it crept closer and closer to the twelve, and this was
ridiculous
. Serena wasn't due back at any particular time. Yet here he was, sitting by the window like a damned spaniel waiting for her to come home, watching the seconds tick by in his overeagerness to see her. It was embarrassing was what it was.

It took his breath away, it felt so good.

His routine, the rigid timetable of meals and work and exercise that he'd relied on for all these years—it had gone out the window the moment he'd hurt himself, and then the shattered remains of the fall had been set on fire in Serena's wake. She'd given him something to care about, injecting life into his days. And into his nights now, too.

His pulse picked up, and he drummed the end of his pen against his knee at the coiling that seemed to happen in his blood. It was arousal at the thought of her, of how she'd felt rocking over him in the pale, damp light of dawn that morning. The feel of all those curves beneath his hands.

It was a sense of foreboding so strong he could scarcely breathe.

The plastic casing of his pen creaked beneath his grip, and he exhaled roughly as he let it go. He knew better than to let his thoughts wander down that road. Even if he was still harboring doubts about what kind of partner he could be for her, he'd been honest, at least. She knew he wasn't a whole man or a safe man. She wanted him anyway. And that was probably the hardest part of it all to believe.

Outside, the sound of a car door slamming drew him back to the here and now. His gaze went again, unerringly, to the clock—nearly a quarter to five. Well within the range of when she usually got home on days she didn't have Max. Twisting around in his seat, he glanced out the window, down at the street below. And there she was.

He was up and grabbing for his crutch in a heartbeat. It was the height of rudeness not to call or text before heading straight down. She'd just had a long day at work. She might be tired, might want to unwind. Might want a bloody minute to herself before her fucked-up hermit of a lover went stumbling down the stairs, near-mad for her presence and her touch.

Selfish.
But even that rebuke didn't slow him down.

The stairs did, though. Gripping the banister with one hand and his crutch with the other, he gritted his teeth. His bad leg had been getting stronger, and even more rapidly in just the couple of days since he'd started adjusting to the single crutch. It still protested taking his whole weight, but he was able to give it more and more every day.

He stopped short before hopping down the first step. Maybe...

Recalling how he'd practiced this with his therapist, he tested stepping down with his bad leg leading. Leaning into the railing and his crutch before shifting forward, and...Huh. It barely gave a twinge. He took the next stair a fraction faster, and this was still a snail's pace to the way he'd used to storm down half a flight at a time on his way to his morning runs, but it was better. He grinned as he turned the corner of the landing.

The front door to the building creaked as it swung open and closed, and it was followed by the jangling of keys, the snap of a postbox. At the echoing thuds of footfalls on the stairs, Cole quickened his pace. But even with his head start, Serena beat him to her apartment. He rounded the corner to find her searching through her keys. She looked over her shoulder, and his heart sped, all his doubts falling away. Except...

He frowned, pausing halfway down the final flight. The woman he'd seen off that morning had been
giddy
, practically glowing from within.

A cloud formed over his head. “What happened?”

Sighing, she turned away. She got her door unlocked and stepped on through without a backward glance. For a second he worried she'd close the door behind her, shutting him out. But she didn't. He descended the last few steps and limped his way into her apartment. Still not speaking, she hung up her keys and dropped the contents of her pockets into the little ceramic bowl on her entryway table. She set down her schoolbag. And then, right beside it, a paper shopping bag. The same paper shopping bag she'd left with that morning. His furrowed his brows as he peered into it. The container he'd packed at her request was still full.

He glanced at her in question. “Serena?” His throat bobbed. “Love?”

All the fight seemed to go out of her at once. Casting her jacket aside, she collapsed into a corner of her couch and draped her arm across her eyes. Her chest heaved with the force of her sigh, and he wasn't going to be distracted by that. He wasn't.

Swallowing back the prickle of heat thrumming under his skin, he closed the door behind himself and crossed the half dozen feet toward her. Tension radiated off of her. Tension and disappointment, and once upon a time, he'd known what to do about that kind of thing. Gingerly, he dropped down to sit beside her, placing a questioning hand on her knee.