She studied him in silence, both assessing and delving deeper than any woman before. Why did he suddenly crave to spill his guts? His belly clenched. No. Some secrets were meant to be buried in the ground forever.
As usual, she surprised him by both her acceptance of his speech and her question.
“What is it whispering to you?”
His hand rubbed the side of his neck where the forked tongue stopped, curling around his ear. The skin beneath his leather wristbands itched and burned. How did she know? Wolfe swallowed and kept his voice steady. “Live.”
She never jerked back or reached for him. Her gaze flicked to his covered wrists as if she knew that was the key to his secrets but then she just nodded. That quiet understanding and acceptance of his one-word answer soothed him in a way nothing ever had. His body lit, and the hungry need to bury himself back in her sweetness shook him to the core. Without hesitation, she reached for him again, welcoming and opening her thighs.
He barely choked out the words. “No. You’re too sore.”
“Don’t care.” Her smile lit up her face with light and joy, transfixing him. “I feel alive when you’re inside me.”
Wolfe groaned, humbled by her generosity and ability to love so well. And because he was selfish, he took what she offered, fitting himself with a condom and pushing her slowly back into the mattress. Her wetness welcomed him as much as her arms wrapped around his neck, urging him on. With one slow slide he buried himself, shaking at the tightness and slick heat that gripped him mercilessly.
“Easy this time,” he whispered. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
Her hips bowed, and he began rocking himself in and out of her in tiny increments, easing himself into the ride. He pulled completely out to make sure the end of the barbell hit her clit, and she shuddered and groaned beneath him, surrendering.
Fierce possession streaked through him. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t belong to him; every inch of her skin was marked by his tongue or teeth or hands, and his name broke on her lips like a prayer, a litany, a melody. He pushed her higher, climbing along, not wanting the moment to ever end. Memorizing every pant, drop of sweat, and cry, he angled his hips and hit her G-spot, diving so deep and slow they became one. Her fingers clenched and her body opened fully, allowing him to do anything. With a low growl, he bit her neck and surged forward one last time, feeling her break around him in spasms that shook him to the core.
His own orgasm threatened sanity, clutching every muscle with a pleasure that scorched, and as his seed spilled inside her, Wolfe knew it was already too late for him, and he’d never be the same man again.
Instead of crying, he buried his face in her hair and let go.
Twenty-one
SHE HATED MORNINGS.
Genevieve rolled over and stared at the sun streaming through the windows. The scent of sex and man hit her hard, but the bed was empty. The impression of his head on the pillow and her sore body was the only evidence he’d left behind. She listened to the quiet. Probably snuck off at dawn when she was in a coma. Simpler that way. Time to recover, gain distance, and approach a rational conversation about a completely irrational, sex-driven night.
Crap.
Sadness hovered but she pushed it away. No. She’d promised herself not to mope over something he couldn’t give. Last night had shown her the depths of the man she’d always loved as a friend. Not his fault she now loved him in all ways. He believed he wasn’t enough for a full relationship, and she could take up the sacrifice and beat herself bloody by trying to convince him, but it wouldn’t work. Not in the end. After all, she’d learned love was also a choice.
Wolfe didn’t want to choose her. He was safer with his scars and his past buried, giving her a true friendship and everything he could possibly offer. But not his full heart. The quicker she understood the facts, accepted them, and tried to move on, the better.
But it wouldn’t be easy.
She rolled out of bed, wincing at the use of muscles rarely worked, but a deep satisfaction and pride coursed through her. He’d shown her what it was like to be wanted on a bone-deep level, wanted so badly nothing else mattered. It was a priceless gift and she wouldn’t forget it. She’d never accept anything less.
The shower felt like heaven, the hot spray loosening the tightness and washing away his scent. When she looked in the mirror, she gasped. Discolored marks on her neck. Bruises on her hips and thighs. Her nipples were sore, and every time she walked the spot between her legs ached. She’d been well used and loved. Damn, how cool.
Gen dressed in yoga pants and a white T-shirt, and twisted her hair up to dry naturally. Thank goodness it was Sunday. She’d recover, think, and lie low. She’d been hoping to meet with Izzy today, but didn’t feel up to it now. Izzy had seemed to soften since her wedding disaster, but still kept her distance. No, she’d reschedule when she felt a bit stronger and ready to fight to get back a relationship with her twin. Right now, she was too damn tired.
Gen reached the kitchen and began setting up the coffeepot.
The door opened.
She twisted around in surprise and met his gaze. He held two paper bags and juggled a cup holder. Wearing faded Levi’s and a black linen button-down, he looked fresh and comfortable. Only the lines around his eyes hinted at a lack of sleep. He hadn’t shaved. Stubble hugged his lips and jaw, giving him that sexy morning-after look that made her body wake up and beg for more play. Rich chocolate curls fell in disarray over his brow.
Oh, this was bad. Real bad. Because now she knew how soft his lips were. The delicious bite of his strong, white teeth. The intoxicating taste of his tongue against hers. A thousand memories of last night flashed before her, and her nipples tightened painfully while her thighs squeezed together in an effort to relieve the pressure.