Page 50 of Vengeance

“Forgot what?” His hand stills, suddenly worried.

“What it felt like to feel wanted by you again. To have you inside me.”

Licking his lips, he tastes the sweat from the workout of holding her weight this long. “Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no. I just want to savor this moment,” she says and kisses him.

Her tears taste salty, but his thumb moves on her again until her muscles clench around him. It may have been years since they last came together as man and woman, but he still remembers everything about her. About her body and about her soul. How she loves to be touched and kissed and manhandled, like now, while other times she wants slow and sensual. Her tears caught him off-guard because the only time she ever cried during sex was when she was a pregnant wash of hormones.

Knowing she’s close, he moves his hips, deciding to savor this because it may very well be the last time he has her again. That he has the woman he loves in his arms, moaning, while he makes her come. At the very least, he can make sure the last time they’re together is better than the time before.

“Dallas!” she screams and clenches him.

Her body shakes in his arms, and her muscles bring him to the edge. Two more thrusts and he pulls out to come on the floor. He lets her feet touch the ground, but he doesn’t let go of her. Not yet. He wants to hold her for just a few more moments.

“Am I getting too heavy for this?” Kimberly asks as she peppers his face with kisses.

“I’m just a little out of practice,” he says and shuffles them to the table, his jeans the movement difficult.

A happy smirk appears on her tear-stained face. “I guess you’re not taking women against walls often anymore, huh?”

It sounds like fishing for information. Information she could just ask him, and he’d honestly tell her.

“I don’t take many women in general,” he says as he sets her on the top of the table and rests his hands on either side of her hips. “No one compares to you, Kimmy.”

“No one is you, either, Dallas.”

“Not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy that, but I think it’s time we talk about what this is.”

Her eyes avoid his. “What do you want it to be?”

“What?”

“Do you want it to be one last fuck for old times’ sake?”

“No, baby, that’s not how this works. You came in here knowing what you wanted. You took it, and I’m never unhappy after being inside you, but you gotta tell me where your head’s at.”

“If it was a one-time thing, would you be mad?”

His hand lifts to grab her chin and forces her to look at him. “Mad?”

“Would you hate me?”

“Even when I hated you, I never really did. I can’t hate you.”

“What would you feel?”

Chicago pulls back and pulls his jeans up. “What?”

“If this was a one-time thing, what would you feel?”

This feels like a trap. A very large trap. “Honestly?”

“No, lying seems like a good idea while we’re being open and honest and just fucked each other against the Chapel wall,” she says, her sarcasm thick.

Sarcasm. It comes out when she’s angry or feeling vulnerable. Assuming she isn’t angry, he suspects she feels vulnerable. She came inside the clubhouse, and she admitted she wanted to know if he meant the things he said. If he still wants her and never stopped.

“I’d be disappointed,” Chicago says, deciding she needs him to be as raw as she feels.

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