Page 52 of Secondhand Secrets

“Ally.”

There came that whisper again. The one that burrowed deep into her heart and brought a solid thump to her chest, his fingertips tilting her chin up so that her lips aligned better to his. “Please.”

And even as his forehead met hers, she slammed her eyes shut and surrendered, hooking her arms around his neck—every breathtaking second bringing an awareness that she became evermore reliant on him.

She would have to let him go. And one day soon. Oh, but he was here now. Temporarily hers.

She would take what she could get, and what she got was the hard crush of his lips while she drank him in hungrily and cursed her lack of control.

His kiss drank her in too. His arms holding her to his impossibly firm body, the jut of his excitement pressed against her inner thigh and obliterating any doubt that he dominated the moment. Just as he had last time.

He can’t be the only one leaving scars.

No, she would claim her piece of him too.

She bunched his pale blue shirt and pushed the fabric higher over rigid contours and the heat of his skin.

He obliged her exploration, helping with the task of lifting the shirt past his head, only to return to his habit of matching her every effort, his fingertips brushing her exposed waist and sending sharp pangs of need throughout her entire body.

He pulled at her shirt, tossing it to the couch’s armrest, his frantic gaze darting over her short skirt and sheer pink bra—like he didn’t know where to focus, only that he worked of pure instinct—even as he caught her again and unleashed another onslaught of kisses.

Never having felt so wanted, she moaned at his unbridled desire for her and slipped her head back, making room on her neck for his mouth, her nerves bursting to life the moment he yielded to her request.

In return, she offered the surrender that he wanted, melting at the sweep of his open palm over the bare skin between her breasts, enclosing her legs around him.

But then she remembered her vow. That he couldn’t be the only one here leaving scars. So she straightened and quit melting, setting about staking her claim of him too. Starting with the front of his jeans, where she ignored the burn of his gaze in her periphery, and worked his button open.

“Ally?”

She pushed the heavy denim down his hips until she had him free and heavy in her hand, only then did she allow him contact with her direct gaze.

His eyes slammed shut, and she rewarded his compliance with one firm, long tug at his length, his head tilting back and his shoulders dropping, as though a measure of his strength left.

She hooked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in, her lips finding home at the center of his Adam’s apple. While he sighed at her touch, she sighed at the scent of him, all masculine heat and musk, paired with the salty, crispness of his cologne.

In time, her breaths turned ragged, and she sought control with a push at his shoulders, directing him to take a seat on the couch where she climbed atop him.

There, she allowed her kiss to wander from the edge of his jaw to the edge of his collarbone, all while his hands slid in rough movements up her thighs, under her skirt until his fingers curled at the waist of her underwear, signifying for her to stand so he could strip her.

She let him have that small win, and the wisp of soft lace brushed her legs before hitting the floor, though he left her skirt on—his victory only lasting as long as she took to kneel before him.

She caught the sharp surge of his excitement in her hand, hot and hard, her every nerve humming from the power trip of having him so completely caught and at her command. She drew closer, intending to have him in her mouth, only for his grip to hit her shoulders.

“Stop.” He lifted her up, and the wide look in his eyes conveyed the same concern she’d held earlier.

Too much. And in a partnership, dripping with uncertainty. As though he worked to avoid the absolute truth that, once experienced, certain things could not be taken back.

A distinct ache wrapped around her heart, and she nodded, easing back. Agreeing to help him dampen the pain they would both have to deal with later.

He caught his pants from the floor and rummaged through the pocket, soon producing a condom and slipping the pack into her hand. His quiet stare acknowledged her disappointment, before he pulled her in for a heart-wrenchingly tender kiss. His compensation for playing safe.

Even as he kissed her, his fingers curled in a desperate hold at the nape of her neck, but she inched back and held his gaze, taking a moment to bring his beauty and perfection into focus.

In that instant, the space beneath her ribcage swelled, as did the muscles in her throat. She was trapped in this tiny room with her childhood friend, his light touch to her bare tummy sending an overwhelming thrill through her entire body, another reminder of exactly who she shared this moment with.

She slammed her eyes shut, the first to kiss him this time while tearing at the silver packet in her hand. He helped her blind attempt to roll the condom down his length, his other hand shifting her onto his lap and above him. Soon, his lips caressed the base of her throat, and his hands pressed her hips down, the breath of his whisper stroking her skin. “Ride me.”

She groaned at what was both an order and an expression of desire, savored the lead of his touch on her hips, his hot girth slowly filling and stretching her, her fingertips curling into his chest in mutual punishment.

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