Page 76 of I Almost Do

There's a hitch in his movements before he recovers. "Where do you want to go?"

I shrug. "It doesn't really matter. I just think it would be good to take some time away."

He nods, but his mouth is tight. "Are you sure you're up to traveling?"

That makes me laugh. "I'm fully recovered. I promise. Right as rain."

Again with the doubtful eyes. Then he opens his stupid mouth and says, "You should take Sydney with you. Tequila Bronwyn is a menace. The two of them can balance each other out."

I set down my fork and push away from the counter. My feelings are hurt. Maybe when I analyze it all later, I'll decide I'm overreacting. That this isn't another rejection.

But I amtiredof him sending me away with other people.

He watches me with a frown as I clear my place setting with jerky movements.

When I finish, I see him still watching me, wary-eyed, but also… torn. Like he'd give me what I wanted if he only knew what that was.

He swivels his seat toward me as I approach. So I scootch right up to him, in between the V of his thighs. I sigh inwardly at the sensation of just being close to James. I'm touch-starved right now. And even the heat from his body and the smell of his cologne are enough to make me want to just fall into him and hang on.

At my approach, James somehow tenses and relaxes at the same time.

He brings his hands under my shirt to rest against the bare skin of my waist. And just that—just his hands—stirs the most intense yearning inside me. It's not just a longing for sex; it's the need to feel close. To love him and be loved.

I cup his face and kiss him. He hesitates for long moments, not kissing me back but actively receiving mine. His hands clench tight against my skin. And when I start to pull away, he hauls me back against him, lifts one of his hands to wrap around the back of my skull, and devours me.

29

Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Clarissa

Iclutchathisshoulders as he drags me closer. His hands are moving now, not content to remain where they started. He lifts me so I'm straddling him, dragging my T-shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. Then his mouth is back on mine.

I can taste the wine he was drinking with dinner. The spice of his cologne and the clean, masculine scent of his shampoo fill my senses.

He showered after working out, so he's dressed in a gray T-shirt and black track pants. I slide my hands down and then up under his shirt, pressing against the hot silk of his skin. I drag my palms up, reveling in the differences between us. The hardness of him. The way that line of hair below his belly buttonbeckonsme.

James has my bra off before I even realize what he's doing. Then his mouth is on my breast, teasing and tormenting. I prop myself up by standing on the rung of the kitchen stool so I can reach between us and palm his cock through his track pants. Even through the fabric, I can feel his length, hot and thick, and I want it anywhere and any way I can have it.

"Pull these down," I say, trying to tug at his waistband.

He shudders and stiffens, freezing. He's fighting with himself. I can see it.

So I don't say a word. I don't move. I wait for his decision patiently, quietly, as if this moment doesn't mean everything.

He stands, holding me up by my ass. Then he turns and, using one arm to shove the remainder of our meal aside, lays me down on the counter. My eyes flare with giddy arousal, and I burst out in a surprised peal of laughter when he drags my shorts and panties down my legs,smellsmy panties, and then stuffs them in his pocket.

But James doesn't smile back. His expression is dead serious when he yanks his pants down, revealing his rock-hard cock. The head is almost purple, a bead of clear liquid pearling at the tip.

I reach for him, but he takes my hand and sucks my fingers into his mouth. And my heart sinks, even as the swirl of his tongue ramps up my arousal. Because I know what this is. It's just a variation—a sexy variation, but still, it's the same thing we'd already been doing before my surgery.

He guides my fingers to my own pussy, then jacks his cock over me. And I can't do it. I don't want to touch myself when he's right here.

So I sit up and grab fistfuls of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. He props one hand on the counter while he grips his cock with the other and stops moving. He stands there, breathing hard, blue eyes on fire.

I move my hands to his face, pulling his mouth toward mine. "No, it's okay. Keep going. We don't have to…. Just kiss me. I just need you to kiss me."

He does. He stands between my spread thighs and kisses me with a raw carnality that both owns and cherishes while he pumps his own cock, never, ever letting it touch my body. He comes on my stomach and breasts with a grunt, and I mutter against his mouth, over and over, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

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