Page 53 of Take Hold of Me

He begins, “Listen, I want to apologize for last night.”

“Shh,” I say, placing my finger on his lips and hoping he is referring to his nightmare and not what preceded it. “You cannot control your dreams.”

In a flat voice, he replies, “I hurt you.”

“You did not. You would not. I honestly believe that, Wills. I trust you with my life.” I touch his forearm.

He jumps at our point of contact. Swallowing, his gaze rakes me from head to toe, taking in my jeans, my midriff-baring pink shirt and nude pumps. “You shouldn’t.” His tone is more like a question.

I rub my hand up and down his arm, relishing the goosebumps that form on it. “But I do.”

His mouth opens and closes. “Fuck.” He grabs me by the waist. “I can’t resist you,” he growls as he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he brings us toward the sofa.

His mouth covers mine on the short walk, the frenzy of his tongue driving my hunger. He deposits my feet on the floor and turns me so my hips are aligned with the sofa’s arm. “Pull your jeans and panties down, Ems.” My hands are only too willing to rush to do his bidding, while the rustling of his shorts tells me he is doing the same.

Naked from the waist down, I step out of my pumps and kick my clothing aside. “Put the shoes back on,” his plea is whispered directly into my ear. I immediately comply to the sound of a foil packet opening.

His arms encircle at my waist, his right-hand dipping down to test my readiness. If I could find my words, I would have let him know I was instantly wet when he opened the door for me. Instead, I moan.

“God, you’re fucking amazing.” He kisses my back and guides me to bend over the arm. His knee comes between my legs and his cock rubs all around my sex. “So hot.” He lines himself up with me and enters my body.

“Wills,” I manage, pushing backwards.

In this position, I can do little more than accept everything he gives to me. I reach my arm back, grabbing onto his butt and relishing how his glutes flex with every thrust into my body. I turn my head upward and his lips crash down on mine again. Our tongues mimic what our bodies are doing. The shimmer of an orgasm begins from deep within me, causing me to break the kiss.

“That’s it, Ems.”

His passion-filled voice is my undoing. My body explodes around him, forcing an incoherent scream to leave my lips. Wills thrusts into me once more and stills. He roars as he spills into me.

Soon, too soon, he kisses the back of my neck and pulls back. I test my legs until I am sure they will support my weight. I watch him tie off the condom and head to the bathroom, then he returns to my side wearing his shirt and a smirk. “Those pumps blow my mind.”

“They are not called ‘fuck me pumps’ for nothing.” Our laughs fill the room, all thoughts of nightmares banished. For now.

A while later, we lie together in his bed. Placing my hand on his chest, I play with the chain around his neck, kissing here and there. My tongue outlines the tattoo over his heart. He has another one on his bicep, which I saw last night when he carried me into my suite.

“You are amazing, have I told you that?” As he speaks, he tangles his legs with mine, holding me in place. Always seeking control. Or to hold his demons at bay.

Banishing that last thought, I reply, “Only about one-hundred times last night, but I never will tire of hearing that from your mouth. And you, Wills, are more than I ever could have imagined.” Everything I learn about this man pulls me deeper and deeper under his thrall. From his pain to his perseverance. “Tell me the stories behind your tattoos.”

He studies me for a long moment and tucks my head under his chin. “This one,” he taps my hand on his chest, “is a stylized Zodiac symbol for Gemini, my sign. It also was my sister’s.”

He does not say anything more. I lean back from his body and take a long look at the symbol gracing his pectoral muscle. Gemini, meaning “twins.” I inhale. “Was your sister also…”

“My twin. Yes.”

“You said she was your younger sister.”

“By three minutes.”

My heart suspends beating. Twins have so much in common that they do not share with others—I have twin cousins and have seen it first-hand. He lost his other half. Warmth rushes through my body that has nothing to do with the passion we shared overnight. “Oh, Wills, I am doubly sorry.”

He swallows, his arms coming around my body. This is not a passionate embrace, and I return it, trying to provide some measure of comfort to this complicated, sweet, wonderful man.

“Did you two look alike? I mean, I know you were fraternization twins and all, but did you share any attributes?”

His swift bark of laughter catches me off-guard. “That’s ‘fraternal twins,’ Ems.” He laughs again. Laughter while talking about such a sad subject must be good. I file the correct term away, not even fully understanding or feeling embarrassed about my misstep. When he recovers his breath, he says, “Our eyes were the same. And our noses. She liked to say I had a girl nose.”

I cannot resist. My finger follows his very masculine nose from top to tip. “I like your nose. It suits you.”

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