Page 18 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
His hardness tells me all I need to know.
“I need you.” I step towards him, because this is the truth. My heart and soul do need him more than I need air to breathe.
He seems frozen in place, and makes no effort to move away. Slowly I slip my arms around his shoulders, then snake my fingers around the back of his neck. I smell his desire, so potent, so heavy, so thick. “You’ve always been here for me, but tonight I need you to hold me.” My mouth is barely an inch away from his and I can’t stop myself from doing this.
In the middle of the crisis that is my life right now? It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t need sense. I need something to pull me away from the nightmare of my existence. I dart out my tongue and lick his lower lip.
He groans. His hardness teases and pokes, a symbol of the truth, of what he really wants. Empowered, I brush my lips against his, or maybe he tilts his head forward an inch. It’s lost in a blur, who made the first move, and it doesn’t matter because we both want this. Our lips mesh together and I am lost in a soft, wet kiss that grows deeper, more sensual and more sinful. Heat spreads through my veins, the promise of something more hangs in the air like a dandelion fuzzy waiting to take direction.
Our kiss lingers and time suspends. I forget who I am, where I am. I only feel, his lips against mine, his hands around me. And that is enough. It's all I want.
This is wrong, and yet it isn’t. I press harder against him, my hungry body yielding to his hard one and wanting more than just a kiss.
“We… can’t… Megan,” he groans, pulling away slowly, as if it is torture. He has the haunted look of a God-fearing man who has committed a crime. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You didn’t.” I swallow hard, my knees buckling, my brain short-circuiting. Waves pulse below my belly and fire pools between my legs. I’m desperate for comfort, for release, for Mr. Turner to be that release.
I unzip my sweatshirt, and I’m about to unbutton my shirt when his hands grab me. “Stop.” His voice is strange. Thick. Strangled. “We can’t do this.”
“I want to.”
“I can’t.”
“Please, Lance.”
“It’s Mr. Turner,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“But I thought …”
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
He might as well have slapped me. I step away, stumble almost, while an icy fissure forms in my heart. A cry chokes in my throat like a fist stuck there.
Hasn’t he heard what I’ve been through? I’m wet and cold and drowning in misery.
I’m desperate.
I don’t want to be alone. I want to feel something. “Please let me stay, at least until the morning. Please.”
I take another step away from him, to let him know that I won’t make any moves. I won’t go there again, to that forbidden place.
Creases form along his forehead. His eyes take me in from top to toe. Desire paints a wretched picture over his face. My eyes lower and fall to the bulge in his pants.
“I’ll get you a change of clothes, and you can sleep on the couch.” But it’s a while before he moves away.
Chapter 9
MEGAN
I marvel at this surreal moment, that Lance and I are sitting across the table and reconnecting as if we are old friends.
Pouring sugar into my coffee, I stir it slowly before checking the time on my watch. “I don’t have long.”
“It’s past six. Isn’t it the end of your working day?”
“I’ve got things to do for a client, and it’s going to be a late night at the office.”
He looks disappointed. A fragile silence stretches out between us as if each of us is afraid to start talking first. Clasping his hands, he sits forward. He looks tired. Not as vibrant as he did the last time we met. He seems worn down, by life, by things I know nothing about and I am a little curious.
