Page 34 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
I nod warily. Is he going to start stomping on them, venting his anger on the gifts?
“No one brings roses to ‘just a friend.’” Tony glares at the flowers as though they’re to blame for an impending apocalypse.
I cross my arms. He’s being completely irrational about this, all because he’s under the assumption that Byron wants to sleep with me. My telling him he’s wrong hasn’t made a bit of difference. “He’s done it before.”
“How would you feel if Audrey brought me flowers and hugged me and I hugged her back?”
You’re overreactingis on the tip of my tongue, but he has a point. Tony and Byron don’t get along. Tony has never hidden the fact that he doesn’t like Byron or that he thinks Byron’s out for my body. From his point of view, the hug I had with Byron is a betrayal.
“I would hate it. But she isn’t your friend, and we both know exactly what she wants. The wine she threw in my face made that crystal clear.” I place a hand over his heart. “I already told you this. I love you. I’ve never said that to Byron, ever. You’re both important to me, and I want you to at least be polite to each other, if being friendly is impossible. I swear to you, Byron doesn’t want me the way Audrey wants you.”
“You don’t see yourself the way he sees you. The way I see you.” Tony cups my neck, his bare palm warm. “You’re so beautiful, so special, I’m afraid if I blink, you’ll disappear like a dream. You’re all that is good and wonderful and worth living for in the world. My sun, my moon, my stars.”
My heart flutters at the stark intensity in his eyes. He means it all—really believes I’m that amazing. But even as I shiver at the aching sweetness of his words, fear pricks me.
I’m not as perfect as the heavens, not worthy of such unconditional devotion. I remember the girl in the blue dress. And a woman named Tatiana, who I still don’t have a clue about. And the Asian girl I watched and jeered at porn with. I’ve only recovered a few tiny pieces of my memory. I’m still so broken.
“Don’t think,” he says. “You’re overthinking.”
“I just wish you wouldn’t consider me so perfect. There’s so much of my past missing.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What if I never recover from my amnesia?” What if I’m broken forever?
“Then we’ll make our own memories to fill the void. Regardless of what your doctor said, you’re not some piece of hastily mended pottery.”
Hot tears prickle my eyes. This man humbles me with his love. I adore him so much. He calls me his sun, moon and stars, but it’s really him who is all those things.
I hold his face and kiss him. Sweetly. Lushly. With all the love and yearning in my heart. My rock. The missing half of my soul. I’ve been searching all my life for this man, who’s kissing me back like I’m more precious than air.
Our lips and tongues devouring each other, we rip into each other’s clothes, flinging them everywhere, desperate to feel each other in our most vulnerable and primitive state without artifice or shield. My breathing shallows when I see his cock jutting out, hot and hard for me. His eyes are dark, glazed with lust, his cheeks flushed, his mouth swollen and red.
I lick my lips, then lean forward and kiss his nipple, right over his heart, while reaching down and wrapping my hand around him. I’m already slick between my legs. But it’s impossible not to be when he’s so open about loving and wanting me.
He cups my breasts roughly, his thumbs skimming the tips of my beaded nipples, knowing exactly how I want to be touched. “I hear music,” he says, “and think, Is Iris going to like it? I see a piece of art, and wonder if I should get it for you. I feel the sun on my skin, and I wonder if you’re feeling it too.” The sweet softness of his words contrasts with the ruthlessness of his hands. I pant, incredibly turned on.
I start to drop to my knees to taste him, but he stops me. He takes me to a couch and kneels between my thighs, lapping me with my legs wantonly spread.
He kisses the sensitive skin near my wet folds, his breath ticklish. “When I get a whiff of perfume, I think it isn’t as sexy as the way you smell. When I get a taste of caviar, it doesn’t taste as good as you.” The flat of his tongue runs along the heated flesh from stern to stem. My back arches. “You’re the best thing in my life.”
He devours me, his mouth greedy, tongue probing, seeking, thrusting. He palms my breasts, toys with my nipples. He’s merciless, bringing me to a fast, brutal climax that makes my whole body arch and twist, my sharp cries piercing the heated air. I barely get a chance to catch my breath before I shatter again. And then again. He’s like a man determined to prove something—like he has to know he can make me come forever. And I let all my shields down, wanting to help him get whatever he needs, so he can be free of this inexplicable desperation inside him.
“Tony…” I sob as I hit another orgasm. “Tony…” I reach for him, tunnel my fingers into his hair. “Let me feel you inside me. Now.”
He licks me softly as though he can’t bear to stop, then comes up and kisses me hard. Our tongues tangle, and I nip at his lips, crazy with wanting him.
He pulls away for a moment. I hear a foil wrapper rip, then he returns, reclaiming my mouth and aligning himself. He drives into me, his movements ferocious. He feels so big, the friction unbearably hot against my pleasure-swollen pussy. I sigh with bliss. I love what he can do with his mouth, but this… It’s extra special when we’re joined like this. It’s amazing how I feel so much—the pulsing of his cock, the racing of his heart, the boundless love he has for me.
I feel another orgasm building, ready to rip through me at any moment. I spread my legs wider. “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, I love you, love you, loveyouloveyou…”
His green gaze is so dark, it’s almost black. He wraps his arms around me as I come apart, saying fiercely, “You’re mine, Iris. Mine.”
Yes. Always. Forever.
His thrusts grow more frenzied until he shudders inside me. We cling to each other as our breathing settles. I feel so boneless and satisfied that I can’t be bothered to move except to run my fingers weakly through Tony’s dark hair. He looks at peace now. I hope that whatever need drove him to push me so hard is sated. And that he knows deep in his heart that he has me. He’ll always have me.
When he finally gets up to go to the bathroom, I admire the view—the superb width of his shoulders, beautifully proportioned torso, narrow hips and tight ass that flexes with each step.
Tony says we can make new memories and not worry about my lost ones. But that’s not how I want it. I’m going to find them all. If that means getting Byron’s help, so be it, because he’s just a friend, nothing more, regardless of what Tony thinks. And I need to fix what’s broken inside.
Only then might I not feel like I’m unworthy somehow…that what I have with Tony is a sandcastle waiting for a wave to come wash it away.
