Page 79 of Ablaze

I hear her unsaid words and throw the condom over my shoulder, making her giggle. Fuck, I’m going to miss hearing that sound every time I want to.

I kiss her to shut her up, swallowing her laugh, followed by a moan. I’ve never paid too much attention to the way a girl kisses. They’ve always been sufficient, done the necessary to move things along. But Mala? She kisses like she does everything in her life–with everything she has. So thoroughly, it wipes away the memory of everything before her.

Was there ever anything before her?

Our tongues dance as I line us up, her knees falling to the sides for me. I pull away only slightly to brush the tip of my cock through her wet seam, and Mala’s mouth follows to catch mine, as if she can’t fathom disconnecting our kiss so quickly. But as soon as I slide my cock against her again, her head falls back on the pillow, her chest lifting into mine as a guttural moan follows.

“God, that feels so good.”

“Watch me,” I growl. “Look how good you take my cock, baby girl. I want you to remember us like this.”

And before the grief of this moment, the knowledge that I only have tonight, and the thought of her moving away can piss me off again, I thrust into her in one go.

Chapter Twenty-Four

MALA

Our moans collide along with our bodies as Dean plunges inside me.

I feel full. So full, I feel him in my stomach, my lungs.

Dean pulls out and thrusts back inside me, and the graze of the two metal beads at the head of his cock against my G-spot has me sucking in a ragged breath. Light flashes behind my eyes, making my hips jump to meet his. At this rate, I’m going to come again not even five minutes after the last time.

I feel like I’m floating in an ocean of Dean. He’s everywhere, overwhelming my senses with his heady sandalwood scent, his throaty groans, and his heated touch.

I always imagined him to be a generous lover, wild and unruly. But that he would be downright filthy with both his words and actions? That he would have me begging and needy for every word of praise, every lascivious touch, like a sunbather soaking up the Hawaiian sun? That, I did not expect.

And now, I’m ruined. Wrecked and ravaged for anyone besides him.

Dean’s arm is braced on the bed next to my head while his other hand lays possessively around my throat. His gaze bores into mine, like he won’t allow himself to blink, lest he miss even a millisecond. There’s so much want there, but there’s something else, too. Something that always softens his eyes when he looks at me, but it’s more marked today.

Affection.

A worship and adoration that’s so intense, I can barely stand to keep our gazes connected. It’s all too much. An overdose, overstimulation, overindulgence.

My hands cup his jaw and a silent hopelessness passes between us. A pang so strong, I feel the sudden onslaught of tears pricking the backs of my eyes.

One night.

It won’t be enough. It’ll never be enough.

I turn my head, trying to look away as a tear bursts through the dam and spills through a corner, soaking into my pillow. My lips purse to hold in a sob.

God, what the hell am I doing? I’m mourning us before we’ve even started. I’m mourning us because we can never really start. I should have stopped this, but not a goddamn thing in the world could have.

What if I’ve ruined everything?

He promised we’d go back to being friends, that we wouldn’t let tonight change anything, and though in my heart of hearts I know we’re not fooling anyone, I want to believe him. He has a history of keeping things casual with others, and while I don’t know it for sure, I imagine this isn’t his first one-night stand. So, maybe that’s how he’ll treat us as well.

The thought makes my stomach roll irrationally, and I have to blink past another well of tears.

Dean grabs hold of my jaw and swings my face to him. What he sees has his jaw tightening and his brows furrowed. A sheen envelopes his irises like fog over a lake. If there’s ever been a person who could read me, it’s him.

Except he hasn’t read everything I’ve wanted to say.

“Come back to me,” he croaks.

For a second my heart leaps, wrapping around his words like they’re a boon, a shelter from an impending storm. But as I wait for him to follow it up with a, “Don’t leave me,” or a “Let’s go home,” and he doesn’t, I realize my shortsightedness. My futile hope.

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