The heated air between us went frigid; Kill stiffened into an unyielding plank. The tightness of his muscles and unreadable look in his eyes made my heart thud. “Where are they, Kill?”
A heavy second ticked past, then another. Finally, he closed his eyes and kissed me deeply. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”
His lips trailed a path of fire down my sternum as he shifted his body, flattening me below. “And please don’t call me that anymore. Not when we’re alone.”
When will you tell me?
I wanted to push, but swallowed my impatience. Tilting my head, I focused on the easier subject. “What should I call you?”
He chuckled, sounding strained and forced against my collarbone. “What you called me all those years ago. I want to hear it.”
My heart thudded for an entirely new reason. His lips kept feathering, his tongue softly licking toward my breasts.
“Art. I called you Art.”
He broke his downward journey, sliding back over me to press a possessive kiss against my mouth. “Yes.”
“You want me to call you it again?”
He nodded. “More than anything.” Never looking away, he reached down and tapped my thigh. Unconsciously, I opened my legs wider, letting his large bulk settle directly between them.
My breathing turned shallow as he paused, hovering protectively over me on his elbows. His fingers dived into my hair, holding me steady. “There’s so much still to learn. So much that’s happened that you need to know. But, Cleo, not tonight.”
His hard cock nudged my entrance and I moaned at the silent question. Biting my lip from the joy at having him so close, I nodded.
Gritting his jaw, he pushed in—slowly, surely, claiming me in ways he never did when we were first in love. I’d slept with Killian, but this was the first time I’d slept with Arthur. Art. My one true connection.
There was nothing between us anymore—no latex from condoms or darkness from unremembered memories. Just us.
His eyes tightened as he stretched and filled me, the invasion never stopping until he sank as deeply as he could go. His back was bowstring tight as he released a ragged groan sheathing himself completely.
I didn’t want to move or dispel the aching, delectable throbbing of having him take me so thoroughly. His body was snug and warm over mine, his green eyes glowing in the dimness of the bedroom.
Our gaze never unlocked.
We didn’t move. But we were joined with ravenous, rapturous oblivion.
My jaw clenched, fighting the urge to rock. I wanted to savor the silence of just being for another moment—to embrace the incredibleness of finding each other after so long.
My core rippled, welcoming him deeper.
Art groaned, letting some of his weight fall on me, pressing his forehead against mine. We were both slick with sweat even though we hadn’t moved. Our bodies and hearts thrumming with energy. My tattoos were bright against the bedspread and I didn’t feel ugly with my scars. His gaze remained full of perfect love—despite me having changed since he’d last seen me.
His mouth searched for mine and the moment his lips connected, I snapped. The time for serenity was over. Now I wanted to be used. I wanted to know just who impaled me and how much I never wanted him to leave.
Gathering him to me, I rocked.
He gasped; his restraint snapped and he drove into me. Hard and strong. His hipbones bruised my thighs as I opened wider, welcoming his violence, his need.
There was a fine line of making love and fucking but this was love-fucking. This was cruel but sweet. Angry but happy. It was a thousand words in one timeless action—righting the wrongs of our past and hopefully repairing a future we both didn’t think we’d ever find.
“God, Cleo. Fuck.” He pounded harder, his grunts mixing with my cries. My fingernails clutched his hips, riding up and down with every rock.
“Yes. Art, more.”
His body pistoned into mine, trying to devour me. Tears tracked down my eyes; the world swam with desire and despair at missing him so much.
“Shit, don’t cry…” Art stopped, his large thumbs brushing away the salt on my cheeks.
I nipped at his touch, arching upright to pant in his ear. “Don’t stop.”
I couldn’t stop. I never wanted to stop.
There was nothing on earth that could get me to cease the incredible assault coming from the boy I thought I’d lost.
I cried out as he grabbed my leg, bringing it up and spreading me even wider. I thought I’d never get to touch this man—hug him or stroke as he pounded into me—but all my wishes had come true. My hands landed on his ass, clutching him harder, forcing more violence, more animalistic thrusting.
“Goddammit, Cleo,” he groaned as I dug my fingernails harder.
We were so close. Our skin stuck to each other; his heart interrupted the beat of mine until I swore they beat in unison. We were too close. We weren’t close enough.
“Kill, you’re killing me.”
“Art, goddammit,” he growled. His hands clutched the bedspread by my ears as he thrust harder. The need to come ached in every part. Every stroke of his large cock sent me higher and higher up a cliff. I wouldn’t hold on much longer.
Wedging my knee between us, I pushed Art away and hooked it over his shoulder. In one move, I delivered the rest of my vulnerability and trust, exposing where we were joined and letting him control however he wanted to drive us over the ledge.
He didn’t say a word. His eyes smoldered and his teeth landed on my leg, biting hard as he drove deliciously hard into me. His stomach clenched with every thrust, the sheen of sweet making him glow.