Full Exposure: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (35 page)

He’d never done this before, never realized how incredibly arousing it was to go down on a woman while she went down on him. His every sense was on high alert, every nerve ending involved in the incredible, unending pleasure of Serena’s erotic lovemaking.

He increased the pressure of his tongue, sweeping it faster and harder against her clit, loving the feel of her lips doing the same. Her hips moved more and more quickly
against him and he found himself thrusting against her with the same rhythm. Moans and strangled screams filled the air and he was hard-pressed to decide if they came from him or from her.

He thrust two fingers inside of her, relishing how tight and hot she was around him. He hooked his fingers, searching for her G-spot, was rewarded when she jerked against him, her mouth taking all of him. His climax boiled up and he tried desperately to hold it off until Serena was ready to come with him. But he was unprepared for her to reach under his balls and find the spot she had helped him discover only a couple of weeks before. She pressed her fingers firmly against it at the same time she swirled her tongue around his cock and he exploded, pouring himself into her mouth as he sucked desperately at her clit, his fingers flying over her G-spot again and again.

She shattered less than a second later, and he savored her contractions even as he pulsed inside of her. It was the longest, most intense orgasm of his life and as her hips jerked repeatedly against his mouth, he prayed it was the same for her. When her final tremors died away, he slowly pulled his fingers out, loving her low moan of protest. But he wanted, needed to hold her. Wanted to stare into her eyes as he told her how exciting, and moving, he’d found their lovemaking.

He smiled at himself, shocked at how much he’d changed since meeting Serena. The Ironman was gone, and in his place was a man so in love with his woman that she could melt him with a soft look or light touch. He should hate this new Kevin, should be shocked and astounded by how much of himself he’d given to another person. But he didn’t. In fact, he loved the freedom he had to be himself with her, loved the way he could tell her anything.

He turned her to face him, burying his head in her throat and soaking up the spicy cinnamon scent of her. Serena. His woman. “Serena,
bebe
, I—”

Her lips closed over his before he could tell her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. Her tongue stroked his lightly, slipping in and out of his mouth with quick, sure strokes that aroused him all over again.

She pulled back and smiled into his eyes, “I know.” Her hand wandered down his belly to his cock, which, amazingly, sprung to life at the first, light touch of her hand. “You don’t actually think I’m finished with you, do you?” she asked, her fingers sliding
up and down in a rhythm that had him arching off the floor.

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes gleaming wickedly as he reached a finger up to trace her lips. “Not even a little bit.”

Her lips curved and she reached for a condom. “Did I mention your stamina is just one of the many things I love about you?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her down so that their lips met. Right before he showed her a few of the many, many things that he loved about her.

Serena examined the last batch of negatives of Kevin listlessly. It had been four days since she’d left him. Four days since she’d crept out of his studio while he slept, thrown her things into her suitcase and run away with his truck. She hadn’t planned on ending things like that—sneaking out without a word to him. But when he had fallen asleep after the most intense lovemaking of her life, she’d been left awake, staring at his statue of her. Left awake reliving every word he’d said to her. Left awake wondering how her life had spun so incredibly far out of her control.

And then she’d panicked. Running while he was asleep had seemed her only alternative—if she tried to leave when he was awake, she knew she’d never make it out the door. Not that he would keep her against her will, but when she was with him she didn’t have any willpower at all. Like all of her thoughts and feelings—everything that made her who she was—disappeared under the force of his desires.

Never in her life had she acted the way she acted with Kevin. Sure, she’d had lovers. And while she’d enjoyed having sex with them, she’d never craved it. They’d never been in her blood, had never inspired the lust and longing that Kevin could without even touching her. Her control evaporated and she was helpless, totally mesmerized by his magnetism and desires. It was that loss of control, that loss of self, that she feared most of all. That reminded her so much of Sandra right before she’d died.

Sandra had given everything she was to Damien, had held nothing back. And he had killed her for it. If she’d been more suspicious of him, less susceptible to her own need for him, she might still be alive. But she’d surrendered herself willingly to the passion between them, ignoring Serena when she’d tried to warn her that it bordered on obsession. Now she was dead.

She was dead and Serena seemed destined to repeat her mistakes. Not that she thought for one second that Kevin would kill her—he was too gentle, too loving, to even contemplate such a thing. But her feelings for him were overwhelming, bordered on obsession of the most base kind. When she was away from him all she could think about
was him. When they were together all she could think about was getting him inside of her as fast as possible.

It wasn’t normal. Admittedly, she’d never been in a serious relationship before—after Sandra she’d kept everything casual. But she’d never felt anything close to this with any of the men she’d seen before Kevin. Sex with them was pleasant, enjoyable, but certainly not mind-numbing. It was nothing like the soul-searing, body-tingling, explosive experience she had whenever Kevin put his hands anywhere near her.

And he loved her. She knew it, deep down, which is why four days after she’d left him she still couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for anything, even her work. The photos were due in four days and while she now had the negatives developed, she was no closer to organizing them than she’d been when she was out in the bayou.

The phone rang, but she made no move to answer it. It was probably Steve, calling to harass her about her photos for the gallery showing and she just couldn’t deal with him right now. Wishful thinking had her listening eagerly for the answering machine to pick up, hoping and praying that it was Kevin. But he hadn’t called in three days.

By the time she’d gotten home, a little over three hours after she’d left him sleeping, there had been three messages from him on her home answering machine and another four on her cell phone. Demanding to know where she was, if she was all right, why she’d left the way she had.

The calls had continued all evening and most of the night and she’d ignored every one of them, too raw and hurting to try to explain what she’d done and why she’d done it. She’d suffered hugely as she’d listened to his hoarse, desperate voice on her answering machine. Begging her to talk to him, to let him know that she was all right. Not picking up the phone and blurting out all of the confusion and pain and need inside of her had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

But she’d refused to cave and sometime early the next morning the calls had stopped. The only time the phone had rung since was when Steve wanted to bug her or when the police called to fill her in on what was happening with Jack.

She shivered just thinking about him, remembering how crazed he’d looked standing in Kevin’s kitchen, calling her by her dead sister’s name. She’d come from that,
had all that ugliness inside of her. She had scars on the outside from the knife he’d plunged into her over and over again, but they were nothing compared to the scars she carried on the inside. Rage, bitterness, agony seethed right below the surface, the rigid control she kept on herself the only thing keeping them from boiling over onto every part of her life. Kevin threatened that control and she was terrified that if she let go the darkness of the past would destroy them both.

Staring blindly at the negatives, Serena replayed her thoughts, knowing that she was on the brink of a major revelation. And when the truth hit her, it was so simple she could barely process it. She wasn’t afraid of Kevin or obsessive passion for one another, she wasn’t even afraid of losing the real Serena inside the maelstrom of emotion he called from deep inside her. No, she was afraid of losing control and having all of her past, all of the darkness inside of her, boil up and onto Kevin. He made her lose control, he shook her to the very foundations of her being, made her happier and sadder than she’d ever been in her life.

Tears slid silently down her face and she wiped them away as she continued down the path her thoughts had turned onto. He took care of her, held her when she cried, loved her when she couldn’t love herself. Protected her when she didn’t know how to protect herself. Could she do any less? Kevin loved her, but loving her wasn’t good for him. She was dangerous, an emotional black hole. And she was so afraid that she would absorb Kevin into her, destroying him for all time. Already, in the short time they’d known each other, he’d put his life on hold to take care of her—he’d held her when she cried, loved her when she’d begged, saved her life when she couldn’t save herself. If she loved him, how could she subject him to a life like that?

She couldn’t. The answer was as simple as that. Which is why she’d run away as fast as possible. Why she’d dodged his calls. Why she’d holed up in her apartment with the blinds closed as she nursed her misery. Because it was best for him.

She reached for a tissue and blew her nose as a sense of resolve filled her. She could do this. She could cut all the ties between Kevin and herself. Not for her, but for him. So that he could live a healthy, happy life without her.

With a heavy heart, but a renewed sense of purpose, she settled down with the negatives. Not because he was dying for any glimpse of Kevin she could get, but because
she had a job to do. And if she could give him nothing else, she could give him the best damn book he’d ever seen.

*  *  *

Kevin slammed his blowtorch onto the workbench, heedless of the damage he was inflicting on one of his most important pieces of equipment. He’d never been more miserable in his life. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work. Couldn’t close his eyes without picturing her face, couldn’t walk around his house and studio without thinking of every single place they’d made love and every single place he had yet to take her.

Damn Serena for doing this to him. For making him love her and need her and then running away without a word. He’d spent the first twelve hours after she’d left calling her every five minutes, desperate to hear her voice. When that had failed, he’d driven to Baton Rouge to make sure she’d gotten home safely. When he’d pulled up at her condo and seen his truck parked in the driveway, he’d never been more relieved. Or more furious. He’d wanted to storm the house, to demand that she see him, speak to him, tell him why she’d left. How could he fight for her when he didn’t know what he was fighting against?

He’d been halfway to her door before he’d stopped himself, halfway to knocking the door down before the truth hit him. He couldn’t make Serena love him, couldn’t make her want to be with him. He’d done everything in his power to show her that she could trust him, done all he could think of to show her how much she meant to him. How much she would always mean to him. Now it was up to her to decide what to do. If she needed time to make that decision then the least he could do was to give her that time.

But it had been seven days since she’d left, seven days since he’d spoken to her, held her, loved her. And she hadn’t come back. Two days ago his truck had been delivered, along with a note from Serena thanking him for its use. Polite, to the point, and completely impersonal. He’d read it over and over, while the need to shake her grew stronger with every second that passed. He hadn’t deserved that stupid, impersonal note, hadn’t done anything to her but love her and try to take care of her.

He smiled bitterly, turning the smooth piece of whittling wood over and over in
his hands. Hadn’t done anything but rush her, but try to make her fit into the mold he had created for her. He shook his head, shocked and angered at his own stupidity. He loved Serena, with all of her baggage and all of her quirks. He loved how when she smiled, really smiled, it came from within and lit up her whole face. He loved that she’d faced down her biggest nightmare, as cool and collected as if she were going to a garden party. Loved that she’d been smart and quick enough to stab a fireplace poker through Jack without batting an eye. Loved how she defended him. Loved her strength and her softness. Her passion and her control. Her stupid button-up shirts and the amazing lingerie they hid.

Why then had he tried to change her? Why had he tried to rush her, to force her to make a decision that she wasn’t ready to make? He knew she had to think things through, had to measure the good and the bad points. Yet he was so used to getting his own way, so used to running over any obstacle in his path, that he’d used the techniques of a lifetime on the woman he loved.

He was an idiot. An absolute, total fucking idiot.

His gaze fell on the sculpture he’d made of Serena. Two nights ago, drunk and half-mad with pain, he’d tried to destroy it. Had planned on smashing it to bits. In the end, of course, he couldn’t do it. Too much of her, too much of him, too much of them was in that sculpture and if that was all he’d ever have of her, then he would cherish it. Once he got over the crushing pain of her desertion. Of his own stupidity in trying to push her into something she wasn’t ready for.

What was he going to do if she didn’t come back? How would he learn to live without her?

He glanced out the window, his heart jumping as he saw a car making its way down the driveway. Had she come back to him? His heart beat faster and his eyes narrowed as he strained to clearly see the car. But his heart sank when he got his first clear look—it was a bright red convertible with the top down, a car so different than his cool, controlled Serena would have chosen that it existed in a whole different realm.