Goodbye to You (10 page)

I peruse the menu and decide on nachos. I wasn’t hungry when I asked to come here, but the thought of melty cheese and spicy chili sounds delish.

The lie got me out of a trip to the cemetery. I don’t want to be surrounded by death on my last day here.

Warm, living flesh, as close as I can get to it. That’s what I crave.

Shay heads to the kitchen to put in the order then comes back, moving in close. His musky, salty scent envelopes me.

I lean into him. Shay watches the television tuned to the cable news channel, and I people-watch as customers come and go. Paddy chats with a few barflies who are stacking empty beer cans in a pyramid on the bar top.

I squeeze Shay’s knee and trace lazy circles around the raised scars. I wonder if he got these at the same time as the ones on his arm.

We’ve all got things we don’t want to discuss, wounds penetrating beyond the flesh deep into our hearts and souls, so I left it alone.

Shay brushes his callused thumb across the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. I shiver.

A clap of thunder shakes the room, and the skies open, dumping rain at an alarming rate.

If we can’t do go outside, plenty of indoor activities can keep us occupied. I don’t want food or beer.

I’m hungry for his touch, thirsty for his lips. I lean in and whisper as I rub his thigh. “Can we go? To your house?”

He turns to look me in the eye. “Thea, I . . .”

“You live over the garage, behind your house? It’s private, right?” I bite my lip and hold my breath.

“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Shay, I’ve been sure since the night I met you. Please.”

He throws a twenty dollar bill on the table to cover the food and beers, and I slide out. We run out into the downpour.

While everyone else is running for cover, we’re standing in the onslaught, staring into each other’s faces. His hazel eyes darken, turning brown as he lowers his head.

Water streams from my face and his, rivulets pouring from his strong forearms gripping my hips. His white shirt is plastered to his torso, outlining his shoulders and tapered waist.

My mouth waters. My chest flattens against him, my nipples tight and tingling.

His kisses before were sweet, tender, and passionate.

His hands cup my face, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

As soon as his lips close over mine, I know this one will be different.

He nips my bottom lip with his teeth and engulfs my mouth with his. The hot pressure of his lips ignites a fire that threatens to torch me where I stand.

The passion? Yeah. Sweet and tender?

No more.

Now his kisses are voracious. Hungry.

The fervor of this kiss makes my knees weak. If my arms weren’t around him, I might have collapsed into a puddle and washed into the storm drain.

Though I’m disappointed when he breaks the kiss, I know it’s so we can go.

He leads and I follow, stray wet curls slapping against my face. We head toward the seaport, turning on Grinnell to a pale yellow house with a whitewashed wood fence surrounding a tiny yard. He unlatches the gate, and we run to a two-story structure to the right of the house. A flight of stairs leads us to the apartment above the garage.

He unlocks the door in a flash, and we duck inside. A gust of wind slams the door with a heavy thud.

Rain pelts the roof and the wild winds echo through the eaves.

The angry weather is nothing compared to the storm brewing in this little room.

My fingers fumble at the buttons of his dripping shirt, revealing his well-muscled chest, the rippled lines of his abs.

I lower my head to lick his skin, the slick, salty warmth an oasis to my sex-starved senses.

Shay’s throaty groan makes me hungrier.

I push the shirt from his shoulders, the buttons clicking on the hard tile as it hits the floor.

I reach for his belt and undo the zipper, the crisp sound inviting me to kneel and slide the shorts over his hard thighs. His erection strains against the black knit of his boxers, and I hook my fingers into the elastic, eager to taste him.

He grips my wrists and drags me against him.

I melt at the chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh contact.

“Sweet Thea.” He strokes a callused finger across my cheek, over my lip. I draw his thumb between my lips and suck on it.

His devilish pseudo-smile flares up, and I grin back.

“Why can’t I stop kissing you?” I quake at the rumble of his voice.

A rhetorical question with no answer.

I can’t stop kissing him either.

He sucks on my lower lip, and I shiver.

If my panties were damp before, they’re now drenched.

Tingles of pleasure skitter across my skin as he tangles his hands into my hair, loosened from the elastic by the strong winds and heavy downpour. I cling tighter to his solid frame, my soft curves molding to his hard planes.

He deepens the kiss and explores the recesses of my mouth, his wet tongue dueling with mine in a battle of wills I’m sure to lose. My hands move of their own volition, stroking the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

He drags his lips from mine and trails hot kisses across my jaw to my neck, arousing sharp, prickling, swirling sensations I’d never imagined were possible.

Thunder rattles the windows, and the vibrations radiate to my toes.

He kisses me again, and I dip my tongue inside, savoring the malty hint of beer clinging to his mouth. The coil of desire tightening inside me the last couple of days is unraveling.

The realization hits me like a boulder.

Shay will be the last man I make love to in my present state. He’ll be the last to know the real me. It’s a heady thought, and I want to give him every last bit of me.

His lips leave mine again, and I clutch at him in desperation.

The light kisses he dusts across my cheeks, my chin, my nose, they are gentle and sweet.

Heartwarming—and scary.

I remind myself to suppress such emotions.

This is a straight-up vacation fling.

That. Is. All.

His kisses escalate from gentle to hard, slow to frantic, sweet to sexy.

He’ll be the death of me. I can’t take this teasing any longer.

I stroke my tongue across his full lower lip, nipping it with my teeth. He responds in kind, and I growl, the primitive sound surprising me.

A moan erupts from him too. I move away, and he reaches for me. But his protests turn to satisfied grunts as I yank my shirt off, then unfasten my water-logged shorts and kick them to the floor.

My nipples are tingling, my breasts heaving as I gulp for air under his heated gaze.

The need for him to see me is a hot, delicious ache in the pit of my stomach.

I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, but he reaches out and stops me.

“Please,” he chokes out, “let me.”

I turn my back and lift my hair. His long fingers trail a path of fire from my nape to my spine before unhooking the bra. He pushes the straps off my shoulders and slides the cups away, my heavy breasts spilling forward into his eager hands.

My knees buckle from his scalding touch.

He sweeps me into his steely arms, carries me across the narrow room through a door, and lays me on his bed.

He kisses me again, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips, his teeth nipping at my mouth.

“Please.” I take his hands in mine and lay them on my aching breasts.

He was made to hold me.

A thumb and forefinger pluck at each engorged tip.

He drops his head, sucking and licking at one hard peak. The friction elicits a tugging sensation inside me.

“Oh, yeah . . .”

He moves to the other breast, paying her equally divine attention. My fingers grip at the comforter. “Please, Shay. More.”

He slides to the end of the bed and does something unexpected.

He massages my feet, running his finger along the sensitive arch of one foot, then the other. He presses a spot under the middle toe, massaging deeply, and once more I think I could orgasm.

I quiver imagining what he’ll do when he makes his way between my legs.

His every touch drowns my fears about him finding my body unattractive. He teases and taunts and tugs at my flesh with his hands, his hot tongue following the path blazed by his hands. I throw my head back, wet strands of hair sticking to my face. His tongue circles my navel, tracing the lacy outline of my panties. His lips drop to the inside of my sensitive thigh before closing his mouth over the flimsy silk separating me from absolute ecstasy.

He lifts me off the bed, crushing my breasts to his rock-solid chest, teasing the nipples to hard peaks again with the slight mat of hair on his skin. Dropping to the floor, he hooks his thumbs into my panties. He skims the thin fabric from my hips, and I lift one foot after the other so he can take the panties off.

I stand bare before him, but I’m not the least bit vulnerable as he gazes at me reverently from his position at my feet.

I’m cherished and admired and desired.

And on fire as his tongue lazily circles my clit. His fingers trace a scorching path from behind my knee to the back of my thigh before drawing circles on my ass.

He nudges me back, and my legs hit the bed, compelling me to sit, lie.

I open my legs, inviting him to explore deeper.

He laps at my wetness, sucking my nub and nipping with his teeth as he slides a finger into my tightness.

He quickens the pace, his tongue impatient on my clit as his finger curves upward, massaging my g-spot. I pant, unable to catch my breath as my hands clench at the comforter and my legs convulse. He cups my ass again, this time to hold my bucking hips to his mouth until I stop shaking.

As my ragged breathing slows, he slides up on the bed next to me, removing his boxers. His wet tongue dances along the curve of my hip, feathery kisses dust my belly and my arms.

He nuzzles my neck, his warm breath in my ear fanning my desire.

I spread my legs in invitation.

“No. Like this.” Shay fumbles around in his nightstand and fishes out a foil packet. He slides on the condom, then holds me by the hips as he flips on his back while reaching up, cupping my breasts, staring at them.

Spellbound by them.

I’d felt powerful when he knelt at my feet.

That was nothing compared to sitting atop this gorgeous, virile man, in control of his pleasure.

I arch over him, taking his thick cock into my hand, teasing him with my wetness. He throws his head back and growls as he arches underneath me.

I want to prolong his pleasure like he’d done for me, but I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.

I slide on him, little by little, and then take my fill. He almost throws me off as he thrashes on the bed.

I grind my hips against his, moving up and down and side-to-side to find the exact spot for both of us. A heavy fog of sex and sweat and pheromones hangs around us.

I can’t recall ever feeling like this. So enthralled, so seductive, so abandoned.

So in control.

He tenses beneath me, every muscle in his body rigid as a guttural cry erupts from his throat.

And the goddess I’ve become with his every touch pumps, slides, and shivers before collapsing atop my own Celtic god.