Still the One

“More than,” she promised, and cried out as he took her right out of herself and splintered her into a million pieces.

For the second time.

She brought him along with her this time. When they were done and still breathing against each other like lunatics, his arms tight around her, his face pressed into her throat as if he couldn’t get enough of her scent, his hands slowly stroked her back together again.

When Darcy managed to stir she had no idea how much time had gone by. “Wow,” she murmured, and tried to extract herself.

He stroked a hand down her back and settled it on her ass, obstructing her escape. He didn’t speak but for some reason she really needed him to, if only to hear his voice and know by the tremor in it that he was even half as shaken as she.

Because honestly, wow didn’t come close to a good enough exclamation for what they’d just done. Holy shit didn’t cover it, either.

You’re screwed? Yeah, maybe that covered it.

And still AJ said nothing.

“I mean really wow,” she said, testing.

More silence, and she came up on an elbow to look into his face, finding him smiling smugly. “What?” she demanded.

“I thought maybe you were going to try to tell me that was pretend, too.”

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to blast him, but he easily tucked her beneath him and slid back inside of her.

She gasped, quivered, and clutched at him, already halfway to her next orgasm. “God.”

“Nope, just me.”

Nineteen

AJ opened his eyes when Darcy slipped out of his arms and vanished into the bathroom. The clock’s blue glow said two oh five a.m. At two oh six he heard the shower come on.

Maybe he should go in there. He was most excellent in the shower. Before he could move there came the click of the bathroom door lock sliding into place.

Nope. She didn’t want company.

He blew out a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. He had no idea how things were supposed to go back to normal now that he knew how she kissed, knew the sexy little sounds she made when she came.

They’d fit together like she’d been made for him, and he also wasn’t sure how this one night was going to be enough, not when he was already thinking of having her back in his arms, her mouth hot on his again, her body writhing beneath him, all warm, soft curves.

And no matter what she was in that shower telling herself, he hadn’t been alone in this. There’d been gut-churning need in her eyes, in the way she’d clutched at him, in her voice when she’d cried out his name.

She’d been just as blown away by this as he was.

He’d known the lust was there between them, but there was something more too, something beyond the desire.

But damn. If he was falling in love with her, he didn’t want to know it. After Kayla he’d decided it would be a cold day in hell before he went there again, down the road of demoralizing devastation.

The shower was still on. She was probably in there turning to a prune, overthinking everything. Hell, maybe she was plotting out her escape.

He should save her the effort and give her some space, though he felt reluctant to leave her alone with the storm still raging on.

He’d leave it up to her, but he got up and pulled on his clothes just in case. He was tying his shoes when the bathroom door finally opened.

Steam emerged first.

And then Darcy, wrapped in a towel that was tucked between her breasts and barely covered the very tops of her thighs.

His mouth watered, which was ridiculous. He’d just had her, every single inch of her, and while it had been … amazing, it should’ve satisfied his hunger for her.

It hadn’t.

Her wet hair was loose, dripping from the ends, down her shoulders and chest.

Her expression was unreadable, her body language achingly unsure.

“You leaving?” she asked.

“Whatever you want.”

She paused and he got the feeling she was battling with some inner demon. “What I want is to not sleep alone,” she said, and glanced at the window. “Not tonight.”

His heart tightened at the admission that had undoubtedly cost her.

“The wind gives me bad dreams,” she said quietly.

Ah, hell. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“I don’t normally think about the night of the accident, but this weekend …” She drifted off but he knew.

This weekend she’d thought of it plenty. She’d had to, thanks to him bringing her here. With a low sound of regret, he moved back to the bed. “Come on.”

She hesitated and then came close.

He kicked off his shoes and then tugged his shirt back off over his head. He slipped it over hers and then reached beneath to slip off her towel. He nudged her onto the bed and beneath the covers, and slid in after her.

“You just tucked me in,” she murmured sleepily.

“Tell anyone and die. Do we need to talk about it, Darcy?”

“What is it with you and all the talking?” She yawned. “You must’ve dated some real high estrogen levels.” She shook her head. “No, we don’t have to talk about it. I’m not big on the talking.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you’re more the screaming sort.”

“Hey! I most definitely didn’t scream.”

“Close enough,” he said.

She smacked him and he laughed. “I wonder if anyone’s in the rooms on either side of us.”

“I was not that loud.” She paused and slid him a look. “And at least I wasn’t needy.”