A Brand New Ending (Page 40)

“Very good.”

Ignoring her aching core, his head ducked behind her knee. He took his time licking the sensitive skin there, then he moved over to her right calf. He grasped her ankle and lifted it up high so she was completely open to him.

Heat licked at her nerve endings. Her cheeks burned as he looked his full gaze, feasting on every intimate inch, which only made her hotter. When she didn’t protest, he pressed a kiss to her inner ankle and then on the top of her foot, flashing her a wicked grin.

“Thirty-three.”

She sighed in relief, her hips arching up in invitation. “Good. Can we move on?”

He surged up her body, his head between her legs. “Not yet. Have to make sure nothing is hidden.”

Her mouth dropped open. “K-K-Kyle—”

Her cry died in her throat as his tongue licked her slit slowly and deliberately, his hot breath teasing all the sensitive, swollen folds. He used light flicks paired with slow rubs over her clit until she was shaking under those talented lips, reaching again for release.

“I’m going to—oh God, I’m going to—” She shattered for the second time, giving herself up to the delicious release that shook through her body.

The rip of a wrapper echoed in her ears. And then he loomed above her, hands propped up by her hips, his gaze fierce on her face, his dick pausing at her dripping entrance.

“Look at me, Ophelia,” he demanded. “I need you to look into my eyes when I make you mine again.”

The words pierced, dug, splintered. The years drifted away, and she was once again with the only man she’d ever loved, the man who ruled her body and gave her excruciating pleasure over every other.

He pressed into her sex with slow, steady motions, stretching her to the limit, until she closed her eyes to fight off the slight burn, the agonizing fullness of him taking her completely over.

He didn’t stop, but surged forward with implacable determination until he was finally buried deep. She arched up and pushed at his shoulders, caught between needing more and needing him to retreat.

A vicious curse left his lips. “You’re so perfect. I’ve missed you so much.”

His admission made emotion rise up within her. The tightness suddenly morphed into an ache that demanded to be filled. Her nails bit into his shoulders and she rolled her hips and her body relaxed and accepted him fully.

“That’s it,” he murmured, running his hands over her breasts, tugging at her nipples. “Don’t hold back. You’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you ever again.”

His words blurred in a haze, lost under the driving rhythm of his thrusts, pushing her higher and higher. He gripped her hips and lifted her to meet him, allowing her no room for retreat or space for hesitation. For one brief second, fear cut through the fog and she tried to resist, fighting the slow spin of pleasure crashing through her, but it was if he sensed it and wouldn’t allow it. With a low growl, he lifted her ass higher, pistoned his hips, and hit the spot that made her nerves shimmer and break apart.

She cried out his name.

His fingers bruised her hips, but his mouth was gentle as he kissed her long and deep, his tongue almost reverent. The ruthless, thrilling ride of pleasure contradicted the emotion-filled kiss; she let herself go and fell apart in his arms.

He gave a low shout and stiffened above her, his face a mask of chiseled features, eyes half-closed, full lips drawn back as he emitted sounds of his own release. Then he lowered himself down, his skin damp with sweat, the musky essence of man and sex surrounding her, and rolled her to the side so she was splayed against him.

Boneless, she rested her head on his shoulder and reveled in the imprint of his body on hers, the scent of him ingrained on her skin. She closed her eyes, clinging tight to the moment.

It was enough.

The echo of his promise drifted in her memory.

I won’t ever hurt you again.

No. Tonight had to be enough.

Chapter Sixteen

When Kyle woke, she was gone.

Blinking away the dregs of sleep, he rolled out of the bed and checked the shower.

Empty.

The woman had ditched his ass like a cheap one-night stand.

Humor warred with irritation. He’d reached for her three times during the night, and she’d come to him each time with an eager sweetness that humbled him, gifting him her body with no barriers between them.

But his fantasy of them cooking breakfast while they goofily smiled and gazed lovingly at each other was just that.

A fantasy.

Smothering a groan, he pulled on his jeans and shirt and walked into the hallway barefoot. Silence surrounded him.

Hell, it was only six a.m. Did she usually get up so early to prepare for the day?

He wandered into the kitchen and found it empty. Everything was spotlessly clean and organized. It was as if she were a mirage that had disappeared in a cloud of smoke at dawn.

A glance out the window confirmed her car was gone. Unease slithered through him. He’d awoken sated, tired, and happy.

Evidently, she hadn’t.

He brewed a cup of coffee on the Keurig, then headed to his room.

They needed to talk. After such an earth-shattering night, he couldn’t go back to the cool distance between them.

He wanted her in his bed every damn night. Wanted her to admit it was more than something physical between them, because God knows he’d lost his heart to her all over again during those intense hours in her bed. He had to try and show her how things could work between them.

His plan was to return to California to make the big deal, then maybe travel back and forth. A long-distance relationship would be fine for a while, until they worked out a permanent solution.

He imagined a second chance for them—and this time, he’d focus completely on her.

Not like before.

He placed his coffee down and sat down in front of his laptop.

“How did your audition go today?”

He paused from his work and studied her. She’d been a bit more distant these past weeks. He knew it was hard receiving constant rejections, but he also knew how competitive the industry was. It was a miracle he’d gotten his big break and was about to deliver a screenplay and partner with one of the best directors in Hollywood, known for their action movies. They’d made Dwayne Johnson a legend.

“I wasn’t flashy enough,” she said. Her words came out flat, not like the joyful enthusiasm or positivity she usually showed.

He blinked in confusion. “You? With your coloring and personality? Are they blind or stupid?”

She smiled, but it was weak. “I’m not blonde, or super thin, and I hate dressing in skimpy clothes just to get a second glance. I don’t know. Things aren’t what I thought they’d be like out here.”

Irritation flickered, along with shame. They’d been here less than a year. He’d always thought Ophelia had the grit and determination to make anything work. But lately, she’d been moody and sniping about his work hours—and not being the most supportive. God knows, once the script was done he’d have more time to help or pay more attention. Couldn’t she see he was doing the best he could?

Kyle stopped and stared at the page.

Ophelia’s words from the other day flashed in his mind in slow motion.

“I already had it all . . .”

“I didn’t leave with you to be a famous singer . . .”

“You never chose me.”

A realization rolled through him, and the mental light bulb clicked on.

So far, the book had been told from the hero’s viewpoint. His story. But with any narrative, there were two sides. Singing hadn’t been her priority as he’d originally believed. Her love for him had been the most important, but he’d chosen his career.