Chapter 35: Can’t Kick You
The silence of the ranch at night was absolute, a heavy blanket pressed over the world. Beth lay rigid in the center of her vast bed, the linen sheets cool and unfamiliar against her skin. Her own breathing was too loud.Every rustle of the ancient oak outside her window was a footstep. Every creak of the settling house was a door opening.Two doors down.That’s where he was. On the fucking couch, metaphorically speaking. In a guest suite with probably better thread count than most five-star hotels, but still.Not here.Okay.
The word echoed in the vault of her skull, a simple, terrifying commitment.She’d said it. She’d meant it.And now the ramifications were crawling over her, a swarm of ants under her skin. They were back together. The concept was so vast, so seismic, her mind couldn’t map its edges. It wasn’t joy that flooded her; it was a kind of breathless shock, a vertigo.She thought of the brownstone.The one he’d sold. Their first real home.The memory of it was inseparable from the memory of his mouth on her body. In those early years, Damien in love hadn’t been just attentive; he’d been devout. An obsessive, single-minded acolyte at the altar of her. His favorite form of worship had always been between her legs. He’d approach it with a focus that bordered on frightening, a smirk playing on his lips as he settled in, as if he’d won the greatest prize. He’d lick and suck and tease until her thighs shook and her vision blurred, until she lost count of the convulsions that ripped through her, one after another. He’d emerge, jaw slack, chin glistening, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph in those green eyes. He’d gotten off on her pleasure more than his own. He’d leave her a boneless, smiling mess, covered in the purple evidence of his devotion.
A slow, deep ache pulsed low in her belly, a treacherous and familiar heat.Guess some habits did die hard.Her body remembered. It remembered the exact pressure of his tongue, the scratch of his stubble on her inner thighs, the way his hands would dig into her hips to hold her still when she bucked. Her nipples tightened painfully against the silk of her camisole.She was furious at herself. Furious at the wetness she could feel gathering. Furious at the way her hand, almost of its own volition, slid down the plane of her stomach, under the waistband of her panties. The touch was a jolt.Her own fingers felt clumsy, impersonal.A pathetic substitute.
A soft, frustrated sound escaped her lips.She pulled her hand back, clenching it into a fist. This was ridiculous.She was Bethany Montgomery. She didn’t lie in bed yearning for her ex-husband’s tongue like some desperate—
The shadow in the doorway didn’t startle her. She realized she’d been waiting for it, sensing his presence in the stillness long before she saw him. He was just a darker shape against the dim hall light, leaning against the frame, watching her.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was a low rasp, sandpaper on stone.
“The couch not to your liking?” she fired back, but her voice lacked its usual bite. It sounded breathy.He pushed off the doorframe and moved into the room, a predator in the dark. He’d shed his shirt and shoes. The moonlight from the window cut across the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen.“The couch is a prison. You’re the warden.”
“You agreed to the terms.”
“I agreed to sleep on it. I never said I had to stay there.” He stopped by the side of the bed.The air crackled. She could smell him—clean skin, salt, and that indefinable, expensive scent that was just Damien.“I heard you sigh.I know that sigh. It’s the one you make when you’re thinking too hard. When you’re trying to talk yourself out of something you already want.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“Don’t I?” In one fluid motion, he hooked his fingers under the hem of her duvet and ripped it back.The cool night air hit her skin, raising goosebumps. His eyes roamed over her body in the thin camisole and panties, a possessive, hungry inventory. “Your nipples are hard.Your pupils are blown. You’re holding yourself so tight you’re shaking.” He placed a single knee on the mattress, the weight dipping the bed. “Tell me to leave, Beth. Say the words, and I’ll go back to my cell.”
She stared up at him, at the raw want carved into his face. All her control, her hard-won independence, felt like a brittle shell. His jealousy had infuriated her, but this…this naked hunger directed solely at her, it was a different kind of power.It unmade her.
She didn’t say the words.A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. “That’s my girl.”
Then he was on her.Not with gentle kisses, but with a conqueror’s claim. His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her gasp. It was all tongue and teeth and desperation, a kiss that tasted like whiskey and years of lonely nights. One big hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the angle. The other slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, gripping her ass and yanking her against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants.
She moaned into his mouth, her hands flying up to claw at his shoulders, his back.The anger was still there, but it was fuel now, a spark in a gasoline spill. She bit his lower lip, hard enough to taste copper.
He growled, pulling back, his breathing ragged. “Still furious, princess?”
“Fucking livid,” she panted, arching her body against his.
“Good.” He grabbed the neckline of her camisole and tore it. The delicate silk gave way with a sharp sound, baring her breasts to the cool air and his hotter gaze. He dipped his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the peaked bud. The sensation was so acute, so visceral, it was almost a pain.She cried out, her back bowing off the bed.His mouth was everywhere. Her breasts, the column of her throat, the sensitive spot behind her ear. He was marking her again, reclaiming territory.His hands made quick, brutal work of her panties, rending the lace. She was naked beneath him, exposed and throbbing.
He shifted, kneeling between her thighs, pushing her legs apart with his knees. His eyes locked on the wet, glistening flesh he’d exposed.A dark, reverent curse left his lips.“Jesus.Look at you. Soaked just from thinking about it. Just from knowing I was down the hall.”
“Damien—” His name was a plea.“Shut up.” The command was gentle, absolute. “Don’t talk.Just feel.”
He didn’t kiss her there.Not yet. He leaned forward, bracing himself over her, his cock, still trapped in his trousers, pressing against her slick opening. He rocked his hips, a slow, torturous grind that coated himself in her wetness without entering. The friction was exquisite agony.She whined, trying to lift her hips to take him in.
“Patience,” he murmured against her mouth. He kissed her again, deeply, as his hand slipped down between their bodies. His thumb found her clit, circling it with a precision that was cruel in its perfection.She gasped into his kiss, her hips bucking uncontrollably.
“You remember this, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick. “Remember how I’d eat this sweet cunt for hours? Until you were begging me to stop, to fuck you, to do anything just to give you a second to breathe?”
She couldn’t answer. Her world had narrowed to the point of his thumb, the press of his body, the wildfire in her veins.
“I dream about the taste of you. It’s the only thing that’s felt real for years.” He moved down her body, his kisses branding a path over her stomach. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, spreading her wide.“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. Again.”
His mouth descended.The first touch of his tongue was a lightning strike. A flat, hot lick from her opening to her clit.She screamed, her hands flying to tangle in his dark hair. He didn’t tease.He feasted. He buried his face in her, licking and sucking with a starving man’s fervor. His tongue speared inside her, fucking her with it, then curled upward to lap at her sensitive inner walls before zeroing back in on her swollen clit.
“Oh god, oh god, Damien—” The words were ripped from her, meaningless sounds of pure sensation.He hummed against her, the vibration shattering what was left of her coherence. His hands held her hips down, pinning her in place as he devoured her. The coiling tension in her belly wound tighter, unbearably tight. He could always find the rhythm perfectly, the exact spot, the right amount of pressure.He was driving her towards the edge with terrifying efficiency.
“Come on,” he snarled against her wet flesh, his voice muffled. “Come in my mouth.Let me taste it.”
The command, filthy and direct, was the final trigger. Her orgasm detonated, a white-hot nova that tore through her. She writhed, her thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure convulsed through her, wringing a ragged scream from her throat. He rode it out, his tongue gentling, lapping at her gently, drawing every last shudder from her body until she was a twitching, spent wreck.
Before the last tremors had even faded, he was moving. She heard the frantic rustle of his pants being shoved down, and then the blunt, insistent head of his cock was pressing against her soaked, sensitive entrance.Her eyes fluttered open. He was above her, his face a mask of naked need, his eyes burning into hers. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice gravel. “You look at me when I fuck you now.”
He pushed in.The stretch was exquisite, a fulfilling ache. He was thick, and she was tight, still fluttering from her climax.He didn’t go slow. He sheathed himself inside her in one deep, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. A guttural groan was ripped from his chest. Her own breath seized, her nails digging into the corded muscles of his arms.“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to hers. “Fuck, Beth.Nothing… nothing has ever felt like this.”
He began to move. Deep, punishing strokes that drove the air from her lungs.This wasn’t making love.It was a claiming. Each thrust was a punctuation mark on his earlier words: Come home.You’re mine. The bed rocked against the wall with the force of it. The obscene, wet sound of their joining filled the dark room.
He was relentless, chasing his own peak but determined to drag another one from her. One hand snaked between them, his thumb finding her clit again, rubbing rough circles as he pistoned into her.“Come again,” he grunted, his pace becoming savage, erratic. “I need to feel you come on my cock. Do it.”
The stimulation was too much, too soon, overwhelmingly perfect.The pressure built again, a different, deeper quake. She was so full of him, so utterly dominated, that her second orgasm took her by surprise. It was a full-body convulsion, a silent scream that locked her muscles as her cunt clamped down hard around his length, milking him.
With a roar that was part triumph, part agony, Damien lost his rhythm. He slammed into her one final, devastating time and held, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside her, his release pulsing hot and deep. His collapse was gradual, a controlled fall onto her, his sweat-slicked chest pressed against hers, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing mingling in the dark. The scent of sex and sweat and Damien was thick in the air.
Finally, he shifted his weight, rolling onto his side and pulling her with him, keeping them joined.He pressed a damp, surprisingly tender kiss to her shoulder. His hand, splayed on her back, stroked her spine.
“The couch,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice wrecked, the protest utterly devoid of conviction.
“Fuck the couch,” he murmured, his own voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.His arms tightened around her, a possessive band of heat. “You’re home now.”