“You might not love me if you knew all of them.” I smile sadly.

He pulls at my hand, tugs my mouth to his. “I will always love you,” he whispers.

I lower my head to his chest to avoid a response. No, I think. You won’t.

I can’t do it. I can’t ruin this beautiful loyal man’s impression of me. I can’t destroy the only person in this world who looks at me as if I am not broken. Who knows about my dark desires, yet still loves me. Who might not be able to handle the fact that I have acted on those desires.

I can’t do it. My weakness, my lack of courage is dismaying, my own subconscious stepping away with an offended look. But my heart is too strong. It beats too loud and too rebelliously, drowning common sense as it sets up roadblocks and dams, keeping out anything, including morality, in a quest to protect its claim.

I love him.

He loves me.

I can’t destroy everything. Not when he doesn’t even want, isn’t even asking, for my secrets.

I try to think, try to fill our silence with something, some response to his words, some delay tactic that will get me out of this thorn bush and back to safe, non-relationship-ending conversation. I straighten, realizing, as my gaze finds his face, that he, beautiful man, claimant of my heart, is asleep.

CHAPTER 117

One Month Later

THERE ARE NO lights, there is no pink. I don’t wear stockings, or a garter, or sexy panties. There is only me, in a tank top and cotton underwear, on hotel sheets, Jeremy’s temporary home until he finds a new one. And his body above mine, his shirt off, sweatpants low enough that I can see the V of his hips.

“Are you sure?” he whispers.

I reach a hand up, run it through the short tufts of his hair. Gently trace the line of his strong jaw, stubble beneath my fingers, his lips parting slightly when I reach their edges. The vulnerable look in his eyes giving me courage. I nod. Wrap my hand around the back of his head and pull him down, onto my mouth, his soft kiss gaining strength as my mouth opens, as he tastes my willingness and pushes further. Then his body moves, my legs spreading, wrapping, his weight taking its rightful place atop me, and he pushes forward slightly, into my body, hard pressure against me proving his need. He lifts his head, leaving the kiss, the rough scrape of his jaw moving lower, the soft trail of his mouth moving across my jaw, down my neck, his weight lifting off of me as his hands gather the bottom of my tank top and slide underneath. I close my eyes, relax my head against the pillow, and release a breath. Shudder as fingers slide up my body, hitting the curve of my breasts and sliding outward only to come together. Cup the weight of them in his hands gently as his mouth nudges lower, moves over the fabric of my thin tank, his mouth kissing them each in turn, sucking gently through the fabric, wet and hot, the sensation of the cloth and his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, causing my pelvis to tilt, hot need to shoot through me.

“Jeremy,” I beg. “I’m ready.”

“Soon.”

“Now.”

He slides down, between my legs, loops fingers under cotton, and drags my panties off, lifting my legs and dropping a quick kiss on the underside of my thigh, his eyes catching mine, a smile tugging at his lips. “God, you don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

“How long?”

“Too long to admit it here. It’d ruin the moment.”

I smile. “Creepy?”

“Creepy.” He throws my panties to the side, running strong fingers slowly down the length of my legs, his breath hot as he takes a small nip of my skin, his teeth causing me to shiver. Then he spreads them, moving back up the length of my body, in between my legs, coming to a stop above me, his eyes on mine. “I love you.”

I study the thick lashes, his eyes behind them open and trusting. “You shouldn’t.”

He lowers his mouth, brushes against my lips, taking his time with the kiss, his tongue soft and suggestive. “I do.”

“I love you too.”

He sits back, his eyes on mine, loosening the tie of his pants, the green glow of his stare darkening, my breath inhaling in one soft gasp when he pushes down the material and his cock pops out. Hard. Ready. Our soft kisses and sweet words had done nothing to pause his arousal. “You ready?”

“You don’t have to be gentle.” My body is already broken, penetration an old game my body has played too many times to make this special.

But he ignores me, his fingers testing me, taking a slow swipe down my legs, taking a measured draw over my pussy, swearing at the moisture there. I myself am surprised, still, at my body’s reaction to the heat of his touch. How much my cunt responds, body arches, a moan slipping from me when he does the simple action of pushing a finger in. I can’t think of anything but how much I want his cock, its hard stiff bob sticking straight out, bumping against my sex occasionally, the dark need in his eyes telling me that he knows. Knows exactly where his cock is. Exactly how far it is from my wet need. I reach a fast hand down, wrapping my fingers around his shaft, his eyes closing at the contact, his hips thrusting forward, the organ shocking in its warmth, unbendable yet alive in my hand. A drop of clear liquid appears at his tip, and I run a hesitant thumb over it, my name dropping from his lips at the movement of my hand, my fingers, his own hands dragging my shirt up, making a slow tour of my skin, his eyes still closed, tightly. “Let me get a condom,” he rasps, pulling his hips away, opening his eyes, raw want in their depths.