Burn for Me (8 page)

His dark eyes bored into hers and he covered her cheek with his hand. “Ali, I’m just like my father. I’ve always worried … if
he
could do that…”

Confusion danced across her face and then abruptly, comprehension dawned.

“Tate.”

She cupped his face in her hands and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. That soft, light kiss somehow was a balm to the bleeding, gaping hole that was his heart.

“You stupid, stupid man,” she murmured against his mouth. Then she sighed and pressed her brow to his, slipping from the porch swing to kneel in front of him.

He curved his arms around her waist. The feel of her was both comfort and torment. Turning his face into her hair, he breathed in the scent of her.
Let me fix this …

“You honestly think that you could hurt me. Is that why you try so hard to keep a distance?”

Why did he feel so foolish about this now? Foolish, and oddly relieved, as he felt her heart beat against his own. A weight had been lifted off him some time in the past few hours. A weight he’d been carrying around for too long. Maybe even for fifteen years.

He kept his face buried against her neck. “Intentionally, no. I don’t
think
I ever would … but a huge part of me…”

She eased back and covered his cheek with her hand. “Tate. Don’t take this wrong. Because I love you, dearly. But you’re an idiot.” Temper flashed in her eyes and she surged upward so suddenly, she knocked him off balance. He ended up sitting on his ass while she started to pace.

He shifted around to keep her in his sight as she moved.

“All this time.” She glared at him as she reached the end of the porch and wheeled around. “For three years, we played
friends,
all because you’re afraid you’re going to pull some weird
Jekyll and Hyde
bit?”

“
Jekyll and Hyde
?” He climbed to his feet, staring at her while his temper started to kick up inside. Okay, he could take feeling like an idiot, but he’d held back because he wouldn’t risk hurting somebody—hurting
her
. “You know, this might sound like a fucking joke to you, and maybe I’m being stupid, but I lost my mother. She was our
world
. Our dad was our rock. And for the longest time, I looked at him and saw only the man who
I
thought killed her. I saw a man who is
just like me
.”

“Did it ever
occur
to you that you were wrong?” she shouted. “About
any
of it?”

“Yes!” He spun away and sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. He moved to the edge of the porch and leaned against it, his weight braced on his hands. Heedless of the pouring rain and the wind, he closed his eyes. “But … shit. I didn’t let myself think about it. Until today.”

He hadn’t let anger get a foothold in his life, not since he’d lost his mom. He’d blamed her death on anger, after all. When he felt
too
angry, or too close to slipping there, he funneled all those frustrations into his art, into a hard, driving run … or sometimes, into sex.

Right then, though, he was caught, hovering between anger, self-disgust, and other emotions he couldn’t name. When Ali came near, he caught her arm and she crashed into his chest, glaring up at him.

This. He closed his eyes, let himself revel in the feel of her pressed against him.

Just … this.

He hadn’t felt whole since she’d walked away.

And even when they’d been together, he’d held back. Always.

This was probably the closest to
whole
he’d ever been. Slowly, he twined her hair around his fist, holding her gaze with his. “I know it might not make sense,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t let myself think it, because I couldn’t. Even if I was
wrong,
at least it was an answer. Can you understand that? Do you understand what it’s like … living with that? Not having
any
answer?”

Something flickered in her eyes and the tension that had held her rigid drained away. The hands that had been pushing him away curled into the fabric of his shirt and she sighed, gazing up at him. “Yeah. I think I do. You lost your mom—the answer, right or wrong, was something you needed. I
get
that. But you spent fifteen years blaming the wrong man. You spent fifteen years putting yourself in a box, only letting bits and pieces of yourself out because you were afraid you’d be just
like
him. You are like him, Tate. He isn’t a killer. He’s just a stubborn, headstrong man.”

“But that’s part of the problem.” He pressed his brow to hers. “I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be the kind of man who’d say things that sent a woman running out in the middle of the night. I don’t…”

“Tate.” A soft sigh escaped her, ghosting over his lips. “You can have some traits without being him made over.
You
decide the kind of man you’re going to be. You’re more likely to hurt me by closing me out than by anything you say.”

Stroking his thumb across her temple, he closed his eyes.

She smoothed her hands down his shirt and then turned her face into his neck. “You’ve had a rough day. Why don’t you come inside for a while? You can dry off and wait until the storm passes.”

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

“Then go home?” he murmured.

Go home …

Those words sent her heart to racing. No. She didn’t want him going home, not at all.

But she wasn’t throwing herself back out there again unless she knew he was going to be with her.

“I think you need to look at all of this, and make sure you know what you want,” she said haltingly, staring at the column of his throat. Much safer territory than his eyes. She felt lost every time she did that and if she looked there now and saw the heat and the hunger and the confusion and the love …

“I know what I want.” He tugged her head back and dipped his own, pressed his brow to hers. His free hand fisted the back of her shirt and it left her feeling surrounded by him. “I want you. I’m scared to death and you’ll have to kick my ass along the way, but I want you, and everything that comes with it.”

Oh. Well. Hell.

Now she was
really
lost.

For a long, long moment, he stared at her and then, slowly, he slanted his mouth over hers. He pressed her back against the wall of the house, the strength of his body pinning her to it as her muscles went lax. His tongue toyed, tangled with hers. Her heart slammed against her ribs as he slid his hands up her sides, danced the tips of his fingers along her neck before plunging them into her hair to arch her face to his.

“Ali-girl.” He rubbed his lips against hers before pressing a hot, burning line of kisses down her neck. “My girl.”

She twisted her hands in his shirt, sucking in a desperate breath. He shifted against her and her pussy clenched when she felt the hard, heavy ridge of his cock. Hunger and need ripped through her.

Lost … yes. She was lost. She didn’t care.

*   *   *

He barely had the brainpower to realize they were on the porch.

Her lit porch.

Groaning, he managed to stumble inside and kick the door shut and that was where his control ended.

Spinning around, he put her against the door and leaned back, grabbing the hem of her shirt. It was wet now, thanks to his own sodden clothes and he ran his fingers down the transparent cloth. Through it, he could see the outline of her bra, the soft swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her torso. He wanted to go to his knees before her and worship her, wanted to press his lips to every damn inch of her. Slowly, he lifted his gaze up to meet hers. “I got you all wet.”

“So you did.” She licked her lips.

“Should I do something about it?” He made himself hold back. He’d been so fucking unfair to her, holding back from everything they both wanted, both needed. He needed this … now. With her. She wanted it. But if he’d pushed her so far away that she wasn’t ready for this …

A slow smiled curled her lips. “Well, you’re a big boy, Tate. It’s time you start taking more responsibility for things,” she teased. “You got me all wet. Now take care of it.”

As she spoke, she curled her legs around his hips and arched against him.

The contact was a jolt, straight down his spine, hitting him square in the balls. “Yes, I should absolutely take care of that.”

Reaching for the hem of her shirt, he slowly peeled it up, watching as he bared each inch. Goose bumps broke out along her skin and once the shirt had cleared her head, he dropped it to the ground and leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the delicate line of her collarbone.

She shivered and he looked up, stared into her eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Umm.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a yes or no.” He nibbled his way along her shoulder, felt another shiver race through her. “I’ll take it as a yes. I should warm you up. Get rid of these wet clothes.”

He kissed his way up her throat and reached behind him to unhook her feet, guiding her legs down so he could deal with her jeans. “These should go, too, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled against his lips as he went to take her mouth. Her kisses—he could gorge on them. Every day for the rest of his life and never be satisfied. That was what he wanted. What he’d wanted for a long, long time; maybe he’d even let himself think about having it. “I think everything should go.”

“Good idea.” He undid her bra, slipped the straps slowly down, watching as her breasts swung free. The deep rose of her nipples begged for him and he paused to catch one in his mouth, plumping her breasts together as he did so. “So soft. So sweet.”

She arched against him, a movement guaranteed to distract him. He wasn’t about to get distracted, though, and he straightened, focusing his attention on the thin cotton yoga pants. They were gone in seconds and he boosted her back up, pressed her back to the door.

A random thought fired—
we can go to her room
—but he didn’t want to be away from her, didn’t want to try and navigate the house when he could be inside her.

She hissed, shivering. “You’re getting me wet all over again.”

“That’s the idea.” He slid a hand down between them, pushed a finger inside her and yes, she was very, very wet.

She gasped as he stroked her, her muscles clenching around him. Then she reached for him, yanking at his shirt. “Take this off.”

He leaned back just enough, gripping the firm curve of her ass. “You take it off instead.”

Their gazes locked and held as she dragged the shirt up. It caught around his shoulders and he let go just enough to finish stripping the wet mess off as she clutched at his hips with her knees.

It was absolutely insane that his hands were shaking.

He’d made love to Ali a hundred times. More.

Yet each time was a new experience.

This time, I don’t have to hide—

He stilled, slowly lifting his eyes to stare at her.

“Tate?”

His heart thudded in his chest and he tried to breathe around the massive ache centered there but it was almost impossible.

An uncertain look crossed her features.

“No more holding back?”

A breath shuddered out of her. “Please don’t.”

Gazing at her, he eased the zipper of his jeans down, his cock pulsating, the need inside him swelling, rippling through him. His blood burned. Nerve endings seemed to sizzle and scream inside.

She reached down and stroked one finger along his length and he caught her wrist, stretched it up over her head and pressed it to the door, still watching her. He caught her other wrist as well, holding them both pinned in one hand, high over her head.

It arched her back, lifted her breasts, a position that seared itself on the back of his mind.

With his free arm, he caught one leg, drew it up. “There. Stay right there,” he muttered, right there as he pressed it to his hip, opening her. Her lips parted as she stared at him, soft, broken little pants coming from her. Then he reached between them and grabbed his cock, grimacing as even that touch sent a jolt racing through him. He was ready to come, right there. The heated kiss of her wet pussy against his head was a damn near brutal sensation.

Ali gasped as he pressed against her. Slowly, oh, so slowly, she yielded. Her breasts rose, fell against his chest in a rapid rhythm, her gaze all but blind as she stared at him.

She was burning him. Burning him alive.

“Burn for me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want to feel you burn for me.”

The silken, tight grasp of her pussy closed around him, the tissues clinging to him as he withdrew and then surged back in. Her head fell back, throat arched, the line, delicate line exposed. He skimmed it with his lips. “I love you.”

A soft, broken cry escaped her lips.

Why did this feel different?

Bewildered, Ali stared into his eyes but even as she tried to understand everything shaking and rolling through her, he surged against her again. His swollen flesh rasped over sensitized tissues and he retreated, slow, almost too slow, so that she was painfully aware of the void he left behind. His gaze caught hers, held hers as he poised there, right there at her entrance.

Then he started it all over again, a slow, deep possession, until she was full with him, stretched tight around him. The pleasure battered at her and she whimpered, twisted in his arms in a desperate attempt to get closer.

“Burn for me,” he whispered against her mouth again, releasing her wrists and sliding his hand down to cup her cheek.

She clutched at his shoulders, her nails biting into his flesh as she clenched down around him, already feeling the orgasm gathering deep inside her. So easily. He had her so easily.

He worked a hand between them and she keened out his name as he flicked his thumb over her clitoris.
There …

She caught her breath but then he changed his rhythm, going to shallow, teasing thrusts as he toyed with the hard little nub of flesh. “Not so fast, Ali-girl.”

She glared at him.

He stared back at her. The naked need, the hunger, the love she saw in his eyes left her breathless.