A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(60)

I squirm, embarrassed yet pleased by his words. He smells so good, his bare arms radiating musk and sweat. He’s so warm, so close, and I lose myself in the simple act of breathing him in.

“But more than anything, I trust you because I don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” I say automatically, like a robot. It was one of Stacia’s favorite catchphrases at the Island.

“Not when it comes to you. I’m a goner.”

And then we stop talking.

The press of my loose breasts against his chest feels like a wild ride, my nipples hard and rubbing against his thick pecs. His arms feel like bands of steel encased in hot velvet. His mouth moves on my jaw, planting little kisses as he makes his way to my mouth.

This feels so good.

That must mean you wanted it four years ago, cackles a nasty voice in my head.

My face twists with agony, Drew’s tongue turning cold in my mouth, my body getting smaller and smaller as I panic, a thousand images of blood and pain and degradation swirling with the feel of his affection.

He breaks the kiss “What’s wrong?”

I whimper.

“Too much?”

I nod.

He pulls me in, tucking my head against his shoulder. He strokes my hair, gentling me. “It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. We stopped. We’ll always stop when you want to stop. You’re in charge, Lindsay.”

I open my mouth to make a sarcastic comment but nothing comes out.

Because a part of me really believes him.

I look up and my knee digs into the bed, propelling me, and I’m kissing him again. Lost in the lush feel of everything, that insidious voice can’t be heard. I refuse to hear it. I have power now. I decide what my body does. I decide what my mind tries to tell me.

Drew’s right.

I have a choice.

I can’t control the horrors that are stored within, but I can battle them, by God.

His slow inhale turns to a low groan as the kiss keeps going, my hands hungry, my mind fighting me for control. I won’t surrender.

To anyone but Drew.

All the secrets are gone, and yesteryear’s confusion cleared up. He’s breathing hard against me, his hands roaming up my back, covering my ribs, asking an unspoken question.

“Please touch me,” I beg. “Please.” He cups one breast and my entire body heats up, skin tingling.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, the rush of air against my ear making me shudder. One thumb strums my nipple until it’s rock hard, and I press my belly against his, wanting to feel his hardness. It’s there, a long outline against his trousers, straining for release.

It has been so, so long since I felt pleasure with a man. With Drew.

Like this.

Maybe this is how I truly heal.

Suddenly, there is not enough Drew in the world for me. I want his hands everywhere, his eyes on me, his tongue along my teeth, his hands on my heated flesh, his fingers making me warm and wet and exploding. Frantic, I tighten my grip, and he roars in response, unleashing the politeness he’s kept in place since I came home.

He hovers over me, all bone and muscle, hard against my curves, his sounds the music of passion and need.

“What do you want, Lindsay,” he rasps against my neck, one hand cupping my breast up, pushing with the firm touch of a man. No tentative college guy, this version of Drew: he knows what he wants but is deferring to me because of my past.

Fuck that.

“I want it all. Erase everything I know and give me everything new, Drew,” I plead.

“I’ll do my damnedest. God, I’ve missed you so much,” His fingers thread through my hair, one hand on my ribcage, fingers tickling my breast. His hands slide to my waistband as he ravages my mouth with a kiss that makes me dizzy.

It feels so good to feel.

I’ve imagined this moment a million times over the last four years, all of it filled with self-hatred for wanting Drew so much. Before, when I thought he’d betrayed me, desiring him seemed like a curse.

Now that I know the truth, though, the fire between us is a revelation. He’s transporting me. His fingers on my belly make me smile. His hand on my breast makes me gasp. The pull of my hair in his fingers makes me kiss him even harder and strum my fingers along his erection.

He damn near chokes.

“That feels so good,” he growls, nipping at my earlobe, his hand gliding over my ass and squeezing. We grind into each other, my legs scissoring, his thick shaft a source of delicious friction against my V.

I giggle. I can’t help it. I’m reminded of making out my senior year of high school, stuck in a hidden, empty car on the Grove’s grounds, and how we dry humped until I had chafe marks on my thighs.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, dazed and out of it.

“Remember when we made out in the old service car?”

His deep rumble joins my higher laugh. Even his voice seems bigger. Richer. Smoother and more sophisticated than four years ago. He nudges his hips against mine. “Is this reminding you of that?”

“A little.”

“This time you won’t get red marks,” he promises.

“How do you know?”

“Because now I know we just need to take our pants off.” He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, looking up at me under his eyelashes. “For safety.”