A Mother's Homecoming(55)
The tears were a torrent. “I … I could have hurt her if I’d stayed. I couldn’t risk that, couldn’t live with it.” She buried her face in her hands, wishing that the crying could wash away the past, make her clean again.
Then suddenly Nick was there, tugging her clumsily into his arms and folding her against his chest. He was out of practice—he’d done this so many times before, whenever her mother said something awful. Or that day when Pam had found her mother passed out and had thought for a split second that Mae was dead.
She’d sobbed afterward because one of the feelings she’d experienced before panic kicked in had been relief. She’d trusted Nick enough to admit that to him, and he hadn’t judged her. He’d just listened.
I’ve missed him so much. She looped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. The rhythm of his heartbeat steadied her, and as she calmed, her gratitude gave way to hypersensitivity. The plane of his chest was well-muscled from time spent in construction, hard beneath his shirt and against her body. He still used the same shampoo he always had, and she inhaled the familiar smell, letting the memory take her back. The soothing metronome of his pulse had picked up speed. She wasn’t the only one reacting to their embrace.
His breathing grew rougher. “Pam.”
She looked up reflexively, and his mouth took hers. Heat arced between them, invisible lightning that singed her in all the right places. The kiss quickly turned into a frantic homecoming, each of them desperate to touch and taste. There was nothing harmonious or well-orchestrated about their movements, simply raw feeling. They bumped noses and foreheads in their haste.
He backed her against the couch and they toppled together, landing in a pile of limbs and pleasure. Her breasts tingled beneath his weight, and she rocked her hips upward, denim scraping denim, to meet his. He was so hard it made her dizzy, imagining what they’d be like, the slide of him inside her.
She hooked one ankle behind his calf, pushing him against her, and he nipped her earlobe. His hands seemed to be in so many places at once. He cupped her under her shirt and the symphony of sensation overwhelmed her. Arching her back, she bit back a cry, marveling that she could be so close to the brink of orgasm. The desire she felt was so sharp it was uncomfortable.
Nick dragged his kisses downward, his lips closing around her nipple as he kept moving against her, the pressure maddening and demanding, and she broke, this time unable to keep herself from crying out as wave after wave rippled through her. Her body felt swollen and sensitized in the aftermath, and dazed, she tried to shove him away.
“I cannot believe I did that,” she said to the ceiling, embarrassed. “That was …”
“Earth-shattering?” Nick flashed her an adorably cocky grin.
Out of control. She sat up, tugging her shirt and bra back into place. Letting her common sense get eclipsed by the moment was a bad idea for an addict. One kiss had turned into much more so fast her brain hadn’t been able to process it. It was reminiscent of the way a single drink to help her loosen up before a show had once turned into a sloppy, intoxicated performance that had tanked the last of her professional credibility.
“That was too much,” she said. “What happened to discipline?”
He reached for her, trying to joke away her tension. “I didn’t know you were into the discipline stuff. Maybe next time.”
“Nick! I’m serious. That …” She blinked. “I’ve had too many mindless one-night stands.”
“We don’t have to talk about that. Neither of us have been completely celibate, and I’m not going to hold your history against you.”
“It’s not about you holding anything against me, it’s about me holding myself accountable. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you to be just a quick lay.”
He flinched, then stood. “That kind of talk is kind of a mood killer, sweetheart.”
Good. Because it would have felt too selfish to send him out of here still aroused while she was satisfied. Sort of. Her body might have just released months of tension, but she wasn’t exactly giddy with afterglow. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, which was what had landed her in this mess in the first place. Tears weren’t the answer.
With a sigh, Nick resumed his pacing. “I don’t mean to downplay what you’ve been through, but is there any chance you’re overreacting? Getting swept away with your ex-husband is hardly the same thing as taking home a stranger. There’s a difference between self-control and self-denial.”