All They Need(59)

It had been so long. Too long. And he felt good.

She angled her head to deepen their kiss, her fingers clenching into the fabric of his T-shirt, pulling him closer. She slid her tongue along his, tasting him, giving as good as she got. Her other hand slid down his back, exploring the broad planes and angles en route to his waist. When she arrived, she fumbled blindly for the hem of his T-shirt, sucking on his tongue, pressing her hips forward, desperate to touch him skin-to-skin. Finally she slid her hand over his belly. She made an approving sound in the back of her throat as she felt the flex of his stomach muscles beneath her hand. She needed more from him. Much more.

She caught the hand cupping her jaw and pulled it to her breast, closing her own hand over his. He took the hint, his thumb sweeping across her nipple, and she let out a low moan.

She’d forgotten how good this felt. How needful. How beautiful and powerful a man’s body felt beneath her hands, how different the textures of his skin were from her own.

Wet heat throbbed between her legs as he plucked at her nipple through the layers of her sweater and bra. She wanted him. She wanted him very badly.

The press of his hips against hers, the silken rasp of his tongue in her mouth, the beautiful friction of his fingers at her breast, the feel of his hard body beneath her hands, the smell of him, the taste of him—she was overwhelmed by sensation, utterly lost.

Her shaking hands found the waistband of his jeans. She popped the stud free and had his zipper down and her hands inside his boxer briefs in seconds. His erection was thick and hard and hot in her hand, his shaft silky smooth. She stroked him, rubbing herself against his thigh at the same time.

She imagined what he would look like naked, how he would feel on top of her, sliding inside her.

She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t.

She started pushing his jeans down, her hands frantic. He smiled against her mouth.

“Slow down, babe. We’ve got all night,” he murmured. His tone was light, but his words hit her like a slap.

Suddenly she could hear Owen’s voice in her head, cold with condemnation and disgust.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’d like to take the lead now and again?

It’s not a porn shoot, Mel. Do you have to make so much noise?

Could you at least try to pretend you’re not always gagging for it? And you wonder why I don’t like you talking to other men.

She jerked away from Flynn’s kiss, her whole body tense. She tried to turn away from him but he caught her shoulders.

“Mel. What’s wrong?”

“Let me go.”

She couldn’t look at him. Was too afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. After a few beats he loosened his grip and she pulled away from him.

“Mel. Talk to me. What just happened?”

She could hear the confusion in his voice. The concern. A part of her understood that he hadn’t been criticizing her, not really. He’d simply been trying to slow things down. And she had been rushing.

She’d been out of control.

But the greater part of her was running for cover, desperate to protect herself. Desperate to pretend she hadn’t exposed herself so completely and left herself so open to his judgment and condemnation.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “This was a mistake.”

“Then it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made. Up until about twenty seconds ago, anyway.”

His words surprised her so much she looked at him. His face was filled with concern, his gaze worried.

“What happened, Mel?”

There was no way she could answer his question, so she simply shook her head.

He sighed. Then he reached for the fly on his jeans. She looked away while he pulled up his fly and rebuttoned the stud, humiliated color burning its way into her cheeks.

He must have thought she was mad—tearing his clothes off one minute, then pushing him away the next. He must have thought she was completely demented. The moment he was decent she turned and led the way to the front door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him once she’d unlocked the door, so she aimed her gaze at his chin instead.

“I’m sorry. That was… I’m sorry.”

He stood on the threshold, his body tense.



“Mel. I wasn’t criticizing you. In case you couldn’t tell, I was having a damned good time. It was meant to be a joke.”

“I know.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it wasn’t about him, it was all about her—about how screwed up she was—but she didn’t want to start a conversation that she was never going to finish. It was bad enough that she knew how ugly her marriage had become, she didn’t need to share the grim details with this man she’d grown to admire and respect and like so much. She didn’t want to watch his lust turn to pity. She didn’t want him to know how little she’d valued herself.