Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(83)

“No, I just want you to . . .” I press my forehead against hers. What exactly do I want? Because when she says it like that, I feel stupid for even suggesting it. “I want you to look at me the way you used to. I want you to think that I’m good. I want you to still want me.” I hesitate, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Do you?”

A stream of tears slips down her cheeks. “We’re so different, River. We don’t make sense—this doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It doesn’t have to.” My insides clench with dread.

She hesitates for a long moment before admitting in a whisper, “I shouldn’t. I can’t. But I do. I still want you.”

Relief overwhelms me. I feel like I’ve passed some monumental hurdle.

Until she shakes her head. “This can never go anywhere, River.” She says it so convincingly. Is she trying to persuade me, or herself?

A painful spike settles into my throat. I know what I’m about to say is crazy, but I don’t care. “It can. You can stay in Ireland, you could get a nursing job, live with me.”

“Never bring you home with me, spend every holiday apart . . .” She’s been thinking about it too, at least. “No, River. What you’re saying . . .” Glossy eyes beg me to understand. “This isn’t me. I know we’ve had an incredible connection but if I were back home, in my everyday life, this would never have happened. You and I would never have happened. Do you not see that?”

I curl my arms around her and pull her close to me, letting her face rest against my newly etched skin. The sting from that contact, the burn from the salt as she cries, is a welcome distraction from the deep throb inside my chest right now.

I’ve never regretted going to that bunker with Aengus more than I do right now.

Her cool fingers dance over my skin, contradicting her words, sending my own heartbeat into a frenzy. Dipping my head down, I coax her mouth with mine, tentatively at first to make sure it’s okay. The smallest gasp from her, the way she trails her tongue along the seam of my lips, tells me it is. I can’t help but groan in relief. But now it’s like I’m in a race to see exactly how far I can get, how many kisses she’ll give me, before she remembers herself and pushes me away.

She doesn’t seem willing to do that just yet.

Amber’s hands wander, grazing my cheeks, my throat, carefully bypassing the right side of my chest in their exploration. Slowly at first, but then more fervently, skating over my ridges, toying with my belt. I wrap my hands around her slender waist and hoist her onto the counter, fitting myself closely between her thighs. She squeezes them tight around me, pressing her hips into me.

I groan again. If she keeps doing that, I’ll come right here, standing in the bathroom.

Her hands push against my chest, forcing our lips apart. She gazes up at me with heated eyes, her breathing ragged. And I wait for her to say that we’re done, that this is over. That she “can’t.”

And then she pulls that tiny blue dress up and over her head, tossing it to the tile floor beside us. Her lacy white bra follows closely, leaving her in nothing but a pair of stringy knickers that, if I turned her around right now, would show off that incredible arse.

“You’re just so . . .” My mouth finds hers again, and I can’t keep my hands off her body anymore—her tits perfect handfuls, her nipples hard against my thumbs, the thin lace between her legs damp. She grinds herself against my fingers once, twice . . . and then her hands quickly find my belt buckle, unfastening it and reaching in to take a surprisingly firm grasp around me. As if she can’t wait either. The very possibility sends my need for Amber into overdrive.

Grabbing my wallet out of my jeans, I slide one hand under her and lift her up, carrying her with her legs wrapped around my body to her bed, laying her down so gently, peeling the last of her clothing off. She reaches for me, grabs my hips, pulls me down with surprising strength. Tempting me to slide into her. I would. I know I’m clean, and don’t doubt for a second that she is, too, and I’d do anything to feel her bare, just once.

But I also know Amber.

She nuzzles her face in the crook of my neck while I put a condom on, her tongue darting out to run along my skin, making my cock jump in my hand.

“Christ, Amber,” I mutter, grabbing her by the back of one thigh, pushing it up and out.

I sink into her and she moans, the sound stealing my lungs.

“Stay. Please, stay.”

She clasps either side of my face and holds it firm for a moment, peering up into my eyes, her mouth parted as if words hang at the tip of her tongue. But whatever it is she’s thinking, she doesn’t say. Finally, she reaches around and, seizing the back of my head firmly, she pulls my mouth down to hers.

TWENTY-SIX

Amber

The sound of the door shutting downstairs wakes me. I assume it’s either Rowen or Ivy who just left. A quick glance next to me finds River sprawled out on his back, his naked body tangled in the sheets, his face so boyish in sleep.

I’m not entirely sure what happened last night. I called Alex, looking for advice from her. Or maybe I just wanted her to give me an excuse for this jumble of feelings I still hold for River. But she left me in a cloud of confusion when we hung up.

Now that I’ve had time to process our conversation, a few things are clearer. For one, I truly understand why my father retired.