Creed (Unfinished Hero #2)(100)

“All right.”

I sucked in breath.

Creed whispered, “I love you, Sylvie. Thank you for doin’ this for me, baby. I know you know but I’ll say it clear, it means the world to me. Just like you. All I can promise is, a day won’t go by where you won’t know you got that from me.”

At that, I started crying silently.

I did this while Creed held me and I kept doing it for a good long while.

Through it, Creed never let me go.

Chapter Twenty-Two

My Creed

A hot summer night in Kentucky, sixteen years earlier, Creed is twenty-three. It’s Sylvie’s birthday, she’s just turned eighteen…

I was in the warm, midnight blue waters of the lake when I saw his truck drive up, the headlights bright, cutting through the cloudless night.

I treaded water and watched the lights go out on his truck. I kept doing it as I watched his tall, shadowed form stalk through the dark toward the pier.

I adjusted my position and kept my eyes on him as I heard his boots fall on the wood slats while he made his way to me.

At the end, he stopped and I felt his eyes on me through the dark.

“Baby, what the f**k?” he asked, sounding irritated. “We got all of six hours before we’re home free. Why did you call me and what the f**k are you doin’ in the lake?”

“What time is it?” I asked back.

“What?” he returned.

“Creed, honey, what time is it?”

He looked to his watch then back at me. “Can’t see shit, so I don’t know but I left the house at two fifteen.”

I did a lazy breast stroke and when I made it to the end of the pier, I lifted a wet hand and curled my fingers around the edge, tipping my head way back to keep my eyes on Creed.

“I was born at two oh four.”

His patience waned. I knew this when he asked, “Sylvie, again, what the f**k?”

“I was born at two oh four.”

Creed said nothing but I saw the line of his body go completely still.

He understood me.

“I’m legal, baby,” I told him softly.

I barely got out the word “baby” when he crouched low, leaned forward, his hands went under my pits and he hauled me clean out of the water. Just as suddenly, he was down and my wet, bikini-clad body was on him and his hands were on me.

All over me.

Finally.

I’d wanted this for as long as I knew it was mine to have. I’d wanted to give this to Creed for as long as I knew it was mine to give. For a year, we’d held back.

The floodgates opened and it all rushed out, beautifully.

But not perfectly.

He started by kissing me then he reached out and grabbed the blanket I brought, pulled us up to our feet and covered the pier with it.

After he did that, back down we went, this time, Creed on top of me.

A place I loved him to be.

Creed, being Creed, gave and gave, with his hands, his mouth, his fingers, his tongue, even his teeth. Gentle, slow, sweet.

Restrained.

I knew it cost him because I felt his tenseness, heard him stifle the noises he would normally make, probably so he didn’t scare me.

My hands up his shirt tensed against his sleek skin.

“Let this be everything it’s meant to be, Creed,” I whispered into his neck.

“Want it to be the best it can be for you, Sylvie,” he whispered in mine.

“It’s you. There’s no other way it can be.”

His head came up and I felt his eyes looking down at me.

“What do I do?” I asked.

“Whatever you want,” he answered. “Do what comes naturally.”

I shoved my hands in his tee and pulled up.

Creed arched his back and lifted his arms.

I pulled his shirt off.

Amazing.

All that smooth, muscled skin in the moonlight.

Amazing.

I put my hands to it.

Not amazing.

Sublime.

Creed kissed me.

Even better.

He rolled so I was on top and I used my hands on him, my mouth, my fingers, my tongue, even my teeth. Just like he did on me.

He rolled us again so he was on top, he did the same to me and I felt it building. Building so much, I couldn’t stop the noises from escaping my throat. Little whimpers, low moans, breathless gasps.

Creed’s lips on mine, he told me gently, “Gonna put my hand between your legs, beautiful. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” I breathed.

His hand slid down my belly and I shivered, waiting, braced, anticipating, needing but he stopped with his fingertips at the top edge of my bikini bottoms.

“You sure?” he checked.

“Baby,” I gasped. “I’m ready.”

His hand slid in.

My neck arched.

Oh wow.

Wow.

His finger hit me right at the perfect spot and my h*ps bucked violently.

I liked that.

A lot.

His finger retreated.

No!

“Jesus, I hurt you, Sylvie?”

“No,” I panted, my hands moving on him, feverish, communicating, then I gave it to him verbally. “Please,” I whispered.

Apparently he needed no further encouragement. I knew this because his hand slid back in and his finger went right where I needed it.