Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(38)

I’m shuddering against him, wound so tight I can barely breathe. Every inch of my skin feels electric and wild, and I’m writhing now, impatient. “Please,” I manage to whimper, dizzy with lust for him, with pure molten need. “Please Will . . .”

He reaches for the nightstand. I take the foil packet from him, savoring the stiff heat I feel as I help slide the condom over his shaft and then yes, f*ck, he’s poised above me, that gorgeous face alive with desire. But there’s something more, too: a reverent look in his eyes that quiets my last doubts and sends me spinning into the sweet rush of the moment.

Will slowly thrusts inside me, and I know, there’s no turning back.

Not from how right this feels, how he fits me so perfectly. Grinding deep, f*ck, so deep, our bodies rising up to meld with each other, like we were always meant to be this way. The feel of him is like nothing in the world. Filling me up, stretching me, already sending bolts of pleasure rushing thick through my every last sense. I cling to him, it’s all I can do to match the slow, sensuous pace of his body, each stroke more powerful than the last. Will rises up on his elbows, face just inches from mine. Our lips touch, and I feel every ragged breath, every surge that brings him closer to me. Faster, deeper, my blood is boiling, my nails clutching at his back, but still, he doesn’t break his pace.

“Baby,” he groans, thrusting into me again, and hearing the need in his voice sends me soaring. I answer the only way I can, clenching around him, massaging him from the inside out, already feeling the shudder of release coiling low in my spine, the stardust beginning to shiver through my toes as Will takes me over the brink, the feel of him inside me so good, I can’t hold back.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp, coming alive. “Fuck, please, don’t ever stop.”

Will captures my face in one hand, and then god, he’s watching me as I come undone. Those steady eyes, burning with passion, seeing right through me—all the way to my soul.

This man. God, this incredible man.

I give in to the rush, to how it feels, finally—to have him. To belong to someone. I see it all echoed right back in his expression as my body rises and I break apart for good, pleasure shattering through my body with a cry. Pure, sweet elation races through me, and then I feel him break apart with a shudder, clinging to me, our bodies surging together, over and over, until we’re spent and sweaty in each other’s arms.

I hold him, and for the first time in my life, I never want to let go.





Thirteen.


The world slips back slowly: the weight of him, the softness of his sheets, the porch light shining through the dark of the bedroom window. It’s the same place we were just a few minutes ago, but everything feels different now.

Will rolls to the side, and collapses with a groan. I smile; I can’t stop from beaming, feeling the incredible afterglow, and the pleasure still ebbing through my body.

“You alive over there?” I ask, echoing his question to me the other day. Will rumbles with laughter. He turns his head, and gives me a sleepy, worn-out grin.

“Barely,” he says, lazily trailing one hand over my stomach. I shiver, and he smiles. “You?”

I nod and scooch in closer, resting my head in the nook of his shoulder. I trace circles over his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow to a steady pace. He takes my hand, and brings it to his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, brushing hair from my eyes.

I flush, still giddy to hear it—and look in his eyes and know that he means every word. I’m not used to believing in a man, in all the flirting and pretty words that usually mean nothing at all.

“I know I must have seemed crazy, at dinner,” I tell him, swallowing hard. Will waits, watching me. “My dad . . . he cheated,” I admit quietly, explaining everything. “He left us for a while, for that other woman, until Mom took him back. And every time I see him, I just remember the lies . . .”

Will tenses beneath my hand.

“I know.” I stop him before he can interrupt. “I should forgive him. Mom has, and she’s the one he really betrayed. But I just can’t understand how she could ever trust him again.” I look at Will, feeling helpless. “How can she believe a single thing he ever says to her?”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Your father loves you, they both do. I can see it.”

“I know,” I sigh sadly. “I wish I could just let it go, but it’s hard.”

Will watches me. “Is that why you try so hard not to get involved with guys?”

I sit up, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “It’s just how I see the world, that’s all.”

Will leans in and kisses my back. “I’m not judging you.”

“Just psychoanalyzing me,” I reply, still tense.

“We all have our scars,” he says softly.

“Except you.” I turn, and give him a smile. “You seem to have everything figured out.”

Will looks away. “Not true.”

I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “This is why I warned you I was a lost cause.”

“Not lost,” he answers, looking up at me. “Just . . . searching. You can choose to be happy, you know,” he points out, sitting up and slipping his arms around me. “Not everything has to turn out like they did.”