Her mind went white with surprise; she thought I’d rather see her suffer the pain of losing him so I could have her for myself. She was dead wrong.
“No,” I said, answering that thought, even though I knew she hated it when I did that. “Not sad—not eternally grieving him, Ara. If you really do love him more than me, then you will not ever be happy again if he dies.” I reached down and unzipped my jeans. “We’re doing this. I'm giving you my child, and I will die happy, knowing that I at least left a part of myself behind—in you.”
She didn’t have anything to say. I waited for a second to see if she wanted to back out. But she didn’t. She wanted this.
She wanted my death.
She wanted him.
I pulled my jeans past my hips, floating off the bed for a second while I yanked them away with my boots and socks inside the legs, and as the air touched my skin, my knees, my thighs, it came with the warmth off her beautiful body. I felt as if our skin was touching before I even fell back down between her legs. And as I laid myself there, where only my brother should be, her thoughts changed. I expected her to be tense, unwilling, maybe even push me away, but she looked up, and her heart beat once, steadying itself, her soul crying out inside her for this to happen, making her eyes electric blue—the static in her fingers charge everything with energy. She wanted me. Not him. Not Mike. Me.
And I was going to take full advantage of that. She would be the last girl I ever loved before I died, and I wanted to enjoy her as if she was mine. So many things I always dreamed of doing to her—so many things I had one last chance to do. “I'm sorry, but …while I have you completely naked, I'm gonna do something I've wanted to do for a long time.”
Her eyes went to my lips, as if she knew what I was thinking. “What’s that?”
I sent her an image of my plan, raising my brows. “Kiss you somewhere naughty.”
Her mouth popped open in obvious shock, and I laughed as I moved down on the bed, tracing every one of her perfect curves with my lips on the way. I stopped above her ribs, where the cursive line of her Promise remained from her Walk of Faith. “This,” I said, kissing the Mark, “looks incredibly sexy on you.”
“I'm not sure I fit in a sentence with the word sexy,” she scoffed.
“Tell that to my body.”
Her cheeks flushed with the idea of what she might make me feel—little, plain, ordinary, unattractive Ara—her too-thin body under this man who was cute and carefree, with a sexy tattoo around his firm arm and a tanned chest bigger than her husband’s. She compared herself to Emily in that breath, wondering if I thought Emily had a better body, or if I even compared them—or if I’d ever even slept with Emily. I hadn’t.
I wanted to laugh. She just had no idea—could not conceive the depth of my want for her—how I loved her, needed her, purely because she was my Ara. Fat, thin, short hair, no hair, zits or warts or scars. I loved her. I wanted her flat against me so badly I couldn’t exhale the tightness in my chest away.
She could feel the heat coming off me, but she couldn’t feel the intensity—the way the lust burned through me worse than the fire that melted my skin in my 1942 plane crash. I was harder than I’d ever been, more wanting than I ever wanted to be again, and as my lips went past that permanent tan line above her absent undies and onto the soft patch of hair between her legs, she flooded, too: heat and moisture spilling against my lips like melting chocolate. My brother clearly had never done this to her before, and as my tongue slipped inside, like she was some soft, ripe fruit, tasting the milky smooth sweetness of this girl I’d loved for so, so long, she moaned, crying out my name. My name. I’d brought her heartache and pain. I’d damaged her body, her soul, but as I gently slipped my finger inside, reaching up to where the muscles tightened, I was finally the one bringing her pleasure.
Her spine arched, pushing her closer to my mouth, and I worried for a second that the stubble on my chin might scratch her, but as I checked her thoughts, she clearly didn’t mind. Her legs parted further and she held her breath, trying to be quiet but not really succeeding, and each time I rubbed that delicate spot then kissed her gently after, she wanted to shake inside, not sure whether to laugh, cry, squirm or run.
I saw a flash of blue spark her fingertips as I looked up for second, but she pinned her hands under her pillow, hiding it. And my mind raced with questions. For some reason, that spark caused no pain, no shock when it flared in this situation. I felt it warm her toes against the bottoms of my legs, but it didn’t hurt—not one bit.
“What’s funny?” I asked when she giggled.
“That kind of tickles.”
I laughed, pressing my wet lips into her belly, moving firm kisses over each rib, all the way up to her br**sts. They were so soft, so full, fit so perfectly into my hands, and I wanted to tell her that I’d never seen such purity in a girl—the pale pink of her nipple, the way it set so softly into her milk-white skin, like she was some kind of angel or white blossom I had plucked from the Garden of Eden. I traced a gentle line around it and let my tongue follow, drawing the fullness into my mouth for one sweet kiss before burying my face in her jaw, coming finally to rest my open mouth on hers.
It was too much for her. She’d wanted this for too long.
She reached down and I jumped as her small hands touched me, slid me closer to the Threshold of No Return.
“Not yet.” I grabbed her hand.
“Argh! You’re killing me!”
I laughed against her mouth, too afraid to move away in case the kiss ended. It was perfect this way, as if my heart was finally filled with the blood it needed to survive. And our lips wanted nothing more than to stay together—comfortable, warm, and familiar. I’d kissed many girls before, and none of them felt this right. I just wanted to hold on and never let her go. I loved her. And it was as simple as that. No matter what I’d done or would ever do to hurt her, I loved her.
She moved her knees, lifting them up, wrapping her legs around me, and I could no longer bear it. I slipped my hand between her legs and guided myself inside her, thrusting a little harder than I meant to. But she cried only with pleasure, her heart feeling what mine did: free, complete. I could see it in her thoughts.
She tangled her fingers in my hair, using all her strength to hold me close.
“You okay?” I asked, laughing into the curve of her neck.
“I just…” David was never that passionate. “I'm okay.”