Chapter Nine

“Still hate me?”

The question taunted her from somewhere beyond the pounding of her pulse in her ears. “Yes,” she muttered but doubted he heard her, considering she leaned into him with her face pressed against his sweater and his sturdy frame supporting her. If not for his arm around her and the hand still lingering protectively between her legs, she’d be a puddle at his feet.

A moment to catch her breath—that’s all she needed—and maybe another to get her misfiring nervous system under control, and then she’d push off him and barricade herself safely behind the barn doors. The point when she’d have to deal with the fallout from today’s little trip down memory lane was closing in fast, and she preferred no witnesses to her personal meltdown.

But apparently, he had heard her reply, and he wasn’t done trying to prove her a liar yet. Everything went weightless, and then she landed in the driver’s seat of the Rover with her elbows propped on the center console and her legs dangling out the open door. He stepped between her knees, filling the door, blocking everything from her view except him.

“Was that orgasm you’re still shaking from an example of how badly you hate me? Three more minutes, Sinclair, and you’re going to despise me.”

She scrambled for handholds on the seat and steering wheel as he tugged her jeans and panties down past her hips. Another tug left them bunched around the tops of her boots.

“Remember the second way I taught you to come?”

Oh, sweet Jesus. She did. But he didn’t give her a chance to answer. He hitched her legs up and braced her heels along the top of the door. Cool February air washed across her bare skin, making her all the more conscious of her vulnerable position.

“I taught you to come in my mouth.”

He said the words against the inside of her knee and then kissed his way down her thigh, lowering himself to his knees in the process. “You were shy at first, and so nervous your legs trembled…just like now.” Those wicked green eyes sent her a look of pure masculine satisfaction. “Nervous?”

She bit her lip, because she didn’t know what might fly out of her mouth. No. Yes. Please. It was anyone’s guess. The silence earned her a knowing smirk before he raked his teeth over delicate skin and sent a current of need straight to parts of her so overstimulated a wayward breath might leave her reeling. Her body jerked in reaction.

He laughed, but there was a surprising amount of affection in the sound, and the hands supporting the backs of her thighs swept up and down, soothingly. “You jumped every time I touched you then, too. Especially here…”

He kissed her. Right there. Dead on target, but just a fleeting brush of lips and a staggering gentleness that only strung her tighter. So tight she jerked again, damn him. A yearning moan vibrated from her chest—possibly her soul.

“Yeah, you took right to this, baby girl. Remember? Once I showed you what I could do, you forgot all about nerves, and shyness. I had you trembling all over, for different reasons, and begging me not to stop. Think you’ll beg this time, too?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Sinclair.”

And then he proceeded to, hard and fast, with lips, teeth, and—oh…ohhh—tongue. She fought it for one useless second, unwilling to let him win, but every lash whipped what promised to be a brutal orgasm to new urgency. The wet sound of his mouth working her filled the silence, punctuated by her panting breaths. Soon dignity surrendered to need. She chased it, one hand wrapped around the oh-shit handle, the other clenched in his hair. Somehow, she’d gotten one boot wedged into the corner where windshield met dashboard. His shoulder braced the other. Her jeans stretched tight between her ankles like an awkward tether. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another hit, he closed his lips around her clit and applied devastating suction. Suddenly she was on the brink, quivering and whimpering in the face of agonizing pleasure.

And then—the bastard—he raised his head. Green eyes burned into hers. “Say it,” he ordered.

She ground her teeth. “I hate you.” She did. She hated him for leaving. Hated him for coming back. Hated how easily he’d gotten her across the front seat of his car, with her ass hanging out the door and her jeans around her ankles, about to burst into tears because she needed him so badly.

A hard palm smacked her unprotected ass. The sound sent a trio of birds flying from the tops of tall pines overhead. “That’s for lying.”

Another smack—not hard, but over the same stinging skin—and her nerve endings sang. “That’s for putting this ass at risk by lighting out of the bus depot like a bat out of hell.”

“I hate you.”

Cool fingertips drifted over her still-tingling flesh, and she realized he traced his own handprint. The small discomfort didn’t distract from the pounding ache between her legs. If anything, it only intensified the sensation.

“I missed you.” Whether he was telling her, or prompting her, she didn’t know, but the words fanned unfair places. Her whimpered response turned into a groan when his lips followed the path his fingers had outlined. That mouth. She needed that mouth…

“Shane, please—”

His lips drifted closer. “You know I love to hear you beg for it, Sinclair. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of you whispering, ‘please,’ in that breathless voice, and I wake up hard and hurting every damn time. Just as hard and hurting as I am now. But this time it’s going to take more than please.” With that, he moved to the other cheek and drew an intricate design with the tip of his tongue, seemingly content to torture her forever.

Hot, sweet misery overwhelmed her. Frustrated tears stung her eyes. She had two options. Tell him to go to hell and drag her miserable, needy ass inside along with the tattered remains of her pride, or…

“I hate you.” She barely managed a whisper—one last act of defiance before she gave in to his demand. He heard her, and somehow, he knew he’d won. His tongue grazed her clit.

Her muscles gave out, and she fell back against the seat. The ceiling of the Rover blurred behind a haze of scalding tears. “I…” Oh, God, she was going to say it. “I m-missed you.”

The words tore through her, annihilating boundaries she’d established and maintained for a decade, leaving her wide open and at his mercy.

But then he was there, giving her what she needed, rewarding her honesty with hard, thorough strokes. Staying with her as she bucked and shuddered. Staying with her as her fingernails raked his scalp and her broken cry clawed the air.

The last thing she heard before the shattering combination of pleasure and fear took over was her own voice repeating three words like a shameful confession.

“I…missed…you.”

…

Victory raged through him, thundering like a heartbeat in time to her words. Damn right she’d missed him. He wasn’t in this alone. The uncontrived truth in her voice couldn’t be mistaken, and that kind of honesty deserved some serious positive reinforcement. After he saw her through this orgasm, he planned to flip her over, give her stubborn ass one last slap—to make sure she understood this wasn’t just about old memories, this was about them here and now—and then reward them both for today’s breakthrough with an exhaustive fucking ten years in the making.

He’d imagined her like this, on-and-off, for a decade, and even though he had a pretty good imagination, those fantasies made a pale substitute. Since the night of the wedding, however, imagination had escalated to cravings. A constant thirst he hadn’t been able to quench…until now. He could spend hours here, drinking his fill, drowning in her, if she’d let him. But even as he gentled his kisses and slowed his tongue to the softest of caresses, her sobs increased.

That was new. Not the tears. She’d always been a crier. It had scared the shit out of him the first time, but she’d blushed and promised they weren’t tears of pain, or sadness, they just…happened. Eventually, he’d realized if he made her come hard enough, she couldn’t hold them back. Those tears of pleasure were beyond her control, but not his, and he considered them the sign of a job well done. Once her orgasm subsided, however, they always tapered off, which these showed no signs of doing. No, this was something else. Maybe pain? Maybe sadness? Hell, maybe her foot was stuck there in the crevice over the dash, but until he knew more, there would be no flipping, slapping, or fucking.

Instead, he eased away from the sweetest pussy he’d ever had the pleasure of plunging his tongue into. The familiar jut of her hipbone beckoned, and he bestowed a kiss there before running his lips over her fluttering stomach. Her leg had to come down before he could go any higher, so he hooked his hand under her thigh and lifted her knee toward her chin. Her foot slid out easily, and he lowered her leg to the seat. Sobs, now muffled by the arms she’d flung over her face, continued.

Okay. Not the foot.

He worked his way up the midline of her slender torso and nudged the poncho out of his way so he could press a kiss to the swell of her breast, directly over her heart. Her breath stopped, but then released on another small sob.

This was going to get tricky. He planted a knee on the seat, braced a forearm on the center console, and nuzzled the underside of her jaw. When he reached her ear, he deliberately teased the soft lobe, where he knew she was ticklish, and hoped for a laugh…a giggle. Anything. He got another shaky breath.

“There”—he kissed her salty lips—“that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

The sarcasm earned him a watery laugh. She’d always appreciated irony. He kissed her again, just to make sure she’d let him, and then drew her arms away from her face. First one, then the other, placing them on either side of her head.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.”

He got a choked laugh this time, though he’d been completely serious.

“I’m a mess.” She sniffed and blinked at the ceiling. Then her chin trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Fuck. This was going in the wrong direction. He grabbed a handful of her thick, cable-knit thing and backed out of the car, pulling her into a sitting position as he went. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I made you a promise, and I didn’t keep it. You deserved to know why. But you didn’t owe me an explanation or a second chance, and you’re entitled to your anger.”

“No.” She dropped her head into her hand and shook her head. “I’m not. I’ve been angry with you for so long, for stuff you don’t even know about, because it was easier than facing…things.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but apparently, she planned to leave it at that. No good.

“Sinclair?”

She looked up. “What?”

“Talk to me. It’s time.”

“Now?”

Had one word ever been more filled with reluctance? “Well, not this very instant, no. I appreciate this might not be a conversation we want to have while sitting in my car, with my dick hanging out and your pants around your boots.” He backed up to give her room to scoot out of the car and promised his protesting cock they’d get back to the flipping, slapping, and fucking as soon as he could be damn sure the next time she cried in his arms it was for the right reasons. “Invite me in for coffee.”

In what looked like one continuous move, she hopped down, grabbed her jeans, and shimmied them up her long legs. “If we’re having this conversation, we’re going to want something stronger than coffee.”