Page 17 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)
If she put a stop to it, I would comply, but I hoped she didn't. She felt too good, and it had been a long time since I'd felt anything close to good.
Embarrassingly so. I had to bite the inside of my cheek, terrified that her simple ministrations and exploration would be enough to send me over the edge. Like a child.
Then she stopped, and I exhaled with relief, eager to take the moment to reel myself back with thoughts of my father, Sid's reoccurring foot fungus during our time overseas, and every other undesirable thing I'd ever had touch my psyche.
Mom .
No, not that. Anything but—
Oh fuck.
Soft and delicious heat engulfed my dick as Melanie's mouth pulled me in.
There was nothing cautious about it. Nothing tentative or apprehensive.
Brazen and wonderful. I laid one hand over my closed eyes as the other hovered over the back of her head, unsure of what to do.
What she'd want me to do. Whether this moment was for us both or simply for her to test the proverbial waters of coitus with another man, a new man.
“Fuck,” I uttered, pitiful and weak, as my legs shook and threatened to buckle beneath me.
Melanie answered with a satisfied hum.
She pulled away and left me, and I longed for the wet heat of her mouth.
I opened my eyes, afraid to find regret hidden somewhere in hers, but instead, I found her shimmying from her sweatpants with urgent haste.
Determination creased the lines along her forehead, and I questioned whether this moment was for our past selves or the future her.
She stood naked before me, and I stared, tipping my head with the disbelief that she could be here at all.
Her thighs pressed together, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
Her hands laid in her lap, her fingers flicking at chipped nail polish.
This storm she'd brought to my office, my life …
it was like the waves tearing along the shoreline.
Strong at times, forceful and true. But in these moments, when the tide was out and the water was settled, her gentle nature exposed the truth of what burrowed beneath her skin.
Revealing the timid, scared girl inside her heart and soul.
I laid a hand against her cheek, stepping forward, nudging her knees apart with the breadth of my hips.
She didn't resist, and I breathed out with relief.
She stared ahead at my chest, pulling her hands from her lap to lay them over my tattoos, faded with time.
A hushed laugh sniffed through her nose as one side of her mouth quirked into a tentative smile.
“I can't believe you're you,” she said as I aligned our hips. “God, I'm so … scared, but I'm so glad you're you.”
With a finger beneath her chin, I tipped her lips toward mine and reminded her in a whisper, “We don't have to do this.”
She smiled then, and, oh, it was sad, but it was real, and maybe that was what I loved the most about it.
“Yes, I do,” she replied.
Then, before I could touch on that I , not we , she thrust her lips upward against mine and wrapped her legs around my hips.
It was a moment of pathetic adolescence when I gasped, nudging inside her for the first time.
That inch was glorious, fireworks exploding behind my eyelids as every nerve ending unfurled and tickled gloriously beneath my skin.
And that euphoric desire only enhanced with every centimeter that followed until my body was fully sheathed within hers.
“Oh my God,” Melanie uttered on a held breath, her lips dangling from mine.
I nodded, opening my eyes. “Yeah,” was all I could say, hushed against the whistling wind just beyond the windows.
She opened her eyes to look into mine, staring straight through to my soul and beyond.
The things I felt, the things I wanted to say, while staring at her then, in those seconds …
they were the thoughts of an insane man who hadn't been inside a woman in over a decade.
That was all it was—logic told me so—and yet I couldn't stop the lunacy from circling my brain.
I love you, I love you, I have loved the idea of you for decades, and knowing you now, I will love you for decades more. Oh my God, oh my fucking God, I love you.
“Max,” she whispered, her eyes drifting closed yet again as her lips nudged against mine.
Foolish me thought she was about to admit the same irrational, illogical mantra that wouldn't come to a halt in my tireless mind. I hoped she would as I hoped she wouldn't, and thankfully, she didn't.
“Fuck me,” she demanded in a throaty whisper. “Please fuck me.”
Who was I to deny a demand like that?
I pushed all insanity and committal thoughts aside and did exactly as she’d asked.
I fucked her, and she fucked me back. Our bodies moving in perfect form, as if we'd practiced this dance together for years.
And perhaps that was exactly what it was—that we had been fantasizing about each other for so long that our fantasies had now, for all intents and purposes, become a reality we were both already familiar with.
But it didn't feel like fucking. Not when her hands gripped the back of my neck and my fingers tugged her hair free from its entrapment to tangle themselves in that knotted mess of strawberry red and golden blonde.
Not when she gasped and sobbed and moaned with every thrust of my hips, not when I answered every single one with a breathless groan.
Her climax came out of nowhere, surprising us both as her fingers dug into my shoulders, biting into my flesh, as she dropped her head against my shoulder with a strangled cry.
“Oh God, oh God,” she chanted on an endless loop, her body pulsing with the strength of a heartbeat around mine.
“Fuck,” I groaned, trying— trying —to hold back my own orgasm, but failing miserably as it built higher, higher, higher until spilling over with explosive force. “Shit. Melanie … fuck .”
My head fell back as a primal groan tore through my throat.
Melanie's hands danced across my neck, shoulders, chest with a lazy, sensual touch.
I floated back down to earth like a feather gliding on a gentle breeze and rested my chin on the top of her head as I dragged the palm of my hand over my face.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, blinking through a euphoric haze and catching my breath.
Melanie pressed her cheek to my chest and swallowed audibly. “Yeah …”
I didn't want to hurry away, but we both could use something to drink, and she could've used something to wipe away our conjoined mess. Regrettably, I took a step back, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Water?”
She nodded. “That'd be good, yeah,” she said, pressing her thighs together once again and crossing her arms over her chest.
She must’ve been cold. I didn't keep a blanket in the office, but my coat was draped over the back of the computer chair.
I pulled up my jeans and underwear, leaving the fly undone, then grabbed my coat and laid it over her shoulders. “Here.”
Her smile was weak, uncertain. “Thanks.”
She tugged the sides of the coat closed, wrapping it around herself tightly, as I opened the mini fridge to grab two bottles of water. Then, after twisting off the cap, I handed one to her. She accepted the bottle, wearing that same weak smile, then took a shallow sip.
“One sec,” I said before darting into the small bathroom in search of something to use to clean up with. All I found was a roll of paper towels, and I left with it in my hand.
I found her standing, pulling her sweatshirt over her full, glorious chest and soft, beautiful belly. Her pants were already on.
That was fast , I thought as I placed the roll of paper towels onto the counter she'd just sat on.
“I, uh … didn't know if you wanted me to help …” I didn't know what I was saying as I stared at her sheepishly.
Sure, I'd experienced my share of one-night stands and quick romps while deployed. But I guessed I just hadn't expected her to be one of them … but that was exactly what it was starting to look like as she hurriedly twisted her hair back into its sloppy knot at the top of her head.
“I'll take a shower at Charlie's,” she replied, her tone as cold as the snow outside the office door.
“Okay.”
She stuffed her feet into her slippers, and suddenly, I had the urge to laugh.
This was ludicrous, and I was a moron.
“Well,” I began, scratching the back of my head as she headed toward the door, “I hope it was everything you wanted it to be.”
Her hand reached for the doorknob, and then she stilled. She stared ahead, as if she refused to look at me, and barely shook her head.
“It wasn't,” she replied so quietly that I thanked God I was wearing my hearing aids.
I barked a laugh. “Well, gee, thanks—”
“But that's the problem.”
Then, before I could get another word in, she opened the door and hurried through, letting it slam behind her.