Nineteen

Jace’s mouth was soft and warm, and damp with tequila. He tasted like the numbness I craved. Like comfort, and shared pain. I could have become mired in that kiss like quicksand—unaware I was sinking until it was too late to fight. And for a moment I was. I got lost in mutual, inarticulate grief and the promise of a temporary respite.

And I kissed him back. Simply because it felt good. Everything around me was falling apart. Ryan was missing, Manx had been declawed, and my father was being impeached. Kaci was slowly killing herself, and Ethan was dead.

And Marc was gone.

But Jace was right there, and kissing him felt good, when I really needed something to. That kiss was the only thing in my life that didn’t hurt, at that moment. Though if I’d thought it through, I would have known that in the end, it could hurt as badly as any of those other life-wounds.

But I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling. I was feeling Jace’s mouth on mine. His scent surrounding me. His hand in my hair. I was feeling how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted me, and needed to know that someone still loved him. Especially now that Ethan was gone, leaving a huge wound in both of our hearts. A wound begging to be healed…

We couldn’t heal it. Ever. A small part of each of us had died along with Ethan, and we could never get those parts back. The best we could do was bandage the wounds.

He kissed me again, and I was no more prepared the second time around. But he was. That second kiss started out gentle, but built quickly when I didn’t pull away. I should have pulled away. But I didn’t, and the next thing I knew, I was pressed between the front of the couch and the front of Jace, his hand on my waist, his tongue in my mouth. His grief feeding my own.

His mouth sucked at mine desperately, his lips soft but insistent. His left hand tilted my head gently, giving him a deeper angle, and when my fingers found the curve of his good arm, his pulse spiked. He inhaled sharply, but his mouth never left mine.

I pulled away, confused as a wave of dizziness washed over me. “Wait…”

“I’ve always loved you,” he murmured against my ear, his words slurred but earnest. He kissed me again, and whatever resistance I’d felt before melted away like sugar on my tongue. My hand trailed from his arm to his chest, lingering on the smooth, hard lines, and I found myself deepening our kiss, sucking on his lower lip as he moaned into my mouth.

His fingers traced my hair down my back, then followed my lowest rib around to my stomach, where he lifted my shirt slowly, trailing his fingers along my skin.

I groaned when his hand found my right breast through my bra, and his tongue dipped deeper into my mouth. Then, suddenly impatient, he pulled the material from my skin and lifted my breast, squeezing gently.

My heart sped up until I thought it would break free from my chest, and I closed my eyes as a surge of vertigo crashed over me, liberally laced with an intoxicating dose of need.

Jace pulled away from me just long enough to tug my shirt over my head, careful with his injured arm, then his mouth found mine again quickly, as if to cut off any protest I might utter. His hands went around my back, and an instant later my bra gave way, leaving my breasts bare and heavy. I let the material fall to the floor, as his good arm slipped around me again, angling us both sideways as he gently lowered me to the floor, propped on his right elbow, as if he felt no pain from his injured limb.

The hardwood was cold against my back, but I only had a moment to notice that, because in the next, he’d tugged the button at my waist free from its hole, and was pulling my pants down, one-handed. My jeans landed in a heap on the floor near my head.

Jace was undressed in less than a heartbeat, and his warm, firm weight settled onto me as his mouth found mine again. He throbbed against my stomach, hot and hard. His hand roamed slowly down my side. He gripped my hip tightly and groaned against my jaw as his lips trailed toward my throat. I curled my hand in his hair and he shifted carefully to one side, pushing my underwear down, gripping my backside as the material slid over my skin.

He sat up on his knees then and fumbled for his pants with both hands, flinching when his bandaged arm brushed the couch. Plastic ripped, and I had a moment to wonder if he always carried a condom in his pocket. Then he was back.

Pleasantly dizzy, I let my fingers wander his back as the muscles bunched and shifted with each movement. My spine arched as his tongue wet a path from my throat to trail between my breasts. He lifted my left leg, then settled himself between my thighs.

My pulse spiked, and I felt my legs wrap around his waist. They tightened around him involuntarily when his hand moved between us. His mouth closed around my nipple, sucking gently as one finger slid inside me, testing. I clenched around him, and he groaned again, withdrawing his finger slowly.

My head swam, and I tried to close my eyes. But he took my chin in hand until I looked at him. Then he entered me gradually, as if each centimeter should be treasured individually. I couldn’t breathe until he was all the way in, filling me with an unfamiliar thickness. For a moment, neither of us moved.

His eyes burned into me, blue flames of pain and longing, blazing in spite of the tears threatening to douse them. Then he moved within me, and I arched up to meet him with each stroke, my fingers trailing over the familiar planes of his body—lines and muscles I’d seen a million times but never truly experienced.

His eyes never closed. Not even at the end, when everything tightened around an intense spiral of pleasure, uncoiling within me. Within us both. My hips arched to meet his, seeking more friction, faster contact. And finally he shuddered from head to toe as my legs clenched around his hips, holding us tightly together.