Page 33 of King of Guilt

He smelled like mint and lemons.

And I wanted more.

Slowly, Dean began to ease in and out of me, at a steady pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating through the misty glass cubicle. Once my pulse began to quicken, I brought my head to a rest against his chest over the thundering of his heart. .

One hand stayed on the small of my waist, and the other kept me in place as desire built up within me.

Dean’s own heavy breathing filled my head.

All at once, his pace changed, and we began to move with wild and reckless abandon. He drew back and cradled my neck, touching his forehead to mine. My chest tightened, and my lungs burned with effort. I sunk my nails into his shoulders and tried to keep my eyes open.

Without warning, my body began to spasm and writhe, spinning wildly out of control. I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled. Then I collapsed against Dean, breathing heavily. He lifted me up off the floor and out of the shower. Carefully, he set me down on the cold marble counter, and my eyes flew open.

In the mirror behind him, I saw my own dazed expression, and the flush of my skin. As soon as Dean shifted, I saw the muscles of his back ripple before he stepped in front of me. I linked my fingers over his head and threw my head back. He crouched in front of me and began to press hot, open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin, pausing to kiss every freckle he found.

He stood up, craned his neck down to kiss me, and I angled my head. When I bit down on his bottom lip, he moaned and pressed his tanned, muscular body against mine, covering the distance between us. Once his mouth parted, our tongues began a sensual battle for dominance that made my head spin and made me feel like I was floating on clouds.

His hand dropped between us, and he began to stroke me.

I wrenched my lips away and turned my head to the side.

Without warning, Dean threw my legs up over his shoulders and pressed his lips firmly to mine. When the need for air became too great, he drew back, and in one quick move, he was inside of me again. I inched closer to the edge of the marble counter and squeezed my legs.

Over and over, he eased in and out of me with renewed vigor. When my eyes met his, and I saw the hunger and need there, a jolt of electricity went up through me. I twisted my head to the side and moaned. He touched his lips to my heated skin and murmured against it. When his lips parted and grazed the sensitive skin there, I dug my nails into the inside of my palms.

Dean sunk his teeth into my neck, and I hissed.

Dual waves of pain and pleasure ricocheted through me, making the knots in my stomach unfurl. I ground against him, and he thrust upwards, aiming for my sweet spot. Breathlessly, I reached between us and ran my thumb over his jaw, stopping at his long, straight nose. Then I moved to his mouth, tracing his lips slowly and with wonder.

Through hooded eyes, he watched me.

With a smile, he bent down and touched his lips to mine. Then his tongue darted out, and he licked a path along my neck. Everywhere he touched, he left a trail of heat in his wake. I was trembling and panting out his name. When I bucked against him, his expression turned both feral and tender. He held me to him and thrusted, our bodies tightly pressed against each other.

By the time I came undone, Dean was unraveling too, his entire body jerking and writhing against mine. Before long, warmth pooled between my legs, and his breathing turned heavy. Sweat broke out across my forehead and down my back. He still held me to him until his breathing evened out.

Once he drew back to look at me, I reached forward and kissed him, pouring every ounce of emotion I felt into the gesture. He made a low surprised noise and deepened the kiss. Then he eased out of me and spun around. Wordlessly, he bundled me up in a bathrobe and swept me up into his arms. In the bedroom, he set me down on the edge of the bed and disappeared, returning with a towel wrapped around his waist.

My heart kept careening wildly.

sixteen

Staggering

Dean

I didn’t know how we had the heart to sleep in separate suites after what had happened between us, but it was what it was.

The cold Sunday morning greeted me as soon as the curtains drew apart, revealing gray, furious skies. The dense, three-dimensional clouds looked heavy, as if they were one drop away from falling onto the streets of New York, flattening all life as we knew it under their mighty weight.

As if that very weight was on my shoulders, I had to will myself out of bed. Slightly disoriented, I wondered about the last thing I had said to Emma last night, or the last thing she’d spoken into my ears. But all I could remember was the way I’d felt in her arms through and through—certain and undeniable.

If fate had wanted to give me a taste of what love felt like when it had been stripped off of everything material and logical, that must have been it.

Any man in my place would have been elated by the thought, but not me. I had to walk out of my room, fully dressed, ready for another formal breakfast with my “wife”, while she performed her duties as a loyal assistant. In her thick knit cardigan in pale pink and her braid tossed to the side, Emma bit on the tip of her pen as she ran her finger along the tablet device in her lap.

“At twelve, we’re attending a luncheon at the Chaviras,” she said, her eyes focused on the screen. “I’ve already confirmed the gift we’re taking; it should arrive here at eleven.”

“Great.” I nodded.

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