Page 70 of Tattered Edges

My vision blurry with tears, I blinked, sending a couple streaking down my cheeks. Rory sat beside me then, the crease at his brow deeper then I’d ever seen it.

“Sad about what?” he asked.

“About all of it,” I cried. “My mother keeping the truth about my father away from us both; my father’s decision to keep himself away from me andwhy—or the bits and pieces I assume make up his version of why.

“And I’m not so naïve as to think there’s any possibility we ever could have been one big happy family—but I would have been perfectly happy with a messy one. Or maybe I wouldn’t have been, but I never got the choice. Neither of them gave me the choice.

“I guess, after dredging it all up at dinner, I realize I didn’t know either of them. As people, I mean. Now they’re both dead, and I never will.”

Rory reached over and grazed the back of his bent fingers down one cheek and then the other, carefully wiping away my tears.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Surely anything I could think up wouldn’t change a thing. Still, it guts me to see you cry.”

I believed him, seeing as his intense scowl had not softened in the slightest. Hearing him say it made me feel lighter, somehow. It also made me want to kiss him.

Remembering I could do just that, I leaned toward him, gently brushing my lips against his before I whispered, “You don’t have to say anything.”

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke another word, a silence heavy with inuendo suspended between us as we stared at one another. Then he took hold of the side of my neck, crushed his lips against mine, effectively chasing away my sadness, leaving nothing but desire in its wake.

I set aside my mother’s book as I opened up for him, and my stomach clenched in excitement as he snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

I hooked one of my thighs over his, wedging my leg in his groin as I circled my arms around his shoulders and held on.

Twelve hours.

I’d been waiting half the day for this.

He was more delicious than my memories could attest.

Blindly, he took hold of the front of my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants so he could slip his hand underneath it. He cupped my left breast through my bra then—clearly unsatisfied—slipped his fingers beneath the garment before grazing his thumb over my hardening nipple.

It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

I moved until I was straddling his lap, breaking our kiss as I worked my way out of my blazar. He let go of my breast as he helped me out of my blouse, and my bra was on the floor seconds later.

Only, rather than his fingers, it was his tongue that toyed with my now pebbled nipple.

I sank my fingers into his coiffed hair, gripping the strands as I let my head fall back with a moan.

By the time he’d shown the same attention to my opposite breast, my panties were soaked, and I could hardly keep still.

When he lifted his head and caught my eyes, I brazenly thrust my hips, rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. I was so turned on, my clit swollen and sensitive, I knew it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge of oblivion.

As if he could see it in my eyes, he smirked at me, then grabbed hold of my hips, his tight grip forcing me to stop.

“Oh, no you don’t, sweetheart. If you think I’ve waited all day to watch you fall apart at my touch only to have you get off while you’re still half dressed, you’re mad.”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as I fought a laugh.

It felt good to smile. It was even better getting to be playful with Rory.

“Hurry up then, Red. You’ve already got me halfway there.”

“Blimey,” he muttered.

With one arm locked around my waist, he took hold of my right thigh as he stood from the couch, effortlessly taking me with him. Laughing, I caught hold of his shoulders, clinging to him as he began to carry me to the bedroom.

We got two steps before he stopped, squeezed my thigh, and declared, “God, I love it when you do that.”

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