Page 55 of Fierce Love
Up until this weekend, I felt determined, like patience and perseverance were the keys to getting her back, but I’m not so sure anymore. She’s sealed herself off.
“Okay,” Hollyn says, and she gathers her long hair into a fist and then lets it go. “Thank you, Nate. She’ll remember this forever.”
I nod, and I slot my key into the other apartment’s door, feeling more defeated and unsure than I’ve been in a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nathaniel
I’m staring at the ceiling, debating whether I should get up and take a sleeping pill. After Hollyn came back to Bellerive, I went to the family doctor to get them. One week of sleepless nights was enough to tell me the insomnia that plagued me when she first disappeared had returned. For whatever reason, no one has ever impacted my heart and soul the way Hollyn Davis does. Invades my dreams, seeps into every crack and crevice of my psyche.
There’s a sharp knock on my door, and I drag on the sweats beside my bed before jogging to the front entrance, my heart pounding that something is wrong. It’s three o’clock in the morning.
I throw open the door, and Hollyn is in the hallway, a short, silky pink wrap hugging her curvy frame. Long, full legs go on for days below the hem, and I’m equal parts turned on and worried.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, forcing my gaze back up to meet hers.
She searches my face, and the tension radiating off her feels familiar, as though we’re on the cusp of something I dare not name.
Then she reaches for me, hand around my neck, body arching into me, lips meeting mine.
For a stunned minute, my brain can’t register if this is a dream or reality, but when she tries to pull back and I hear the tiniest noise of embarrassment escape, I wrap my arms around her and slot her tight against me, deepening the kiss.
“Don’t go,” I murmur against her lips that taste like mint and sweet tea.
“Is this what you want?” she asks between kisses, and I can sense the anxiety in the question.
“I want it all,” I admit, “but I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.” Any determination to hold out for everything I want went out the door the minute she came to the threshold. I can meet her where she’s at. I’ll meet her anywhere.
“I don’t want to run from you. I’ve never wanted to run from you,” she says.
I kick the door shut, and I spin her against the wall, caging her in with my body. I’m not in the mood to question or second-guess her claim. Forward momentum is enough, and god, I’m fucking aching for her.
Lights from the street and other buildings filter through the open windows, curtains thrown wide in the living space as I undo her dressing gown and let it drop to the floor in a puddle. Her negligee is the same color as the robe. It barely covers her figure, and I love it.
“Every inch of you is mine tonight,” I say, trailing kisses along her neck, sliding my hand up her thick thighs to find she’s notwearing any panties. “You’re so wet. You’ve been thinking about this, have you? Fuck, that’s hot. I love the feel of you.”
Was she lying in bed, unable to sleep, knowing that I was just a knock away, that I could ease the restlessness inside her with my tongue or my fingers or both, over and over again? God knows I’ve been longing for her to ease mine.
With my free hand, I tease and taunt her breast, my thumb skimming her nipple before coming back to run the bud between my thumb and forefinger. Then I bend my head, kissing and licking her peaks through the silky material of her negligee.
Part of me wonders if I did take a sleeping pill—if this is just a dream, my subconscious on overdrive—and I’ll wake up to soaked sheets and deep disappointment.
I palm her flesh, sliding my hand along her warm skin. If this is a dream, it’s the most vivid one I’ve ever had. Her hands are in my hair, urging me closer, her body responding to each light or firm touch as though she’s desperate for what only I can give her.
And I want to lay claim to every inch of her again, mark her with my teeth and tongue, leave behind a residue of my presence so thick that she’ll never be able to scrub me out again.
On some level, I know that’s not the right way to feel, that I shouldn’t want her this violently, this completely and without compromise.
I urge her onto the heavy marble table near the entranceway, and once she’s perched on it, I drop to my knees, eager to taste her. But I need to slow down, or it’s going to be hot and fast and not at all how I want us to be. Or at least, not this time.
Hot and fast can come later.
So instead of burying my head where I want to, going where I know she wants me to be, I test my memory. I circle my index finger around her anklebone, and then I kiss a line up her leg, getting to her inner thigh, where I nibble and tease. She’ssquirming and whimpering, and as soon as I’m close enough, her hands are in my hair.
I abandon her again to repeat my teasing line on her other leg, and then I rise to my feet, drawing her negligee over her head. She watches me, intent.
“I don’t look like I used to,” she whispers.
