Page 19 of The Satyr Next Door
When I reached her, I didn’t hesitate. I cupped her face, thumbs brushing soft skin, like she was something precious I’d been given to hold.
“You came,” I said, rougher than I meant.
“I did.” Her voice was soft, breathless. Steady.
The kiss was inevitable. Necessary as breath. But this time there was no coaxing. No slow testing. This was need breaking through, hunger unchained.
She gasped when my mouth took hers, hands flying to my shoulders, and that sound, that small, shocked want was all the invitation I needed. I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of gratitude and desperate affection into it.
She tasted of coffee, toothpaste, and something sweeter. When I traced the seam of her lips, she opened without hesitation. The trust in that simple act nearly brought me to my knees.
“I thought I’d scared you away,” I confessed against her lips, raw and unguarded.
“You did.” Her smile flickered at my stricken look. “But I scared myself more with how much I didn’t want to run.”
Her honesty cracked something in me wide open. I kissed her again, softer now.
When we broke apart, both of us breathless, she stayed close, her arms wrapped around me, not ready to let go.
“What happens now?” she whispered.
I let her see everything in me: the promise, the hunger, the patience.
“Now,Bella mia,” I said, voice rough with certainty, “we find out what comes after wanting.”
I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist like they’d always belonged there. Her soft weight pressed against me, skirt riding higher, thighs squeezing tight. The sound she made, I’d keep it bottled if I could.
She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper my name.
“Bella,” I groaned. “You inspire me to feats I never imagined.”
Her answering shiver was all the answer I needed.
I held her tighter, the garden spinning in sunlight and green, her chest pressed to mine. For the first time since the Convergence tore open our worlds, I felt rooted. Alive. Exactly where I was meant to be.
With her.
Chapter 11
Gina
Cal’s mouth was on mine, hungry and unrestrained, and I was wrapped around him like my body had been waiting for this all along. His hands gripped beneath me, strong and steady, lifting me as though I weighed nothing at all.
I gasped into the kiss, legs tightening around his waist. His answering groan rumbled against my chest, vibrating through me until I was dizzy with it.
“Cal,” I breathed when his lips trailed down my jaw to the curve of my throat.
He bit lightly, tongue soothing the sting, and I arched helplessly. I hadn’t been kissed like this in years, maybe never. Not careful, not perfunctory. Not like an obligation. This was worship. Devouring. A claiming that asked and answered in the same breath.
He carried me to the oversized chaise and sat, keeping me, straddling his lap like I belonged there.
“You came to me,” he murmured, eyes burning as his thumb stroked my cheek. His hand slid down, tugging my sleeve off my shoulder. “I was so afraid I’d ruined everything.”
“You didn’t,” I whispered.
Whatever restraint he’d been clinging to snapped. His mouth descended on my neck, hot kisses dragging lower as he worked the bodice of my dress down, baring more skin. The neckline slid, exposing the tops of the breasts I’d stuffed into my sexiest push-up bra half an hour ago, desperate to look like the kind of woman he’d want.
Half of me floated on desire, melting into every touch. But the other part, the loud, practical voice that never really shut up was screaming that we were in broad daylight. That in a second he was going to see not the fantasy, not the cleavage-enhanced illusion, but the truth. The not-so-perky breasts. The faint stretch marks across my stomach. The body that had carried two children and forty years of living.
