Page 66 of Reckless Desire

“I appreciate that, but I don't want you to work on our date.” He fists my hair and coaxes me into a kiss, exploring my mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss, but neither is it ravenous and desperate.

This time, the kiss is deeper, somehow more meaningful, and while I feel it in my core, I also feel it in my soul. His lips communicate beyond our undeniable physical attraction. Somewhere between our first kiss, all the miscommunication and last night, we’ve forged an understanding that bares us to each other.

If I thought the intensity of his stare was too much, the truth behind this kiss spreads worry through my veins.

Overwhelmed, I pull away and bury my face in the crook of his neck, tightening the embrace. I cling to him with determination and ferocity. I broke the kiss because I couldn’t handle the promise of it. But at the same time, I don’t want him to see my fear. So I hold on for dear life, hoping we can move past this, back to the safer, playful territory we have enjoyed all night.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to this date. A casual fling has never been an option for us. This connection has been brewing for years, for fuck’s sake. Can I trust the man? He doesn’t know much about me. And do I know enough?

As panic grips my insides, Hunter squeezes me tighter and runs his hand down my back, soothing me like he knows what’s happening inside me. And he probably does, because somehow he’s more attuned to me than anyone else.

He kisses the crown of my head, cradling me like a child in his arms. Slowly, he slides his hand under the blanket loosely draped around my hips. It’s all too much. His warm hand on my naked body. His gentle lips on the top of my head. The memory of trust I gave with abandon last night.

Oxygen barely grazes the top of my lungs and I chase it desperately, my chest heaving. Hunter says nothing, just holds me through my freak-out. I don’t know how long I fight with my thoughts before Hunter stands up, lifting me with ease.

He puts me down on the longer sofa under the window. The sun blinds me momentarily, but a large shadow covers it as he props himself over me.

He scoops under my knee to spread me and enters me with a grunt. Filling me to the hilt, he stills, balancing on his elbows. He brackets my face between his hands and sears me with his hooded eyes. That gaze reaches deeper inside me than his cock.

If I thought the kiss before was too intimate, I was wrong. It doesn’t even compare to this moment.

Hunter starts moving in and out. He sets a painfully slow pace, and every thrust feels like a promise. Of commitment. Of protection. Of more. More than I’m ready to surrender.

We fucked, we had sex, and now we are making love, and it’s too much. I close my eyes, barely dealing with the pleasure crawling through my body and absolutely failing to tame the gripping fear. I’m not ready for this.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I can’t. If I look at him, my last protective wall will crack, and I can’t expose so much to him. Not yet. Ideally never, because I need my safe cocoon to live. Well, to exist more than live.

The heat builds up and I clench around him, my body acting on pure instinct. I need the release and at the same time I don’t want it. It’s all too meaningful.

His lips touch my nipple and I clench again, nearing the explosion. Hunter stops moving and my frustrated whimper slices through the air between us.

I look at him and I swear he can see my soul.

“Eyes on me, Sydney.” It’s not a request, more a command with an undertone of a threat.

Our eyes lock and he moves again. It doesn’t take long and we crescendo together, reaching a climax with such force that my vision blurs.

My high is so intense, I don’t realize at first that Hunter pulled out, spraying my belly with white ropes of his seed. No condom. Jesus.

I blink a few times and a tear rolls down my cheek. He dries it with his lips, stands up and leaves. The absence of his warmth and his drowning intensity is a relief. For a brief moment. Then the familiar emptiness descends.

My loneliness is short-lived because Hunter returns from the bathroom, a towel in his hand. But even that beat of isolation propels tears. Or perhaps it’s the sheer tornado of emotions. Or I’m too tired. Regardless of the reason, tears stream freely down my cheeks.

He cleans me with the damp towel, wraps me in the blanket, picks me up and sits again with me in his lap. Jesus, I’m a mess. Flushed from sex, spent from worry and hot from crying.

“Talk to me, beautiful.” Hunter tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush my skin. It’s a feather-like contact, but it rips through me, reaching the dark cracks of my heart. “What are you scared of?”

Before I can speak, I bawl. Ugly crying, snot and tears mixed, rupturing through me. The room echoes with my sobs. Hunter waits patiently, soothing me with his hands.

“I met Jeremy my last year of college. He worked at a car shop, and while he was changing my oil he charmed me into a date,” I start when I finally regain my ability to speak, not even sure why this story pushed through. “We dated, fell in love and got married. Jeremy was very entrepreneurial. Always coming up with new ideas. And I trusted his instincts and gave him money.

“A lot of money from my trust fund. You see, the Cassinetti-Lowe family is rich. All of us were set up with a solid financial foundation. Six years ago, Jeremy was involved in an accident. He died. You would think his death would be enough to break me, but it was what I found out later that pushed me right past the grief.

“Jeremy was a gambler, a high roller but an even bigger loser. There is no evidence he’d ever started any of the business ventures he talked about and appeared to foster. He had a life outside of our marriage and I was just his bank. Unfortunately, he squandered most of my trust fund, and somehow still managed to leave me with debts.”

“Fuck.” Hunter pulls me tighter.

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