Confessions in the Dark (17 page)

And the smooth texture of the clay wasn't the only thing she adored.

“You're
glowing
,” Cole said. He was riding an edge here, his tone so close to mocking without quite stepping over the line.

“Whatever.” She dipped her fingers into the tub of water beside her wheel, not even looking at him as she flicked the droplets in his face.

“Hey!”

Smirking at him, she dried her hand on her jeans. She was still a tiny bit sore he hadn't clued her in to what they were going to be doing so could have at least changed, but who cared? Laundry had been invented for a reason.

She spun her wheel up to test it out, getting a feel for the speed again. She waited until she had the measure of it, and then without another moment's pause, she slammed the clay down.

Cole flinched. “Jesus.”

She grinned. “If you don't want to get messy, you better back away now.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs, muscle memory kicking in as she started forming the clay into a mound.

“Please,” he said, and he was too close by a mile, the warm scent of him destroying her concentration, and she wouldn't trade it for anything. “You know I'm not afraid of getting dirty.”

The way he said it was more than dirty—it was
filthy
. She shivered, rolling her eyes at him before shrugging him off. “This isn't like they show it in the movies, you know. It isn't sexy. It's hard work.”

“Never said I wasn't willing to work hard.” And there was that tone again, sending thrills of heat moving through her. God, the things she was going to do to him when they got home. He'd done this for her to show his appreciation, he'd said. Well, she had some appreciating of her own to do later.

She paused, working her throat to fight the lump that wanted to form.

Because he'd been right. She didn't always make time for the things she liked to do, and his setting the time aside for her? It was one of the nicest things anyone had done in a really, really long time.

Hiding her face, she bent to her work again. She wet her hands and ramped the speed on the wheel to warp nine. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

With that, she leaned in. She didn't have all the strength she'd had back when she'd been doing this regularly, but she'd taken that into account when she'd weighed out her first hunk of clay. It all came back to her as she bent to it, the power involved in coning the material up before mashing it back down to center it. The rhythm felt like a perfectly broken-in pair of shoes or a warm robe on a cool day, meditative and soothing.

Letting out a breath, she eased up on the throttle and checked her work. The once uneven lump was a smooth cylinder now, even and symmetric. She dragged the back of her wrist over her brow.

“You make it look easy,” Cole said.

Grinning, she nodded at his wheel. “It's not. Just wait until your turn.”

“Oh, I believe you.” A tiny fraction of the haughtiness he usually projected slipped away. “Walk me through what you're doing?”

Really, he should be taking a class if he actually wanted to try this for real. But she was pretty sure he was only here for her.

Nodding, she shifted to the side to give him a better view. It wouldn't hurt the piece any, so she coned and centered again, narrating as she did. She checked over her shoulder a couple of times, half expecting polite disinterest, but Cole was attentive. He leaned into her space, maybe too close—not that she was going to complain.

“Then—and this is the tricky part...” She trailed off, giving all her focus to the clay as she made the divot in the center and then dragged hard to open the form, creating the hollow that would be the bowl's interior.

As she started to thin the walls, he edged in ever closer, and she had to pause with her hands slick with clay, the bowl incomplete. The scent of him overtook her thoughts, blanking them, making it hard to think about anything else.

“It's funny.” His voice came out husky and strained, and it lit the warm ember inside her, stoking it until it caught. “You said this wasn't sexy.”

Her protest stuck in her throat. “It's not.”

His hot fingertips brushed the bare skin at her elbow, and she closed her eyes. She was going to drop this pot, and she didn't care. The clay spun and spun inside her hands, a slick, cool glide that was the counterpoint to the rough stubble of his cheek against hers.

“You really have no idea, have you?” He dragged his knuckles higher, grazing them along her arm, and even through the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt, it was electric. “The grace you move with. The way the water glistens on your skin. It's sensual.” And he was playing with fire, caressing down her arms again until his fingers skated over the backs of her palms. He dropped his voice. “You don't know how hard you make me.”

Oh God.

“You're going to make me mess up,” she said, shaky.

“Then mess up.”

But she didn't. Opening her eyes, she got lost in the wet glide of their hands together against the clay. He followed her every movement, neither guiding nor inhibiting, just tracing. Joining them together as they took this raw bit of earth and sculpted from it something entirely new.

Before she knew it, she was staring down at a bowl. Uneven and maybe a little small, the base too thick for sure, but she didn't care.

Cole pulled his hands back slowly, settling one warm, broad palm on the tremoring line of her thigh. “It's beautiful.”

“It's all right.”

“It's amazing.”

His foot nudged the side of hers, applying gentle pressure. She lifted her hands from the clay as the wheel spun down. No sooner had it come to a stop than his fingertips were on her face, tugging her into him and into a kiss that made her head whirl. Slow and lingering, he claimed her mouth, and she gave it freely.

Her heart ached in her chest.

Was there anything she wouldn't give him?

Behind them, a throat cleared.

Serena jerked away, a mortified flush creeping up her face when she spotted the studio manager giving them an amused if pointed look. Ugh, Serena had caught her own students making out enough times. Being on the other side of the equation made her feel like a heel.

It clearly had no such effect on Cole. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he just nodded to the girl with a self-satisfied, “Cheers.”

The girl rolled her eyes and kept walking, and Cole turned back to Serena with a smug tilt to his mouth. “Now where were we?”

He had to be kidding.

“
We
were about to see how you would fare with a pot of your own.”

With a wicked crook to his eyebrow, he grinned. “You are going to regret that. Mark my words.”

W
ell, that was an eye-opening experience.” Serena flicked on the lights in her apartment as she went.

“I did warn you.”

“You did.” She wasn't arguing with him on that. “I just thought you were exaggerating.”

He'd stalled and stalled when she'd insisted it was his turn to give the wheel a shot, but he had paid for open studio time for the both of them. She'd have been remiss in her duty if she hadn't gotten him to at least try once.

Turned out, he'd been underplaying how bad he was.

And there was something endearing about that, really. He was so good at so many things, was intimidatingly handsome and smart. He was capable of such tenderness and strength. Apparently, the only thing he wasn't capable of was anything remotely involving art, and she wasn't sure what she liked more—that he wasn't perfect after all or that he'd trusted her enough to let her see him fail. That he'd prioritized what she liked to do over his own discomfort.

She got her jacket hung, then turned to him. A round of flutters went off inside her chest just looking at him.

All night long, they'd scarcely been able to keep their hands off each other. From the kiss that had taken her breath away before they'd even left the apartment to the one that had nearly gotten them kicked out of the studio, they'd held the connection between them at a low simmer. Now that they were home, they could finally give it the fire to let it reach that rolling boil her body had longed for.

And yet, here he was, standing a half-dozen feet away. He'd draped his leather jacket over the back of one of her chairs. His shirt and jeans were both streaked with white and brown spatters of clay, but he looked just as intimidatingly sexy and confident as ever. As unapproachable.

She knew better now. Unwinding her scarf, she crossed the space to stand before him. Transcribing every movement, she looped the fabric around his neck and used it to haul him in. The corner of his mouth flickered up, a soft smile that made her go warm and melty inside. When they were nose to nose, she let her gaze dart between those sinful lips and the penetrating darkness of his eyes.

But her voice stuttered, abandoning her. What was she supposed to say? Tonight had meant so much to her.
He
meant so much. Too much. Swallowing, she opened her mouth to try. But with a subtle shake of his head, he shushed her, and her throat went dry. The air around them crackled, charged with things they had yet to say. Touches they had yet to share.

And
there
was that heat. Molten liquid bubbled beneath her skin, the quiet attraction of the rest of the night finally hitting a crest.

Maybe they didn't need words at all.

Adam's apple bobbing, he lifted a hand to cup the side of her neck, rubbing his thumb beneath the point of her jaw. “You have a little something...”

Her abdomen dipped, a well of need unfurling inside her, hot and clenching. Letting go of one end of her scarf, she dragged her palm down his chest, over the thick planes of muscle to rest against his heart. Her voice came out deep and rasping. “Funny.” She stroked a fingertip along a line of clay that stood out bright against his shirt. “You've got a little something, too.”

“How embarrassing.”

“It really is.” She met his gaze, only to find the same fire burning there that she felt in her own. “Guess we'll have to get these off you before you come to bed.”

Even as he spoke, he leaned in. “If you insist.”

All pretense fell away as his lips met hers. His mouth was hot against the chill that clung to her skin from the cool night air outside, warming her just as surely as the brush of his chest against the points of her breasts. She opened to him, swallowing his moan as his tongue swept inside.

She had the advantage here with two hands free. She put them to good work. Letting her scarf fall to the ground, she slipped her fingers along the placket of his shirt, undoing button after button. The plain cotton undershirt he wore beneath clung to his pectorals, the dips and ridges of his abs rippling the fabric and making her breath go tighter. She slipped her hand beneath the hem to press against that smooth, warm skin. The muscle beneath her hand twitched, and a noise of pure need fell out of his lungs. It wound her even tighter—she loved the sounds he made, the reactions of his body to being touched. Every time she got skin on skin, he acted like it was a miracle. A revelation.

Maybe because he had gone without it for so long.

Her heart panged, and she curled her fingers against the trail of hair leading from his navel down. He'd done something so nice for her tonight, and it had meant the world to her. He was right that she rarely put herself first. Someone putting her first—someone concentrating on what she needed, what would make her feel good—it
had
been a revelation.

A whole new sort of resolve pressed her closer to him. He was hard in his jeans, the long ridge of his erection grinding into her as she tugged them flush. He exhaled roughly, palm curling around her neck to hold her still for his kisses, and she wanted that. She did. But she wanted other things more.

She wanted to thank him. She wanted to give him something and to put him first, too.

She pulled herself away. The loss of his heat against her left her shivering, but she could bear it. Walking backward toward her bedroom, she hooked her hands in the fabric of her top and tugged it up slowly. “Take off your clothes.”

He groaned, but he wasted no time shedding his oxford, managing to balance his crutch as he did. He stalked after her, pausing in the doorway to her room to haul his undershirt over his head.

Thank God she'd managed to remember to get the light this time. She was struck dumb by the vision of him standing there, perfect chest rising and falling with every breath. The black lines of ink cut across his musculature, a sharp contrast to the warm glow of his skin, and she wanted to learn every one. Even the two that were unintelligible, just symbols and letters carved into his flesh, were beautiful.

Shaking with anticipation, she kept on backing up until her legs hit the edge of her bed. He licked his lips, gaze dark as he watched her strip. She dropped her top to the floor, shaking her hair out so it fell in waves around her shoulders, and if it were possible, the desire in his eyes etched deeper. Without looking away, she reached behind herself to undo her bra.

She shivered as the tips of her breasts flashed harder in the cool air. He reached his free hand out to grasp the frame of the door. His biceps strained as he braced himself there, and the point of his jaw flexed.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked.

The same thing you're doing to me.
It was too much to hope that that was true, and yet there was this part of her that dared.

Nothing for it. She skimmed out of her pants, taking her underwear with them, stepping out of the little flats she'd probably never get clean after their night in the studio, and she didn't care. Naked, she sank to sit at the edge of the bed.

He staggered the last couple of feet to stand before her. His crutch clattered to the ground, and he was uneven without it, weight shifted to one side, but it didn't matter. He combed her hair back from her face, tracing the curve of her cheek before brushing his thumb along her lower lip. She opened her mouth, and he slipped just inside, the pad of his thumb sliding along her tongue.

His nostrils flared. “You like that, do you?”

Heaven help her, but she did.

Holding his gaze, she brought her hands to the waistband of his jeans. His belt gave beneath her fingers, and a rushing heat flowed from the stiff points of her breasts to her pussy. When she stroked her hand over the length of him through the denim, his thumb pressed deeper. She pursed her lips around it, and he swallowed hard.

At least he didn't try to pretend he didn't see what she was offering. “You don't have to.”

She waited until he pulled his thumb away to lick her lips. “I want to.”

It was the work of a moment to get him free. He made another one of those delicious noises as she wrapped her hand around the silky, searing flesh, smoothing the foreskin back. God, he was big. Perfect and achingly hard. The tension coiling inside of her wound higher. She was soaked with wanting, and it would be so easy to pull him down onto this bed with her. To climb on top and get the deep stretch, the fullness and the satisfaction of his body thrusting hard into hers.

Instead, she pushed his pants and boxers farther down, then took another long, slow stroke with her hand. Patience was a virtue and restraint would be rewarded. And this wasn't about her; it was about him.

She'd never had a chance to take her time with him or to try to learn exactly what he liked. How he shuddered when she rubbed her thumb through the fluid at the tip. How he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as she drew that slickness down to just beneath the head.

How he moaned her name when she slipped off the mattress to fall to her knees. When she replaced her fingers with her tongue.

“Serena.” His voice came out choked and rough, and he threaded gentle fingers through her hair as she let him slip between her lips. “Oh, that's perfect.”

She hummed around him before pulling back. She wasn't going to be rushed here, either. She licked and kissed and explored, breathing against the base of him and mouthing at the tender flesh of his sac. His warm, male scent invaded her senses, the salty, slightly bitter aftertaste of him thick on her tongue. Staring up at him, she skated her hands along his thighs, over lean muscle and coarse hair before bringing them to rest at his hips, dragging her thumbs over the grooves of the V that led her exactly where she wanted to go.

And this was cruel, but she placed one more soft kiss to the very crown of him before leaning back. She wanted him desperate, wanted him insane for what she was about to give him. Her heart thundered and her pussy throbbed as she waited.

Untouched for a moment, his cock bobbed on the air, liquid beading from the slit. His breath came faster and faster, his rib cage expanding and contracting furiously, and the hand in her hair clenched, nails raking against her scalp.

Finally, he broke. “Please.”

She wet her lips with her tongue. “Please what?”

“Please.” His eyes were practically black. “Suck me.”

Hot tremors of arousal raced up and down her spine, making her skin feel like it was too tight, and maybe she was cruel, maybe she had both patience and restraint, but even she was helpless against his plea.

“Happily,” she murmured. With that, she opened her mouth and swallowed him down.

“Fuck.”
His legs shook, and his whole spine arched over her as she took him in as deep as she could. His other hand slammed against the edge of the mattress behind her, and he leaned into it like it was the only thing keeping him up.

Maybe it was. Maybe he needed his crutch or to sit or lie down.

Except when she made to slide off of him, he let a growl build low in his throat. Cupping the back of her head now, he urged her to take him in again, and that was all the answer she needed to dispel her doubts.

Closing her eyes, she slid him back inside, triumph a brilliant glow within her chest. On an upward stroke, she curled her tongue to flick it over that spot beneath the head that had made him groan before, and the noise it pulled out of him this time was unreal.

“Serena. Christ. You look so good with my cock in your mouth.”

Her every nerve was alight as she moved into a nice, slow pace. His hips answered her, making gentle, shallow thrusts in time with the motions of her lips. The shaking in him deepened as he got closer and closer.

“Faster,” he begged. “Nice and deep, yes—”

His voice cut off as she wrapped her hand around the base. He slid slickly through the circle of her fist, the wet sounds of her going down on him and him fucking her mouth obscene and delicious on the air. He sped up, taking control, and she let him.

Because maybe that was what he'd needed.

A dizzying desire made her head spin. Someday, she wanted that. When his leg was healed, she wanted him to pin her to the mattress and take her hard, fuck her for hours with all the strength that was in him. Claim her and make her his own.

She wanted him to keep her.

Groaning around the thick flesh in her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. God, she wanted that so much.

Finally, the shaking in his legs hit a tipping point. He sped the pace of his hips, and every muscle in his abdomen clenched hard. He drew in a harsh, sucking breath.

“Shit, Serena, you take it so perfectly. Take it, take it all...I'm—”

His jaw clamped shut, the hand at the back of her head snapping suddenly away. It was warning and permission, but she opened her eyes and pulled him in deeper.

“Serena—”

He came in surging pulses over her tongue, and she swallowed it all. Every rasping gasp, every line of strain was a hot punch to her core. Her slickness coated her thighs, and she could barely breathe past how badly she needed him, needed this, needed it to never end.

She whimpered as he took one last thrust past her lips and stilled.

God. She was in so deep with this man, and he'd never promised her anything—he'd explicitly told her that he couldn't, even. There were obstacles and land mines lurking in the scattered landscape of his past. But as he stared down at her, shuddering through the aftershocks of his climax, this ember of hope ignited in her.

Maybe.
Maybe.

The ember only grew as he drew back. He slipped free from her mouth with a wet
pop
that sent another lick of heat on a live wire to her clit. She stayed there on her knees, panting, her entire body tight and on edge with the depths of the ache he left in his wake.

His body seemed to give out.

Alarmed, she reached to try to steady him, but he shook his head. It was a controlled descent that brought him shuddering to the floor. Landing on his good knee, he reached out for her, and she went. They twisted and turned, arranging themselves until he had them how he wanted them. He sat with his back against the footboard of her bed, legs splayed out in front of him, his jeans still at his knees. Straddling his hips, she was even with his face, eye to eye and mouth to mouth.