Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1) (10 page)

Louis had rarely gone down on her, and when he had it was awkward and perfunctory, and he’d always acted afterwards like he’d done her an extraordinary favor that merited at least two extended blowjobs and a pizza dinner she paid for. But Nick made it seem like worship, like he was in no hurry to do anything else or be anywhere else.

He licked and nipped his way up to the hot pulsing place at the joining of her legs, and then swirled his tongue there. And it felt like heat lightning was licking its way over the whole surface of her skin, shimmering and rippling and making her glow as warmth spread through her veins.

She could hear hoarse, desperate noises coming out of her mouth, and had no way even to think about stopping them. Her hips bucked upwards, and her hands fisted in the comforter beneath her.

Ten minutes ago she would have sworn that nothing, nothing, nothing on this earth could ever induce her to let Nick Turner lay a hand on her again, and here she was laid out stark naked beneath him with his hands gripping her bare ass and his face buried between her thighs.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still foggily aware that they shouldn’t be doing this, that they’d just been talking about how doing this the first time had nearly wrecked their friendship, but her grip on logic was eroding faster with every move by Nick’s tongue.

And
holy sweet mercy
, he sucked where he’d been licking and the tugging sensation seemed to make her whole body swell and flare like an exploding sun.

Now she just wanted him, needed him, had to have him. Everything good and right and pure and happy in the world seemed to be concentrated in him, in his hands and his mouth, and all she could remember of him was how kind he’d always been to her, and how easy it was to be in his company for days and weeks together, and how quickly he always seemed to guess her thoughts and to find ways to make her laugh.

He was Nick.
Her
Nick. Her dearest friend for so many years, and right now, her perfect lover. They
belonged
.

Her hands went to his hair, her fingers knotting themselves in his curls, hanging on for dear life. His tongue and his lips kept working, alternately licking and sucking in an exquisite rhythm, and he slid three fingers inside her, driving them in and out in time with the movements of his mouth, again and again, making her whole body tighten and her hips thrust upwards into his touch. Pressure was building, building everywhere, and bright lights started to flash behind her eyelids.

His other hand skimmed up her ribs to her breast and squeezed her nipple between forefinger and thumb just as he sucked her clit long and hard. And that sent her over the edge.

She exploded, all the tension he’d built up in her bursting outwards, taking her mind with it in a dazzling, shuddering rush. She was maybe screaming, maybe crying, maybe not making any sound at all. Blazing white sweet glorious waves of heat obliterated all conscious awareness.

And when finally, slowly, she came back inside the boundaries of her own body again, she was still not done. She wanted him with her,
in
her, she wanted his weight and heat and the taste of his skin.

Her gaze met his, and the look in his green eyes was of such raw, naked need and openness—emotional as much as physical. Oh, God, it looked like he was feeling what she was feeling. But she’d seen the same look on his face in the meadow, too, and it hadn’t turned out to mean what she thought.
Sex
was the side of Nick she just didn’t know.

But it didn’t matter, not now. She needed him.

“Please, Nick, please,” she begged, holding out her arms for him.

She didn’t have to ask twice. He kicked off his jeans, his gaze never leaving hers, and eased himself down full length atop her.

She could feel the wound-up tension in his body, the desperation and the need. “Amber, Amber, Amber,” he was saying, against her hair, against her throat, against her mouth.

She reached between them to grasp his hot, throbbing cock. He groaned, but still her hand with his long enough to reach with the other into his bed-side table drawer to get a condom. He rolled it over his heavy erection in seconds—though it seemed like half an eternity to her—and then she took hold of him again and guided him to her entrance. He nudged against her, sliding against the slickness of her outer lips, and then began a slow, steady push. He parted her with his hardness, making her gasp, making her eyes squeeze shut again, and then he withdrew a little before driving harder all the way inside, to the core of her, stretching her, filling her.

She cried out, and the sweet waves of orgasm began to ripple again.

He fit as perfectly as he had before, and all she wanted was to keep him inside her like that. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she opened herself fully to his thrusts, loving the pressure of his chest against her breasts, the warmth of his tongue parting her lips, and she thought over and over,
This. This, this, this
.

She wanted him closer still, she wanted him everywhere. Her nails dug into his back, and his fists tightened in her hair, tugging at the roots, and he thrust harder, harder, taking her deeper. Everything was tightening all over again, her thighs clenching, clamping around him, the world drawing inward so sharply it seemed her heart could no longer beat and her lungs could take in no air.

And then she shattered again. And this time he was shattering with her, and now there were no limits anywhere. Sheer pleasure, sheer joy racing through them both, and if there had ever been a barrier between them, it was gone now, and they were one incandescent light.

Perfect, so perfect.

She wanted the feeling to never, never, never end—she wanted to float there forever, melted, satiated, blissfully intertwined, nickandamber, amberandnick....

The way it should be
.

Oh, Lord. She had to admit it to herself. This was...
love
.
This
.

She loved Nick Turner. She loved the real deep-down Nick Turner she knew so well, with all her heart and soul.

And his body pressed down into hers now with total abandon, seeming to hold nothing back as his arms drew her tight against him, no space in between. Like he couldn’t seem to get close enough to her. Like he loved her, too.

But even as that thought came into her mind, fear entered along with it.

This wasn’t an eternity.

And she and Nick weren’t one being—not even close to that.

All too soon, the room began to take solid shape around them again, with all its borders and limits and cold, hard truth. The madness that came with pleasure began to recede, and logic began to send its cruel little tendrils through her mind again. And she remembered who they were, and how they were, and what he’d told her just a few minutes ago, and how easy it would be for him to rip her heart and her life apart.

Then all she could think was,
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no
.

Chapter Five

Onyx was glaring at him skeptically in her no-nonsense New Yorker way, a fist on her cocked hip. “You want
me
to tell that to Amber? Instead of you telling her yourself?”

“That’s right,” Nick said, indicating the lighting equipment spread out over his desk. He’d made it through another day today working with Amber, and they still hadn’t managed a rational conversation about what was going on between them, or what in hell they were going to do about it. As confused as he was feeling, he’d be just as happy if they never got around to talking at all.

Onyx made loud tapping noises against the floor with the steel-lined toe of her Doc Martens.

“Please just tell her I’ve figured out how to attach gels to the lanterns your ranger friend got us for the night shoot,” he said. “And tell her I borrowed some bamboo fishing poles from Ranger Morrissey so the guys can rig them without needing to drag anything heavy up there. We can hike up to the swimming hole as soon as she’s ready.”

“You could just walk over to her cabin and tell her all that.”

“Right. But I’m asking you to.”

Onyx pursed her blood-red lips. “Technically, I’m her assistant, not yours. I only have to take orders from you if I feel like it.”

“I’ll let you run Camera 1 tonight if you do.”

“You should let me run Camera 1 all the time, because I’m kickass,” she said. “But I still want you to talk to her. It was too weird this morning, the two of you acting like the other was invisible. That is
not
your usual happy Nick and Amber M.O.”

“We’re fine.”

“
Ruby
was fine. She was awesome, actually—five script pages filmed, all good stuff. I thought she’d be our problem child again, but she clearly got her head back on straight. So what’s the problem with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Onyx twirled the bright blue strand running down the side of her spiky black hair. “You and Amber are the one functional relationship I ever get to be around, and if you fall apart, I’m going to have to hurl myself off a mountain pass or something. You’re like the happy parents I never had.”

His brain cramped up at that image. “We aren’t—we’re not—it’s not a—” He broke off, swatting the whole idea away with the back of his hand. “And for the record, we’re only a few years older than you! Seriously, Onyx, this is none of your business.”

“Excuse me for caring about you,” she said, giving her eyes a dramatic roll. “Well, actually caring about Amber. Okay, you too, I guess, a little bit, even though you totally don’t deserve it right now. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

He smiled. “I’m contagious. Just came down with the Black Plague. Don’t want to make her sick. See? Simple explanation.”

Onyx grimaced. “Then shouldn’t you worry about making me sick?”

“I figure you’re invulnerable.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am invulnerable. And fine, I’ll tell Amber about the lantern gels, since you’re obviously too wussy to tell her yourself.”

“Black Plague,” he repeated, and Onyx stuck her pierced tongue out at him and stalked off, her black boots thudding on the wood planks of the cabin floor.

Well, he did feel like he had the plague. He
was
the plague. He was a rat, anyway—that was for damned sure. A natural resident of the gutter.

What in hell was wrong with him?

After all the pain he’d caused Amber in the last few days, he’d sworn to himself he’d keep his hands off her. And then yesterday afternoon, he lasted about three minutes alone with her before he was all over her again.

And when they were in bed, he felt like he was pouring his soul into her body. As long as he was touching her, he wanted to give her everything—his life, himself, every last thought and impulse and desire. God, he’d been right on the verge of telling her he loved her—the words were all but forcing themselves out of his mouth in the moments before he came.

But what a lie that would have been.

Because Nick Turner wasn’t capable of love.

He might be able to
think
he was feeling it, for a little while at least, even as deep down powerfully as he’d felt it with Amber yesterday, when it shook him to his core, but there was no way he could sustain the feeling, no matter how profound it felt to lose himself in her arms.

That feeling was like a drug, nothing more.

He’d seen both his parents go through this, a dozen times each at least—he’d had to live under the same roof with one or the other of them for multiple episodes, until he finally escaped to college and only had to hear about it long-distance. After his parents divorced each other, they kept meeting new people to fall in love with, and no one ever looked so passionately happy as each of them did with each and every new partner. No one had ever been so head-over-heels moony about another human being, swearing they’d met their soul-mate, that they understood each other down to the marrow, that they’d be blissful now forever.

When he still lived with them, he’d had to hide beneath his blankets at night and plug his ears, because if his bedroom was anywhere near whatever pair of lovebirds happened to be together that time, the walls would shudder and bang half the night with all the ecstatic couplings.

But before too long, though—sometimes just a couple of weeks, sometimes long enough to stage a lavish wedding and buy a brand-new house together and start talking about more kids—the latest soulmate would inevitably turn into “that bitch” or “that asshole...may he crawl back into the burning depths of hell.”

Not a trace of love left. Nothing but bitterness and venom and loud screaming fights in kitchens and bedrooms and hallways, and eventually in court.

That was what he’d grown up with. That was what he knew.

That was what took root in the very core of him.

He’d hated it then, and he hated it now, but he knew there was no escaping it. And no matter what else he screwed up in life, he could never, ever let himself go through that process with Amber. He’d never wanted to go through it with any woman, which is why he never got too deeply involved. But
Amber
? He’d rather cut out his own tongue than to be calling her “that bitch.”