When she resettled across his belly, her wet sex sealed on the hot skin of his waist, and as his hips surged, the tightening weave of his stomach muscles moved against her, driving her higher sure as if it was his palm between her thighs. With the dueling onslaughts at her breasts and her core, he seemed to be all over her, touching every inch of her body.
And it wasn’t enough. There would be time for exploration later—all she wanted was him inside. . . .
Isaac clearly thought the same thing, too. Without her saying a word, he returned her to the mattress, his erection a hot brand on her thighs as he moved into position. Parting her knees with one of his own, he made room for himself—
They both groaned as they brushed against each other down below.
“I’m clean,” he said in her ear.
“I know.” She raked her nails over his shoulders. “Saw . . . medical record . . . I’m on . . . pill. . . . now!”
They joined together in a rush, his body going rigid above her as he pushed in deep and hit home. He was big and thick inside of her, heavy on top of her, hot against her skin: This may have been wrong on so many levels, but when it came to the fit, he was perfect.
Isaac dropped his head onto her neck and started to move, his body rolling against hers, her head moving up and back on the pillow as he stroked in and out. Sliding her hands down to his lower back, she could feel the growing tension in him already—and he wasn’t the only one getting close to release.
On a moan, she widened her legs and gave him more, her nails sinking into his skin, the tips of her breasts and the depths of her core tingling. She breathed through her mouth hard as his rhythm of broad strokes swept her up into the heavens even as she stayed on earth.
And then she was free. Flying and free on a wild ride that made the real world seem so blissfully far away. It was just what she needed, an explosive shattering that took her out of herself and the too-structured life she led and the powerful mind that had gotten her so far and yet trapped her, too.
As she began to come down, Isaac’s thrusts got shorter and faster, his arms going all around her and tightening up hard. She was crushed against him but she didn’t care—and she was glad she’d gone over the edge first so she could concentrate fully on what was happening to him.
Except . . . he slowed.
And then stopped altogether.
Lifting his head, he braced his torso up on his arms, but didn’t look at her.
Just as she was going to ask him what was wrong, he pulled out of her, still fully erect, and got off the bed. The air that rushed in to fill his place was like an arctic blast across her naked skin—and the deep freeze only got worse as he strode into the bathroom and closed the door.
Left alone, she lay in the dark, every muscle tensed up and her whole body flushed with a very different kind of heat.
She waited, and when she didn’t hear water turn on or the toilet run, the idea that it might have just been an equipment malfunction of some sort dwindled. And it couldn’t be embarrassment over some kind of performance thing because God knew he’d satisfied her and been erect.
Her hands shook as she covered her face, and damn it if reality didn’t come rushing back. This should never have happened.
Perfect fit? More like a perfect fix: She’d been in a reckless frame of mind ever since she’d looked into Isaac Rothe’s frosty eyes, and just as it had been with her brother, she’d had to take a hit of something very dangerous.
Where had her brain gone? Having sex with some man she didn’t know—No, worse than that: a client of hers—who was up for assault? With no protection—even though she was on the pill and she did know he wasn’t HIV positive, it was still risky as hell.
In the heat of the moment, she’d made a choice that was hard to defend, much less comprehend.
For some reason, Daniel came to mind, and she remembered the pair of them being thirteen and sixteen and stealing their father’s car. It had been down at Hyannis Port in the summer—where night wasn’t just dark; it was pitch black. They’d pushed the Mercedes two-seater down the drive, started it up, and gone for a ride, changing places, each taking the wheel. They’d ended up on the breakway in front of the marshes, on the sandy road right on the lip of the ocean. With the sea wind in their hair and the whoosh of the air and the sense of electric freedom, they’d laughed until they couldn’t see.
Which was how they’d crashed into a shack.
They’d both been hardwired wrong, hadn’t they—Daniel a little wronger than her, granted, but it wasn’t just her brother who did crazy things. And in a way, his descent into the seedy needle underlife had been her drug: The peaks and valleys as she made progress with him and then lost it and then got through to him once more became the drum section in her life’s orchestra, the driving force that marked all the other notes.
And now that he was gone . . .
She dropped her hands and looked over at the closed door, picturing Isaac on the other side.
He was the perfect fit for the vast hole her brother’s death had left behind, a wave of drama sweeping into her life and becoming the thing she could throw herself into. After all, Daniel as a ghost wasn’t half as vivid as he’d been alive.
Isaac was pure octane.
Yanking the covers over herself, she sat up and drew her hair back behind her ears. The reality was, that man in there had had more sense than she did. He’d wanted to go and leave her; she’d made him stay. He’d given her a chance to go back to bed alone; she’d shut them in together. He was going to take off without looking back; she was going to want to see him after tomorrow. . . .
Frowning, she realized there were still no sounds in the bathroom. Nothing.
What was he doing in there? It had been a while.
Grier dragged a sheet with her as she got up and walked over to the door. Knocking softly, she said, “Are you okay?”
No answer. “Isaac? Is there something wrong?”
Well, other than the fact that he was on the lam from both the federal government and now the state of Massachusetts and was staying at his soon-to-be former attorney’s house . . . having had sex with her.
Details, details.
Or wait, did the lack of orgasm on his part mean the hookup didn’t count? She had finished, though . . . so maybe she’d been with four and a half men now?
“Isaac?”
When there was no response, she rapped quietly. “Isaac?”
Without much hope, she went for the knob, but the thing turned easily—to her relief, he hadn’t locked himself in. Cracking the door, she saw a bare foot and an ankle in the dim light from outside. He was evidently sitting on the floor in the corner by the shower.
“Mind if I come in?” she asked, pushing her way into the room . . .
Dear God . . . he was curled into himself, his face on his biceps, his arm up and blocking his face, his bruised hand lying on his hair. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling.
He was sobbing. Sobbing in that restrained, manly way where he barely let any of it out, his choked inhales the only thing that clued her in.
Grier approached him slowly and sat down beside him. When she put her hand lightly on his bare shoulder, he jumped.
“Shhh . . . it’s just me.”
He didn’t look at her and she was willing to bet if he’d been able to, he would have told her to get out. But he couldn’t. And all she could do was sit with him and gently soothe him with touch.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, knowing there was no reason to ask about the whys: There were a lot to choose from. “You’re all right. . . . It’s okay. . . .”
“It’s really not,” he said hoarsely. “It’s so not. I’m . . . not. . . .”
“Come here.” She tugged at him, not really expecting him to give in . . . but he did. He turned to her and let her wrap her arms around him as if he were a wild beast who had decided to be tamed for a short time. He was so big that she couldn’t reach far, but she made what contact she had count and put her face in his cropped hair.