Karen Rose - Silent Scream

He made a sound deep in his throat, rough. Needy. One hand tightened in her hair and the other roved her back and sides impatiently as he deepened the kiss and she remembered how it felt. His mouth on her. His hands on her. God, the man had amazing hands. Touch me. She wanted to scream it, but there was no air. Her dress fluttered against the back of her legs as he grabbed a handful of fabric at her hip and twisted it in his fist. Visions of him ripping her dress over her head taunted. Tempted.

Just like last time.

He pulled away abruptly, his chest swelling as his breath beat hard and fast against her hair. But although his grip gentled, he didn’t let go. His one hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her cheek against his bare skin. The other hand splayed firmly against her lower back, as if he’d keep her from bolting.

Just like last time.

She eased from her toes, her hands sliding down his skin, finding a natural resting place on his back. And she held on, because she needed to. If she pushed away, he’d let her go, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“It was real,” he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine. “I didn’t imagine it.”

She thought of how she’d left him, sprawled in his own bed, snoring softly. He’d had way too much champagne at Mia’s wedding while she had been one hundred percent sober. For long months she’d wondered what he’d remembered. If he remembered what they’d done. What he’d said.

“It depends,” she said cautiously, “on what you think you imagined.”

“I remember Friday,” he said quietly. “Everything about Friday. Saturday, not so much.” Friday had been Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The first time she’d seen him. Saturday had been the wedding, and Saturday night… Well, that’s why she was here.

His fingers began moving against her scalp, gentle circles that made her eyes drift closed. “I was sitting on the steps of the church,” he said, “dreading going in.”

“Another wedding you’d leave alone,” she murmured.

He stiffened, his fingers going still. “I told you that?”

“Saturday night, after the reception. After a couple glasses of champagne you told me… quite a lot. I wondered how it could be true. How a man who looked like you could possibly be alone.”

“It’s just a face, Olivia.”

She leaned back to look up at him, at the face that made women everywhere swoon. His gray eyes were sad. And alone.

She ran her fingertips over his jaw, felt it twitch, and realized how tautly he held himself. “It wasn’t just your face. I kept thinking, he’s got to be mean, proud, stupid, something. I kept looking for a flaw, but never found one.”

“I have a lot of flaws. Believe me.”

She leaned against his chest again, her words defeated. “Not that I could see.”

His fingers resumed their slow massage and she could feel herself melting against him. “You wore this dress at the rehearsal dinner. I was hoping that was a good sign.”

“I wondered if you’d remember.”

“Like I said, I remember everything about Friday. I was sitting on the steps and you almost fell into my lap.”

She felt compelled to defend herself. “My heel hit a rock and I tripped.”

“One more reason to be grateful for a woman in high heels,” he murmured. “You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”

“No.” He’d been sweet and funny, tending to the knee she’d skinned when she’d fallen. He’d helped her into a side entrance of the church, his arm around her as her heart cantered. Then he’d found her a chair, crouched at her feet, and tenderly cleaned the blood from her knee as she’d stared down into his face. Which was far from “just a face.” She’d been all but mesmerized. “You put a Little Mermaid Band-Aid on me.”

“My niece, Grace, had skinned her elbow that afternoon.” He still sounded faintly embarrassed, charming her now as he had then. “I had them in my pocket.”

“So you said.” As he’d looked up with a boyish, bashful grin. And that was the moment he had me. He never had to be smart or funny or thoughtful or polite. But he’d been all those things, too. He’d been perfect. “Friday was a nice night.” Perfect.

“It was. I didn’t want it to end.” Neither of them had. After Mia’s rehearsal dinner, they’d ended up at Moe’s, a restaurant run by his friends, where they’d had pie and coffee and talked until the owners swept up around them and finally turned out the lights. “I don’t think I ever closed a restaurant down before.”

“When Moe knew I was moving out here, he asked me to tell you hello.” He said nothing more for a long, long moment, still holding her. Then he sighed quietly. “Hello, Olivia. I should have said that months ago.”

She pulled back, met his eyes, her own hardening. “Then why didn’t you? Why did you move here in the first place?”

He didn’t blink. “Because of the next night. Saturday night.” He paused, his gaze unflinching, and her cheeks grew hot. “There’s a lot I don’t remember about that night after Mia’s wedding, Olivia, but I remember enough.”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Such as?”

His eyes changed, shifted. “Like how you felt when I danced with you, holding you against me. How your bridesmaid dress dipped low in front.” He slid his hand from her hair, gently tracing the edge of her bra through the thin dress she wore, sending current charging all over her skin. “How I wanted to know what you looked like without it.”

He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the curve of her shoulder, his fingertips teasing the fullness of her breast. “But somehow,” he whispered, “I know how you look without it. I shouldn’t. But I do, don’t I?”

She was trembling now. You have to make him stop. But she couldn’t. Didn’t want to. “Yes.” It was barely audible, but from the sharp intake of his breath, she knew he’d heard. Touch me, she wanted to plead, but once more there was no air in her lungs.

Abruptly he slid both hands down, covering her butt. Her whimper of relief was muffled as he took her mouth again, hot and demanding. A shudder shook him and he tore his lips away.

“God. I remember how you felt in my hands,” he muttered, kneading her flesh and she lifted on her toes, up into him. He was already hard.

She knew how it felt to press against that hard ridge, to feel it throb against her. She needed to feel it again. Now. She made a frustrated noise and he finally lifted her, pressing her into the door frame, his body hard between her thighs.

Almost, but not nearly enough. Just like last time. She rocked against him and heard him utter an oath, then his hands found the bare skin of her legs, trembling as they caressed.

Unsteadily, he feathered kisses up the side of her neck to her ear. “I remember how you taste, Olivia.” It was a harsh whisper, wringing a moan from her lips. He ground into her and her head lolled against the door frame as she let the memories in. This. This is what she’d craved, all those months. All those months he’d stayed away. “Don’t I?” He kissed her neck, hard. “Do I know how you taste?”

She nodded, every muscle clenching.

“And I know how you sound when you come.”

“Yes.” The word was nearly a sob.

“And then…” He was breathing hard, his fingers digging into her inner thighs, pulling her wider, rocking up into her, so close that if it weren’t for their layers of clothing, he’d be inside her. She met each thrust, so damn close. Almost there, just from a few whispered words and the thrust of his hips.

She swallowed hard. “What?” she whispered, her voice raspy. Desperate.

“Your mouth… I can still feel your mouth on me. Hot and wet.” He shuddered. “I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed it. Tell me I didn’t dream it.”