Cunningham Family: Lost And Found Part 10

And I'm just not ready to talk about it.

I lean over and take his hand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm trying to work through this."

His eyes lock on mine. "You don't have to do that alone."

It's almost embarra.s.sing how quickly my eyes start to burn at those words. But I'm not going to add tears to this situation.

"I just need time," I say softly. "Just some time."

He doesn't look entirely convinced, but I've never be able to fool him. Instead of trying, I lean across the car and take his face in my hands and kiss him. Pa.s.sionately. Until his hands come up around me and he kisses me just as aggressively in return.

After a minute, he breaks off.

"Don't think you can just kiss your way out of everything," he says, and there's just enough lightness in his voice for me to see my opening.

"Maybe I can't," I reply, trying to match his tone. "But I intend to try. And I'd like to see you stop me."

The next time I kiss him I slip my tongue into his mouth, and I can sense the moment the switch flips inside of him-the moment his resistance cracks and he gives up on any further conversation. His hands tighten their grip and his lips go on the attack, and my body is all too ready to melt against his.

He pushes me back against my seat and leans across the center console, his mouth refusing to leave mine. His hand is already peeling back the wet fabric of my dress, pushing it up my thighs. And his fingers are slipping between my legs, tracing that familiar path of pleasure toward my core.

My hand moves down across his abs and over the crotch of his jeans. He groans and grinds himself against my fingers. He's already hard.

We writhe and twist against each other, trying to get closer to each other within the cramped, awkward confines of the car. My seatbelt buckle is digging into my hip, and my knee keeps. .h.i.tting the glove compartment. But as long as I'm entangled with Ward, I don't care.

Thunder erupts overhead. Or is that just my foot hitting the door? Ward's pushing me back against my seat again, and my hand grapples along the side of the seat, trying to figure out to recline the back. He's not that patient. He's halfway on top of me already, and now he's working my dress up around my waist.

"No panties?" he murmurs against my ear as his fingers brush over me.

I pant and lift my hips to meet his touch. "They're dirty."

"I bet."

He still has that streak of grease on his forehead-though it's probably smeared on my skin, too-and I can smell it. That, mixed with the scent of his sweat, creates a heady aroma that makes me dizzy with desire. I go for his fly, not willing to wait a moment longer. I need him now.

My other hand, meanwhile, has finally found the lever on the side of my seat. I yank on it, and my seat falls back, giving Ward the s.p.a.ce to climb completely on top of me. I undo his zipper and start to shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. He pushes them all the way to his ankles. My arms go around his neck and I yank his face down to mine again. I want him closer to me. I want to make love to him while the rain beats down overhead and this little edge of anxiety still quivers in my bones. My body won't have anything else right now.

I bite down on his lip, and he returns the favor, and we're attacking each other with tongues and teeth and everything we have. My lips are nearly raw by the time Ward breaks away, but I whimper and try to pull him back to my mouth again.

"Mm," he murmurs. "What am I going to do with you?" His mouth moves along my jaw. When he reaches my ear, he sucks the lobe into his mouth, and I can feel it all the way down to my heels.

His kisses become more urgent, and he opens his wallet and scrabbles for the condom he has stashed there. He starts kissing his way roughly across my other cheek-the bruised one-and though my body responds eagerly to every touch of his lips, he uses a little too much pressure against the sensitive, swollen skin. I cry out in pain before I can stop myself.

Ward stills.

"f.u.c.k," he says. "f.u.c.k, I forgot." His fingers move along the edge of my face, skimming but never actually touching the raised, mottled skin.

"It was an accident," I say lightly. "The pain's already gone."

Almost. There's still a dull ache deep beneath the skin, but Ward doesn't need to feel guiltier than he already does.

"And anyway," I whisper, taking his face in my hands, "I would endure far more pain than that to have you kiss me again." I pull his mouth to mine, but though he responds, much of the heat, the desperation, is gone. He kisses me, but then he sighs and pulls back again.

"Louisa..."

"You won't hurt me. I promise."

He looks at me long and hard, his eyes burning into mine. Right now, they're a stormy blue-beautiful and full of a vibrant energy.

"I would never intentionally hurt you," he says. "But when..." Something flashes in his eyes-something wicked-and he shakes his head. He drops his face close to mine so that I feel every word as it leaves his lips.

"When you kiss me, or when you make those intoxicating little noises you make, or when you wrap your legs around me... I lose it. Every bit of control. And I'm not sure I trust myself not to hurt you then."

I tilt my face so that my lips touch his ear. "I can take a lot more pain than you imagine. Even enjoy it."

I know what those words do to him. His c.o.c.k jumps against my thigh.

"Remember that night at Huntington Manor right after your fight?" I murmur. "The night of our first time?"

"Yes," he growls. "I remember."

"Were you worried about your shoulder? Or your black eye? Or any of the pain?"

"That's different."

"You keep saying that, but I don't believe you. Or is it that you don't believe I could want you now as much as you wanted me then?"

He leans close. "I know you want me. But if you think even for a second that you understand how much I want you..." His fingers tangle in my damp hair. "Or how hard you can make my c.o.c.k with just the smallest of things..."

My core clenches as he raises a handful of my curls to his nose.

"Sometimes all it takes is the smell of you," he says. "I've turned away just for a second, but then I catch a hint of your scent... and it finds its way down inside me. Into my blood. Until I can smell nothing but you. And you're standing there in front of me, completely oblivious to the fact that all I can think about is tearing off your clothes and f.u.c.king you until your smell is all around me. Until I've completely buried myself in it."

He drops my hair. His hand glides over my collarbone, and his eyes grow even darker.

"Sometimes it's a look," he continues. "A flash of sorrow in your eyes. A quiver of your lip. Those times I want to take you in my arms and make you forget everything that's hurting you. I want to take you until you're crying in pleasure, not pain. Until you've forgotten every emotion but the things I can make you feel."

His words stun me, and I'm completely frozen against the seat. But he's not done.

"And sometimes it's not a look or a scent," he says. "It's a laugh. Or a sigh. Or one perfect little curl next to your cheek. You'll tilt your head and your hair will fall over your shoulder and all I can think about is that hair dragging across my skin. You'll tap your fingers against your leg and all I can think about is those fingers digging into my back, that leg wrapped around me." He lowers his face until his mouth is just above mine. "You'll part your lips just slightly, and all I can think about is how much I want your lips on my c.o.c.k. Right then. And I think about it until my whole body aches with need and it's all I can do not to show you what you've done to me."

I have no response to such a confession. Ward takes advantage of my shocked silence.

"So you see," he says, his voice rough, "why it's dangerous to let myself lose control."

Dangerous. Yes, this is dangerous, but I want to throw myself headfirst into the chaos.

"But what will you do if I tell you I want that danger?" I ask softly, burying my hands in his hair. "If I want you to f.u.c.k me like that?"

His c.o.c.k moves against my thigh again, even though the rest of him remains perfectly still.

"One of us needs to maintain some sort of control," he says finally, huskily.

"Why?"

Again his c.o.c.k pulses. "Because otherwise I'm never going to let you out of my arms again. I'm just going to f.u.c.k you..." He kisses me fiercely. "And f.u.c.k you..." His hand tightens on my breast. "And f.u.c.k you..." He shifts his hips until I can feel the hard head of his arousal right against my folds, and then he whispers, "Until we both collapse from exhaustion."

I shiver at the thought.

"Have you ever been f.u.c.ked like that?" he asks. He moves his hips again, and his c.o.c.k slides against me.

I can only shake my head. Words aren't an option right now.

"Are you so sure you want it?" he breathes.

Want it? I need it. But he has to know that. He has to hear how fast my breath rushes in and out of my lips. He has to feel how hard my heart is beating beneath him. And that's ignoring the obvious-can't he tell how slick I am down where his c.o.c.k teases me so cruelly?

His hands move to my hair again, one on either side of my head, and he tugs at my curls until my scalp p.r.i.c.kles. I give a little gasp.

"Do you want it?" he asks again. "You have to say it. I don't want to have any doubt."

The air in this car is so thick and hot with the scent of our mingling l.u.s.t that I can hardly breathe. Ward's face has a thin sheen of sweat, and between the way his arousal is pressed against me and the way he's looking at me right now, I'm afraid I could come right here, balanced between his hard length and the sharpness of his gaze. All it would take is a single word of command from him.

But he needs my word. My command. My permission for him to take my body and use it completely.

"Yes," I whisper. "I want it. I want everything you have."

There's a moment where neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes. But I can feel his heart pumping beneath my hands, feel his c.o.c.k pulse against my slick opening.

And then Ward makes a sound that I can feel deep inside of me. A sound I've never heard him make before-part male, part animal, so utterly primal that my body instantly responds. My belly contracts and my mouth parts and suddenly he's plunging into me, drawing a very different but equally wild sound from my lips.

Usually, when Ward sinks into me, he pauses right when he's as deep as he can go. He looks me in the eyes and lets me feel him-every hot, hard inch of him-and only when I'm trembling does he begin to move. And then it's a slow build, a steady increase of speed and power that drives me so perfectly toward my peak.

This time there's no moment of pause. No slow build. He doesn't tease me, or pull back to watch my reactions pa.s.s across my face. He has me pinned beneath him on the seat, entirely at his will, and he drives into me again and again without mercy. Today he has no care for tenderness, no patience for our normal dance of teasing and begging. He's forgotten all of that, abandoned everything for feral need.

And I do, too.

Ward is everywhere. He's the warm smell of l.u.s.t in my nostrils. The hard, sweaty skin beneath my hands. He's the taste on my lips and the pulse beating deep inside of me. And his c.o.c.k is unrelenting, stretching me with every thrust, filling me again and again with heat and pleasure and the tiniest edge of pain that only seems to enhance every other sensation I'm experiencing.

His hands move to my thighs. His fingers grip my legs. He's pushing me back, pushing my thighs up, giving himself complete access. My body shakes beneath him, but I welcome him with everything I have. I hear nothing but the beautiful sound of our bodies coming together.

I'm so enraptured by him that I hardly notice my own pleasure building. But suddenly I'm climaxing, falling to pieces around him, crying out and digging my nails into his back. He continues to take me in exactly the way he pleases, in exactly the way he warned me he would. With everything he has, with no thought to anything else.

When I'm nearly sobbing in ecstasy, he kisses me again, his teeth tugging at my lips. I moan as his tongue tangles with mine. Whimper as he increases the speed of his thrusts. Sweat drips off his face and dribbles down his back, and even through the haze of my o.r.g.a.s.m all I can think about it how I want to lick all of it up.

My body feels like it's going to fall apart, and yet I cling to him, refusing to let go. I can already feel the tightness building inside of me again, driving me once more toward my peak, and I curl my fingers against his muscled back and hold on to him like an animal. I bite at his lips and arch myself toward him, trying to give more, more, more.

The next time I climax, he's right behind me. I feel his entire body tighten against mine, and I thrust my hips toward him, allowing him to bury himself completely. And I almost cry with joy when he gives a final thrust and I'm flooded with his hot warmth.

And that's when I realize he never put on the condom.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Afterward, Ward slides back over to his side of the car, and I collapse against my seat, too exhausted and too overwhelmed to move.

My body is still trembling, and my skin is burning with heat. I'm damp with sweat-both his and mine-and my hair is plastered to my neck and cheeks. I'm perfectly satisfied-stretched and sore and buzzing with the pleasure he gave me-and I let out a contented sigh.

I know I should be a little more worried about the fact that we forgot the condom, but it's hard to muster any regret after an experience like that. If I'm being perfectly honest, I wanted to experience him that way-as truly and fully as possible. I can still feel the heat of him between my legs.

I tilt my head and look over at Ward. He's leaning back against his seat, and his chest is still heaving. His hands are resting on his stomach, and one of his fingers taps a beat against his skin. He's staring at the roof of the car, probably listening to the rain that still pounds against the dented metal. But there's a slight furrow in his brow that worries me.

I remember what he said back at that beach restaurant about being more careful, about avoiding a situation where I'd end up like his mother. Does he regret what just happened? Is he beating himself up for losing control? I gave him permission. I wanted this. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I thought my body had the strength.

He turns his head and meets my gaze. His mouth stretches into a smile, and he reaches out and takes my hand. It's only then, when his fingers touch mine and something releases inside of me, that I realize how nervous I am. I weave my fingers through his and try to relax.

"Hey," he says.

I return his smile. "Hey."

He closes his eyes, and I do, too. I can even feel his pulse hammering through the thin skin at the base of his palm. Thunder rolls overhead, and the rain pounds harder than ever, but I feel safe and warm in here.

For a long time, we just lie like that: completely still and only connected through our locked hands. After a while, when my skin starts to chill, I push my dress back down to cover me. My thighs fall closed. Maybe I'm strange, but I don't want to lose what little heat and wetness still lingers there.

I think I drift off eventually. It's not that hard to do when your body's been used so rigorously, or when the rain and thunder create a rhythmic lullaby above your head. After a while, I become aware of Ward's hand squeezing mine. Of his soft voice murmuring my name.

I open my eyes. He's watching me, and he reaches out with his free hand to twist one of my curls around his finger. He never seems to get enough of my hair.

"The storm seems to be letting up," he says. "I should probably go finish changing the tire."

I nod. Though I'd love to lie here for a while longer, I know we should probably get on the road.

He turns and looks out the windshield. For a minute, I think he's just watching the rain-which, as he said, has slowed significantly-but there's something too serious, too tense about his expression.

"There's one more thing," he says without looking at me. "We should probably go find a pharmacy."

I don't claim to be an expert at car repairs, but that confuses me. "What else do we need?"

He shifts in his seat. "The morning-after pill."

Oh. Of course. I'm kind of ashamed I didn't think of that. And embarra.s.sed that Ward had to be the one to bring it up.