Crimson River (The Edens)

Good God, this man could kiss.

My entire body went up in flames as Vance’s tongue slid against mine. Sparks cascaded across my skin and fire licked my veins.

Everything outside this room faded away. The thoughts I hadn’t been able to shut off, the worries, the fears—vanished. Poof. Gone. All that existed was Vance and this kiss.

This erotic, consuming kiss.

When I was fifteen, I’d kissed Jason Palmer. He’d been my first. It had been awkward and exciting. Fumbled and quick. But when I’d shared the details with Talia, I’d told her that when Jason kissed me, it was like being wrapped in a rainbow. At fifteen, I’d loved rainbows.

In all the years since, finding a man who’d give me those rainbows had been impossible, no matter how much I liked a guy.

But regardless, I’d kept chasing rainbows.

Years utterly wasted. This was what I should have been chasing. Sparks. Heat. Sin and sex. It was a thousand times better than any rainbow.

Vance wrapped his arms around me, hauling me into his room, the door clicking shut behind me. His tongue tangled with mine, his mouth slanting to get a deeper taste.

I melted against him, my hands sliding up that strong chest. The dusting of hair over his heart was coarse against my palms. He was so solid. Hard. Male. And damn, but I loved that he was so tall.

Even standing on the tips of my toes I wasn’t tall enough to reach his mouth. It forced him to bend, that towering frame folding over and around me.

Vance’s beard scraped against the smooth skin around my mouth. The smell of his skin, spicy and clean from his soap, filled my nose. He was head-to-toe rugged strength and honed muscle. The arms banded around my back were like chains, locking me in place.

A mewl came from my throat as Vance devoured me whole, exploring every corner of my mouth. A low groan rumbled deep in his chest, the sound of utter satisfaction. Of insatiable need.

Between us, his arousal pressed against my hip, hard and long.

Desire pooled in my center, my core clenching.

He tore his mouth away, dragging his wet lips across the line of my jaw to my ear. “Fuck, Lyla.”

“Yes,” I whispered. Please.

My hands dove into his hair, gripping the damp strands. They were as thick and soft as I’d imagined. The length made it possible for me to hold him to me, to clutch him close as he nipped at my earlobe.

I rolled my hips, rocking against his erection.

Vance hissed and let me go, his arms falling to his sides. With a hard swallow, he took a step away. Then another. His hands fisted, like he was holding himself back.

The space between us was like an open window. Cold air rushed in, taking with it the sparks. And like a flood, every worry, every fear, came surging back.

I was so tired of my own damn thoughts. I wanted the sparks back. I wanted to just feel.

For the first time since Cormac, I craved another person’s touch. Vance’s touch. That seemed like a miracle. So I reached for the scarf around my neck and tugged it free, letting it fall to the floor.

Vance’s eyes stayed locked on mine. The torment, the restraint, burned in those light irises.

Fucking restraint.

I ripped off my jacket, the move violent, and threw it on the floor. Then I reached for the hem of my tee, whipping it over my head. Next came my ivory lace bra. It joined the other items on the floor.

Vance wanted me. The bulge tenting his towel was evidence enough. But he stood statue still, refusing to cross the invisible line between us.

Never in my life had I been this brazen or bold. Doubt crept its way beneath my skin, my confidence withering with every second that he still didn’t move. Was he even breathing?

My heart pounded as we stared at each other. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but otherwise, he might as well have been a granite statue.

All while I stood half naked, exposed, bruised and desperate.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I was just about to swipe my clothing from the floor and scurry out of this room when Vance moved.

With a flick of his wrist, his towel was gone, pooled at his bare feet. His cock, hard and thick, sprang free, jutting between us.

I gulped. Oh sweet lord. Every part of this man was massive.

With a single step, he crossed the space between us, his mouth claiming mine once more.

If the first kiss had been sparks and fire, this was an inferno of blue flame. My pulse boomed in my ears as his tongue twisted with mine. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. Nothing slow. It was a kiss that echoed with a single word.

Fuck.

We were going to fuck.

Just like before, he wiped my mind clean.

Vance reached between us, flicking open the button on my jeans and ripping down the zipper. He shoved them off my hips so fast that I stumbled. But before I could fall, he caught me at the ribs, hoisting me into the air. Then he threw me.

I yelped as I landed on the mattress with a bounce.

No man had ever craved me so desperately he’d tossed me around a bedroom.

My laugh was wild, the sound as hysterical as my movements as I kicked my shoes to the floor.

Vance moved just as frantically, tearing away my jeans. Then with a fist he gripped my lace panties and shredded them from my body. The torn fabric went sailing over his shoulder as he sank into the cradle of my hips.

His mouth crashed onto mine. His tongue plundered and stroked as he lined up at my entrance. We didn’t waste time with foreplay. Neither of us needed it. I was drenched from the kiss alone.

With one thrust, he drove in to the hilt.

I gasped down his throat, my eyes squeezing closed as I adjusted to his size. To the delicious stretch of my body around his.

Vance stilled, tearing his mouth away. “So fucking tight,” he gritted out.

My breath came in labored pants. “Move.”

He thrust forward, making my back arch off the mattress.

“Vance,” I cried. No man had ever gone so deep.

“Take it, Lyla. Take the whole fucking thing.”

I whimpered at his dirty mouth. Yes. My fingertips dug into his skin, clutching his shoulders as he eased out.

He slammed inside again, hard enough to shake the bed and earn another cry. “You feel . . .”

“So good,” I panted.

As he rocked into me, I wrapped my legs around his bulky thighs, matching his rhythm. Then I lifted my head from the pillow, putting my mouth at his ear. “Fuck me, Vance.”

He groaned, easing out to slam inside again. He set a fast, hard pace as our bodies slapped together.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet or gentle. But God, it was good. So, so good.

The hair on his chest brushed against my pebbled nipples, turning them to stone. The feel of him was like no other, and my insides turned to liquid as I held on for the ride.

Vance dipped his lips, trailing them along my throat. He kissed every mark, every bruise, all while his hips pistoned, his cock sinking inside my body. He kept me pinned to the bed, dwarfed by his large frame.

Never in my life had I felt so craved. Worshiped. Protected.

My orgasm built with a fierce power, my inner walls fluttering.

Vance drove me to the edge, stroke after stroke, until my legs began to tremble. Until my toes curled and it was impossible to fill my lungs. Heat bloomed across my skin, my breath caught in my throat.

“Let go,” he commanded. “Come for me.”

I shattered. Every muscle in my body pulsed as I came on a cry. My limbs shook. Stars broke across my vision, my mind blissfully blank.

Vance didn’t stop. He fucked me, harder. Faster. Chasing his own release. “Fucking hell.” He let out a roar before pouring inside of me.

I clung to him, holding tight until the aftershocks began to fade and I floated back to reality. Our bodies were slick with sweat and my hair was everywhere, the knot in it having worked loose. My heart raced like I’d just run ten miles.

Vance collapsed on top of me, his weight crushing for a split second as he wrapped me tight. Then he rolled off, his chest heaving like my own as he worked to regain his breath. “Fuck.”

I hummed. “Yes, we did.”

The corner of his mouth turned up.

A giggle escaped, and I fought the urge to pinch myself. I’d come to his room for answers, not sex. Two days without a word from Vance and my fears had gotten the best of me. Somehow, in just days, having him in my coffee shop had become an anchor. My hope was tied directly to his presence.

Then he’d disappeared.

On the walk over to the hotel, I’d convinced myself that he was gone. That he’d already checked out and there’d be no chance of finding Cormac Gallagher. But I’d had to know.

So I’d lied to the desk clerk about Vance leaving his wallet at the shop.

I wasn’t a good liar. But apparently that had changed in the past week because she hadn’t even blinked twice before looking up his room number.

My ability to tell a fib wasn’t the only change. Two years ago, I’d forbidden myself one-night stands. Bad, drunk sex with a stranger I’d met at a bar had been the catalyst. Hookups always left me feeling cheap and empty.

Yet here I was, naked in Vance’s bed with no delusions that this was anything more than one night.

Oh my God, we’d had sex. Crazed, reckless sex. The evidence was dripping down my slit.

“We didn’t use a condom,” I whispered, more to myself than Vance. “I’m on birth control.”

He lifted a hand, dragging it over his beard. “Sorry. Got caught up.”

“Me too.” I sighed. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while.”

“I just got out of a relationship. We were exclusive for three years.”

I was a rebound then.

A year, a month, a week ago, that would have sent me into a tailspin. I was a woman who loved relationships and commitment. After witnessing my parents live their lives madly in love, they had become the gold standard.

Maybe, for me, that standard was just too high.

At the moment, I felt too fragile to enforce my own rules. To insist any man I take to bed be husband material.

So I let it go. All of it.

Vance was a visitor in Quincy, like most guests in this hotel. He’d be gone sooner rather than later. If all he had to give me was an orgasm, then I’d be the rebound. I’d be the hookup.

I’d be the easy one-night stand.

Shifting to sit up, I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, about to get up and dress. But before my feet could touch the floor, Vance’s hand wrapped around my elbow.

“Wait.” He let me go, climbed out of bed and walked toward my pile of clothes, bending to snag my torn panties on the way.

His body was truly a work of art. Perfect, sculpted muscle. Male power and virility. The globes of his ass were mouthwatering, round and hard. If this were more than one night, I’d spend hours licking along his narrow waist and tracing the dimples at the base of his spine.

Vance’s shoulders were covered with tiny crescent moons. My nails. Had I ever marked a man before? No. But I liked it. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Definitely not myself lately.

He collected my clothes and brought them over. But as I reached for them, he pulled them back, his gaze raking down my naked body. A muscle in his jaw feathered. The same conflicted expression he’d had earlier marred his handsome face.

I held out a hand for my bra.

Vance shook his head. Then my ball of clothes went flying across the room, crashing into the dresser beneath the TV.

“What—”

He bent and crushed his mouth to mine, silencing any protest. His hands drifted down my ribs, trailing over my hips. With a quick lift, he hauled me to my feet and swept me off my toes before carrying me to the shower.

Then Vance showed me just how good one night could be.

MY BREATH BILLOWED in a white cloud as I hurried along the sidewalk toward the coffee shop.

A fog had settled over Quincy last night while I’d been asleep in Vance’s bed. The streetlamps cast halos into the thick mist.

I glanced over my shoulder at The Eloise.

The same clerk from last night was still stationed at the front desk. I’d snuck out the back alley door this morning, wanting to avoid being seen. It was dawn, long before Eloise and Jasper would arrive for work, but I didn’t want to risk questions.

Above the lobby and first floor, the only light visible was one in the upper corner on the fourth floor. Vance stood in the window of his room, his hands braced on its top sill as he watched me walk past the coffee shop, heading for the alley where my car had been parked since yesterday.

The windshield was covered in frost, so I unlocked the doors, settled into the cold seat and started the engine, letting the defrost blast while I replayed last night.

My body ached. My muscles hadn’t worked that hard in years. My nipples were sensitive against my bra and the flesh between my legs was tender. I flipped down the visor, inspecting my swollen lips in the mirror.

Vance and I had gone at it hard last night. Every time I’d thought he was spent, he’d reached for me. We’d alternated sex and sleep. I should have been exhausted, but I had more energy now than I’d had in days.

Damn, what a night.

A year, a month, a week ago, it would have bothered me knowing I was just a fling. A tryst. A distraction.

Vance had secrets. He’d dodged too many of my questions during our conversations at the coffee shop.

Maybe he’d confide in me, give me the whole story. Maybe not.

At this point, I didn’t care. Last night was the first time since the river that I’d been able to shut my mind off. I’d been able to sleep without Cormac’s face invading my dreams.

A year, a month, a week ago, I would have wanted more from Vance. I would have wanted a relationship. A boyfriend.

And he likely would have become my next ex-boyfriend. The next man to break my heart.

Now . . . he was a means to an end. He was my chance at justice. And he was leaving.

Vance wouldn’t be here long enough to hurt me.

So I put my car in reverse and backed away from the coffee shop.

And when I passed by The Eloise on my way home, I didn’t let myself look up at the fourth-floor window to see if Vance was still there watching.