Captive Curves by Christa Wick

some of the color returning to his blanched features.  
    I tilted my head, my chin angling up in partial denial. I was close to crying again, my nails digging into the palm of my hands as I fought not to. “And for abandoning me to strangers?”  
    He sucked a deep breath in. Exhaling, it sounded like my question had punctured his lung. When he spoke again, every word came out raw and bleeding. “You can’t -- you shouldn’t. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”  
    “That’s for me to decide,” I whispered. I had already forgiven him, long ago. I forgave him during those early months when I waited each day for him to reappear. I forgave him again the week I cried myself to sleep thinking he would stay away and that I meant nothing to him. And what was the hope that had blossomed when I saw him at the library but another manifestation of that forgiveness?  
    I stood up, my legs shaking so badly I thought they might give out. “You want forgiveness, I want something, too.”  
    “Anything--”  
    I raised my hand to silence him. “This isn’t about earning some kind of absolution…”  
    Dean rose, took one long step forward and gripped my shoulders. “Tell me what you want.”  
    Even now I was incapable of saying the words. He was too damn beautiful -- the depthless green eyes, the sensuous, mobile lips. I was lying to myself if I believed he wanted the same thing -- wanted me.  
    Impulse. Desire.  
    He had said those words, more than once.  
    Impulse…desire…  
    Dean pulled me to him, his arms circling me as his mouth dropped to my throat. He murmured something, the words drowned by the thunder of blood in my head. He pressed his lips to the hollow below my ear.  
    “This…” He placed another kiss that had my whole face tingling. “This is what you want.”  
    In danger of being completely subsumed by my need for him, I tried to extract myself from his embrace.  
    “Water…” My throat and mouth had gone suddenly dry, parched by nerves. I pushed weakly at his chest. “Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass?”  
    He cinched me tight against his chest, his lips hovering at the corner of mine. “There’s only one cup I want to drink from, little dove.”  
    A jolt of need shot through my body. My knees abandoned me. Swooning like some idiot girl-child who had never been fucked, I clutched at his arms. My grip tightened as he gently bit the bottom corner of my mouth and I tried not to grind or moan.  
    “Let me take you into the bedroom.” His husky whisper sent a shiver through me. His hands gripped my ass, pulling me to him so that his hips molded against my soft lower stomach. “Let me do it right this time.”  
    His cock, thick and erect, pressed against my belly. I remembered the slide of it inside me, stretching my pussy as I rode him. The fat head had been like a battering ram gently wielded. I mewled like a hungry kitten at the thought of the merciless pleasure Dean would deliver once unleashed.  
    I managed a shallow nod and he scooped me up, overturning one of the dining room chairs. He carried me into the bedroom, placed me on the mattress on my back and covered me with his body. His fingers threaded through my hair, holding my head immobile as he ravaged my mouth.  
    His hips wedged my thighs apart, the hard lines of his lower stomach pressed insistently against my mound. A little sound left my throat, twisting and raw.  
    Dean froze for an instant and then he pulled back.  
    Confused, I looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, the downward cast of his eyes with their heavy black lashes almost demure. His chest rose and fell, almost panting as he breathed through slightly parted lips.  
    “Is something wrong?” The slow creep of panic moved through my gut, knotting my stomach.  
    “I’m sorry, baby.” His cheeks flashed redder. “There’s just something about you that brings out the caveman in me.”  
    Hell yeah! I chewed at my lips, trying to restrain