Hard Rules

by Lisa Renee Jones

  There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours, and the truth.

  —Joe Massino

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHANE

  Emily’s agreement is all about one thing. Trust. Something I don’t give or take lightly. Nor am I a stranger to the need to escape, and I’m not sure Emily is either. I just don’t think she’s as good at it as I am. And normally for me, that escape is fucking hard and fast, and getting it out of my system. But nothing about this night, or Emily, has hit the spots I know as familiar. They are simply the spots I need.

  Still holding her hands on the railing, I spread my arms until they align with the railing, forcing her grip farther, my body draped over her, intentionally allowing the heavy starch of my shirt to tease her nipples. I linger there, building the anticipation intended to force her to think of this, and me, and nothing else. Seconds tick by, my blood pumping, my body cradling hers, the thick pulse of my erection aligned with her hips, the sweet scent of her drowning my senses in all the right ways. When I am certain she has waited long enough, I nip her shoulder. She yelps, and I lick the offended area, my lips curving against her skin at the moan that follows. She leans her head forward, the only part of her I don’t have pinned, resting it on my shoulder. A breeze lifts around us, slightly chilled.

  She shivers and I press my cheek to hers. “Don’t worry. I plan to heat every chilled spot on your body.” I seal that promise by dragging my lips over her neck, to her jaw, then settling a breath from her mouth, promising a kiss I don’t deliver. I want to taste her, but I don’t. I linger there, teasing her and me, waiting for the reach of her lips and I pull back, my hands flexing over hers.

  “Don’t let go,” I warn, dragging my palms up her arms to settle on her shoulders, and when I look at her I know she doesn’t mean for me to see the fear in her eyes or the sweetness that she rejects because she thinks it makes her weak. “Close your eyes,” I order, forcing her to let go of her control and give in to me.

  “What?” she asks, a hint of panic in her voice and expression that tells me I’ve made her feel exposed and vulnerable, an extreme reaction considering all she has to do is open her eyes if she so pleases. It only drives home how on edge she is, and how much she needs a safe place to let go of her control.

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  “What? Shane—”

  “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then close your eyes, Emily,” I repeat, pushing the words with a harder command this time.

  She inhales sharply and lowers her lashes. “Are you happy now?” she challenges.

  My lips quirk with her feisty remark, further convincing me that she’s a fighter that won’t let fear win. “Not yet,” I assure her. “But we both will be soon.”

  “How soon?” she asks, more of that breathless sexiness in her voice. I feel it in my groin.

  “When we’re both ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Now I’m smiling, and once again, I wonder how that is even possible this night. I lightly stroke my mouth over hers, a tease that is barely there. “You’re ready,” I murmur, letting my breath fan over her lips, “when I say you’re ready.”

  I step away from her and her eyes pop open, but her hands remain on the railing. “What if I just grab you and kiss you and—”

  “You know the answer.”

  “You’ll stop what you aren’t even doing yet.”

  “And I won’t either, if you don’t shut your eyes again.”

  The look she fixes me with is fierce, as are her words. “I hate you right now,” she declares, and she shuts her eyes.

  “Angry sex,” I approve. “Sounds good to me.” I loosen my tie and walk to a table, folding it and setting it on top, reaching for the top button on my shirt, but a master at forcing my own control, I decide not to undress.

  Instead, I grab a chair and carry it with me, setting it in front of her. Close. Really damn close the way I want her body to mine, but I don’t touch her. I want her to feel me looking at her, wanting her, planning every place I intend to lick and touch. Her breasts, with her sexy, rose-colored nipples puckered into tight balls. Her flat trembling belly. Her naked sex that will know my tongue sooner than later and then finally, her lovely, heart-shaped face, where her teeth worry her bottom lip. And what I see in her is exactly what I’m after. Nervous excitement. Arousal.

  “Shane,” she whispers, telling me I’ve taken her to the edge, where I want her.

  “Open your eyes,” I order, and the moment she blinks and finds me sitting in front of her, I cup her backside and lift her into my lap, straddling me, the angle forcing her weight onto the railing.

  “Shane,” she hisses, panic in her voice. “Damn it. What if the glass breaks?”

  It’s the reaction I’d expected, and it ensures she is one hundred percent here with me. “Easy, sweetheart,” I murmur, my hand flattening on her belly. “It’s reinforced and there’s horizontal steel bands supporting it.” I look her in the eyes, letting her see the certainty I instill in my voice. “But I have you and I won’t let you go.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “One hundred percent.” I soften my voice. “Relax.”

  She inhales and then exhales, and with that breath, I feel the tension in her body ease. I lean over her and press my mouth to the spot between her breasts, cupping one of them, and I have no doubt my stare smolders as I pin her with it. “Trust me.”

  Now she shuts her eyes of her own accord, as if that word is not one she can process as a possibility. She confirms much of what I’ve pieced together about her life. Someone hurt her. Someone made her vow not to trust. Holy fuck, I get it. Too well and I understand fully that my path to trust with this woman is earned. What I don’t understand is why it matters so much to me. I could be fucking her now. I could have fucked her five times over.

  I finger her nipple, softly at first, and then rougher, tugging and teasing. Soft sounds of pleasure slide from her parted lips, her body arching toward my touch. She is all but panting, telling me she is as on edge as I am. My mouth finds that spot between her breasts again, trailing over the curve of her breast, toward her nipple. Her head tilts back into the light wind, with no regard for her weight on the wall any longer. Holding her between the shoulders with one hand, the other anchoring her hip, I lower my head to lick one nipple, and then the next, sucking in the same order.

  “Shane,” she pleads again, and damn if I don’t like how my name sounds on this woman’s lips. What I want now is her quaking uncontrollably.

  Caressing down her hips, my hands glide over her belly, to the V of her body, my index finger flicking her clit. More of those sexy sounds slip from her throat and I move lower, exploring the slick, wet seam of her body until she is squirming. Then, and only then, do I slip two fingers inside her and maneuver the chair and our bodies to bring my mouth to her belly, and lick a path toward my fingers.

  My mouth lingers where she and I both want it to be, one second, two—

  “Shane, damn it,” Emily breathes out.

  My lips curve and I lick her clit and then suck deeply, losing myself in the sweet, salty taste of her, licking here and there, and everywhere, my fingers pumping against the rocking of her hips. Too soon, she stiffens, her body tightening around my fingers, trembling a moment later. I ease the licks into soft caresses, my fingers to gentle strokes, until she collapses, the tension in her body turning to soft, limp satisfaction.

  That is until reality has her eyes going wide. “The glass. I’ll fall.”

  I answer by flattening my hand at her back and lifting her from the wall to sit fully on top of me, my palm moving to the back of her head to drag her mouth to mine. “Now I taste like you,” I proclaim, my lips slanting over hers, my tongue stroking deep, letting her taste my hunger mixed with that sweet, salty mix of her arousal.

  Her hands come down on my shoulders, and I know the moment she realizes she can touch me now, her fi
ngers flexing, her tongue stroking more fully against mine. She leans forward, and one of her hands finds my hair, gripping it, not teasing it. “You have to get undressed,” she announces, and suddenly she leans back, grabs the top of my shirt above my buttons, and yanks, to zero result.

  She pales, and looks appalled, blood rushing to her otherwise pale cheeks. “In my mind that went much differently.”

  I stare at this woman who truly defies everything I expect from a woman, a smile playing on my lips. “Not as you planned?”

  “My secret’s out. I’m not exactly what anyone would call a seductress.”

  “I like you just the way you are,” I say, the rage of my body wiping away my smile. She turns somber.

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “But I’m about to,” I assure her, dragging her hands to my neck. “Hold on.” I stand, cupping her backside, and start for the door, ready to be inside this woman. Her legs wrap my waist, exactly where I want them and plan to keep them, and as much as I want her in my bed, I just want her, and settle for the living room. Once there, I bypass the cold leather couch, and set her gorgeous bare backside on top of an oversized ottoman with soft faux fur on top. She grabs the edges and kicks off her shoes.

  “I’ll do it this time,” I say, reaching for the buttons on my shirt, and working them free. She reaches forward to help me and I take one look at her mouth, and cup her head and kiss her. A deep, drugging kiss that I end far too quickly, and in a rare moment where impatience wins, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it on the coffee table. And her hands are already on me, one flat on my chest, the other on my arm.

  It’s then that I realize she’s tracing the tattoo on my right arm, and I have no idea why I don’t just kiss her again and get on with fucking her. Instead, I kneel there, and I let her trace the lion with an eagle perched on its head, the bird’s wings spread, and pieces of a day I don’t want to remember coming back to me.

  She glances up at me, her hand closing over my arm, her attention on me, not now. “What does it mean?”

  My mood darkens instantly, and I don’t even consider dismissing the question. “The eagle is knowledge, strength, and leadership. The lion is cunning and vicious. He’ll rip your throat out if you give him the chance.” Her lips part in shock, exactly my intention, and I twine my fingers in her hair, dragging her mouth to mine. “That’s why you never turn your back on the lion.”

  “And your father’s the lion.”

  My fingers tighten in her hair at the assertion that stuns me, and seems to infer she knows more about me than she should. She is the one who sees too much and she has unleashed my raging emotions. I turn her away from me to face the couch, my body framing hers, my hands cupping her breasts. “I’m the man who’s wanted to fuck you for hours and it’s time for me to be inside you.” I wonder what the hell has taken me so long in the first place. “Don’t move.”

  She covers my hand over her breast. “Shane—”

  “Talk later. Fuck now.” I lift off her, my hands on her waist, and as on edge as I am now, I do not want to scare her, or stir her demons because mine have decided to come out and play. I lean into her again, softly saying, “Right now—”

  “I know,” she says. “So what are you waiting for?”

  What am I waiting for? Again, she surprises me, but I’m not going to analyze her, or my reaction to her at this very moment. Not when I could be inside her, feeling her instead. “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t take too long,” she counters, and that remark manages to bring me down enough to play her game. I press my hand to her lower back and gently, but not too gently, smack her backside.

  She sucks in air, arching her back, that pretty backside lifting, my hand caressing. I bend down and kiss her spine. “I’m not sure what I think about that,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Don’t think and I won’t either.”

  I release her, and don’t even consider standing to undress. In all of thirty seconds my pants and underwear are down and I’ve rolled the single condom in my wallet over my hard-as-fuck cock, and I grab her hips, slipping between her thighs. At that moment my phone rings from somewhere on the ground, and I grimace, not about to let her go to fling the damn thing across the room the way I’d like to right now.

  I stroke my cock along the seam of her body, preparing her, and then, I’m done waiting. I press into her, driving deep, and reaching around her to cup her breast again, my already ridiculously hard cock now officially harder. “I’m not sure you could feel any better than you do right now,” I say, pulling back, the sound of her erratic breathing only making me hotter. I drive into her and she gasps, spurring me to do it again. And again. I need more of her. I need to be deeper, to drive harder. I just need more, and still cupping her breast, I raise upright, and take her with me. She grabs my hands and holds on tight, and she can’t move like this. I know that, but she doesn’t have to do anything but hang on.

  I free one of my hands to press it between her legs and stroke her, thrusting as I do. She leans back into me, trying to arch into my touch. I lean back to drive at another angle.

  “Oh,” she cries out. “Shane I—”

  She stiffens the way she had on the balcony and this time when she spasms, it’s around my shaft, not my fingers, and holy hell, it rocks me. She rocks me, and I pull her against me, that final hard collision of our bodies sending me over the edge with her. I shake, and she trembles, and everything is white space for I don’t know how long. I come back to the present, and I don’t want to let go of her. She isn’t just some new fuck buddy. She’s a drug I could easily call an addiction when I don’t have addictions, and at a time I’d be nothing but poison to her. That’s a problem for her and me.

  EMILY

  Shane is holding me from behind, still buried inside me, the aftermath of my orgasm leaving me with goose bumps all over my skin and a strange warm spot in my chest. Not ready for this night, or even this moment and the next, to end, I don’t want to move, but Shane leans us forward, and I catch myself on the ottoman with my hands. He pulls out of me and I am instantly awash in a cluster of emotions that have me spinning around only to find his hands on the cushion on either side of me, his strong arms caging me.

  And he is stone, his expression is unreadable, his jaw set hard, proof that the nerve I hit over that tattoo is still raw and present. “There is nothing about you,” he says, “or this night, that is uncomplicated or what I expected.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I whisper. “What are you saying?”

  “Think about it. You’ll figure it out.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving it a sexy, tousled mess. “I’ll be right back.” And just like that he’s on his feet, pulling his pants that he never even took off, up. I’ve been naked on top of the damn city, and he never even undressed. He turns away and I watch as he crosses toward the fireplace and then disappears down a hallway.

  I force out a breath that seems to be lodged in my throat. Think about it? You’ll figure it out? Okay. Well. I’m all over the place here because the way I see it one of two completely opposite things just happened. Either I was just given a nudge and space to leave or he no longer plans to make this one night. I don’t have time to analyze his meaning or why I’m in a million tight knots right now. My feelings and his intentions, don’t—no, can’t—matter. This is a reality check for me. The bottom line is that I should never have been here. Thinking done. I hop to my feet, snatch up my shoes, and run for the balcony door for my clothes, in hopes of departing before Shane returns. Exiting to the now dark balcony again, the lights flicker on, and I drop my shoes by the door to free my hands.

  Scanning, I locate my skirt pooled on the ground by the railing, and rush forward. Grabbing it, I step into it, and tug it into place, leaving the zipper open while I hunt for my bra. Instead I locate my blouse under the chair Shane had been sitting in. Shoving aside memories of me spread wide with his mouth in intimate places, I snap
it up. One look at the thin material and absent buttons and I know I need that bra. At least if I have it on, I can hug my shirt shut, and be covered if I have a mishap. On the hunt, I rotate and gasp as I bump into Shane.

  “What are you doing?” he demands softly, his hand shackling my wrist by my side, while I pull my blouse in front of my naked breasts.

  “I need to go,” I say, thinking maybe he didn’t want me to leave. And I swear my arm is tingling from his touch. “We both have … stuff … tomorrow. Early. I need to get up early.”

  “I have an alarm,” he counters.

  “You said we’re complicated, Shane.”

  “Whatever we are, or are not, neither one of us wants you to leave. I know I don’t want you to leave.”

  He doesn’t want me to leave. I don’t know what to say or do.

  “I called Susie and she’s sending over ravioli,” he adds.

  I blink. “What? You did? It’s late.”

  “Ten o’clock. They close at eleven.” He indicates a black T-shirt in his hand I haven’t noticed until now. “I brought this for you.” He steps to me and tugs the shirt over my head. Responding automatically, I drop my blouse, shoving my arms through the holes, and let the shirt fall to my knees.

  Shane gives me a quick inspection, his eyes lighting with approval. “Did I mention I like you in my clothes? And out of yours.” I don’t have time to respond before he drags me to him, lifts the shirt, and slips his hands inside the band of my skirt. “I took this off of you for a reason,” he says, sliding it off me, the material pooling at my feet. He grips my waist and lifts me, kicking it aside. “How about some wine?”

  I stare up at him, and something unnamable expands between us, and that something is what he’d meant when he said think about it. It’s also exactly why I was going to leave and why I can’t. “Will you let me drink it this time?”