by W Winters
“I can say no,” she gasps as I slip my hand lower, finding the elastic band of her underwear. The way her shoulders rise and hunch with every quick breath reveals her desire just as much as it displays her need to run.
“Of course you can, but why would you deny yourself if you have nothing to hide?”
“I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Prove it,” I tell her.
“You just want to touch me.” Her words fall carelessly from her lips.
“I want to do more than touch you,” I admit to her and feel a pang in my chest. A longing that’s desperate to be spoken. “You aren’t the only one in this room who’s in need.”
At my words, her gaze drifts lower, down to my zipper and I’m sure she can tell how hard I am for her. Her mouth parts slightly and she looks away, not commenting but showing her cards all too easily.
My gaze wanders to the crook of her neck, and as she breathes, a lock of hair falls right where I’m looking.
Leaning forward, I brush it to the side and bring my lips closer to her ear. Intent on whispering, intent on sharing a part of me I haven’t shared with anyone.
I want to run my lips along her neck, kissing and sucking and confessing all my sins, begging for forgiveness.
Her chest heaves as if she knows I want to kiss her.
None of that happens though, because she turns her head just as I start to make my move, and she steals the kiss from me.
Her lips brush against mine at first, soft and hesitant. Yet she nips my bottom lip before I can deepen it. The gentleness of her touch is at odds with how my hands reach up to her hair, gripping it at the base of her neck and pulling her head back to expose more of her throat.
With my breath stolen, once again caught off guard, and with the desire running rampant in my blood, I stare down at her. Her eyes half lidded, her breaths coming in short pants as if I’d just devoured her and it wasn’t at all a tempting taste of a kiss.
I’m drunk off her.
Breathing in her lust and not breaking her gaze, I lower my fingers to her swollen nub, spreading her arousal up to it, and then circling it. “What was that for?” I ask her and she tells me, “I wanted to take it first. I deserve that much at least.” Her last word skips in the air, like a flat rock thrown across a summer lake. Her speech moves from a higher pitch to a whisper as I move my fingers lower, playing with her and watching every reaction she gives me.
“How many lovers have you had?” I ask and my question catches her off guard as she struggles to hold back her gasps.
“Few,” she answers in a strained voice as I circle her clit again.
“Recently?”
“Not since college.”
“Did they touch you like this?” I ask her, imagining a younger version of her under the sheets in a dorm room, letting some dumb fuck put his hands on her.
“Yes,” she breathes with her eyes closed and I gently press down on her clit and then smack it.
She sits up and when she does I aim for another kiss, but she bites down hard on my mouth. Her teeth plunge into my bottom lip, the bite sending a pain shooting through my body. It’s hard enough to draw blood and I swear to God it does nothing but make me that much harder for her.
She releases me all too soon, sucking in a deep breath with her mouth still open, her chest heaving and her eyes pinned on me.
Lifting my fingers from her heat, I bring them to my throbbing lip.
“No blood,” she murmurs and a soft smirk plays on that pouty mouth of hers. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Mr. Cross. Even if the thought of you getting me off makes me all hot and bothered, I still hate your fucking guts.”
My dick responds, getting harder by the second as she utters the threatening words so sensually, words that would get others killed.
Her anger’s at war with her desire, but it’s losing the battle. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but I can give her desire the upper hand.
I watch her every move. The way she clenches her hands and struggles to keep them motionless above her head. The way her skin flushes and goosebumps run up her chest, then down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous like this. Bared to me without reluctance. Without a single hint suggesting she’s hiding a damn thing.
She’s lost in the lust.
I spread her arousal around her swollen nub before bringing my middle finger back to her opening. With a gentle press, her lips part, and the word stop is there, just behind her clenched teeth. The hiss of an S was coming.
I push her, barely sliding the tip of my finger into her hot entrance, and her jaw drops open, the word lost somewhere and remaining unspoken.
Bringing my fingers back to her clit, I let her come down from the high, simply toying with her as she regains her composure.
“That’s your limit?” I ask her, bringing my fingers back up to her clit, watching as her eyes go half lidded and she exhales with pleasure. My fingers drift back down and press against her slick entrance slightly before she nods a yes to my question.
Her control is as surprising as my restraint. If I hadn’t decided I wasn’t going to fuck her tonight, not until she truly begs for it, she’d be screaming my name as I ravaged her on the carpet beneath me. Maybe bent over the coffee table to leave bruises on her hips as a reminder. Making sure she’d feel it tomorrow, so it would be all she could think about.
I need to be gentle today. I’ll ease her in until she’s drowning in the pleasure I’m so desperate to give her.
She can barely breathe. Her gasps and held breaths are making her body tremble just as much as my touches are.
“Cum.” My singular word bites through the air as I land a hard smack on her clit and then capture her scream of pleasure with my own kiss. My kiss is more ruthless than hers as I let my tongue delve into her hot mouth. It’s quick like hers though; I pull back both the kiss and my touch, just as soon as it began.
She can barely keep herself still, her body begging her to move away from the sensation, but she needs more. Pulling her shirt down, I move her bra so it pushes her breast up, and before she can object I lean forward and swirl my tongue around her nipple. Her thighs move together and stagger to the side.
Still sucking on her, I smack her thigh with the back of my hand, pushing her legs open and moving my hand to cup her pussy.
Letting her nipple out of my mouth with a pop, I pull back to tell her, “Your cunt is soaking wet for me,” and rub ruthless circles around her clit, making her brow pinch, her mouth open and her body shudder with another climax.
Her entire body spasms with the second orgasm. And I can barely fucking stand to watch with how hard I am. Everything in me begs me to shove my cock down her throat.
Still panting and struggling, Bethany lets her hands fall forward and then quickly moves them back into place on the arm of the sofa. Her eyes search mine for direction with a desperate apology to forgive her swimming in their darkness.
In answer, I pull the tie loose. She came, she let me touch her. I need to get the hell out of here before I fuck her and ruin it all before it’s even begun.
“Next time will be more intense. You should prepare yourself.”
Her first words as I reach for the contract, still on the table, bring a genuine smirk to my lips. “You didn’t ask your question.”
“I know.”
It’s quiet for a moment as I tuck the contract into my back pocket.
“Why are you doing this?” Her bright eyes are wide and full of fire. Full of an intense desire and a curiosity that are addictive. Every look she gives me brings out more life, more heat, more passion in me to coax more of this from her. She burns like wildfire and I want to add fuel to her flame.
“I wanted you to see why I let you live. What I wanted from you against that foyer wall after you pulled that trigger.” Although her chest rises and falls rapidly, the memory of yesterday adding fear into the cocktail of emotions she’s drunk on, the golden flecks in her hazel eyes stay
lit. Her lips part slightly, and I know the memory only gets her off just like it does to me.
“It was an accident,” she admits to me.
My smirk widens into an asymmetric grin. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about it?” I ask her and she simply shakes her head, pulling her shirt down and reaching for the thin blanket to cover herself. Her skin is still flushed, the pleasure still rocking through her, but her eyes are focused on the digital clock below her television.
Ever a reminder.
My smile falls as I tell her, “You’re reckless.”
“You’re the one who was almost murdered by someone like me. So who’s really reckless?”
“Maybe I’m just reckless for you,” I answer without thinking, barely hearing my words before recognizing them.
I warn her, “Next time I won’t ask for your boundaries.”
“I would have--”
“Next time I’m going to fuck you like both of us want me to.”
Bethany
I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m in over my head, and I don’t know how I ventured into the dark abyss of the ocean, sure to swallow me whole.
I dreamed of him. I dreamed of Jase fucking me, taking me ruthlessly on the sofa. I dreamed of telling him no, only to have him pin me down and take me regardless.
The thought sends a blush of desire to grace my skin, kissing it and leaving a shiver in its wake. The way Jase did last night. Every small touch brought more and more heat, more sensitivity, more life. I felt alive under him.
And I want more. I’m not ashamed to admit I want more of Jase Cross.
Bringing my fingertips to my lips, I remember the kiss I drunkenly stole—thank God I can blame it on the alcohol. He tasted like bad decisions and lust. A sin waiting to happen.
When did my life become like this?
Working every day has kept my thoughts at bay. And now I have nothing to occupy my time. Nothing but a debt to Jase Cross and unanswered questions I have no way of answering on my own.
The only thing I’ve been working on is looking up every detail I can on Jase Cross. Hardly anything comes up at all about any of his brothers. All I can tell is that they were a poor Irish family, raised in the hellhole that is Crescent Falls. Back then they were nothing. And now they’re everything.
There are only four pictures of Jase that I could find. Two had the same woman in them. In one, she’s in the background, laughing at something. It’s a candid photo and it seems harmless enough. But in the second, her arm is around him. It was taken nearly five years ago, and Jase looks much younger.
I have no fucking clue who she is.
Although, she looks a little like me in this picture, the second one. Only slightly. But the resemblance spreads an eerie chill over my body when I think about it.
Is this who I remind him of?
Was he with her? The fact that I feel any hint of jealousy is ridiculous.
I haven’t been touched since college, and I haven’t wanted a damn thing from a man since that catastrophe.
Maybe I’ve always been jealous like this, and I just didn’t know it because I had nothing to be jealous of. It only took the strike of a single match to ignite a blazing desire to overtake every piece of me.
Maybe this is what it was like for Jenny. One small change, and everything fell from there. Addiction is like that, isn’t it? No matter what your addiction is.
The sound of my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter saves me from the downward spiral of my thoughts.
It’s only Laura, checking in again since I didn’t respond to her last night.
A few quick texts and I’m free of her prying questions, plus I’ve booked a date with a bottle of tequila, her, and the outlet mall next weekend.
The phone clatters on the kitchen counter when I toss it down, staring at it and wondering what that night will end up being. A few drinks, and I’ll tell her the sordid details.
I know I will.
I can see it unfolding in front of me.
She won’t judge me, seeing as how she’s had a few one-night stands. She’s gone backstage with an out-of-town band before, only to be seen again at 2 p.m. the next day, walking a little funny but smiling so hard that it didn’t matter.
It’s not the judgment that concerns me. I couldn’t care less about what people think of me.
If Laura thinks I’m in danger though, she’ll get involved. The very thought makes me let out a slow quivering breath, calming the rush of anxiousness.
I can’t keep Jase my dirty little secret, but some things will have to be just that. A secret. I’ll let him use me, and I’ll use him. Every encounter with him is a step closer to the world my sister lived in before I lost her. It’s closer to where she was and closer to finding out what happened. At least the thought is somewhat calming.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three raps in quick succession sound through the first floor of my house. I’ve never been so grateful for a distraction before.
Looking out through the peephole, I see a man in a gray wool coat, a man I don’t recognize.
Maybe he has a package, or maybe he’s a neighbor. I hesitate to open the door, my hand gripping the knob tight as I consider getting the gun. That didn’t turn out well last time though, and I refuse to live in fear.
It’s just a man. Not everyone is a villain.
The last thought firms my resolve and I pull open the door halfway, wincing when I feel the sharp coldness in the air.
“Hello,” I greet him easily, immediately struck by how handsome he is.
Classically handsome with striking blue eyes and a charming smile. This man has definitely left broken hearts behind in his wake.
The small smile from the thought fades.
Nervousness pricks along the back of my neck. Every hair is standing on edge when I glance behind him, only to see a cop car.
He’s a fucking cop.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Cody Walsh,” he tells me, taking off his gloves and reaching out his hand to shake mine.
Every ounce of me is consumed with fear, nausea, and the suspicion that this is a setup. I shake his hand without thinking, without considering a damn thing.
Even though he was wearing gloves, his strong hand is ice cold and I feel the chill flow from his touch straight to the marrow of my bones.
It’s not until I swallow my nerves, nearly ten seconds after shaking his hand while he only stares at me curiously, that I’m able to speak.
“Could I see your badge?”
He’s quick to take it out, passing it to me and when he does, his fingers brush against mine. The physical contact is a little too close I think at first, but then I peek up at him and he’s all business. It’s all in my head.
“Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see any more cops now that the funeral’s passed,” I tell him, whipping up the excuse on a dime and praying it explains my hesitation as I pass back his badge. Again his fingers brush mine and although I’m well aware of that fact, he doesn’t show any sign that he noticed.
“The funeral?” he questions and I feel the blood drain from my face.
“My sister’s; isn’t that why you’re here?” My voice is calm but drenched in sorrow. Real sorrow. I stand there pretending I know nothing of the past few days but my grief. I think back to what I felt the night my estranged family left me alone and I had to sleep knowing Jenny was really gone. That the world has accepted that, and I needed to as well.
I’m only a sister in mourning. That’s all I choose to be right now.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” He clears his throat, bringing his closed fist to his mouth as he looks to his right, away from me and then adds, “I’m here on different matters.”
Finally, he looks back at me, and at the same time I feel my heart pounding, filling with so much anxiety, it feels as if it will burst.
As I grip the edge of my door, letting him see the nerves and apprehension, he asks, “Do you mind if I come i
n?”
A second passes as I look past him to his cruiser. The pounding inside my chest intensifies.
I don’t know what to do, and I’m terrified to make the wrong decision.
“Is this a bad time?” he asks when I don’t answer, his voice carrying my attention back to him.
The light blue eyes that pierce into me tell me it’s all right, there’s a kindness there, a caring soul somewhere deep inside. A small voice inside my head is screaming at me to tell him about Jase. The voice says I’ll be safe. There will be no debt, and all of this will be over.
But a bigger side, the side of me that’s taken over, the side I don’t recognize, isn’t ready for this to end. Already I love being touched by Jase Cross. I crave for that powerful man to use me, and I’m determined to use him in return to get answers.
I can practically hear his sinful voice, luring me into a darkness I may never come out of.
And that’s why I tell him, “I’m sorry, it’s just a bad time. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
The officer nods his head in understanding, but his eyes are assessing and my body tenses. Just go. Please, go.
“I’m new here,” he tells me. “I came down from upstate New York.”
I nod, blinking away the confusion. I anticipated him saying goodbye and apologizing, but instead he shuffles his feet on my porch, shoving his hands into his pockets as he speaks.
“I wanted to come to a smaller city, somewhere with fewer problems and a slower pace.”
A genuine, soft sound of amusement comes from me, forcing the semblance of a smile to my lips. “You aren’t going to find that here,” I tell him.
“So I noticed. Born and raised?” he asks, and I nod.
“My mom moved here when she was pregnant with my sister, before I was born. It was just us three for the longest time.”
“Your sister who just passed?” he asks, inflecting his tone with an appropriate amount of sympathy as his voice lowers, and again I only nod. With the small movement comes a pang in my chest. Every reminder of her is like hearing the news that she’s missing all over again. Or worse, the news that they found her and my worst fear was realized.