No Damaged Goods

by Snow, Nicole

  I can’t find the words.

  No damn words ever made would matter right now. Words can’t express this yawning hunger.

  It’s every kind of wrong and I know it.

  She’s too young. Too sweet. Too temporary.

  I’m too broken.

  None of it means dick as her smoky eyes flick over me with lingering heat. That blush comes back, enticing, telling me I’m not the only one who feels this. Begging me to shut the hell up and do something about it.

  So I do.

  As her breaths catch.

  As her lips part.

  As the temperature flares to a hundred degrees.

  And I can’t resist that strawberry redness of her lips any longer.

  I lean down to claim her with a kiss that shatters both our worlds.

  15

  Crank Up the Bass (Peace)

  You don’t know torture until you’re undressing the most gorgeous man alive and trying to ignore the thick ridge of his cock pressing up against his boxer-briefs.

  I don’t know how I kept calm during that massage.

  Not when every time I touched him, I was fascinated by the feeling of coarse skin under my palms.

  The hard sculpture of his body.

  The way his face relaxed in bliss and his muscles went loose until he looked like this portrait of lazy passion, from the liquid flow of corded muscle to the part of his lips.

  Blake Silverton could mess me up for life without even putting that Silver Tongue to work at all.

  Everything in me wanted him so freaking bad, it’s a miracle I didn’t straddle his lap and kiss and caress him everywhere, spreading that sweet-cinnamon oil all over his body until we slid together in a slick mess.

  But I managed to control myself. Somehow.

  Control myself, ease his pain, and walk away.

  Only for him to follow me, stalk me like a panther, that tall, honed body hovering over me, still nothing but tawny bare skin and bristling hair and jagged scars and those barely there boxers.

  Until now, I never believed a kiss could be indescribable.

  But oh, baby, Blake is one hell of a teacher.

  Ever since our first rough taste of each other, I’ve wondered what it’d feel like to kiss him without any distractions like work or Andrea in the house or some new crisis.

  Nothing I’ve ever imagined matches up to the truth.

  His searing heat, the masculine fullness of his lips, his mouth firm in its claiming, needy pressure and yet so soft in the way his lips mold against mine with a fury.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  As walled off as he’s been, as withdrawn, now, a beast is out.

  There’s no hesitation in his kiss.

  Only a dominant, utterly certain yearning, a compulsion, a demand.

  It’s given to me in stroking lips, in taunting dives of tongue-tip to tongue-tip, in the slow curl of his hands against my waist. He strokes slowly down my hips, electrifying me with the texture of his palms, the strength in those fingers, the way he touches me like I’m his new addiction with every graze of skin to the fabric over my flesh.

  That demand is undeniable.

  You want me.

  You really, truly want me, woman.

  There’s only one answer.

  Yes, yes, God, yes!

  It’s been building between us forever, rising like a crescendo to the thrilling, shivering peak of a song’s climax, right before it crashes into a rousing chorus.

  And every freaking part of me is singing right now.

  I rise up on my toes, bury my fingers in his hair, and try like crazy to give it back.

  Kissing Blake with everything in me, deep and desperate and hot, trying to show him with every bit of my soul how bad I want him, need him, crave him.

  This could be my only chance.

  He has to understand that whatever he thinks he’s hauling around that’s too much for me...

  It’s not.

  And nothing’s ever too much if we carry it together.

  He makes a startled grunt as I nip at his upper lip, teasing it between my teeth.

  I smile. He actually recoils for a second, before his hands clench deliciously hard on my hips and he answers with a sharp rake of his teeth against my lower lip. Enough to make my mouth burn with a perfect, searing friction.

  Oh, yeah.

  I gasp as the feeling rocks right through me, lights me up in little sparks that scorch right down between my thighs.

  “You’re playing with fire, girl,” he growls, lashing his tongue against my lower lip.

  I smile against his mouth, feathering my fingers down the back of his neck, tracing the strong muscles of his trapezius, his shoulders, his back.

  This man is a human truck. He’s sinfully broad and sculpted, every muscle as ruggedly hard as a broken cliff face. Every time I’ve had him on my table, I’ve wanted to touch so bad and couldn’t.

  I can now.

  And I do, smoothing my hands over him, learning his shape by branding him into my palms.

  Wherever my hands don’t touch, my body makes up for it, pressing in close just to feel him from head to toe, to feel how his heat melts into my breasts, my thighs, my belly.

  “So burn me,” I whisper and capture his mouth again.

  He smothers me in another growling kiss.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be so shameless.

  So wanton.

  So needy.

  But I’ve never been afraid to chase what I want.

  And what I want right now—maybe for life—is him.

  Especially when he backs me up against the counter, shoves me against it with my spine arching, his body pinning me, making me gloriously aware that he’s wearing nothing but those thin cotton boxer-briefs.

  And they’re doing nothing to hide how much he wants me, too.

  His cock presses hard against my stomach.

  He’s so tall the thickness of it almost slides up between my breasts, over my ribs. I can’t help a wicked impulse as I shimmy my body against him, writhing as I twine my tongue with his, wet-slick thrusts of locked mouths mating with the rhythm as I roll myself against his cock and savor his shuddering groan, loving how his entire body tenses under my palms.

  “Peace,” he groans, that ladykiller voice rolling over my name like lust distilled into honey whiskey. “What’re you trying to do to me, woman?”

  “Not quite sure yet,” I breathe against his lips, brushing my mouth against his in little taunts. “But is it working?”

  I let my bravery make me bolder still. My fingers dance across his side and then slip down between us, folding over the burning-hot flesh inside the cotton, stroking his length.

  “Fuck.” He slams his hands against the counter to either side of me, gripping so hard his knuckles go white, his eyes closing, his jaw pinched, breathing like a winded animal.

  A gorgeous, glorious, wild creature.

  And he’s putty in my hands as I stroke him—feeling every throb of his cock against my palm, his underwear so thin. I feel every ridge and vein, just how slick he is with pre-come as I grind my hand against him.

  Yes, I’m greedy.

  So flipping greedy I devour his face, adoring the way his lips hang slack on panting growls, his expression frozen in bliss.

  I’ve always been good at making people feel good with my hands.

  But it’s never been as heady as this.

  I’m pushing my luck, though—I can tell by the tension rippling through his shoulders, the way his fingers dig at the counter, his teeth clenched as he rocks into my hand.

  I circle my thumb under his cockhead and give him a tight squeeze just to feel how hard he is.

  My gut’s so tight, so hot, and God...

  It’s getting me soaked just touching him, sweetness running between my thighs, my body clenching up with this fever.

  Because I’m doing this to him.

  He’s this hard for me.

  I’
m the one driving him to the edge.

  ...and I’m the reason he snaps a second later.

  I give him one more squeeze, one more stroke, and he jerks his hips forward roughly, throwing his head back with a feral growl.

  “Enough,” he bites off. “Goddammit, you’ll come for me first.”

  Then his hands are on me—lifting me up, gripping my ass, fingers digging in.

  Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist as he hoists me off my feet.

  My head whips back with pleasure as he fits so perfectly between my thighs, the bulk of him spreading me open, leaving me throbbing and empty and exposed. I’m at his every mercy, his cock grinding against my jeans, my panties, so close to fucking me I can’t stand it.

  “Oh God, Blake.” I bury my face against his throat, licking at his pulse, tasting the sweat of his skin and digging my nails into the back of his neck as I rub against him.

  He’s got me in heat so easily.

  The feel of his cock in my palm, and all this pent-up desire that’s been building up is bursting out brighter than the sun, deeper than a riptide, hotter than a wildfire, and sweeping over me in all its sweet insanity.

  “Just hold on, you little wildcat,” he gasps, biting my shoulders, his teeth ripping my shirt aside to find skin.

  I’m gasping as he turns to carry me upstairs, every step punctuated by another rolling thrust of his hips until he’s moving us in sinful rhythm. Each stride brings us closer, sharp friction, and I’m trembling, my thighs clenched as I ride those waves of movement, practically riding him, arching myself into him and dragging my wet panties to the scrape of his hardness so I can feel him.

  I could come just from rubbing on him, my breasts crushed against his chest, my nipples pert, my pussy dripping into the fabric molded against my flesh.

  And I’m moaning, panting, practically drugging myself on Blake.

  His stubble, his skin, his rock-hard muscle holds nothing back.

  A soft cry slips out of me as he kicks his bedroom door open and practically throws me on the bed.

  There’s a darkness in his deep-blue eyes. Pure inky smoldering depths as he gazes down at me, catching his thumb in the waistband of his boxer-briefs, tugging them down one sculpted hip, baring another hint of that oh-so-kissable, perfect, scarred body.

  He looks like he’s been put through the wringer and come out of it perfectly honed. Every pain and torment he’s ever experienced just makes him hotter.

  “Strip,” he growls, those bearish eyes raking over me.

  I’ve never been one to give in when a man orders me to do anything.

  But when Blake Silverton tells me to strip...

  I want nothing more than to obey. To be naked before those eyes already burning through my clothing like he sees every inch of me and wants to devour me whole.

  Yet there’s still a smidge of defiance left in me.

  So I take my sweet time—smiling cattily up at him as I stretch against his sheets, catching the hem of my shirt, peeling it up slowly one inch at a time—and deliberately curving my spine to make my breasts rise against my lacy bra. I pull the shirt over my head, then toss it aside with a little flap of my hair.

  And his eyes lock on to me, riveted, following my finger down as I trail it between my breasts, over my ribs, then lower.

  Holy hell—lower.

  His gaze blazes across my belly, making me suck in a gasp, savoring the hypnotic way he watches as I forge a path down to the waist of my jeans. Flick them open. Unzip.

  My tongue skims my lips as I catch them at the waist.

  And slink my hips from side to side, watching his pupils dilate with every second, as I shimmy them down my thighs to reveal the matching lace panties curving over my hips.

  I never get the chance to take the rest off.

  Because the second I toss my jeans aside, he growls.

  “Fuck it—”

  And next thing I know, he’s on me like a marauding beast.

  His weight pins me down. His naked flesh ignites my body. His hands lace with mine, shoving them to the bed.

  His mouth attacks my flesh in taunting bites, all swift kisses tracing my jaw, my throat, the upper curves of my breasts. He catches my bra and bites it away, grazing the tip of my nipple so gently.

  Just enough pressure to make me gasp and cry out, tossing my head back before he soothes it with his tongue.

  Then Blake’s mouth is everywhere, igniting me in wildfire sparks, torching my senses as he leaves wild marks all over me.

  My arms. My belly. My inner thighs.

  But still, no matter how I whine, no matter how I writhe, he won’t give up what I want. Not on my terms.

  This man plays by his own rules, and he’s hellbent on making me beg. I don’t even have the words because he’s driving me out of my mind.

  I’m lost.

  Caught up in his storm, all the wicked things he does to me, the way he invades my senses.

  His smell, aftershave and charcoal and heat, the scratch of his stubble on my skin, the flex of his body, the perfection of his weight.

  God.

  I can’t separate the noise of my gasps from the harshness of his hungry breaths.

  I’m just spinning, falling, but then there’s a new sound, the rip and crinkle of a condom wrapper.

  And that needy ache between my thighs he’s been ignoring flares harder, my pussy throbbing as he flicks my panties aside.

  His thumb runs down my wetness. One stroke leaves me whining, squirming, flexing and clenching in rippling pulses. He spreads me open and makes me hurt with that hot emptiness, every ugly second he’s still not in me.

  “Blake...” I whisper, grabbing at his hand. “Blake, please.”

  One glance is all I get. So intense and flaming blue I’m not even sure it belongs to a mere mortal anymore.

  Then he grabs his cock, presses the head against me, and bares his teeth.

  A thick band of pure, hard heat slides against my wet flesh so sweetly.

  “Hang the fuck on to me, sweetheart,” he whispers. I’ve never heard his voice sound more tender, more seductive, more husky. “Gonna take you now.”

  I grasp at his shoulders, staring up at that gorgeous face. His eyes drill me like he’s never seen anyone else, like I’m his whole universe, and maybe his last freaking meal.

  I’m just glad I listen and hold on tight as he tears my world apart.

  No exaggeration.

  I’ve never felt anything as intimate as the moment when Blake slides deep, bringing our flesh together like heart notes striking in rhythm—and God, that rhythm!

  He holds nothing back in the music of his hips, crashing into mine almost hard enough to bruise.

  We’re rock and roll and heavy metal. The dirtiest country and the sweetest hip hop. We’re the scream of a guitar that’s pure sex and the thud of drumming hearts.

  You’d better believe he makes me sing my effing heart out like never, ever before.

  Because the instant I go crashing over into my first O, tensing, my pussy clinging to his shaking thrusts for dear life, there’s nothing but our song made flesh.

  Just Blake’s massive body slamming into mine, the steady clap of his balls on my skin, his friction tearing sounds out of me I didn’t even know I could make.

  And he buries his mouth against mine, stealing my breath, lifting his hips higher to throw his cock into me harder, faster, deeper.

  My whimpering release just folds me that much tighter to his piston of a body and drives him on.

  If I thought he’d lose it and come with me—ha!

  That’s so not the way this works.

  That’s so not how this man operates. I realize it a little more in every stroke.

  Blake might be off his chain, but he’s in scary control. And he’s not letting go until he’s had his way with me however freaking long he pleases.

  So his hips power on, the thrusts coming wilder, his hips jerking and shuddering in sharp staccato,
surging us along in rough thrusts that sizzle, rip me apart, stretch me open, fill me more and more until I’m screaming, begging, and still it’s not enough.

  Never enough.

  More, more—I want more.

  I’ll always want more, and with his name on my lips, I wrap my thighs around his hips and pull him into me, lifting my hips to beg for every inch he can give.

  And sweet Lord, does he give.

  He storms my body straight into another frantic, screaming release. I feel it coming, tensing up, my arms and legs desperately tangling with his body, enjoying our sway, and then—

  Coming!

  My eyelids flutter and white-hot ecstasy erupts from my core, blooming through every bit of me like some insane flower of pure energy. I barely even hear the rising pitch in his growl, even if it’s impossible not to feel the sudden harsh swell of his cock.

  As he slides home, as he finds the darkest, neediest depths of me, as he touches me inside with invasive heat and closeness and sheer, raw, erotic pleasure...

  I can’t detect the difference between his heartbeat and mine.

  There’s just his body flowing over mine, and I move with him, and every deep stroke bursts something deep inside me as he grabs my wrists, slams me into the bed, and pushes his forehead into mine.

  “Don’t you fucking stop,” he growls. “Gonna go with you, baby.”

  And he does.

  Even through the condom, I feel when his cock roots itself in my depths and explodes in a hot flood that leaves him stiff and twitching. And if I thought my orgasm was done, I was dead wrong.

  It hits me full force the instant Blake goes off inside me.

  He vibrates through me, ignites my bones, makes my body shriek with the pounding, driving, mad push to a crescendo. We share every second of our bliss.

  I don’t know if I’m singing or screaming.

  But I know when we break higher, when his roar drowns me out, when I hit the zone where he’s already waiting.

  Moving in harmony, peaking in perfect time together.

  His body with mine.

  And my heart with his, even if he doesn’t know just how deep these feelings run.

  * * *

  Wowza.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that in my life.