All Chained Up

by Sophie Jordan

  His breathing grew shallow against her ear. The harsh rasp turned her skin to goose flesh. He slowed and she moaned her frustration, turning her face and biting into the side of his neck. “Don’t stop,” she choked against his heated skin.

  “Oh, I’m not stopping, baby. Not yet. Remember what I told you.” He increased his pace then like he was determined to get her off. “You’ll come for me. Every time.” Her orgasm hit hard as the deep rumble of his words sank into her. Her thighs squeezed tight around him as she rode out her orgasm. He moved inside her several more times, harder, faster against her oversensitized flesh.

  He grunted and sighed, reaching his own release. She ducked her head, breathing in his skin, reveling in the sensation of him twitching inside her. She smoothed her hands down his biceps as her heavy breaths evened out.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  She lifted her head. Her stare collided with his waiting gaze. “Pizza,” she murmured.

  “Yeah.” He stepped back, withdrawing from her. “I’ll get it.”

  She slid down to her feet, her legs wobbly. Knox turned and got rid of the condom in the kitchen before stepping back out, zipping his jeans back up.

  Averting her gaze, she snatched up her shorts and underwear. “Let me just get some cash—­”

  “I got it,” he said, a slight edge to his voice, which stopped her from reaching for her purse. “A pizza’s not going to break me.”

  Heat crawled up her face. She’d offended him. His face flushed as he dug out his wallet from his back pocket. Nodding, she dove into her room. Closeted in her bathroom, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. Standing under the showerhead, she let the water beat down on her.

  She filled her palms with shower gel and lathered her body, but it didn’t matter. No amount of soap could ever erase the memory of him from her body. She would still feel him. She would always feel him. She didn’t want to stop feeling him.

  So much for thinking she could resist him. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She wouldn’t even try.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE NEXT FEW days passed in a blur of mind-­numbing sex. Knox showed up at her place every day. Depending on his work schedule, sometimes he was waiting for her when she got off work. Other times he showed up late. Either way, it didn’t matter. She always opened her door to him and they always ended up in bed. Well, if they made it that far. Sometimes they got as far as her living room couch. Once they didn’t even make it past her small foyer area. She only managed to close the door before they went at it.

  She never had this before. To be sure, she was no experienced lover. Her ex had told her that when it came to sex she was lacking. At least that was Beau’s excuse when she caught him with another girl their sophomore year of college. She didn’t have what it took to please a guy but apparently Kylie-­Marie three rooms down the hall did. With Knox, though, she forgot all about that. Her insecurities flew out the window. He made her feel skilled. Powerful. Irresistible. It was going to be hard to let this all go.

  Even though a voice continued to whisper in the back of her mind that this was a bad idea, she couldn’t put a stop to any of it.

  “What were you like? Before?” she asked, sprawled on top of Knox after round two of the night, her ear pressed directly over his heart where it beat a strong rhythm in his chest.

  His hand stilled on her back, where he had idly been tracing small patterns. “Doesn’t matter. That’s in the past.”

  She bit her lip and darted a glance up at his face. He stared stoically through the gloom to the ceiling as though something of great interest was etched into the plaster.

  “I’ll tell you something about me,” she coaxed. Only in that second did she realize he probably didn’t care to know anything personal about her. Past or present. He might not care about her at all. Not beyond this. Not beyond their physical relationship. Fucking, he said. That’s what this was.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Translation? Don’t share.

  That only seemed to confirm her suspicion. An awkward silence fell between them. She held still, sprawled stiffly over him, and tried not to feel all kinds of awkward.

  His chest lifted with a sigh under her. “I played football in high school. I was pretty good.”

  She absorbed that for a moment, a smile creasing her face at the small admission. Pretty good. She bet he was better than good. He was amazingly fit at twenty-­eight years old. What had he been like in high school?

  “I played in college—­”

  “You went to college?” she asked abruptly.

  “Is that such a surprise? I had a full ride at A&M. Went for my first year. I was home for the summer when I got arrested.”

  “I guess I never saw you as someone . . .” Her voice faded and she felt him tense under her.

  “Someone with a brain?” he finished. “Someone with ambition?” Briar cringed. God, she had sounded like that. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he continued. “It’s a shock, I know. I didn’t grow up with dreams of going to prison. I actually wanted to be someone once.” He moved then, sliding out from under her and leaving the bed.

  “Knox, I’m sorry—­”

  “No need,” he said, but his tone was hard, biting. He was gone from her already. “I gotta go.”

  “You could still finish. Get your degree,” she hurriedly suggested, clutching the sheet to her chest and watching as he dressed in the near dark of her room.

  He stopped and stared at her with his hands frozen on his fly. “Would that make you feel better?” He motioned to the bed. “About this?”

  “No!” She shook her head. “I’m just thinking of you.”

  “Well, don’t. Things can’t be undone. And I can’t go back.” He pulled his shirt over his head and nodded at her on the bed. “And don’t feel bad about this. It’s just sex. Nothing to feel ashamed about.”

  “I’m not ashamed—­” she denied, but he was already walking out of her room.

  She heard the door click behind him. With a strangled cry, she fell back on the bed, staring helplessly into the dark. Could she have done a better job of inserting her foot in her mouth?

  She tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she got up to take a shower and get ready for work. Reaching inside her shower, she turned on the water, waiting for it to reach the desired warmth. While waiting, she used the restroom . . . where she faced the irrefutable fact that there was no possible way she was pregnant with Knox’s baby.

  SHE WASN’T PREGNANT.

  Elation should have been her reaction—­the proper reaction. She wanted children one day, but in the natural order. With a man who wanted children with her. Preferably after love and wedding vows and a mortgage.

  Yes, elation would have been natural, welcomed even. Except that she hadn’t heard from or seen Knox in two days. Not since she stuck her foot in her mouth and he stormed from her apartment. Maybe he didn’t care.

  Every time she thought about that possibility, she felt a pang in her chest followed by a swift wash of nausea. She had started to count on seeing him again. Being with him. As though crazy-­hot sex with Knox would now be a thing—­a regular occurrence in her life. He’d lit something deep inside her when he looked at her in that stark way of his and said that he needed her. Even if he was just talking about sex, it had started to mean more to her.

  No man, no past boyfriend, had ever claimed that he needed her before. He was in her blood now. She didn’t think she could ever go back to being that girl who viewed sex as an obligatory thing you had to do when you were in a relationship . . . a thing that she was bad at, according to Beau.

  Then she felt awful, ashamed of herself for even thinking that she needed a baby to keep Knox around. As though that was the only way she could keep him.

  She had to tell him. Rip
off the Band-­Aid and get it over with. She had waited two days already, hoping he would show up at her place again. She’d debated exactly how to do it. Call him? Text him?

  And what was the protocol on that text message exactly? No worries! You’re free! Or maybe something along the lines of: Hey there! Turns out I’m not going to be your Baby Mama.

  By the time she got around to doing it, she simply went with: I’m not pregnant.

  And then she waited. Although not very long. Instead of a text, he actually called her.

  She stared at her ringing phone for a moment in astonishment before answering it.

  “Hi,” she greeted, hating that she sounded out of breath even though she wasn’t doing anything more strenuous than folding towels.

  “Hi,” he returned, and then a pause fell. She heard muffled music in the background and guessed he was at work. She felt a little better knowing he had made the effort to go to a back room to call her. “You all right?”

  She hesitated, not sure how to answer that. Did he expect her to be upset because she wasn’t pregnant? It’s not like they were hoping for a child. “Of course. I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about.”

  “Yeah. You said that.”

  Another awkward silence fell. “So how’ve you been?” She winced. God, she sounded lame. She might as well announce that she missed him. That she hated the way he’d stormed from her apartment like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Her voice rang with neediness even to her ears.

  “I’ve been busy. Working at night and patching things up around my uncle’s place. Been gone a long time. Lots of things need fixing.”

  “Oh. Busy is good.” Lame response, take two. “I’ve been busy, too,” she flung out almost desperately. “Flu season is kicking into gear.” She’d made more kids cry today than she could count.

  He hardly let her finish her last comment before cutting in. “Look, Briar, I better go. ­People are getting off work and the place is starting to get busy.”

  She flexed her fingers around her phone. “Yeah. Sure.” Other words hovered on her lips, but she bit them back. She didn’t want to come across as clingy.

  “ ’Bye, Briar.” His words rang with a finality that she heard clearly over the line. What she heard was good-­bye forever. “You have a good life. You deserve that.”

  She sucked in a breath. No mistake about it. This was it. He was dumping her. “Yeah,” she said tightly. “You, too.”

  The phone went dead in her ear. She lowered it in her hand and stared at it for a long moment, wondering at the sudden sting in her eyes.

  It wasn’t like a real breakup. They’d never declared themselves a thing. Besides, maybe she was wrong. Maybe she would see him again. Maybe he would show up again at her door for another midnight booty call. Yeah, and how long would that satisfy her? Better it ended now. Before she really got hurt. She already felt pretty terrible. She didn’t need to feel any worse.

  A text beeped on her phone. Her heart jumped, thinking it might be Knox. She flipped her phone over. Nope. Her sister. BBQ for Caleb this Sunday. You in?

  She typed back. Yes.

  Good. Boss’s son will be here.

  Briar blew out a breath, remembering that her sister wanted to set her up with Caleb’s boss’s son. An accountant, if she remembered correctly. Great. The BBQ was going to be a blind date.

  Her fingers flew over the keys. Please no. Don’t make it weird.

  She waited as Laurel texted back. Can’t promise that. That’s what big sisters do.

  She snorted. At least she was honest. Luv you. Night.

  Her sister texted back. Luv you too.

  Sighing, she carried the towels to her linen closet and put them away, cringing when she thought about her sister’s reaction if she knew the main reason she wasn’t interested in meeting anyone right now was because she was getting over an infatuation with a hardened felon.

  Laurel wouldn’t just get weird then. She’d lose her shit.

  Fortunately, she would never have to find out. Briar would never tell her about Knox. Because there was no longer anything to tell.

  KNOX SLIPPED HIS phone in his back pocket and leaned his head against the outside wall of Roscoe’s. He needed to get back inside, but he couldn’t imagine facing a room full of carousing drunks just yet. Not after ending that call with Briar.

  The phone call had been a shit move on his part. When her text came through, he’d debated whether he should see her in person and explain why they shouldn’t continue doing whatever it was they were doing, but then he doubted he would have kept his hands to himself. And he wasn’t dick enough to fuck her and then end it with her in the same breath. So he’d called. And he’d ended it. Them. Whatever they were, they were done.

  He should have fucked her out of his system by now—­God knew that’s what he had been trying to do—­but he wasn’t tired of her, and a stab of alarm told him he might never be.

  A ­couple of guys walked up from the parking lot. One locked eyes on Knox and stopped hard before catching back up with his friend. He elbowed him and nodded toward Knox, whispering something indiscreetly. They paused again, eyeing him like he might be something contagious.

  Knox tensed, watching from hooded eyes as they resumed walking again, approaching the long stretch of porch where he lurked. He’d gotten enough stares and whispers since he was paroled to know they recognized him. Knew him. Killer Callaghan. He’d heard it whispered around Roscoe’s ever since he got out. Luckily, most of their clientele wasn’t too discerning.

  Up on the porch, the two guys shot him several more glances. “Hey,” the first guy said, stopping in front of him before going inside. “You, uh . . . are you Knox Callaghan?”

  “Who wants to know?” He braced himself, wondering if they were going to give him shit. There were plenty of ­people in this town that definitely wanted to see him with his face in the dirt. In his current mood, he would gladly take them on.

  “Went to school with your brother North. I’m Wayne. Played second string when you were a senior.”

  Knox considered him for a moment. He vaguely remembered him. The guy had been a sophomore and warmed the bench. Unlike North and Knox, who were starting linemen.

  “Yeah. I remember you.”

  Wayne’s chest seemed to deflate a little, as though he wasn’t so nervous anymore. As though that admission meant they were suddenly friends. “How’s North?”

  Knox narrowed his eyes on him. “He’s in fucking prison. How do you think he is?”

  The guy flinched. Even in the dim light, Knox detected the rush of color in his cheeks. “S-­Sorry,” he stammered, taking a step back.

  “C’mon, Wayne.” His friend pulled on his arm, looking at Knox warily, as though he was an animal that might pounce. They hurried back inside and left Knox alone, sulking in the shadows.

  Not a minute passed before engines roared on the air. A few bikes pulled into the parking lot, spitting gravel up into the night. He stayed in the shadows as the group of bikers headed for the doors. A big bearded man marched at the center of the group, and Knox felt a jolt of recognition. He knew the man. The biker must have had a similar thought, for his eyes widened beneath the bandanna covering his forehead as his heavy boots stepped up on the wood porch.

  “Callaghan, you bastard! That you? When did you get out?”

  Knox couldn’t help but grin and push off the building. He hadn’t seen Blue McClintock in two years. He was part of Reid’s crew. He’d been there when he and North arrived at Devil’s Rock.

  “Got out a few months ago,” he said as the two embraced in a quick hug.

  “No shit? North out, too?’

  His smile slipped and the usual twisting weight returned to his chest whenever he thought about his brother still behind those bars. “No. Not yet.”

  “Ah, man, that�
��s too bad. Sure he’ll be out soon.” Blue clapped his shoulder encouragingly. “What are you doing with yourself?”

  “Working here now.”

  Blue nodded. “Well, you look good. Strong as an ox.” He clapped his back. “We spend a lot of good money at Roscoe’s. Glad to know some of it’s going to your pockets.” He smiled and nodded to his buddies. “These are some of my boys. They’re your friends now, too.” His expression turned solemn. “We’re still a crew, Callaghan. You need anything, I’m here.”

  “Appreciate that, Blue.”

  The biker turned, keeping a hold on Knox and bringing him with him toward the entrance. “Come on now. You can get me a drink on the house. Had a shit day and could use one.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Knox sighed before he could think about it, but Blue heard.

  “You, too, huh?” he proclaimed as they stepped inside Roscoe’s. “Don’t tell me.” Rubbing his chin, he examined Knox. “Women troubles?”

  Knox winced and shook his head, but it was too late.

  “Of course it’s women,” Blue blustered. “You’re a good-­looking sonuvabitch. You’ve probably had more ass than you can handle since you’ve been out.”

  Knox shook his head as he stepped behind the bar. Blue and his friends took up the space in front of him, ordering their beer.

  He pulled the bottles from the ice behind him, shaking his head. “Not like that, man.”

  “Ohhh, shit,” Blue said knowingly. “It’s worse than that. It’s one woman.”

  He started to deny it but closed his mouth with a snap. Blue wouldn’t believe him anyway. Hell, he didn’t know if he even believed that himself.

  He shook his head. He and Briar were over. Done. A clean break. She wasn’t pregnant. He had no reason to continue seeing her. No more showing up in the middle of the night at her place, using her to fill the aching bleakness inside him and then slinking away before morning. She deserved better than that. Better than him.

  She and he were worlds apart, and that’s how it would always be.