Seeing him had reopened the wounds of senior year like a hundred fresh, new, deep gashes to my heart and soul that felt as if they would never close up this time.
His deep, accented voice burning with power.
Lips gleaming with warmth and firmness.
Eyes that were surefire wicked seduction.
The way his body towered over mine as he asked me not to leave.
How badly I’d wanted to stay.
A hot tightness coiled between my legs, my chest wrenching with a sharp, pinching torment, as I relived a quick flash from the past and him touching me, kissing me, the fluttering in my belly as he whispered foreign words against my ear.
I’d been nothing but a silly, love-stricken girl in high school, falling for the charms of an immature teenage boy and taking foolish risks. Nathan Morgan had made it perfectly clear to my father that his son wanted nothing to do with any child we had conceived, and that being tied down would simply forestall his future. I’d been played, used, and taken advantage of. Tage was no different from any other insensitive adolescent jock, just another beautiful face and body riddled with false promises, meaningless tall talk, and empty words, who used splendid rhetoric to make naïve teenage girls feel pretty and special.
Motherfucking bastard.
Why was it so hard just seeing him after all this time? Why did it feel like my world was two seconds from falling apart all over again? Nothing made sense about what had just happened, or what I was feeling.
But one thing I positively understood when it came to Tage Morgan, was that I wanted to slap his perfect face. Pound my fists over and over against his thick chest. Ask him why. How. Make him feel just an ounce of the pain I’d felt years ago. The dread I continued feeling every second of every day.
I wanted to knee him in the balls and tell him I fucking loathed him.
I buried my hands into my face, letting choking sobs consume me. With my stomach in knots, I collapsed against the wall and slid downward, pulling my knees into my chest, while icy prickles covered my skin. Fucking fuck him to hell and back. I hated every single thing about what he’d done and who he was.
“I hate you, Tage Morgan. I’ll hate you ‘til my last waking breath.”
Heavy nausea bit at my belly. Why was this so damn hard? I had a job I loved, a house I loved, a daughter who I loved more than life, but discontent filled my mind just the same. Maybe I was meant to be raising a child alone. Maybe marriage wasn’t in the cards for me.
Maybe I simply wasn’t worth loving.
Minutes ticked by, possibly an hour. Footsteps came and went outside my office door. My phone buzzed more than once. Agony clawed at my chest. I felt terrible, lost, confused. My body felt like it weighed a ton as I lifted myself off the ground. I needed out of this damned office. Needed to clear my head and the shitstorm brewing inside.
After a quick word with Lara Beth, I headed home in nothing but a dazed gloom. Thirty minutes later I was in my kitchen, guzzling water to chase three Advil and a screaming headache creeping behind my eyes. A wave of tears trailed down my cheeks as a painful, gut-filled sob rose up my chest. My stomach tightened, and I lurched forward, gripping the sink like it was a life preserver, and retched up the water I’d just swallowed. Acid and stabbing regret churned in my belly, wave after wave of sickness rising in my throat and making my insides feel bruised. Once I could stand upright, I sniffed, ignoring the sound of my phone, and cautiously sipped on some more cool water.
With no denying how deeply affected I had been by seeing Tage after all these years, I never realized just how much that part of my life still lingered in my mind.
An icy sweat had broken out all over me. My shirt felt like sticky glue against the clammy dampness on my back. I grabbed my phone, ignoring the unheard voice mail, and made it to my bedroom. For the first time, I was thankful that Lance had convinced me to allow him to pick up Melli a day early. Right now, all I wanted was a quick shower, a toothbrush, my bed, and a night of restful sleep. Anything besides losing my complete shit again over a man I hated.
Anything but thoughts of the past from the worst months of my life.
Anything but memories of watercolor blue eyes … caramel-tinted skin … sensual Swedish words. Hands that set my body into a blazing fire.
Lying fuck.
My God, was this the way my life was intended?
My eyes were on fire, black with mascara, and my stomach felt like someone had kicked me with a steel-toed boot. After a thirty-second shower, I scrubbed off what little makeup remained on my face, then brushed my teeth and crawled into bed, seeking peace, an end to these chills, and eight hours of sleep. Tomorrow was an early day. Neglecting the bulk of incoming letters in my email inbox this afternoon, I had hours of reading ahead of me.
With another cold shiver, I gathered the sheets under my chin, grimacing at the ache still raw in my mid-section. Damn, I’d forgotten the voice mail. I sighed, shifting onto the edge of the bed and wanting to ignore it, but also knowing I wouldn’t rest unless I made sure my baby girl was okay.
See me. Saturday night. 7 PM. Call me. Please.
Warmth crawled up my neck, my stomach tightening at the tone of his voice. Why was he calling after the meeting from hellfire? What could he possibly want? How did he get my number?
Why did I act like a damn fool?
With a broken sigh, long seconds ticked away as I listened to the short message not once, but two more times, wishing. Wondering. Wanting. Wet. The roughness of his voice made me shiver. I swallowed back a sob, the pain so great that it felt like newly-sharpened switchblades slicing at my insides. Throbbing deep. Aching. Bleeding.
Denying Tage Morgan was agonizing. But returning his call wasn’t an option. I didn’t dare. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice … wasn’t happening. So instead, I took the coward’s way out with a text.
Go fuck yourself.
Both hot and cold, my whole body trembled. Arousal surged through my core, hungry, eager, and desperate. How could this man who had done nothing but hurt me in the most fragile years of my life, still have such a pull over me? Why did my body ache for his firm fingers painfully taunting my nipples? His heavy palm blistering the delicate skin of my sex? His strong legs easing mine apart? A cluster of flashbacks played through my head. Loud music on the radio, kisses that went on forever, smiles, touches, promises…
Sweet mother of fuck! I had to stop this! It was exhausting. Heartbreaking. My eyes welled up again, a throb pulsing between my legs so heavy that I shuddered. Everything about Tage Morgan turned me into someone different. No matter what he had or hadn’t done in high school, it was the same feeling. I was aroused. Sick with need.
I wanted him.
My hand slid down the fluttering curves of my belly and into the waist of my panties. My sex was wet and throbbing, my core aching. I took a deep breath, helplessly turned on, and plunged viciously inside myself, visualizing olive skin with golden undertones staring down. Eyes shining like the clearest blue ocean. Dimples peeking through a shadowed jaw. Lips teasing my inner thighs, moving up to that one explosive spot before covering my clit with wicked suction. My nipples tightened, the familiar tingle building way down in my core. With a sharp breath, I shoved deep, ruthlessly, one last time, before pulling back and slapping as hard as I could at my drenched outer folds.
“Oh … God.” My back arched, the air leaving my lungs in a pleasured blitz, tears flying from my eyes as I spasmed with orgasm. In the back of my mind, my emotions overwhelming, it was inevitable. Saturday night, I would be staring into the blue eyes of Tage Morgan once again.
God help me. How many times would I fall for the charms of this man before the cold, hard realization that he would never be part of my future sink in for good?
****
Tage
My chest pounded as I poured myself a drink, while tearing away at the tie choking me.
I could still smell her. That same cherry vanilla scent. She’d smelled e
xactly the same eight years ago. Sweet. Luscious. Feminine. Lightning crackled far off in the distance as I relaxed outside in a lounge chair, working a double shot of WhistlePig Rye, classic rock playing on the outdoor speakers.
Things had been going smoothly in my life. Business was growing every day. I had money in the bank, a roof over my head, more than enough women to fuck. Isabelle was happy, my mother content. Then Ava showed up, the last thing I’d ever expected. What now? I was a sadist. I’d been that way for years—probably forever. Nearly four years in the military had reinforced what deep down I had known in the back of my mind since childhood. No feelings. No emotions. Drilled through my head a hundred times during the rigorous months of training, I had no idea if the words had anything to do with who I was or who I’d become.
I stared down at the drink in my hand, my head a blur. Fuck, I truly didn’t know why I was this way. I couldn’t exactly single out any or all of my compulsions. All I knew for sure was that I had spent my adult life getting off on hurting women. Breathing power over women. Watching fear build in their eyes. Fucking with their emotions and their minds. Savoring nonsensical, outré sexual chaos. Command and control. Pain. Affliction. No romance. No hearts and flowers, and absolutely, positively no love. Romance and love were nothing but illusions. Plots made for movies. Outlines for books. Nothing more than fantasy or fiction.
I sought women who craved masochism. Women who needed it as badly as I needed it to get off. I was content with this lifestyle. I was at peace with myself.
But was I really?
My head buzzed with emotion, thoughts of her fucking with my heartbeat.
It was hard to recall a time that I hadn’t needed someone to control. Someone to hurt, ridicule, insult, and humiliate. Someone to use their body how I saw fit.
But I ached to touch Ava. Taste her. Have my hands on her.
Doubt coursed through my veins as I lay back, stroking myself, while visions of her flashed inside my head. I was hard, miserable, confused. I gripped my cock, each stroke growing more urgent than the next. I squeezed harder. Pumped Faster. Her smell still filled my nostrils. Her voice lingered in my head.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I came hard, a mess of thick cum filling my fist.
Come what may, Ava wasn’t getting away from me. Not this easily. Not this time. I needed to see her again. And I would.
Come hell or fucking high water.
Chapter Five
Ava
By the time 6:30 PM rolled around, I had been pacing the floors, a basket case of I’m really doing this, I can’t possibly do this, holy shit what was I thinking kind of nerves.
After spending a ridiculous two hours teetering back and forth on what to wear and how to style my hair, my head still swirled with doubt. Was I overdressed? Too casual? Should I have left my hair down? Curled it? Straightened it?
Detest him or not, I still wanted to look my best.
Semi-casual, black maxi-skirt split high on one side. A bling-covered tank top, paired with flat, ankle-strap sandals. My hair was wavy, pulled into a side ponytail with the crown teased and lightly back-combed. Large silver hoops hung from my ears, and I’d opted to leave my neck bare. But, as my mother always said, never underestimate the power of pretty lingerie on even the ugliest day. Black, lacy, and sexy, the matching bra and panty set boosted my confidence a notch, not to mention my lackluster cleavage.
I picked up the last of Melli’s things and put them away, rubbing my temple and trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing. Holy fuckballs, was I? Should I even be allowing this visit? Was there a slim chance he held remorse? The smallest inkling that he carried guilt?
Had he finally become decent enough to want to meet his daughter?
I’d been confident with my life choices all these years, yet guilt and confusion swarmed inside me like a hundred raging, angry, stinging bees. Everything that had been so clear only hours ago was suddenly a question, a dilemma. My hands trembled against the frame as I stared down at the beautiful face of my daughter, placing it inside the television cabinet, then just as quickly removing it. Why was I hiding her photos? Her belongings? Why was I doing any of this?
Tage knew he had a child.
Had he even once wondered if she was well and happy, or even considered helping provide for her? Did he harbor any feelings at all?
Heartless fucker.
I placed the photo right back on the fireplace mantel where it belonged.
Where it would remain.
“Shit! Holy crap!” Panic washed over me like a dozen strikes of lightning in my abdomen, my head a carousel of nerves at the sound of the bell. Sweat gathered on my hands just thinking of him being so near. I’d never once been so scared in my life.
Or anxious.
I was shaking almost violently, my belly churning so badly that it felt like butterflies were doing nosedives in my stomach. Something about the fact that no more than three inches of wood stood between me and this strange, yet familiar man from the past, sent ice-cold shivers up my back and queasy tremors through my belly. What I was about to do was way the hell out of the realms of my comfort zone. I avoided confrontations and ran from awkward situations. At the same time, I ached to see him again. So much so, that every nerve ending in my body was tight with an eerie wildness.
Breathe. You can do this. You can. You will.
Grimacing at myself in the metal-framed decorative mirror inches from the door, I readjusted my hair and dabbed at my makeup.
Do my cheeks look fat? My arms? Is my hair frizzy?
Shit, who was I kidding? Beautiful women were on every corner in Dallas, Texas. Taller. Curvier. Sexier. Lance had said it many times. I was adequate. In-between. Substandard. Dime a dozen.
Are those itty-bitty titties of yours hidden in there somewhere? Wearing heels makes your legs appear longer, V. Why don’t you wear your hair different this time?
“Ava.” Spicy musk teased my nose as I eased the door open.
Dear sweet Jesus. He’s gorgeous.
Dressed in sleek, casual black slacks, a dark-blue, button-down shirt tucked in with the top two buttons open, and shiny, camel-colored oxfords covering his feet, the casual but classy look was undeniably hot. Caramel-tinted skin and dark inky-colored hair, combined with icy blue eyes gave him that exotic look of being part Swedish that had always made my stomach tighten with feelings of greed and desire.
Damn fine on the eyes, there wasn’t another man I had ever found more attractive or wanted so badly that my insides ached with desire. Sex and male radiated off him, while the intensity of his gaze was like a piping-hot blazing oven.
Looking like a finely-carved Adonis, Tage Morgan was hot fucking sin on legs.
“Come in,” I said in a hushed tone, closing the door and crossing my arms. His eyes honed in on my chest, my breasts growing heavy with desire as his gaze lingered on them.
Boundless minutes ticked by, and neither of us uttered a word. He only stared at me with his jaw clenched. After what seemed like a century of silence, with a deadpan expression, he asked, “Why isn’t your alarm connected?” The alarm panel beside the front door was no longer activated. I’d never seen the need to use it.
Surprised by his question, I shrugged. “I’ve barely used it. I finally shut it off.”
His face twisted into a grimace, and his voice deepened. “You live alone, and you see no need to set your alarm?”
Alone? Your daughter lives here, dickweed.
I turned away from the control box and led the way into the living area. “It’s just an alarm, Tage. Nothing is going to keep people from breaking in when you think about it. What’s the point?”
“You do remember I own a security company, don’t you?”
“Well yes, but…” A touch of a frown crept up his face. “It always seemed so complicated. A waste of time,” I said, my voice wavering.
Lord help me. I hadn’t been this nervous since my water broke with Melli.
“We
ll nothing, Ava. I’ll have someone here tomorrow to replace this panel with an updated one.”
His eyes were still, hooded, and unyielding. Sweetest Jesus, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him. Every part of my body was clenched tight, my nipples solid buds against the lace of my bra.
I shrugged, spinning on my heels, and resumed leading us to the sofa. Tage reached for my arm, pulling me into his hard wall of a chest.
“Ava.”
His palms were suddenly pressing against both of my shoulders, pushing me against the edge of the sofa, his erection hard and thick against my belly. What was he doing? What was I doing? I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. Everything inside me wanted him to touch me, this returning, uncontrollable desire like a spreading hot wildfire.
“Don’t,” I said hoarsely. “This isn’t why I let you in my home, Tage. This isn’t…”
“Shut up, Ava.”
My body went rigid as he lowered a hand over the curve of my breast and down toward my thigh, lifting the length of my maxi skirt, where he could undoubtedly smell my hunger and feel my heat. Holy shit, I was wet. Aroused. So damned out of my mind for him. I could smell my hunger. He was suddenly underneath my skirt, inside my panties, plunging a thick finger inside my sex.
“Jesus, Ava. You’re all I’ve thought about.”
There was fire in his eyes that had my mind spinning. Clenching and squirming against his hand, uncertainty churned inside me like a seething storm whirling in the sea. My body cried yes, while my brain screamed no.
“Tage, I… No! What are you doing?” I whispered bitterly.
He shot me a bold look—sexual and passionate—then pressed a second finger to join the first. “What I should have been doing for the last eight years.”
My core flooded with arousal at the sound of his dictatorial voice and the uncontrollable effect he was having on my body. I felt desperate, needy. It had been so long, and it felt so good. So perfect. He leaned over, nuzzling my neck, the feel of his lips warm and soft as they brushed the sensitive area beneath my ear, another reminder of years ago. You and me. Me and you.
Intrigue Me Page 4