Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  “I’m trying.” I rest my head on his chest.

  “I know, sugar.” Another kiss.

  We sit like that for a long while, my ear pressed against the steady beat of his heart, his knuckles running up and down my arm.

  “It’s not effortless, you know. You are far from effortless,” he says, breaking the peaceful spell.

  It’s true most men would have given up, but that’s not really what I meant. “I have no defenses against you. I never even got to lay out my rules and you were breaking them.”

  He tilts my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Do you know how hard it was for me to walk away from you that first night?”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t even look back.”

  He smiles, his expression rueful. “If I’d looked back, I would have turned right around. I’d been biding my time with you and I was already on edge. It was hell to walk away. Especially when your body was so damn ready for me, but I had to risk it. I promise you it took every inch of self-discipline I had to do it.”

  The statement reminds me of that first night, when he’d said he’d watched me. I can’t resist touching him and I place an open palm against his hard chest. “You never told me what you were doing in the club. Or how long you’d seen me before talking to me.”

  “The first time I went to the club was about a year ago. I was following a lead for a case I was working that wound up a dead end. Being a small world, the owner of the place ended up being a friend from college. We’d lost touch over the years, but reconnected after the case wrapped and started hanging out again.” He grins. “We, um, have similar tastes.”

  I laugh. “What a shock.”

  He shrugs and the muscles under my hands ripple. “I’ve never been much for the club scene, but I’d go hang out there sometimes, mainly shooting the shit with my buddy with an occasional hook up.”

  I ignore the jealousy trying to worm a hole in my belly.

  He strokes a finger over my cheek, as though sensing my unspoken distress. “I saw you the first time around six months ago.”

  I blink. How was it possible I’d never seen him with the way I comb through the room? “But, how? I never saw you.” Surprise made me honest. “And you aren’t someone I would have skimmed over.”

  “I’m a detective. You didn’t see me because I didn’t want you to.”

  “But why?”

  “Instinct, I guess. The first time I saw you was after you hooked up with that bartender who’s all wrong for you. I watched you leave, and when you returned he tried to touch your arm and you flinched, and then looked at him like he was a rapist. When you turned away your expression was filled with anger, and disgust. I couldn’t help wondering why you’d done something you so clearly didn’t want, or what put those deep shadows under your eyes.”

  This news unsettles me and, unsure how to respond, I accuse defensively, “So, what? You were waiting your turn?”

  Lines bracket the corners of his mouth and he sighs. “I promised myself if you ever asked, I’d tell you the truth.”

  My stomach plummets to the floor. Nothing good ever comes from those words, but I don’t back away. I’m equally terrified and hopeful the confession will somehow break his hold over me. “What truth?”

  His gaze slides away from mine. “I wasn’t waiting my turn. I wanted nothing to do with you.”

  My mouth drops open. It was the last thing I expect him to say. “What?”

  “I took one look at you and every instinct I had told me to stay the hell away from you.”

  Irrationally, this annoys me. So much for him pining for me from afar. “I see.”

  He shoots me a crooked grin. “In fairness, can you say your first reaction was far off?”

  My first reaction was instant, all consuming lust…followed by terror. I blush.

  He cocked a brow. “What was that thought?”

  “Nothing. Go on.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Tell me.”

  “I will not.”

  He grips my chin. “You will. Or suffer the consequences.”

  I shiver at the thought, I’ve yet to feel the sting of his hand on my ass and I still long for it. But that’s not the point. I pull out of his grasp. “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s what you signed up for, sugar, you know that.”

  Of course he’s right, I don’t want fair, but that doesn’t mean I have to admit it. I huff. “Please go on with your story about how you couldn’t stand me.”

  He flashes me an evil grin. “Don’t misunderstand, I wanted you like a son of a bitch. But my first instinct warned me off. Now tell me you didn’t feel exactly the same.”

  I bite my lip and concede. “You’re right, my first reaction wasn’t far from that. I perceived you as a threat. Even as my body knew you could give me what I’d been craving.”

  “Good girl.” He squeezes my hip, and I experience a flash of heat at his words. “I didn’t see you for a couple of months after that, but the next time I did you were wearing red lipstick and a short black dress that looked painted on. I never wanted to fuck a woman more. But it wasn’t like normal desire, it bordered on violent.”

  I lean in, greedy for information. “Like what?”

  His attention shifts to my mouth. “You were leaning over the bar getting a drink and I had the most uncontrollable desire to walk over there, shove that dress up your hips, and take you in the meanest, most visceral, most public way possible. I’ve never been much for public displays and my desire wasn’t about voyeurism. It was about ownership. Pure and simple. Possessive—she’s mine—ownership.”

  I can picture it. I want it. I lick my suddenly dry lips.

  “I ended up leaving to get away from you.” His voice drops, becoming smoky.

  It’s tendrils curl around me. “I know that dress.”

  He grips the back of my neck in an almost feral display of dominance. “You can wear it the next time we go to dinner. Don’t bother with panties, because I’m going to do the most depraved, twisted things to you.”

  My breath comes fast. “Yes.”

  There’s a flash in his gaze and his free hand circles my nipple. “Are you on the Pill, Layla?”

  “Yes.” A stuttering gasp.

  “I’m going to come inside you.”

  It’s a statement of fact but he pauses, giving me time to protest. I’ve never wanted anything more and I’m unable to pretend otherwise.“Please.”

  In an instant, everything changes between us as the chemistry we both fought against once again overpowers us.

  He shoves his hand between my legs, pushing my thighs apart to slide over my swollen clit. “What’s making you so hot? The thought of what I’m going to do to you? Or that I want to fucking own you?”

  My inner muscles clamp down on his fingers as soon as he says the word own, betraying me. I gasp, moaning.

  His lids hood, giving him a dark, sinister look, as he hooks into my G-spot. “That’s right, girl. You’re mine.”

  I cry out, clutching his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as a climax builds strong and swift inside me.

  He bites my lower lip. “Mine.”

  “Yes.” A distant part of me is horrified I agreed, but I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t deny what I so clearly want.

  He growls, low and deep. Before I come, he pulls away and lifts me, yanking my hips so I straddle him.

  We’re all hot, panting breaths and fumbling hands. There’s no build up. No foreplay. No kissing. This isn’t about that.

  This is about him taking what he wants and my surrender.

  I’m desperate for it. Need it more than my next breath. I tilt up just enough for him to slide his shorts down. His beautiful, hard cock springs free.

  All I want is to feel taken by him, to turn his words into reality.

  He slams into me and my head flings back as I arch.

  He grips me around the throat, his grasp tight and commanding.

  The possession wraps around me.

More. So much more.

  I ride him, hard and fast.

  His free hand clamps down on my hip, his grip like a vise. Pain and pleasure collide.

  “Mine.” A hard bark as he pummels into me.

  “Yes.” I answer back the truth. Not willing to hide.

  We’re fucking so hard, the couch is protesting and Belle has taken off for parts unknown.

  I dig my nails into his skin. Gasping as he tightens his hold on my throat and hip. I might be on top, but he’s in control and making sure I know it.

  It makes me hotter.

  Wetter.

  I forget all reason, all thought, all shreds of innocence and propriety.

  I am wanton need.

  A fierce storm of lust.

  Our breaths are nothing but pants.

  Our bodies slick with sweat.

  His cock driving so hard into me I cry out.

  It’s so damn good.

  It’s too much and not enough.

  His grip shifts and he fists my hair. He releases my hip and clasps my waist, the angle forcing my clit into greater contact with his pelvis.

  I’m going to come. I don’t want to, not yet. It’s been so long since I felt claimed.

  I try and hold back, not ready for it to end.

  He kisses me, a brutal brush of his lips before he whispers, “I own you.”

  I lose the battle. I climax so violently my whole body shakes with the force of it, as wave after wave crashes through me.

  He groans, takes my hips and slams into me as he follows. On a final thrust, I collapse against him; my heart beating so hard and fast I fear it might burst.

  He pants out, “I’m glad we got that settled.”

  A laugh gasps from my chest.

  He rubs my back. “You’ll spend the day with me tomorrow.”

  Bone-deep satisfaction settles inside me, making me sleepy. “Yes, Michael.”

  “Good girl.”

  I melt. There’s really no other option.

  The day is perfect. Too perfect.

  I can’t help looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  From the moment I woke up this morning, it’s been heaven. The nightmare hadn’t returned; as though Michael were a knight that could magically protect me.

  I’d stretched awake, his big arm thrown over me. I’d turned to look at him, still sleeping. The bright sun streamed through his bedroom window to fall across his perfect face and body, casting his features in a soft glow. Unobserved, I watched him, the light playing over his skin taunting me to reach out and touch him. Everything felt so right, as though waking in his bed was the most natural thing in the world.

  He’d sensed me watching him and his thick lashes fluttered open, his hazel gaze steady and sure. I’d taken a deep breath, and he sucked me under, obliterating all my fears as he took me.

  When we’d finally made our way out of bed, we went to a little breakfast diner right around the corner from his apartment. We took showers, got dressed and took Belle for a walk down by the lakeshore before stopping at the dog park to let her roam wild and free. We ate lunch. Talked. Laughed. Fucked in a Starbucks bathroom, our movements rushed, jerky and frantic.

  Absolute perfection.

  The whole day I could only be amazed at how normal I felt. How good. The way his hand fit perfectly, his strong fingers wrapped around mine. The way he looked at me.

  But most of all I felt safe. Safe in a way I hadn’t for such a long time I’d forgotten it even existed. That he gave me even an hour of reprieve from the desperate, worried fear that plagued every moment of my life, let alone a day, made me so grateful I wanted to weep with it.

  But, surprisingly, I didn’t. I hadn’t cried all day.

  I had, however, smiled so much my muscles ached from overuse.

  Now we stood in a two-block line at the new, trendy cupcake place, holding hands, my face tilted to the late-afternoon sun.

  He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear before pulling me close, his arm slipping around my waist. “You look good wearing that flush I gave you.”

  I duck my head as my face heats in remembrance.

  He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I particularly enjoyed the look of disapproval that woman gave us as we walked out of the bathroom together.”

  “I was mortified.” The words losing their force as laughter bubbles in my throat. Of course, I was mortified, but in that way girls like me are addicted to. The old woman with iron-gray curls and mean eyes had threatened to tell the manager and Michael had just shrugged nonchalantly and told her to go ahead before pointing him out.

  His fingers curl around the nape of my neck. “I can tell by how hard you came.”

  “You’re the worst,” I say, my breath catching in my throat because I already want him again. Even with all the sex we’ve had, there is an insatiable desire that permeates the air between us. Our chemistry almost a live, tangible thing.

  He grins down at me. “You need the worst.”

  I do.

  He leans down and brushes a kiss over my lips.

  And that’s when it happens.

  The other shoe I’ve been waiting for.

  “Layla!” My sister’s voice rings through the air, full of surprise.

  Panic washes over me as I jerk back from Michael, turning in horror to find April and Derrick in front of me, their expressions wide with shock, their mouths hanging open. My heart starts to pound as my mind goes blank, searching for some reasonable explanation as to what I’m doing with another man that’s not my fiancé.

  Michael’s hand curls around my waist, and he squeezes my hip lightly as though attempting to steady me, as the four of us all stare at each other in silence.

  I flush, what I’m sure is scarlet, and mutter, “April, what are you doing here?”

  My sister blinks at me, her gaze darting to Michael. She blinks again, shifting her attention back to me.

  Derrick clears his throat and holds out a hand to Michael. “Derrick Murphy, I’m Layla’s brother-in-law.”

  I glance away from April’s questioning expression.

  Michael nods and shakes Derrick’s hand. “Michael Banks.”

  He doesn’t elaborate on who he is.

  “Layla?” April asks.

  I lick my lower lip and Michael squeezes my hip again. “Um, Michael is a…um…” I dart a pleading glance at him.

  He smiles and takes pity on me. “I’m a friend of Layla’s.”

  April cocks a brow. “A friend?”

  Michael gives her a smile so dazzling it makes me weak in the knees by proxy. “Among other things.”

  Another flash of heat layers on top of my already overheated cheeks.

  Derrick chuckles, clearly amused, unlike my sister whose brows only furrow deeper together. “What other things?”

  My brother-in-law, god bless his soul, encircles her waist and pulls her close. “Now, honey, that’s really none of our business.”

  April frowns, her gaze shifting back and forth between Michael and me. “But—”

  Derrick cuts her off. “Layla’s a big girl and can take care of herself.”

  I’m so off balance I can’t help but lean into Michael, instinctively seeking his warmth. I’m unable to meet my sister’s eyes but can feel her questions bearing down on me. Questions I have no answer to.

  Derrick turns to Michael. “I have to meet some clients for a drink, but after we were going to grab dinner, why don’t you guys join us.”

  Oh no. God, no. My mouth opens to protest but before I can speak, Michael is nodding in agreement. “That’d be great, name the time and place.”

  I clench my hands, my nails digging into my skin. We cannot go to dinner with them. But as much as I want to protest I can’t open my mouth to speak. Unconcerned, Michael and Derrick are busy making arrangements while my sister and I silently stare at each other.

  Then, the moment has passed, and Derrick is pulling April down the street, with her looking back at me. Derrick calls out, “See you later.”

  When I can no longer see them, the words finally come, and I turn to Michael, furious and accusing, “How could you do that?”

  One dark brow rises up his forehead. “Should I have said no?”

  “Of course you should have said no.” My voice is several octaves too high.

  The line moves several steps forward.

  Michael shrugs. “I was going to meet them anyway, and it seemed like the perfect excuse to get it over with so you wouldn’t have to worry.”

  Meeting my family was a million steps away from where I am. I’m just trying to get through the day without worrying I’ll be attacked, without screaming myself awake, and without dying of guilt.

  I shake my head. “No, you weren’t going to meet them.”

  His gaze narrows in a way that has my spine straightening, and when he speaks there’s that distinct you’re treading a fine line, girl tone. “I understand the lies you tell yourself so you can go on pretending that this isn’t happening. You can tell yourself whatever you need to. Pretend all you want, sugar, but you and I are happening. And all that comes with it.”

  Frustration eats away inside me. “You don’t understand.”

  “Explain it to me.” That damned implacable voice that drives me crazy.

  Exasperated, I throw up my hands. “Three weeks ago my sister was begging me to go out on a blind date and now she finds me on the street with a guy she knows nothing about.”

  The line moves another couple of feet, and when we come to a stop he cups my jaw and lifts my face to study me. “Did you go?”

  I nod. “I mentioned it.”

  “So you’ve already broken the seal, only the guy has changed.”

  “Don’t be reasonable.”

  A curve of his lips. “Someone in this relationship has to be.”

  I push at his chest. “Don’t say that word.”

  His thumb runs along the side of my jaw. “You’re mine. And that includes me meeting your family.”

  “I’m not ready,” I say, but my voice is already softening.

  “Layla, it’s done. They’ve already seen me. You won’t be able to pretend.” He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “Believe it or not, I agreed for your own good.”

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