by Lindsey Hart
CHAPTER 7
Alix
She had no idea what was happening. It was like standing in the rain, dancing like a fool with her face turned to the sky, her arms outstretched, laughing, and the next second getting zapped by a bolt of lightning straight from a vindictive heaven, getting laid out flat on her ass.
That’s what kissing Ross Rivers felt like.
She had zero control over what was happening. He made sure of that. From the hand pinning her shoulders to the brick to the other splayed at her waist, leaching heat into her. He was like a burning flame pressed up to her and she was the pathetic little moth about to get her behind incinerated. Okay, maybe the rest of her too.
Ross ate at her mouth before he trailed his tongue over her upper lip. It should have been gross. Strange and weird. It was strange, alright, when he licked the ice cream off her lip. His tongue danced away, and he groaned as he licked the tip of her nose. He swirled his tongue over her cheeks, over her chin, licking and devouring, suckling, cleaning her face off for her. It was the hottest thing anyone could have done.
Fricking Ross Rivers.
Instead of shoving him away and demanding to know what the living hell he was doing, she leaned into him. She arched into him, wonton and desperate, burning hot, chaffing, soaked in her jeans. Her hands flew to his waist and she shamelessly tugged his hips toward hers. They slammed together and she writhed and ground against the bulge in his jeans that rammed into her waist. It was at the wrong angle and she tried to shift to get closer, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he shifted away, kicked her feet a little further apart, and jammed his knee between her legs.
It was scorching hot and it was filthy as hell. As filthy as him dragging his tongue all over her face, rubbing his cheeks and his jaw all over her tender skin until she was on fire there too from the rasp and scrape of the light shadow he sported on his sharp as a knife jawline.
While she ground down on his jean clad knee, trying to relieve the building ache between her legs, grinding and writhing like she was fourteen, shameless, and desperate to know what getting off with an actual person felt like for the first time, Ross attacked her mouth.
He was sweet and salty from the ice cream and her skin. He was dark and spicy and that was all him. He was rich and heady and exotic and that was him too. He licked at the seam of her lips, then thrust his tongue inside so far when she whimpered, that she could almost feel him at the back of her throat. He ate her mouth. Ate her whimpers.
Just when she thought that she’d die of frustration, he shoved his hand under her shirt and this time, when he found that she was just earing a flimsy lace bralette, it was her turn to swallow his groan.
Ross Rivers groaned into her mouth.
Ross Rivers had his hand on her breast. Cupping her bare breast. He twisted her nipple between his fingers. Her back arched in response while heat pooled all around her belly, and lower, between her legs where she was pretty sure she was already soaking through her jeans.
He did it again, twisted and flicked her nipple while he stroked her tongue, and she shuddered and vibrated between him and the wall.
She ground down harder against his leg. Harder. Faster. Her denim and her panties created the little bit of extra friction she needed, jamming and twisting, the seams rubbing her in all the right spots. It hurt. A lot. It also felt so glorious she forgot how to breathe. Her hips hammered against the wall and back to Ross’s strong thigh. She rode him hard, hard enough to create a spark that ignited the gasoline flooding her stomach.
I’m coming. I’m freaking going to come like this in a disgusting alley with all of our clothes still on.
Everything clicked, like that chemical reaction of gas and flame, and the explosion was spectacular. She screamed into Ross’s mouth and he swallowed the sound. He kept right on swallowing it until she was a withered, panting, wilted mess, then he ripped his mouth away and licked and suckled her chin and neck. She was still panting and shuddering like a crumpled-up leaf on the windiest day in history when he licked the juncture of her throat and neck before he sunk his teeth into it.
She reacted forcefully, nearly coming all over again. Ross wasn’t done with her. He dropped his head while she plowed her fingers through his messy hair, taking care not to grab too hard, because reality crowded in and she remembered that he had a half-healed cut along his scalp. He pushed her tank up and attacked her nipple with his mouth, sucking and licking at her through the thin lace of her bra.
“Make yourself come again,” he commanded while he destroyed her with his amazing tongue.
She mewled in response, shoved her hand between them, down her flat stomach, into the waistband of her jeans, below her thin cotton panties. Her fingers found her clit and all she had to do was apply the slightest pressure to the sticky, soaked, slippery nub and she was off, crashing and shattering, writhing and panting. She threw back her head to scream loud enough that every single family enjoying their ice cream would be scarred for life, when Ross stuck the side of his hand between her lips. She bit down hard while her hips jacked into her hand over and over and the waves of euphoria kept right on pounding through her.
It was minutes, actual minutes, before she came back down again. She wilted against the wall, thankful that it was there to catch her, even if the bricks chaffed against the oversensitive skin of her back and shoulders. She realized that she’d probably scratched herself there mercilessly while she was lost to the throes of pleasure.
“Ross,” she breathed, as she looked into his burning eyes.
She knew his face. She knew his face off by freaking heart. His face was the same one she thought of every single night before she fell asleep and first thing in the morning and in all the dreams in between. If she daydreamed during the day or spaced out, it was always him she thought of. She’d wondered what he was doing. Where he was. Who he was with, often with shards of jealousy attached, while she was away.
He had a perfect face. A beautiful face. A face she’d looked to for protection, for safety, for laughter and joy over the years. A face she’d fallen in love with on just about every single level there was. She knew it, from the gorgeous planes of his jutting cheekbones to his sharp jawline. From the regal set of his nose to the exact angle of his brow. From the plush pink lips to the long slant of his eyelashes. She knew the exact shade of blue that his eyes were, knew the pattern of his irises.
There was something wrong with his face. Something pinched and strange. Something foreign. Something she didn’t recognize. His lips were swollen and no longer pink. They were red and raw and lush from kissing her. His skin was flushed, like he’d rubbed his stubble all over his own face too. His nostrils flared out as he breathed in deep, raspy breaths. It was his eyes that were totally wrong. Off. The pupils were completely blown, the irises darker than she’d ever seen them.
“You wanted second base,” he panted. “You got it. We’re even now.”
As Ross pulled away, her mouth dropped open. She was livid, seething with anger that roiled and hissed through her veins like steam in a boiler. She’d once slept over at her grandma’s, when she was still alive, and the ancient house had those radiators in every single room. When they got hot, they would hiss and perk comfortably, but sometimes, something must have gone wrong, because they’d bang and clang like a gunshot.
That’s what she felt on the inside. Wrong. Like she was banging and clanging, and all that steam was about to escape and blast Ross in the face.
That was all the kiss was to him. All any of it was. The best freaking orgasms of her life- she was going to ignore the fact that it was pretty sad that they’d both been experienced while fully clothed- were just part of a stupid deal that god knew why he’d actually agreed to and she’d been stupid enough to put out there in the first place. It was all just a farce, just a way to get even, just a way for him to go back to his tranquil, easy, lazy life like nothing ever happened.
He just wanted her off his case.
Easy-f
ucking-peasy.
He could go back to screwing whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Not doing anything with his life. Bumming around because he was ultra-rich and that’s what insanely rich people did. He’d drink beer with her brother and bang chicks without knowing their name. He’d drive his expensive cars around and wear expensive clothes and not even notice that she existed.
Fuck. Actual fuck. Yes, the real fucking word. I was so stupid. How could I have thought that if I had a taste that I’d be satisfied? That it would make any of this better or easier?
Before she even consciously knew what she was doing, she ripped away from Ross. He stared at her with that stunned, stupid, mystified look on his face.
“Thanks for the second base, asshole,” she muttered.
She stalked down the alley, straightening her clothes, shame and rage gnawing at her. She’d just about made it out when a rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her around. She raised her head, ready to defend herself and slap him away from her if she had to.
“Where are you going?” Ross raked a hand through his mussed hair. Hair mussed from her fingers raking through it while she came in an alley. God.
“Anywhere. Home. Away from here. Away from you.”
“This was your idea!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know that, but it was stupid.”
“Stupid or not, I held up my end of the deal. We’re good now?”
She rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “Of course. That’s what you wanted. That’s all you cared about. We’re good. Don’t worry. I’ll still come to all your parent’s stupid dinners and when we have Christmas together with our families, I’ll act like the good little zombie and pretend that nothing happened and there was nothing ever wrong.”
Ross grabbed her shoulders and nearly shook her. She glared at him, refusing to let him know that her body flooded with heat again the instant he touched her or even looked in her direction. It was pathetic. Way more pathetic than anything she’d done so far, including the whole prom fiasco and the stupid deal.
“All of this because I refused to take your v-card like some creep or take you to your stupid prom? Grow up! You have the maturity of a toddler. This whole deal thing was ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m even here right now.”
“Oh right. Here with me. Because I’m so seriously repulsive. Don’t worry. Chance already informed me that I’m not your type and I never will be. I got the memo. I’m sorry that I wondered for half my life what everyone saw in you. I don’t have to wonder anymore. I know exactly what women want from you. A good time. A few decent orgasms, and yes, I’ll admit they were decent, and nothing else, because you don’t have anything else to offer. You’re a walking, talking, over glorified hard-on. That’s all you are good for. Your body. You have nothing in your head. Or your chest. And I’m pretty sure, after this, that you don’t have a soul. All you’re good for is screwing your way through life. You might be really good at it. You might have a reputation. A whole bunch of random, nameless chicks might think you’re something special, but I’ve known you your whole life and I’ll tell you right here and right now, you’re not. You’re just this empty thing that screws his way through life and doesn’t care who he steps all over and hurts in the process.”
“We had a deal,” Ross ground out. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me.”
“Right. Don’t worry. I’ll honor our stupid deal.” Alix whirled and walked away.
“How are you going to get home,” he called after her.
She flinched, glad that he couldn’t see her face or the tears that she couldn’t stop from stinging at the corners of her eyes. Her sinuses burned and her body was in complete and total disarray. Unfortunately, the aftershocks of those climaxes were still rolling through her veins, watering down the rage she needed to feel at the moment to protect herself.
“Not with you,” she flung back without turning around. “I’d rather take a ride straight to hell.”
He let her go. She walked part of the way home before she gave up and called a cab, since it was dark, and her parents would probably call the cops if she wasn’t back when she said she’d be.
She didn’t need a ride straight to hell. She was pretty sure she was already there.
CHAPTER 8
Ross
The problem most people have with life is that it’s straight up mostly shit.
One shit storm after another. One twisted curve and bend and unseen danger that blindsided a person just when they thought they were back on the straight and narrow with no roadblocks in sight.
It had been four days since he’d had his showdown with Alix in the alley. He didn’t understand her. Then again, he never understood women at all. He didn’t think he was alone in that. She’d asked him, no- made a deal with him- to kiss her. To take things a little further. He had. Way too far. He’d given her exactly what she’d pretty much forced him into, given it willingly, and obviously it was good for her, and she still yelled at him, flipped him off, and stormed away at the end of it all.
He couldn’t win. He couldn’t win the night of her prom and he couldn’t win now. Not when he’d tried to do the right thing. Not when he’d done the only thing she’d asked of him since then.
After he’d heard what was going on at home, he’d grabbed his keys, torn out of the house, stumbled into his car, and taken off, hoping that the adrenaline of the drive would actually fix things inside of him. It was stupid and he knew it. Of course, the drive didn’t help.
When he realized that he was actually a danger on the road and since it was dusk and hard to see- or maybe that was just the anger and fear blurring his vision, he’d pulled over near one of their old haunts. He and Chance used to come there all the time as teenagers, when they were old enough and finally got their license.
It was a part of town no one went to unless they specifically had a reason to be there and given that the warehouse and the ancient water tower had been abandoned for nearly two decades, no one had a reason to be there.
He’d been surprised that no one had bought the place. After the whole stock market thing turned him into a rich man, he’d done some digging, only to find out the real reason no one wanted to take a chance on it. It needed millions and millions of dollars of remediation. The warehouse had been an old factory, where they baked bread, and the giant ovens were coated in asbestos. It wasn’t dangerous until it was moved, but the cost to clean the whole thing up was astronomical. Then there was the whole leaning, rusty, shitty tower on the property. It stood up there like an afterthought and no amount of enquiries into the property could tell him why it was there in the first place.
It was ancient. The blue paint had faded into a rusted dull brown over the years and at present, it was almost completely that color. Any name that was emblazed across the face of the old behemoth was long gone.
The stairs up the side were still there. So was the dubious platform above, bordered by an even shadier railing.
Ross knew he wouldn’t fall to his death. He’d climbed those metal stairs probably a thousand times in his life. He glanced up once, the sun riding so low in the sky it had disappeared almost completely, blanketing everything below in a smudge of grey that would turn to an inky black soon. The warehouse had no lights and the properties around it, located in an ancient, industrial part of the city, were either also abandoned, in a state of stasis, or weren’t operational at night.
There were almost no lights. The bakery drew wayward, angsty people like a mecca for the broken and ruined. He wasn’t sure how many souls had called the place their place over the years. If the tower could talk, he wasn’t sure he’d want to know about the things it had seen. He and Chance used to drive up and sometimes they’d see the sweeping beams of flashlights coming from inside the factory, which looked more like a dilapidated brick heap than anything. They always peeled out of there fast. He had no doubt the place had been used for some sinister purposes over the past few decades, but most people who came probably
just wanted an escape from the world for a few hours.
The place wasn’t even known for having wild parties or squatters. At least not that he’d ever encountered or heard about. It was too far out in the middle of nowhere, and not worth most people’s time or energy to get out there. The special few that treasured it though… it was worth every single ounce of effort and minute out of their lives.
The metal was cool in his hand, though the day had been a scorcher. San Jose in June was the equivalent of stuffing yourself into a dry sauna during the day and the nights weren’t much better. AC’s and pools were a staple most people didn’t dare go without.
The tower groaned and shuddered as he climbed up to the platform, but it held fast, like it always had. It did have a definite lilt when looking at it from afar, but somehow, from up top, he’d never felt it.
He crested the top, grabbed the guard rail, and was ready to step over when he stopped dead. A shadowy form, willowy and lithe, was already huddled up, her back against the tower, her legs dangling through the railings. Her scent hit him, like the scent of fresh rain and flowers, like a punch right to the face.
Incredibly enough, she didn’t turn to stare at him. She didn’t seem to notice he was there at all.
Then her little, deep breaths reached him, and he realized she was sleeping. Sleeping on top of a water tower in the middle of freaking nowhere in the near pitch-black darkness. Alone. By herself. A tiny little slip of a woman who wouldn’t be able to defend herself against a house fly, let alone some big brute who could easily climb up and have their way with her.
Like he had in the alley.
Ross heaved himself over and when his rubber soled canvas shoes hit the platform, he made sure his entire weight was behind them. The entire tower seemed to groan when he came down.