It burns.
I’m not ready.
My body isn’t ready.
I haven’t been touched in eight months, except when the need was too much and I touched myself, which I wasn’t even very good at. It usually just left me even more frustrated.
“Pax, that hurts,” I cry out in pain.
He isn’t listening to me. He is pulling out and thrusting deep inside, over and over again. I can’t help the tears that spring from my eyes as he fists his hand in my hair and pushes into my body. Then he stills, groans, and I feel him fill my body with his release.
We haven’t talked about birth control, at all. He used condoms before he left. I had no reason to be on anything while he was gone, and I’m still not on anything. He could have just gotten me pregnant and I would have this memory, forever, as the way I conceived a child—no, thanks.
“That was good, babe, thanks.” He slaps my ass and pulls out of me.
I don’t move. I can’t.
I feel my shirt hit the counter next to my head. Finally, I stand up, against the protest of the screaming pained area between my legs, and I pull the shirt over my head. I look at the face of my handsome husband and my whole body shudders. He is blank. Blank face, blank eyes—freaking blank.
What happened to him over there?
What did this to him?
Eight months ago, he treated me like glass, like something so precious he couldn’t believe that he had me all to himself. Now, I don’t know what he’s treating me like, but I don’t like it—not at all.
“I’m gonna go out drinking with the guys. I’ll get some food while I’m out. Don’t wait up,” he says, his face impassive.
“Paxton,” I whisper, feeling his release slide down my thigh as my tears slide down my cheeks.
“Don’t nag me, all right? You got fucked. What else do you want?” I shake my head. I didn’t want what he just gave me, not today, and not ever.
“I never asked for that, Pax. You hurt me,” I whisper. Something flickers through his eyes before they become a blank mask again.
“Wasn’t good for you? You don’t like it? Maybe you should fucking leave then,” he growls and walks away, grabbing his bag before he leaves, slamming the front door.
I don’t know what just happened. I feel totally clueless, shocked, hurt, and upset.
I make my way to the bathroom and clean up, noticing the blood mixed with semen and crying a little bit more. I shower and slide into bed, forgetting the pedicure I had been giving myself; forgetting everything happy and good that I had planned for Paxton tomorrow.
I need a friend, but I can’t call anyone. There are people in the support group I could call, but they are all spouses of Paxton’s coworkers. I can’t tell them what he just did to me. Besides, I’m embarrassed.
I have nobody. Nobody but him.
I cry myself to sleep after taking a handful of ibuprofen, and hope for the first time since I met him that he won’t come home.
Several hours later, I’m awoken by a noise.
I look at my clock. It’s four in the morning. There’s a loud crash, and I bite my bottom lip before I hear his curse. My husband is home, apparently. I don’t know where he’s been for hours, and after his ill treatment of me earlier, I don’t really care.
I sit up and make my way down stairs to see him trying to walk up the staircase. He keeps stumbling backward; for every step he takes up, he stumbles down two more.
He is trashed.
I choke back the stupid tears that begin to form. I walk right up to him and tip my head back, wrap my arm around his waist, and proceed to help my drunk, asshole husband up the stairs.
“Cleo, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groans as I push his heavy ass through the bedroom door. I snort at his words.
“How did I get so goddamned lucky? Huh, baby?” I roll my eyes.
He sure didn’t seem like he felt lucky to have me earlier. I strip him down to his boxer briefs and push him into bed. Then I pull the comforter over him and slide in next to him, getting on my side—giving him my back.
“Cleo, baby,” he whispers.
I feel his fingers trailing up and down my arm. It is sweet, and I don’t like how just the simple move warms my heart. I want to hate him.
“You’re drunk. Go to sleep, Paxton,” I sigh. He groans and wraps his big hand around my waist, pulling my back toward his front.
“I missed you, baby,” he whispers as he nuzzles the back of my neck.
It is then that I allow myself to cry again. This is the Paxton that I know. He was always soft spoken toward me, sweet, loving, and caring. That man that showed up and hurt me? I don’t know him, and I don’t like him, not one bit.
He doesn’t push for more. In fact, his breathing evens out and I know when he is asleep before his arm on my waist becomes so heavy it pushes me a bit further into the mattress.
The next morning, male snoring wakes me up too freaking early. I have a hot arm wrapped around my waist still, and a hot body practically on top of me. I nudge Paxton a few times before he groans and flops onto his back.
“Fuck, what time is it?” he asks as I grab my cell phone and look at the time.
“Ten,” I grumble.
It isn’t as early as I had anticipated, but yesterday had been long and horrible. We lie in silence, no longer touching, and not even looking at each other. The ceiling is now suddenly fascinating to me.
“Cleo,” he whispers. I feel his hand slide up the inside of my leg and my entire body freezes.
When his fingers brush over my sensitive center, I whimper and flinch with pain. His hand stops and I feel his eyes on me, so I turn to look at him. His silver blue eyes are no longer cold but hold a bit of the warmth I remember.
“I hurt you that badly?” he whispers in horror.
I nod, unable to speak.
“Fuck, I-I’m sorry,” he murmurs. It is the most beautiful thing he has said to me since walking through that front door—which in itself is pathetic as hell.
“Why?” It is all I can choke out, but luckily he understands me. I know this because he got this far away look on his face.
“One of the guy’s wives left him while we were there. Had an affair. One guy’s fiancée left him because she couldn’t handle the distance. Four other guys’ long term girlfriends left them for the same reasons. We don’t really know each other, and fuck, I would die if you left me for some other guy,” he admits.
“So you wanted to push me away?” I guess.
We stay silent for a few more moments, and I reflect on what he’s just told me.
“I should leave you,” I mutter.
It’s true. I should leave him. The way he treated me last night, and then the way he came home drunk—I should be gone in the wind. There is something holding me back from that; maybe it is the fact that we aren’t just dating, we are married; maybe it’s because I’m an idiot; maybe it’s because I have nobody else in the world but him.
“I understand,” he whispers and he sounds pained.
“But I don’t think I can,” I admit.
Paxton lets out a heavy breath before I feel him roll on top of me. His blue eyes meet mine and hide nothing. He looks so scared, nervous, regretful, sad, and relieved all at the same time.
“I’ll make it up to you, baby. Fuck, I’m a fuckin’ bastard,” he mutters.
I could not disagree with his statement. Paxton’s lips lightly brush over mine, soft and gentle, then they slide down to my neck and collar bone.
“I want to apologize to my girl,” he murmurs against my collarbone.
I’ll let him apologize any way he wants to, when his lips are softly caressing my skin this way.
“I’m going to put my mouth and tongue on you, baby. Can you handle that, or will it hurt too much?” he asks as his lips kissed down the front of my shirt, making his way toward my breast. His lips pull my nipple in his mouth through the material, and I can’t hold back my groan. I arch my back in resp
onse, loving the way he feels against me.
“I think I can handle it,” I whisper as his hands pull my panties down my legs.
I feel his fingers caress my thighs as he lightly spreads them open and settles his big body between them. Slowly, his lips travel down my stomach, and I feel his nose nuzzle my belly button before he kisses my mound and then my clit.
“Paxton,” I gasp, my fingernails raking through his short, cropped dark hair.
He slowly slides his tongue over my core and apologizes with his mouth until I come all over him. My first real orgasm since he’s left me eight months ago. It is bliss. But it is also bittersweet all at the same time. I haven’t forgiven him, and I will never forget the way he used my body. I’m ready to move on, though. I know that it has something to do with what he’s seen or done while he was gone, and not a true representation of the man he is.
Hurdles happened in life, and this is just that. Gram taught me that. She taught me that people do stupid things, but they can feel regret and sorrow for them, so we must always look past the stupid things and into the heart of the person.
I fall asleep, thinking that is a new beginning. I can move on from yesterday, if this is the man I have for the future.
When I wake up later that afternoon, he’s gone.
Every trace of him is just—gone.
Cell phone number disconnected.
The only thing he left was a note.
I will only continue to hurt you baby. I can’t do that.
I love you too much.
Be Happy.
Paxton
That selfish bastard.
I cry until I can’t cry anymore. I stay holed up in our apartment for four weeks, until rent is due and I can’t pay it.
He never once tries to contact me in those four weeks.
So I have no other choice. I leave.
ROUGH & RECKLESS
A Notorious Devil Short Story
PART ONE
Grease stares at me.
It isn’t a stare so much as a glare. I don’t look away. I don’t shift my eyes or back down, even though the dude is one of the ugliest motherfuckers I have ever seen in my entire goddamn life.
“I need you to be protection for my sister,” he announces.
“Protection from what?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Some fucker ex is harassing her. He’s followed her to her car a few times, harassing her outside of her work. I need presence there,” he shrugs.
“Okay,” I mutter. Easy job. Way easier than some of the fucking shit jobs they usually make us do around here.
I’m a prospect for the motorcycle club, the Notorious Devils—the original chapter. It’s a big fuckin’ deal, and I’ll do whatever this ugly bastard wants me to so that I can earn my patch.
At twenty-two, I’m one of the oldest prospects waiting for my shot to patch-in. I wandered for a while after high school, trying my hand at college, then working, and finally this. This is where I was meant to be, with an entire family of brothers at my back.
“Ivy is off fucking limits; do you understand me?” he growls.
I almost laugh in his fuckin’ ugly as shit face, but I don’t. No way in fuck is his sister going to be anything I’d want to sink my cock into, not if she looks anything like him.
“Understood,” I grunt as I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“She works at Carlotta’s, off at three in the morning. I expect you there at two, and I expect you to escort her home, following behind her car on your bike until she’s inside of her place, starting tonight,” he instructs.
I nod my agreement then stand and turn to leave.
“Off fucking limits, prospect,” he growls before stomping away.
“You watching over Grease’s baby sister?” MadDog, the charter’s president, asks.
“Yeah,” I grunt, lifting my hand to rub the back of my neck.
“She’s feisty. Good luck with that one,” he chuckles.
I lift my chin as I walk away from him.
My assignment doesn’t start until two. I have a few hours, but I need to get out of this stuffy as shit clubhouse. I’ve been cooped up, cleaning up after these fuckin’ pigs since a big ass party they had a few days ago. Grunt work is a pain in the ass, but I know that the reward will be sweet once I’m patched in as a member.
I straddle my bike and start the engine, feeling her purr between my thighs before I take off into the pitch black night. Our clubhouse is in the middle of nowhere, between two towns, and about an hour away from the city.
Northern California is a gorgeous sight to see, day or night. Tonight, it’s fuckin’ epic. The air is crisp and clean. It smells like the trees that surround us and the lake that isn’t too far from here. Country living at its finest in the most beautiful part of the state. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
My bike hugs each curve as I wind down through the mountains toward my destination.
Carlotta’s is a little dessert place in the middle of the downtown area. It’s a hoppin’ little spot, especially during the summer and winter months when tourists come to our quaint area and pretend to be enamored by our little towns and villages.
There’s parking right in front, and I don’t hesitate to pull my bike into a vacant stall. I switch off the motor and stare into the shop’s front window.
It’s a cute little place, but nowhere I would go. They serve fancy ass desserts and coffees. My sisters and mom love it, and they’ve talked about it often; but seeing as I have a dick, I’ve never stepped foot in the place.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I breathe as I glance up at the motorcycle that’s just pulled up and parked right in front of the shop.
The man straddling it isn’t my brother, so I guess I should be grateful for that much. I can’t see his face, but he has a full beard, and he’s much thinner than my brother is—like half his size. My brother has a taste for food and he doesn’t shy away from it, ever.
My eyes drift to the stranger’s thighs, and I swear my belly clenches. I love thick thighs on a man. For whatever reason, I attribute that to his strength, and this guy has thighs that make me weak in the knees.
“Who’s that?” Carlotta of Carlotta’s, my boss and the owner of the shop, asks from behind me.
“Someone my brother knows,” I sigh, turning away from the rough biker that’s darkening our front parking area.
“What’s he doing here?” she asks, arching a brow.
Carlotta knows who my brother is. I love her for not judging me because of him, but I’ve also warned him to keep himself and his shit away from my place of business. I don’t want anything to do with their illegal bullshit of a gang. Oh, he’d be all over my ass if he knew that’s what I thought of his little group. In my head, I scream the word gang all day long in reference to their club.
“Adam has been bothering me, following me around. I think this is my brother’s way of protecting me or something,” I shrug.
“Could be worse. He could not give a shit,” Carlotta shrugs before she turns to head to the back.
I think about her words. Yeah, it could be worse. Barry could not give one shit about me. I’ve given him plenty of lip to wash his hands of me, but he hasn’t yet. Maybe it was some dying wish of my father’s, to keep me safe or something?
I chuckle to myself. Yeah, right.
The only thing my dad probably wished for on his deathbed was another shot of whiskey and maybe some nasty slut to be at his side.
For the next two hours, I try to ignore the man on the bike. I can feel his eyes scanning the window. I know he can’t really see anything but shapes through the tinted glass, but I can still feel his presence. Something calls me to him, and I try to shake the feeling. He’s definitely not the kind of man I need to be around.
“Go ahead and go home, girl,” Carlotta says from the back.
The shop is completely dead, and it’s only fifteen minutes until closing.
&
nbsp; “I’ll help clean up,” I shrug as I take a broom from the side of the counter and start to sweep.
“Seriously. Joey will be here any minute to get me; you can sweep up before we open tomorrow. Get out of here,” she urges.
I thank her and walk over to the counter, grabbing my purse before I remove my apron and hang it up. I walk over to the door and take a deep breath, unsure of who is waiting for me on the other side.
I would hope that my brother would send someone he trusts to protect me, but it’s Barry, so who knows. He’s always been a wildcard.
I watch the door open, fully prepared to see one ugly as shit chick—but that’s not who steps outside of the little dessert shop. The woman is tall, but her curves are plentiful. Fuck me, her tits alone make my mouth water. There’s way too much for me to look at. Waist, full hips, and her thighs—fuck, I could bury my face between them for hours. Everything about her is tempting. She was made to be fucked.
“So you’re who Barry sent, huh?” she asks. My eyes snap up to meet hers.
She’s gorgeous, with a round face and long honey colored hair. It looks soft as shit too.
“West,” I grunt, trying to keep my dick under control. It’s two seconds from finding its way out of my pants and inside of her cunt.
I stand and swing my leg over my bike, dismounting before I make my way to her side. She’s tall for a woman; but at six-foot-three, she still stands a head shorter than me.
“Where’s your car, babe?” I ask.
“Babe?” she scrunches her nose.
“Yeah,” I grunt.
“My name is Ivy,” she huffs as she starts to walk away from me.
I let her, not for any reason except wanting to watch her sweet ass move beneath her tight skirt.
“I’ll follow you home as well,” I announce as she unlocks her car.
It’s a little piece of shit Ford Focus, and I wonder what in the fuck Grease is doing. He’s obviously not taking care of his sister. I cringe when it sounds like metal scraping together as the engine starts. She needs a new ride and fuckin’ fast, winter is just around the corner and there’s no way in fuck this junk heap is going to last the harsh snow season that is on its way.
Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4) Page 27