by Maisey Yates
But she couldn’t reach him. He made it impossible. She could see that now. That he was somewhere deep inside of himself, behind the walls that he had built up around his soul. That he was more deeply protected than she had ever been. He was willing to come in and call himself all kinds of terrible things. Willing to take the brunt of everything.
But he wouldn’t open up. He wouldn’t let anyone in. Least of all her. Suddenly, she felt desperate. Desperate to break him open. Desperate to reach him.
“Don’t ask me what I need,” he said, obviously angry that she was.
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I ask you what you need? You’ve spent all this time taking care of me, coddling me like I was a baby bird.”
“Right. I treated you so gently all the times I forced my lust on you.”
“Right. All of that horrible oral sex and endless orgasms. You really are a monster.”
“Don’t wilfully misunderstand. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know what you mean. Better than you do.”
“Stop it, Rebecca. I didn’t want to have a fight with you. Especially not after what you went through today...”
“Don’t make it about me.” She was filled with anger now, fury, because she was starting to realize just what an illusion their time together had been. She felt like they had been opening themselves up to each other. She had felt like, because she knew so many of his secrets, she knew him too. But she had never reached him. Had never seen him. He was hiding behind his mission—this supposed mission to care for her—to atone for his sins.
He had walked into her life and changed everything. And he was determined to walk back out again exactly the same as he had appeared.
She didn’t want that. She wanted him just as destroyed and altered as she was. She wanted him to be irrevocably and completely changed by this. To be healed.
But she could see, even now, in the flat darkness of his eyes that he wasn’t going to accept it.
“You wanted to give me the store. You wanted to give me pleasure. You made me dinner. You went with me to see my mother. And still, you act like you have more to atone for. But I can’t continually offer you that without you giving me anything in return. It doesn’t work. One person can’t change while the other one stands there. One person can’t give endlessly.”
“Maybe in a relationship, but this isn’t really a relationship.”
His words hurt. They cut deep, even though they were true. Even though it was nothing more than what they had talked about.
“Well, you want to fix things. You want to make me happy. What if I told you I wanted more?”
“That won’t fix anything for you.”
“Right. Because you’re only going to do exactly what fits within your idea of how fixing me works. Only you can do it, and only for a limited time, because then you have to walk away. Because you’re so terrible.”
She was digging at him now, pressing against the wound, because it was the only way she was going to get a reaction out of him. She knew it.
“Rebecca...”
“Show me. You keep telling me what a terrible man you are, all while fixing me dinner and giving me amazing sex. Maybe it’s time you show me. Stop talking about how awful you are and give me some of it.”
“You don’t want that.”
“No,” she said, “you don’t want that. Because that would mean showing me something of yourself and you’re too afraid to do that. I’m not afraid of how terrible you are. You’re the one that’s afraid of it. I can handle it. I’m not weak. I never have been. And I’m tired of people treating me like I am. You were the one person that I thought understood. But now, I think you’re going out of your way to not understand. If I’m not the victim, where does that leave you?”
She found herself being hauled up against him, his hold hard, punishing. Borderline bruising. “This is what you want? You want to see me being terrible?”
“If it’s honest.”
“I don’t think you want my honesty, Rebecca.”
“Stop telling me what I want, Gage. I have never been the tragic waif sitting around waiting for you to come back and redeem her. Never. I had a life, and I had to live it the best way that I could. I’ve admitted that it wasn’t actually all that functional. But that had nothing to do with you either. That was all me. So I don’t need you to come in here and clean up all of my messes so you can ride out into the sunset feeling good about yourself, or bad about yourself still, or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
She reached up, grabbing hold of his chin, holding his face steady. “Show me what a selfish bastard you are.”
* * *
SHOW ME WHAT a selfish bastard you are.
Those words ignited something inside of him. Something that he had tried to keep repressed since he had first seen Rebecca. Hell, it was something he’d tried to keep repressed for the last seventeen years.
She was pushing. Because she thought that if she pushed hard enough she would find something good down underneath all that. She was pushing because she thought that she could heal him.
Everything in him rebelled at that thought. She was wrong. And if she wanted him to prove that, then he would.
“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m sure,” she said, her dark eyes burning into his. “Don’t you dare treat me like I’m broken. I’m not broken. I think I’ve proven that.”
She might not be broken now, but maybe she would be broken after this. Maybe they both would be. That thought made his chest tighten up, made him feel like someone had reached inside of him and grabbed hold of his heart.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone goading. “Do I scare you, Gage?” She slid her hands down his chest, her fingernails raking across the thin material of his T-shirt. “You’re such a big, bad man, but I’m the one that scares you.”
He grabbed hold of her wrist, holding her steady, staring her down. He said nothing, taking his other hand and working at his belt, then flicking open the button on his jeans, before tugging the zipper down.
“You want me to be selfish?” he asked. “You want to know what I want? The kind of thing that I fantasize about, that I want only for me? I want you down on your knees in front of me. I want to watch you take me into your pretty mouth before you suck me hard.”
The words hit him hard as iron, even while he felt sick in the pit of his stomach over what this had brought him to. Over what she had brought him to.
Her breath quickened, her breasts rising and falling with the movement, color high in her cheeks.
Tell me to go to hell, he pleaded silently.
If she walked out the door, away from this, away from him, it would give him time to get a hold of himself. To get a grip on his control. Right now, if she stayed, there would be no going back. He couldn’t treat her the way that he wanted to, he couldn’t treat her the way that he needed to.
But she didn’t.
Slowly, Rebecca sank down to her knees in front of him. She leaned forward, her chestnut hair cascading over her face in a glossy curtain, hiding her from him. Then, her delicate fingers found him inside of his underwear, wrapping around his aching cock, squeezing him tight.
Sweet, slick heat consumed him as she flicked the edge of her tongue along the hard ridge of his shaft.
He grabbed hold of her hair, using it as an anchor, pulling it away from her face so that he could watch exactly what she was doing. She looked up at him, a challenge visible deep in those dark eyes.
She tasted him slowly, without skill, moving her tongue from the head of his dick all the way down to the base, then back up again.
“Stop,” he said, the word a hard command.
She did, her gaze watchful, waiting for the next order.
“If this is for me,” he said, “then take your top off. Let me see you.”
He let go of her hair for a moment, waiting for her to make the next move. She rocked back slightly, grabbing hold of her T-shirt and yanking it over her head, then unh
ooking her bra and sending it flying across the room.
She placed her hands in her lap, sitting in front of him wearing her jeans and nothing else. He was completely transfixed by the sight of her. By her perfectly formed breasts, that beautiful golden skin.
Selfish. She wanted him to be selfish? She wanted him to be terrible? It would never end. It was a well inside of him, deep and yawning, never satisfied because he never allowed himself to replenish it.
Never allowed himself to admit just how much he needed something like this. How much he needed another person.
For seventeen years he had walked through life without forging any deep connections. Staying one step ahead of the howling demon inside of him that was so desperate, so lonely, if he ever let it catch up to him it would consume him completely.
It had caught up to him now in a raging torrent of need, a dark beast that had sunk its teeth deep into his throat, shaking hard.
He reached out, wrapping her long hair around his fist, drawing her face back forward toward him.
She pressed her hands against his thighs, parting her lips and taking him in, a sweet, shallow tasting that was reflective of her inexperience.
The best part about a blow job in Gage’s estimation was the anonymity. It was easy to close his eyes and feel. It allowed him to detach completely from what was happening. At least, that was how it had been in every other situation.
It was impossible to pretend that this was anyone other than Rebecca. And he didn’t even want to. He wanted it to be her, down on her knees in front of him, making him feel like this. Need burned inside of him, hot and reckless. And he couldn’t see an end to it. He wanted more. More and more, and he didn’t think it could ever be satisfied. The deeper she took him, the slicker the slide of her hot, unpracticed tongue, the more that he wanted.
He laced his fingers through her hair, holding her tightly as she continued to torture him. He could stay like this forever. It still wouldn’t be enough.
Need consumed him, suffused him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been desperate for another person. Not just for their touch, not just for sexual completion, but for them. Never. It had never happened.
But he was desperate for her, needed her, the wall of stone he had placed in front of his soul cracking open, dark, messy need pouring out all around them.
She wrapped her hand around the base of him, sliding her tongue up his length, her eyes meeting his, a shot of heat and pleasure shooting down his spine, gathering at the base, tension gathering low and hard inside of him.
“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Rebecca, not like that.”
“Why?” she asked, her face flushed, her eyes glittering with pleasure. “Because then you’ll have to admit that I get pleasure just from being with you. Not your hands, not your... Not your cock, not your mouth. Just you? That you’re the one that turns me on? That you’re the one I want?”
Her words washed over him like a wave, leaving devastation in their wake. Every soft, delicate truth that spilled from her tongue moving mountains inside of him.
Right now, she was more than a woman. She contained a tsunami, and she possessed the ability to destroy everything that he was.
Still, he didn’t pull away.
“No,” he said, his voice rough, hauling her up to her feet. “Because then I wouldn’t be inside you when I came.”
Her mouth dropped open, the color in her cheeks higher, shock, desire darkening her eyes. “Did I shock you?” he asked. “Does it surprise you to know how much I want to be buried in you? To feel you all around me?” He turned his head, pressing his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, the soft scent of hay, soap and Rebecca. “Do you want me? Do you really?”
It had started out as a game. A game to see if he could make her cheeks turn a brighter color, to see if he could shock her. But now, now he just needed her to say it. He needed it more than he needed his next breath.
The challenge of her last words echoed through him. She was right. He was afraid to admit it. But he needed to hear it. That she wanted him. That she wanted this.
More than that, that she needed this.
That he was more than an antivenin. More than just an antibody of the same poison that had brought about her wounds in the first place.
That this woman, this strong, beautiful woman wanted him. That when he left here, she would still think of him. That she would burn for him. That part of her would always wait for him to come back.
You bastard, that’s the last thing you should want. You should want her to forget you.
Why?
It was the first time he had ever questioned why. Why he felt like he had to leave. Why he was so comfortable being the villain.
If I’m not the victim, where does that leave you?
He pushed all of that out of his mind, picking Rebecca up and carrying her up the stairs, holding her so close that he knew she could feel his raging heartbeat.
He deposited her onto the center of the bed, his blood a slow burn that he knew would catch fire the moment he touched her again. He stood back, pulling his shirt up over his head, standing before her with his jeans open, the evidence of how much he wanted her obvious, thanks to the steel jut of his cock, begging for her touch again.
He was so hard it hurt. That need, that specific, all-consuming need nearly undoing him completely. “Tell me you want me,” he said, the words coming out low and rough, completely without his permission.
It was Rebecca’s turn to take off her remaining clothes, to lay down on the bed and spread herself before him like a carnal buffet. “You first,” she said, soft words shot through with iron.
“I want you,” he said, shoving his jeans and underwear down and leaving them on the floor.
He moved to the bed, kneeling in front of her, his hands shaking as he placed his palms against her thighs, stroking her up to her hips, holding her tight as he looked into her eyes. “You. I want you.”
“Why?” she asked.
Because I need you.
But he didn’t say that. “Because you’re beautiful.”
“No. If it was all about being beautiful, then you would have someone else. Why do you want me?”
A shiver worked its way down his spine, evidence of frustrated desire, he told himself. Because he didn’t want to know what else it could be. “Because you’re strong. Because you can take me, and I don’t think anyone else can.”
Those words came from deeper in his soul than he would’ve liked, cut closer to the bone than he had intended.
“Then give it all to me,” she said, grabbing hold of his shoulders, urging him up. “Give it to me.”
He moved, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of her face, leaning down so that his lips were a breath away from hers. “Tell me you want this.”
“I don’t want this,” she said.
The spike of pain that stabbed his chest took his breath away. Then Rebecca grabbed hold of his chin, holding his face steady. “I don’t want sex or experience, I don’t want the orgasms I was deprived of over the years. I want you. I want you, Gage West. So deep inside of me I can barely breathe.”
He growled, reaching over to the nightstand, quickly procuring a condom and rolling it onto his length. Then he pressed against her slick, tight entrance, his muscles tensing as he thrust home, desperate to be inside of her. Surrounded by her. To give her what she said she wanted.
To give himself what he knew he needed.
He let every word, every worry, every truth, burn into bright light. Nothing in his mind but the white-hot burn of pleasure. He pushed it all away, held it at bay. Because as close as he had been to losing it before he had joined his body to hers, it would send him over the edge now.
So he let this consume him. The feel of her, the scent of her. Delicate fingertip sliding down his back, soft, feminine sounds of pleasure, the way that her thighs parted just for him. The way that he fit there, not comfortably. Nothing about this co
uld ever be called comfortable. It was too much. Too hot, too tight. But it was the only thing he wanted.
She was the only thing he wanted.
It wasn’t perfect, sweet satisfaction and it never would be. It cut too deep for that. It hurt too much.
Fingernails dug into his skin, her internal muscles tightening around him as she found her own release. And he was powerless to fight against that. He could do nothing but surrender. The sharp edge of his orgasm stabbed deep like a knife, stealing his breath, making it impossible for him to do anything but hold on to her while a bomb burst inside of him.
It left everything in him ruined, devastated, the jagged bits of his release biting into him, leaving their mark, burying themselves so deep he knew they would be there forever.
He would never be the same. Rebecca Bear had left scars on his soul that would never go away.
He pressed his head down, resting his forehead on her shoulder. She stroked his face, his back, his arms, touching him everywhere she could reach. As if, even after that she wasn’t satisfied.
He felt the same thing. The dark, devastating sense of dissatisfaction even as he lay there replete, barely able to move. It was terrifying. Overwhelming. Enough to make a grown man want to turn tail and run.
“Gage,” she said, the word splintered. “Gage, I love you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
REBECCA COULDN’T QUITE believe that she had spoken the words out loud. She couldn’t quite believe that they were true. And yet she had, and they were.
She was still digesting that when Gage moved away from her, like she was a snake who had just struck at him.
“I’m going to ignore that,” he said, his voice rough. He started hunting around, for his clothes presumably. As though he were desperate to put some layers between them.
And after all that, she wasn’t particularly surprised. That was the most open he’d been. The most honest. It was there, not just in his words, but in the way his hands shook when he had touched her.