by Wynne Roman
“God.” I snuggle closer to him and rub my cheek against his chest. Some faint warning from far in the back of my mind cautions me away from such recklessness, but the alarm sounds too soft to stop me. I need the reassurance of Ajia’s presence, his body, if only for a little while.
“It was just a bad dream, kitten,” he repeats. “You’re okay. I’m here with you.”
A bad dream. A nightmare.
Breath heaves from me, and I try to blink away the tears. I can’t stop them completely and choke back a sob, fighting the sensation of Gabe grabbing me, touching me, forcing my head down toward his crotch. I’m not good enough, strong enough, and it won’t give me any peace.
I need something more. Something to make me forget.
I push myself against Ajia, not really meaning to or thinking or questioning what I’m doing. I just need to feel his closeness. Connect with something—someone—who can bind me to reality. To the world outside my nightmare.
I swallow and rub my cheek against Ajia’s chest again. It feels so warm and reassuring…and very naked. That, finally, draws my eyes open.
He’s half-sitting, half-kneeling on the bed, his arms tight around me and his skin smooth against my face. He’s never had much chest hair as far as I know, but I’ve never really been close enough to feel him. Not like this. His legs, one tucked under mine, are different altogether. They’re rough with hair, and in a blinding instant, I realize I’ve never felt them, either.
Is he naked?
“You wanna talk about it?”
Only that question can claim enough of my attention to let go of thoughts about his possible nudity.
“Ajia.” I sniff and can’t stop from snuggling closer again. “Hold me. Please?”
His arms tighten around me, hands smoothing up and down my back. I breathe deeply, greedy for any and every sensation that his touch produces.
“Sure, baby,” he says after a moment. “I’ve got you.” Then we’re moving. He shifts around until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard and me tucked against his side. He adjusts the covers, pulls them over us both, and tightens his arms around me once more. “There,” he says softly. “You’re safe.”
“Safe,” I murmur against his chest and sort of nod.
“Safe,” he agrees. “You okay, kitten?”
I breathe long and hard again, mostly as an excuse to take in every bit of sandalwood and Ajia’s own, personal scent. “I don’t know.”
“You wanna talk about it?” he tries again.
“No.” I shake my head. “Maybe. Yes?”
He strokes one hand over my hair. “It can’t be so bad. Tell me, baby. What happened?”
Fresh tears leak from the corners of my eyes. They’d mostly stopped, but now, facing it again, they’re back. I hate it. The tears, the feelings, everything it means. It all felt so real!
“God,” I sigh thickly. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“Hey, no reason for that. It’s okay. It was a dream. A pretty fucking bad one, seems like, but it can’t hurt you.”
“He. It was…Gabe.” At least that’s part of it.
Ajia stiffens until he feels like a living statue. “Your fucking stepfather.” It’s not a question.
“Yeah. He was the worst part. Acting all…pervy and disgusting.”
“He’s like a thousand miles away. Forget about him.”
I swallow. He’s right. “I know. But there was other stuff, really weird, you know? You were there. So was Knox. He was making out with some chick, Rye was playing the drums, and you, Zayne and Noah were judging a bunch of Barbies who were marching in pink bikinis.” It seems the safest—if dumbest—way to describe it.
Ajia blows out a soft laugh. “Sounds interesting.”
“You’d say that.” I sigh, trying to sound teasing, but it comes out more grumpy. Exactly like I feel. “I think you were head judge or something.”
He doesn’t say anything, and so I finally offer, “We were in the garage music room in Austin. I was on the couch, watching the Barbies parade around.” I can’t tell him what he said, or how I felt watching him kiss another girl. “Then Gabe was there, and he kept trying to force me to…ugh.” I shudder.
“What?” Can he sound any more concerned? Disgusted? “What did he want you to do, baby?”
“Suck him off.”
“Jesus.” Ajia’s arms tighten around me. Does he mean it as reassurance? Comfort? Or does he get the symbolism? Why my brain invented that crap in that location?
I don’t ask the questions aloud, or even try to answer them for myself. I just open my mouth to say…what? I have no idea. Then the rest of it comes tumbling out. “I kept yelling ‘no’ and calling for help. I called for you.” I don’t intend to make it sound like an accusation, but it kind of does. “Nobody came—y’all were just doing your thing with the other chicks—and then he…his dick—”
“Shh, baby. I’m sorry.” His embrace gentles into comforting, and I feel the press of his lips against the top of my head. “I’d never let Gabe hurt you like that. I promise you. No matter what.”
I swallow. I want to accept his declaration, to believe him, but the memory of betrayal—real and imagined—holds strong, like it’s new and real. “But you did. You didn’t care. You were busy. You…”
“What?”
“You were kissing another girl. One of the Barbies.”
Electricity crackles around us. I created it. I know I did, but I can’t quite figure how to make it go away.
“I told you I don’t kiss women. Not on the mouth.”
He sounds kind of desperate, but I can’t let it go. “You were, though. And it was…like you kissed me.”
“Bree…”
I tilt my head back far enough to find Ajia’s face through the darkness. The shadows still protect his expression, but I don’t need to see him to realize his struggle. We’ve already talked about it, and he’s pretty much hated those conversations.
“I don’t kiss on the mouth. Ever.”
“But…you kissed me.”
“Yeah. I fucking did.”
And just tonight?
“You mean a fuck of a lot more to me than some faceless groupie whose name I can’t even remember. I kissed you, for Christ’s sake. I don’t kiss anybody. Ever. I told you that.”
“You can’t deny it,” I insist because the words won’t stay inside. “You kissed me like you wanted to. Like you meant it. And being here with me, earlier tonight…” I hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. “You liked it. I know you did.”
I spread my fingers wide and trace them over the muscles of his abdomen and down farther, to the waistband of his boxers. So he isn’t naked. Disappointment pierces me. “I know you did,” I repeat, “because your body told me.”
“Oh, Jesus. Fucking. Christ.”
His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me from going any farther. I tug, his grip tightens, and my breath catches.
“You’re playing with fire, baby.”
“No,” I sigh. “I am fire. And you made me that way.”
CHAPTER 12
AJIA
This is not supposed to happen. I do not fucking mean to kiss her. I left her room to avoid it. Forced myself to go into Knox’s bedroom, tossing and turning until I could finally fall asleep, and then I heard her cries. Help! No! My name. That almost tore me to pieces. No idea what the fuck was happening. I was out of bed and down the hall before I had the thought to even move.
I don’t know what I expected, but not Bree thrashing around on the bed, caught in some nightmare. She was scared, heartbroken, desperate; I heard it all in her voice, saw it in the way she moved. And so I did the only thing I could: I took her in my arms.
It’s as right as it is wrong, and now I hold her tight against me, her mouth trapped by mine. Her lips are soft, her breath moist, and my tongue plunges forward to taste every bit of her. I angle my head to deepen the kis
s, and she offers herself to me without hesitating. Her tongue dances with mine, seeking and seducing and desiring, and a part of me knows I’m lost.
I should be scared to fucking death, but my brain’s too scrambled for that right now.
I do know that I shouldn’t be here with her like this. Been running from it since that night in Austin. It was what—only a couple of weeks ago? How the hell has everything changed since then? Better…and worse. Hearing her admit to her crush for me, even though I’ve known about it for a while now, changed things. Again. Seeing her as a woman. A living, breathing, very fucking desirable woman. And knowing how I’ve hurt her by being a douche with other chicks.
I can’t do it anymore. Can’t keep hurting her because I’m a goddamn coward. Can’t pretend that I don’t want her. Because I do.
Jesus, do I want her.
I kiss her again, take her mouth just like my cock wants to fit in her pussy. I don’t deserve her, but it doesn’t stop me this time. Been fighting that battle with myself for a while now, and doing a shit job of it. She’s the only one whose been a casualty in my half-assed struggle—well, her and any shred of decency I ever had—and I can’t keep doing it to her.
To us.
Maybe she deserves a hell of a lot better, but for some fucking reason, she wants me.
I won’t fuck her. Not tonight, and maybe not ever. She deserves better than me at my best, no matter what she thinks. But tonight, after I played stupid fucking games with some chick who meant nothing to me, I’m only gonna think about Bree. What she needs, what she deserves…what she wants.
Maybe I’m as fucked up as I think, but right now I don’t give a shit about that or the consequences. All the reasons why I’m a lousy choice for her. Right now, I want nothing more than to watch her come apart against my hands, my mouth.
I’m not really thinking about what I’m doing, but my hands are moving, my body right behind them. I turn so she’s pinned beneath me on the bed. Shoving my fingers through her hair, I push it away from her face and stroke the softness of her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. She moans, giving me the chance to slide my tongue up over the roof of her mouth, around her teeth, along her lips.
Her breasts arch against my chest, and her nipples poke me. I’m suddenly on fire, just like Bree claimed I did to her. I have to touch her, skin-to-skin.
I delay the moment, though. To tease her? Me? I cup her breast through the thin fabric of her tank top. She isn’t wearing a bra and fits against my hand like she was made for me. I scrape my palm over her peaked nipple and then move it in light, tight circles, keeping up the rhythm of palming her tits and teasing her nipples. She moans again, louder this time, and thrusts her chest forward.
I turn my hand, drag the backs of my fingers down her side until I reach the hem of her shirt. “I want to see you. Touch you,” I mutter against her mouth and trace my thumb over a patch of skin just above her panties.
“Yes.” It’s more breath than word.
Yeah, it’s dark in the room and I won’t be able to see much. I don’t care. That’s not the point.
I move my hand up, fingertips barely stroking her stomach, her waist, the underside of her breasts, and then her lush curves. Her shirt drags up with my wrist. The heavy shadows reveal only shades of gray, but they’re enough. “Jesus, baby. You’re beautiful. Who knew you were hiding tits like these?”
She pulls my hand to her perfectly formed breasts, pressing my palm against the crest. I love the message she’s sending and drag my thumb over her nipple, again and again. I take her mouth in another long, soul-stealing kiss, but it can’t last.
I need to taste her.
I drop my head to circle her other nipple with my tongue. Again and again. Bree gasps and arches her back, her tits pushing forward. I suck her into my mouth, teasing one nipple with my tongue and the other with my thumb.
She needs this. I need it. And more.
I slide down her body but keep my fingers on her breasts, playing with her nipples. She writhes against my hands, moaning soft encouragement. She’s sensitive there. I smile to myself, enjoying her sexy secret.
I kiss her body, mouth open and tongue seeking. I taste her stomach, push her panties down so I can get to her hips, her mound. “What’s this?” I lick her there, just above her pussy. “You’re bare.”
“I…” I hear her struggle for breath. “Waxed. Everything.”
“It’s sexy, you know that, right?” I drop kisses along the same path my tongue followed.
“I…” That breathiness again, maybe because I still play with her nipples. “Wanted to be…pretty.”
“Pretty?” I lick her again. “For me?”
“Yes! God, yes.”
Her hips flex, and I know what she wants. Same thing I want.
I slip farther down, neglecting the hard-on that doesn’t want to be ignored. Thank God I have my boxers on, because Mr. Johnson isn’t coming out to play. Not tonight.
It’s easy to think only about Bree when her legs part so willingly. I drag her panties off one leg so I can kneel between her thighs, kiss them, then drag my tongue down to her knees and back up. First one leg and then the other. She sighs and squirms against my mouth.
“You like that, baby?”
“Yes. Oh…yes.”
I do it again, stretch out with my legs behind me and shoulders spreading her thighs wide. I drop a light, teasing kiss right above her clit, and then drag my tongue flat from bottom to top. And again.
She keens a sharp cry of need. I recognize it perfectly, and so I keep doing it until even I’m crazy with need. Not for me but for her. I find the bud of her clit with the tip of my tongue, and she all but comes up off the bed.
“Oh, God! Ajia!”
I smile against her and do it again. “You like that, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes.” Her breath cracks on a half-laugh. “Jesus, are you kidding me?”
I do it once more, then take her gently in my mouth and suck, just a little. I’m not usually so careful with women, but this is Bree. I want it to be good for her. Better than any high school or college dudes who’re all about their own pleasure.
I suck again, lightly, and swirl my tongue around her clit. She gasps and then her hands shove into my hair. She holds me close against her, and her hips pick up a quick rhythm.
Jesus, she’s so sensitive! Never knew a girl to get so turned on so quick. It makes me smile, feel powerful and masculine, and I lick her again.
Her fingers clench in my hair, her hips flex, and I know she won’t last long. I shift so I can slide one finger inside her.
Jesus, she’s wet. And tight. More than any other girl I’ve known. Ever.
Bree groans low in her throat as I push my finger in and out. Carefully, I add another, scissoring both as I move them inside her. She holds still for a minute, but I keep soft pressure against her clit with my tongue and soon she moves with the lure of my hand.
“You’re so tight, baby.” I suck gently on her clit, plunge my fingers in and out. “So perfect.”
“Yes. Please.” Her hips thrust.
“Please what?” I tease.
“Please! You…know.” Her hips arch again.
“You wanna come?” I massage her clit with my tongue.
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Tell me.” I hold steady, not really sure how I can do it. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“Jesus, Ajia. Make me come! Please!”
Her hips move with demand, and I smile against her. I’ve always loved her honesty, and now I love that she asked for what she wanted. I move my hand faster, more urgently, and curl my fingers forward, seeking her sweet spot. I give up the soft, gentle tug on her clit and use my lips, my tongue, my teeth…my whole mouth to carry her forward.
“Ajia!” She squirms against my face, tightens her hands in my hair, and then she’s there. Her hips buck sharply, and I taste her release against my mouth, feel her pu
ssy tighten around my fingers.
Jesus. Having her come against my mouth, around my fingers, sends a shot of need straight to my cock. It’s better than I ever expected…and not enough. Nowhere near enough.
Never had a woman respond to me like that. As quick, as hot, come as hard.
Keeping my fingers moving, slower, I lick her through her orgasm. I peer up the length of her body as she shudders against me, her face relaxed with a heavy, satisfied smile. Grinning, I pull my fingers from her, lick each one, slow and careful and greedy. She can see me, and I work it. I want her to know how good she tastes.
I move back up, pull her in my arms and hold her close. She gives a little shudder now and then, a post-orgasmic reaction that satisfies me to the depths of my soul.
“You’re an oral sex girl, huh?” I ask with a contented smile.
She nods against my shoulder. “I guess I am,” she sighs.
“You ought to know by now, baby. Don’t tell me those college boys don’t know how to go down on a girl.” It bugs the shit out of me suddenly to imagine her with some other dude like that, but I don’t have any room to complain and I know it.
I’m a manwhore, after all.
She lifts a shoulder in a cute little shrug. “I don’t know. They might be pretty good at it. I just…haven’t done that with any of them.”
I push up on one elbow, smooth the backs of my fingers over her cheek. “Baby, you’ve got a beautiful pussy! Amazing responses. Those boys can’t tell that?”
“Well, I…”
“What?” I ask when she turns her face against my chest. Not crazy about reminding her of other guys, but I need her to know how beautiful she is. How sensual and desirable. How well she’s made for love.
I stroke my hand down her spine. It pulls her shirt down, and I hate to see her very fine tits covered up, but something has her uncomfortable. That’s more important.
“I haven’t…really—er…”
Her voice dies, and I kiss the top of her head. “Haven’t what, baby?”
“I haven’t been with any guy. Like that. Or…at all.”