Sing for Your Supper

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Sing for Your Supper Page 5

by Samms, Jaime


  The rushing blood thudded through my system, heating everything in its path.

  No. He doesn’t want you. You amuse him.

  The room was still warm, steamy, with an undercurrent of Jim’s cologne riding the heavy air. Through the door, I faintly heard music—a jangle of voice and drums with a steel guitar straining in the background. I hummed, imagining the words I knew but couldn’t hear, as I fiddled with the water temperature and shed my wet clothing. Naked under the spray, the relief of letting the warm water slide in rivulets down my stomach and back set my skin tingling. It wasn’t long before the tingle went deeper—mixed with the lingering scent of Jim’s presence and the memory of the towel, low on his hips—and I had a hard-on I couldn’t ignore this time.

  I was just smoothing the hair conditioner over my cock to ease my hand’s motion when the bathroom door opened. I froze, hand on cock, completely caught through the clear glass shower door with no place to hide.

  Perfect.

  “Forgot my watch.” Jim held it up with one hand and hooked the thumb of his other into the towel still circling his waist.

  “Kinda in the middle of something here.” There wasn’t much point in trying to make it something else.

  “So I see.” Instead of leaving, Jim closed the door again and leaned his lanky height against the shower doors, both hands gripping the top rail. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  That kind of attention on me should have made it impossible to continue. It didn’t. My hand moved almost on its own, guided by physical need for relief. No amount of not wanting to make a fool of myself was going to stop me. I slowly slid my fist up my cock and ran my thumb over the slit, unable to either hold in the gasp that induced, or resist the urge to stare at Jim and dare him to look away first.

  Water ran down into my eyes and I blinked it away, using the motion to sneak a peek lower. The strain against the towel at Jim’s groin was obvious. My breath caught.

  “You just going to stand out there and watch?”

  Jim didn’t say anything, but through my water-blurred vision, I saw his towel hit the floor. The next minute, the shower door slid open and Jim’s powerful body was pressing against my back, his thick cock worming into the crack of my ass.

  “Hand me the conditioner.”

  I gulped. “Just like that?” But I did reach for the bottle and hand it over my shoulder.

  “You want roses first?” Jim squeezed some of the conditioner into his hand and proceeded to smear it between my cheeks.

  “No.” I drew in a sharp breath at the first, quick penetration of one strong finger. “Fuck!”

  “Is that fuck for stop, or fuck for more?” Jim shoved in another finger and pulled me back against him. His fingers worked methodically in and out of my body, and I was pinned, helpless to do anything but take it.

  You asked for this.

  For a few minutes, I trembled against him, breathing hard, feeling the echo of Matt, not just where Jim’s fingers were, but all around us.

  “You just doing this because Matt was there first?”

  A third finger spread me further. I winced and gulped back a curse.

  “I should stop now. Leave you hanging. Teach you to be mouthy.”

  I wanted to lean forwards for leverage to push myself further onto those fingers, but Jim held me fast against his chest. My shoulder blades dug into his pecs, and the hair on his chest, rough against my back, just added to the tight grip of pleasure in my gut. Jim’s big, calloused hand roved down until fingers found a nipple.

  “Jesus. Fuck.” I moaned, not sure which sensation to lean into.

  “Again. Fuck for stop, or fuck for—”

  “It’s fuck for, do you keep condoms in your shower, and can you get to the good part any damn faster?”

  You’re insane. This is insane. Far beyond your usual slut factor. And a far cry from a branding iron.

  “What do you think I was doing in the bedroom?” He brought my hand back to his cock and I felt the thin layer of latex covering it.

  “Pretty sure of yourself.”

  Jim curled his fingers forwards and thrust them deep. “You could always tell me to fuck off.” His lips came close to my ear. “But I ain’t blind, and I ain’t dead. I saw you lookin’. Do you want it, or don’t you?”

  “Oh, shit, yeah. More.”

  “Bend over.”

  Before I could think too hard about it, I bent, pushing back until Jim’s fingers were buried to the last knuckle. If this abrupt action was any indication, I figured I could expect swift penetration and good hard fucking, and as soon as Jim’s fingers pulled out, I got both.

  I couldn’t help the tight gasp as Jim took me. It hurt, and I stiffened, but Jim’s big, rough hands smoothed, surprisingly gentle, over my back, chasing away the chill and goose bumps. He moved slowly at first, but his speed quickly built when I managed to relax into it and find the right counter-rhythm.

  “So much…” I wasn’t sure what. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so full, quite so dominated, or quite this eager to take it all. My own cock bobbed as Jim punished my body and I fumbled to take myself in hand. It took only a few strokes to bring me right to the edge and I squeezed down hard, not ready for the aggressive pounding to stop.

  Jim grunted and ploughed me, forcing me to brace a forearm on the shower wall to protect my head.

  “You like rough?”

  I like you.

  The sudden, dizzying realisation just about had me shooting despite my tight grip on my cock. Plenty of times I’d taken an equally vicious pounding from other men. None of that excited me the way Jim’s manhandling did, though. I should have been offended at the take-first-ask-later method, but then, I’d as much as advertised what I wanted all day, and I knew it. Besides, his hands on me weren’t exactly rough. He was strong, big. He held me where he wanted me, almost protectively, under the guise of taking, but making sure I was getting something too.

  “Yeah. Guess I do.”

  “Good.”

  If I thought Jim had been forceful a moment ago, it was nothing compared to this new, ferocious pounding, his hands on my hips, digging in and leaving bruises as he guided my movements, or the animal growl he let out.

  “Oh, shit.”

  I maybe should have asked for a definition of ‘rough’. Jim’s treatment skirted the edges of real pain and I needed both hands to keep from being rammed into the wall. I grunted, trying to find the breath and words to get him to slow down when he moaned, low and long, and pulled me upright against him. He rammed up into me, buried deep. His scratchy, stubbled cheek rubbed against my neck as he curled around me.

  His body shook as strong arms snaked about my waist and held tight. The heat of the shower had nothing on the searing touch of Jim enveloping me, melting me, inside and out. For a heartbeat, we stood, me up on my toes and held down on Jim’s cock, completely at his mercy. Then Jim thrust again, a short, sharp movement, in and out, accompanied by another low, inarticulate moan.

  “Oh, God.” I echoed his moan as that thick, heavy cock ran over my prostate. Goose bumps rose and I clenched my fingers tight on his forearms. “Do that again,” I pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

  Jim didn’t say a word as he rocked, his cock moving inside me just enough to nail the gland and make me whimper. It didn’t take long, especially once Jim’s hands started moving, caressing my stomach and teasing over my nipples. My orgasm came hard and without warning, ripping a groan from me and doubling me over.

  Jim caught us both from tumbling on our faces with a hand on the wall. He hung onto me with his other arm, waiting for me to get my wits back.

  “All right?” he asked as I finally straightened.

  “Yeah.”

  He pulled free, slipped the condom off and deftly tied it. He was silent as he turned into the water, letting it wash over his broad chest and plaster the curly dark hair down. His hands made lazy work of washing his cock in the stream, and I couldn’t take my eyes of the
spectacle. Even flaccid as it now was, it was impressive.

  It took a moment to realise I was also under scrutiny.

  “Was that too rough?” Jim asked, his voice a soft rumble under the sound of the water.

  He watched me, wary, still, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust my answer.

  I opted for truth. “Not quite.”

  “Did I hurt ya?” Concern snuck in behind the wariness, and two lines of worry fluted his forehead just between his brows.

  I smiled. “No. It was…intense. But good.”

  Jim nodded. “Good.” The furrows went a little deeper as he watched me, almost like the big man didn’t know what to do or say next.

  I let the smile widen and turned so I could close my eyes and stick my head under the spray. “Thought you were going to feed us.”

  “Uh. Yeah, right.” The shower door opened and Jim stepped out, leaving a cushion of empty air around me. “I’ll go get somethin’ on the stove.”

  “Good. I’m starved.” Which wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t keen on the whole abrupt nature of the encounter, but there was no point making the poor man stand there not knowing what to say. Sex was sex. Good sex was good sex. I wasn’t about to complain or hold him to anything. Except making sure he had a pillow for me to sit on for supper.

  Chapter Eight

  Out in the main room, dressed in loose jeans and a T-shirt, I went straight to the kitchen to lean on the counter and watch him pour a can of baked beans into a pot.

  “So I’m no chef,” he muttered. “Maybe the diner is more your style.”

  “Shut it.” Eyeing him, I moved over slightly, and turned down the high flame under the pot, took the spoon from his hand and set it aside.

  He turned his head to look at me, but didn’t relax the tense set of his body.

  “Ask.”

  “Ask what?”

  “Whatever you want to. About Matt, about whatever.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Jim reached for the spoon, but I moved it out of his reach. “Taylor…”

  “Yes, I slept with him. I needed to eat.” My face flushed hot. Jim didn’t look at me, but his fingers flexed on the handle of the pot, and a ripple of greater tension snaked through his muscles. “He was good to me, Jim. It was my idea but he didn’t use me any more than I used him. It was a onetime thing. We knew that going in. He didn’t ask me to stay, and I didn’t offer.”

  “I didn’t hire you to be a fuck toy,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “I know.” I risked touching him, laying a hand on his back. The muscles were rigid, hard as granite and I couldn’t help a little sigh. “I acted like a whore. Again.” I moved off to lean on the soft arm of his couch. “It won’t happen again.”

  My chest ached, but I forced the words out. I wanted him. He didn’t want me. It was too complicated, and for the first time, I couldn’t just let it go. He hadn’t approached with any more aplomb or promises than any other cowboy who wanted something from me, so what was the difference? In less than a day, it should be impossible that I care so much what he thought of me. But I did, and now, I had to sit across the table from him, choke down warmed beans and pretend none of it mattered.

  What the hell were you thinking, Matt? Sending me here. What the fuck were you thinking, Taylor? Letting him fuck you.

  Supper was awkward. We worked together to get the couch turned down quickly and in silence. Once I was settled, he disappeared into the bedroom, closed the door, and a second later, I heard the lock snick into place.

  Hollow me out with spoon, why don’t you?

  I lay on the lumpy mattress, physically aching and mentally exhausted, and stared at the criss-cross of rafters above.

  “Fuck me.”

  But then, they had, two guys in one day, and they obviously had something between them that I stepped in the middle of. I doubted I would be able to wash the stink off long enough to figure out what was going on.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but a shrill jangling woke me with a heart-stopping fright. I sat up as Jim came barrelling out of his room in just his boxers, and snatched a phone off a wall hook near the door.

  “What?” his sleep-gravelled voice rumbled through the room, shaking some of the sleep out of my head. It was still dark, but turning grey around the edges as dawn sneaked towards the horizon.

  “What the hell do you want?” That sounded more bear-like than sleepy.

  I curled my legs up to sit cross-legged and take some pressure off my back. Two nights on pull out couches was not helping after the manhandling in the shower, the hard work, and six months sleeping scrunched in my Jeep.

  “Hang on.” Jim turned to glare at me. “Onetime thing…” He jerked the phone at me. “It’s for you.”

  I got up, took the phone, and he stormed off to his room. The door slammed hard, shaking the walls behind him.

  “Geez, Taylor, I’m sorry.” Matt’s voice came apologetically over the line as I put the phone to my ear. “I guess something…I was right, huh?”

  “Right about what?”

  “Never mind. Listen, I called because someone stopped by the diner a few minutes ago. Tall guy, big, kind of… Anyway, he asked about you. I didn’t like the way he looked. I thought I should let you know.”

  “Brown hair and eyes? Nose a bit crooked?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Luke Driscoll.” A cold shiver left me numb. “What’d—”

  “I didn’t tell him where you were! God, you think I’d do that?”

  “No.” I eased my tight grip on the phone. “Was he alone?”

  “He came in alone, but I think there were a couple guys in his truck. What’d he do to you, Taylor?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Hey. You need help—”

  “I know. I know. Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone, but for a long time, just stood there. I’d hoped Luke wasn’t still looking for me, that maybe he’d given up at last. But I’d cost him his job, and ruined his rep. He was probably as hard up for work as I was. This was a worse feeling than the gritty barn floor under my head as he used me. At least that I knew would be over. Six months of not quite catching up was a long time for him to work up just how much he hated me. He’d been willing to hurt me before. What did he have in mind now?

  “So.” Jim’s voice from the doorway of his room made me jump. Every nerve-ending in my body jangled with tension, and I whirled around. “You’d better tell me what you’re not running from there, Jumpy.”

  “I—”

  “Matt seems to think it was worth helping you. He’s a good judge of these things.”

  “I can be out of your hair in a few minutes,” I mumbled. “No need for you to get involved.” I had the sudden desire to be anywhere but in that room, telling this man anything about Luke Driscoll or the gut-gnawing fear he inspired.

  “Like hell.” Jim crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him. “What do you think? I’m just the kind of guy who takes and doesn’t give a shit about how it affects people?”

  “N-no.” I knew my eyes went wide. I drew in deep breath after breath through my nose, trying desperately not to transfer everything I was feeling onto Jim. Just because he was big and brutish, because his eyes sparkled with anger didn’t make him anything like the man I was running from.

  He loosened his grip slightly, but didn’t let go. “Suit yourself. If this shit comes down on Matt, you’d better be ready to answer for that.” He didn’t quite push me away. “If you’re leaving, get the fuck out now. Otherwise, get your ass in the truck and get back to the barn, feed the horses and let them out. I’ll bring breakfast in a couple hours.”

  He took his truck keys and dropped them on the kitchen counter. “Coffee’s there.” One beefy finger jabbed the air in the direction of the dripping coffee pot, but he was already turning his back, headed for his room.

  I dr
essed quickly, stood, indecisive for a minute before snatching up the keys and heading to the truck. He’d offered to help, allowed me my privacy, and threatened me with bodily harm all in practically the same breath.

  And you still want what he gave you last night.

  I couldn’t deny it. And I now knew I was right about the tension around Matt. He had a strange way of showing he cared, but somehow, I knew he did. Whatever Matt was to him, he didn’t want the diner owner to come to harm, and I was suddenly very afraid that when Luke found out Matt had lied to him, that’s exactly what would happen.

  Halfway out the door, I stopped, went back to find a pen and scribbled a note on the pad of paper by the phone, telling him I’d gone into town to check on Matt. I had the sick feeling if I didn’t hurry, I’d be way too late to stop Luke taking out his frustration on him.

  Chapter Nine

  I recognised Luke’s Durango immediately, parked crookedly in front of the diner.

  “Shit!” I jumped out of Jim’s truck and ran for the front door. The glass pane of the main door was shattered all over the porch. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  The bell jangled loudly in the stillness as I flung the door open and rushed inside. Tables and chairs had been overturned and the counter flung back on its hinges. I headed for the back and the stairs leading up to Matt’s apartment.

  “Driscoll!” My voice rose an octave as I shouted, and a thump sounded just as I reached the stairs. I took them two at a time, my heart hammering, my throat closing. “Stop! I’m here. Leave him—”

  Words clogged in my throat at the sight that greeted me as I flung open the door of Matt’s apartment. The place was trashed. Matt himself was a heap on the floor, blood pouring down his swollen face. A low moan eased out of split lips, and his chest heaved shallowly, as though moving any more than that caused too much pain. Luke Driscoll stood over him, fist wrapped around the very same branding iron he’d threatened me with all those months ago.

  “Stop it, Luke.” I choked on the words, advancing to try and help Matt, but I didn’t get far. Two men I’d barely noticed nabbed me by both arms. Stupidly, I just stood there, staring down at Matt’s prone form.

 

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