“I’m not gonna hurt her, Sir. Ana’s about the best thing to happen to me in the last ten years.”
He swigs the remainder of his beer and leans in to set it down on the table behind me. “Just make sure you’re the best thing to happen to her, too. Ana doesn’t need you to be another decision she’ll regret.” He gives me a long hard look and strides away, over to his wife.
Fuck. He’s right. I’m not the best thing for Ana. I’m not even close. I’m just a kid who made some pretty fucked up decisions, who turned into a man who made even more fucked up decisions. The worst of which I did time for. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every waking minute since I got out working my arse off and trying to keep my tarnished record clean. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every second of my life since trying to be nothing like my father. I’m his flesh and blood and that alone makes me not good enough for her.
She deserves a man that went to uni to get a degree, someone who makes a killing and wears a monkey suit and comes home every night to their big fuck off house full of riches, not some dick who didn’t finish high school, works a job “the man” tells him to because his stupid-as-fuck decisions took away all his other options, and who can fit all his worldly possessions on the back of a motorbike, like me. Which then begs the question—what the fuck am I doing here?
I chug the remainder of my stubby and set it down alongside Bob’s. I’m outta here, I think, and head around to the alley where I left my bike. I don’t get much further than the side of the house before I hear Ana behind me. “Elijah, wait. Where are you going?”
“Home,” I reply without turning around, and then I laugh to myself, because the motel room where I sleep and store my overnight bag while I work is hardly a place to call home.
“Without saying goodbye?” It’s impossible to ignore the hurt in her voice. Fuck. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.”
“Which means?”
I stop walking, but stand with my back to her. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away. I’m drunk and acting like a complete tool and I can’t seem to make myself stop. “Forget it, Ana. Just go back to the party.”
“No! I want to know what he said to you.”
I whirl around and pin her to the brick wall. She startles, but doesn’t try to escape when my arms pen her in on either side. Her chest is heaving, those gorgeous tits are just inches from my hands, from my mouth, and suddenly all I can think about is rolling my tongue around her nipple and teasing it with my teeth. My cock jerks inside my jeans and I’m instantly hard.
“What is this?” I demand.
“What’s what?” Obviously Ana has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m guessing she has no idea why I’m so fucking mad about it either, but I don’t care. I want an answer to this question so badly that I feel it like an anvil on my chest. I’ve never been this tied in knots over a girl before and I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit.
“This shit between us, what the fuck is going on here?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re drunk.”
“Answer me.” I snap.
A crease forms between her brows. Fuck she’s hot when she’s mad. “Give me your keys. I’m not letting you drive home like this.”
“I’m fine.”
“No. You’re drunk and being an arsehole,” she says, holding out her hand. “Give them to me, or I’ll go searching for them.”
“Knock yourself out,” I say leaning back to allow her to frisk me.
She’s got this determined look on her face as she plunges her hand inside my pocket. I’m not wearing boxers on account of skipping my laundry tonight and the heat from her fingers on my cock as she skims my thin pocket lining is so hot I want more. She gasps when she realises that her hand is on my dick with only a thin piece of cotton separating us. “See what you do to me, Ana?”
“Sorry!” she blurts out, all high and breathy, and yanks her hand away like the damn thing just bit her. The pink in her cheeks is so delicious it makes me want to kiss her. So I do. I push her back against the wall and lean into her, claiming her mouth with my own, my hard on pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.
“Don’t be sorry, darlin’,” I whisper as I break away and trail kisses down her neck. “Just don’t stop touching it.”
I run my hand down the side of her hip and lift her leg until I’m pressed firmly against her and she has no other choice but to wrap her leg around my own. The space between our kisses is taken up with Ana’s breathy moans and my grunts as I thrust between her thighs.
My jeans are in the way and her dress is all crushed up between us. There’s too much material between my skin and hers, and yet neither of us seeks to move it out of the way. I just keep grinding into her as she moans my name and tilts her neck so my lips have easier access to her flesh. I know she must be uncomfortable in that position, thrust up against a brick wall with so much of her back exposed in that little sundress, my pelvis smashing into her so hard I can feel the folds of her pussy moulding to my cock, despite the fact that our clothes are in the way.
I know I must be hurting her with how hard I’m pushing, but I’m too selfish to stop. Instead, I run my hand along the back of her thigh and my fingers slip beneath her dress, beneath the barely there lace underwear and slide into her wet heat. She inhales sharply and exhales on a moan. Fuck. She’s so hot against me I feel like my skin might catch fire. I slide the pad of my thumb down into her wetness and circle it over her clit, smiling as I feel her body tremor. She’s so responsive to my touch. I flick my thumb back and forth, move my fingers faster once I hear her breath catch and her hips rock into the rhythm. She’s trembling and panting, so close to coming. The need to take her over the edge consumes me. I feel it like a kick to the gut, this desire to please her, own her, and be good enough for her.
It scares the shit outta me.
“Jesus, Ana, you’re so damn hot, I wanna bury myself inside you and live there,” I murmur against her ear and I feel her go instantly still. Seriously, she went from being seconds away from orgasm to being so still she’s not even breathing. My hand freezes. I look at her face. Her eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong? Where’d you go?”
“Uh … sorry, I think that beer kinda went to my head a bit.”
“So then, let it take you over the edge,” I say as I continue my assault with both my hands and mouth, but I know the second she puts her palms against my chest that the moment is gone.
“Just … give me a second? I haven’t …” she whispers, and I gently remove my hands from her body and take a step back. No fucking way. That’s not possible … Is it?
Is that why Holly warned me away? Because this walking wet dream of a woman is still a virgin? And here I am, dry humping her up against the side of her father’s house. Fuck! Ten minutes ago I was walking away from Ana Belle because I’m no good for her; now, that’s even truer than before, and yet I’d willingly give my left nut to be balls deep inside her.
“I gotta go.” I gotta get outta here before I fuck this up worse than I already have.
“Just like that?”
“Yeah, Ana, just like that.” I take off toward the alley again.
“Elijah.” I can hear the hurt in her voice but I block it out. She doesn’t follow me and I’m glad. I don’t know how many times I can stand to walk away from this girl before I crack.
Chapter Seven
Ana
“To being single.” Holly taps her plastic cup off of mine in a toast and downs the rest of her peach-flavoured wine cooler. I sit my cup back on the table without tasting it and sigh. Her toast would have been much more effectual if she didn’t immediately turn around and suck face with Red Hot Rob.
I’m not even sure why we call him that. I mean, his body is kinda nice to look at, but he has this long greasy hair that falls below his shoulder blades and the colouring of a ginger on an emo kick. Now that I think about it, it’s like Alice Cooper and Bon Jovi
had a love child. Either that or some terrible nineties rock clip threw up on him.
Wow, when did I turn into such a judgemental bitch?
The truth is, I know why I’m cataloguing all Red Hot Rob’s faults and staring daggers at my best friend, who is so drunk she’s having a hard time keeping Rob’s tongue in her mouth. The two are swapping spit outside their mouths and I think I may have just vomited a little bit in mine.
I mean, who does that?
And while I’m thinking of things that people don’t usually do—who the hell throws you up against a brick wall and kisses you senseless, not to mention the things he did with his hands, and then just walks away like it never happened? I should show up on his doorstep and demand he tell me what the hell he thought he was doing.
I’m so mad I don’t realise I’m even moving until I hear Holly shout, “Where are you going?”
I wave her off like it’s no big deal and stalk toward the garage. Two of Dad’s friends try to pull me aside, no doubt to lecture me on my sex life, but I shrug them off with a half-hearted line about needing to help the dragon with something inside. Once I clear the front of the house I dive into the garage, strap on my helmet and walk Bespa quietly out to the alley.
I don’t hop on and start the engine until I’m on Main Street. The truth is, I shouldn’t be driving. I’m pretty sure that first cup of wine cooler after Elijah left put me over the edge, but that was a good two hours ago and I haven’t touched a drop since.
I’m not drunk, I’m just angry, I tell myself, as I coast along Main Street toward the motel on the outskirts of town. I really didn’t think this thing through, I realise, as the wind batters my bare arms and legs and skates down my back. It’s late and oddly freezing for this time of year, but I chalk it up to the fact that I didn’t think to grab a jacket before I made my great escape, and wind-chill is a bitch. As if that’s not enough, I feel a fat drop of rain hit my back and I almost drive off the road.
I can see the motel looming up ahead, but it starts to pour down long before I pull Bespa into the gravel parking lot. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea which room Elijah is in. The Sugartown Motel has been here for years—almost as long as the Sugartown Mill. They built it for the single men who travelled to the mill for work but it mostly sits here with all the rooms unoccupied, unless the odd tourist spends the night instead of travelling through. Personally, I’d rather take my risks on the road, but that’s just me.
All of the rooms sit in darkness bar one, right at the end on the second floor. I duck beneath the awning and shake myself like a dog to rid my waterlogged dress from the rain, and then I take the steps two at a time until I’m standing before a green door with peeling paint and a number seven that’s been nailed on crooked.
Now that I’m staring at his door I think this probably wasn’t such a good idea. I’m freezing, my nipples are probably high-beaming through my dress and I more than likely have panda eyes. Okay, so no part of this plan was a good idea, but I raise my fist and pound on the door anyway. Several chips of paint flake off and fall onto the ragged looking welcome mat.
Elijah yanks back the door and takes me in with a bemused expression. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes. And, sweet baby Jesus, the tattoos are even more beautiful up close. God damn it! I’m supposed to be mad at him.
“Ana, what are you doing here?” He pokes his head through the door and checks the parking lot, probably worried I brought my dad and his biker friends along for an old-fashioned town pummelling. “Are you wet? Holy shit, did you ride here in the rain?”
“No. I freaking swam, Cade,” I hiss back. “Are you going to invite me in?”
He steps aside when he sees my angry, crazy panda eyes and I push past into the warmth of his motel room. The door slams behind me. “What are you doing here, Ana?”
“You left.” I accuse.
He squares his jaw and narrows those pretty chocolate eyes at me. “Yeah. I did.”
“You usually kiss girls and leave them without another word?”
“Sometimes.”
“So it’s not just me, then? Good to know.”
“What do you want, Ana?”
“A towel might be nice. And an explanation as to why you just left me there and ran.” Elijah clenches his jaw and saunters into the adjoining bathroom, then hands me a clean towel like he’s afraid he might catch something.
I begin patting myself down. When I finally reach my hair I glance in his direction, sort of like a prompt for him to answer my question. He scowls at me.
“Look, Ana, you’re a real sweet girl, but I’m working for your dad. I know he doesn’t like the thought of someone like me dating someone like you—”
“Who the hell cares what my Dad thinks?”
“I need this job.”
“What’s he gonna do, fire you?” I snap back incredulously.
“You’re a distraction. One I can’t afford.” A look passes over his face. It’s like he almost can’t believe he just admitted that. He doesn’t say anything else and that simple sentence stings more than I care to admit, and so when I realise there’s no budging him I put on my big girl knickers –metaphorically speaking, of course– and yank them up so he can no longer read the hurt that I’m certain is written all over my face.
“It was just a kiss, Elijah.”
He narrows his gaze, cants his head to the side and I know he doesn’t believe me. “Just a kiss? That so?”
I fold my arms over my chest and try to look indignant. “So.”
One corner of his mouth tilts up at the side and his certain gaze locks on my wavering one.
Crap, I think he was testing me.
Double crap, I’m pretty sure I just failed.
Elijah stalks closer. I take a nervous step back into the closed front door. Anyone else would be conscious of invading the delicate boundaries of acceptable personal space, but knowing that he has me cornered seems to make him really, very happy. He grins and pens me in with his arms pressed against the door.
What is with this guy and his blatant disregard for personal space?
“You wanna know what I think, Ana Belle?”
“Not really, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” I squeak.
He leans forward, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. This small, insignificant touch sends warmth flooding between my thighs and a shiver down my spine. He whispers, “I think you’re lying.”
“You can think whatever you like, but you’re wrong.”
“Am I?” He leans in until our lips are inches apart and the moment stretches out in front of us like the beginning of a warm summer day on the road. I breathe his breath, he breathes mine. Our eyes are locked, our bodies move into one another, and then, when his mouth meets mine, it’s like we both just come apart. I taste whiskey on his breath. Whiskey and need.
I don’t know if it’s the same for him, but for me, the whole world could slip away and I won’t care as long as Elijah never stops kissing me. His hands are no longer penning me in; they no longer have to. One digs into my hip through the thin, wet cotton of my dress, the other is tangled in the hair at the back of my head. His grip is strong; his frenzied mouth works at mine, so hard it almost hurts, but I kinda like that, too.
The assured way he holds me gives me the confidence to be as free with him as I want to be. Gone is the girl who hesitated as he pushed into me up against my house, and as I break away from him, lifting my dress over my head and letting it fall to the ground with a loud wet slap, I feel a freedom I never thought possible. Elijah’s Adam’s apple bobs as his gaze drifts over me from head to toe. The dress didn’t allow for a bra underneath so I’m standing before him in only a pair of lace knickers. I’m freezing and beginning to feel self-consciousness sneak back in. I wrap one arm around myself, but before I can cover up completely, Elijah takes my wrist and pulls me toward him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He wraps all six feet of hard muscle
around me. I feel smothered and small in his arms but I find I like that, too. Very much. He runs his mouth along my neck, across my jaw until my mouth meets his. With his hands he hoists me up and suddenly I’m weightless. I can feel the hardness and heat of him through his jeans and I’m more than a little afraid. I know this is going to hurt, but it’s not the physical pain I’m worried about, it’s knowing I’m going to want more afterward than he’s willing to give.
My breath catches in my throat and I press myself tighter against him so he won’t notice how much I’m shaking. Elijah doesn’t notice, though, he just walks us backward until his legs run into the bed and then there’s nowhere else for us to fall.
My breath leaves me in a rush as his weight settles on top of me. I’m running a mantra over and over in my head: Don’t chicken out, you want this, you want him. Though my hormones and my lady parts are certainly on board with handing Elijah my virginity on a silver platter, I don’t think my head agrees. It’s coming up with excuses as to why I have to flee from his motel room.
Maybe Elijah senses my hesitation, because he pulls back and glances at me with a bemused smile. I must look like a deer, caught in headlights. He opens his mouth and I think he's about to comment on how much I’m shaking, but instead he kisses the tip of my nose so gently I barley feel it. He eases his weight off of me, and I’m about to protest when his mouth glides over my collarbone and lower still, until he’s kissing my breast and taking my nipple in his mouth.
I arch against him. His calloused hand palms my other breast and then he’s trailing his lips over my tummy, licking and kissing his way down until his warm mouth covers me, underwear and all. Elijah shifts on the bed until he’s lying between my legs. His fingers curl beneath the waistband of my kickers and he peels them off, painfully slow, and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. I’m laid bare before him.
He slips a finger into my wetness and slides it up to my clitoris, circling gently. I want to tell him to stop, or to go faster, or to just wait a minute and let me breathe, but none of that is necessary because all at once his hands are replaced with his mouth and his tongue is gently laving at me. His arms border my thighs. His hands lie flat against my stomach with just a hint of pressure.
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