With that, he climbed on, waited for me, and we took off.
"I want you to stay here," he said as soon as we were in the door, me shivering against the warm air thawing my frozen body. "When I'm gone," he clarified. "There's plenty of food. I'll reverse the lock again and give you a key. You can come and go as you please, but I'd like you to stay here."
I wanted to ask why.
I wanted to know if it was because he maybe didn't trust me back in my old life, back with my old habits.
Or if maybe he just wanted me there because he liked having me around, he liked the idea of coming home to me.
I didn't ask though. Partly because I didn't want to get into an argument if it was the former or look needy and pathetic if it wasn't the latter either.
Instead, I just gave him a smile and said, "Okay."
"Okay?" he repeated, giving me what I could only call a wicked look as he moved across the room toward me, the action almost primal and I instinctively moved back a step until the wall behind me prevented any further retreat. "Would it be too much to ask that you be naked the whole time?" he asked, only stopping when the lower half of his body was pressing me against the wall and I had to crane my neck up to look at him. Seeing the barely-controlled heat in his eyes, desire coursed through my system, making my breath get heavy, my breasts swell, my sex tighten. "Won't be able to see you, but it might help the long days on the road," he added with a smirk.
I swallowed hard past the sudden dryness in my mouth. "How about I keep my clothes on and when you get back, you can peel them off me?"
His eyes got even more heated as the smile spread wider. "I think I like your plan better," he said, hand raising, fingers grazing over my cheekbone and then gently down the column of my neck and around to settle at the base of my skull.
Sweet.
Gentle.
So I had no way to anticipate that the next second, his hand would curl in hard and yank me toward him as his head lowered and his lips crashed into mine. Crashed. There was no other way to describe it. His lips bruised into mine as he angled my head back to give himself a better position as he devoured me. His teeth bit my lower lip hard enough to drag a whimper from somewhere deep within my chest, giving him the access he needed for his tongue to slip inside and claim mine.
His knee pressed hard between my legs until they had no choice but to spread slightly and allow the invasion, his thigh sliding up and crushing my pelvis against the wall- his cock pressing hard into my belly, making it clear he was just as affected as I was in that moment- just as consumed in me as I was in him.
My arms went up and around his neck, connecting us fully, my breasts pressing into his chest, the nipples at tightened peaks of desire, making him let out a rumbling noise in his chest as he dropped his hips slightly so his cock pressed me where I needed him most, dragging a ragged moan out of my throat as I shamelessly moved against him, needing relief from the clawing desire in my core.
Lazarus' hands went around me and moved slowly down my back, sinking in hard to my ass and pulling up until I was on my tiptoes and then off my feet completely, making my legs move up and curl around his hips as he deepened the kiss and started moving toward the bedroom.
He turned us, him lowering down at the foot of the bed with my straddling him, finally releasing my lips- leaving them feeling swollen and tingly and oversensitive as his lips moved over my jaw then down the side of my neck. My head fell back, giving him better access as his stubble scraped, his lips kissed and sucked, and his tongue licked until I was beyond restraint, my hips grinding against him, begging for release.
His hands moved off my ass, sliding to my hips and snagging the heavy sweatshirt- slowly hauling it upward, making me raise my hands over my head so he could discard it to the floor.
There wasn't even a hesitation after it was gone before his hands closed over the swells of my breasts through the thin material of my dress, squeezing tight before rubbing his thumbs over the hardened points. His head ducked suddenly and sucked one into his mouth through the fabric as his other fingers grabbed my other nipple and pinched hard, making my entire body jolt and an almost embarrassingly loud moan escape me.
His other hand moved to grab the bodice of my dress and yank it down beneath my breasts, his mouth closing over my other nipple with no barrier, making my hands curl into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescent-shaped bruises.
Sensing the need for relief, that the desire was no longer bordering on, but had taken a genuine turn toward painful, his hand slid down my side, back over my ass, then inward, pressing between my thighs and stroking over my clit. My forehead fell into his shoulder on a moan as a shudder coursed through me.
It had been so, so long since I had felt anything good, anything to completely take away the dark and ugly in my life- the reappearance of it was completely overpowering as he kept licking and sucking my nipples, as he kept moving over my clit with the precision of someone who knew exactly when to pull away to prevent an orgasm.
By the time he had prevented three, I was beyond reason, beyond any control over my body that was rigid and trembling slightly with the need for release.
Lazarus stood suddenly, lowering me down on the bed, pressing my thighs open, and lowering down onto his knees before me. His hand yanked my panties to the side and his lips were on me, sucking my clit hard before his tongue moved out to stroke over it in fast, unrelenting circles. My hips rose. My hand held the back of his neck to me, refusing to let him deny me again. But it wasn't necessary because he seemed to have no intention of doing that again as one of his fingers moved in and slid inside me, thrusting as wildly as his tongue was working me. Another finger joined, then both turned and raked over the top wall, searching and finding my G-spot just seconds before the orgasm ripped violently through my system.
My back arched, my thighs tensed, my hand crushed into his neck, and the waves just kept coursing through me, making his name scream out from between my lips as he worked me through it, dragged it out, made it as intense as possible.
Spent, my hand lessened its hold and Lazarus pushed up as his fingers slid out of me. My panties barely had a moment to fall into place before he was snagging them and dragging them down my strangely weighted legs. As soon as they were discarded, his hands went to my dress around my hips and started inching it up, his lips pressing into the skin as he exposed it up my belly, between my breasts. He sat up, pulling the material free, sitting back on his ankles over me afterward, looking down at me with heavy eyes, the hunger there making another impossible surge of need start to swell in my lower stomach.
I planted my hands and pushed my sated body upward toward him, my hands going to his hips and bunching up the material of his tee as my eyes stayed on his until I couldn't reach any higher and he had to take control and discard the shirt on the floor with my dress. Then, I couldn't keep eye-contact. My gaze lowered over his strong chest. My hand went out, stroking over the scars on his chest then down his stomach, watching the muscles contract at the contact. There were fresh bruises from the fight- strong blue and purple in stark contrast to his tan skin. My fingertip found the smooth spot of his large scar, tracing it downward for a long minute. Following a strange urge, I leaned forward and kissed it before my hands went toward the waist of his pants and worked the button and zip.
I reached in, snagging the waistband of his boxer briefs as well and pulling them down as far as the position would allow. His cock was hard and straining and way, way too tempting.
My head ducked.
My tongue swiped.
And I took him inside, sucking him deep as his breath hissed out of his mouth and his hand slammed down hard on my head, curling slightly into my hair and tugging until I angled my head up to look up at him.
"Fuck," he growled, eyes half-closed.
That was all the encouragement I needed.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no worry if I was going to make him come before I could feel him inside me
. I needed him to feel even half as good as he made me feel.
"Fuck, okay," he said, breathing hard, yanking my hair until his cock slid out of my mouth. "You have a sweet mouth, honey, but I've hardly been able to think of anything but being inside you. I'm not going to ruin that opportunity," he said, finger stroking down my jaw before he started scooting up the bed, making me move backward until I was against the pillows.
He came over me, his chest crushing into mine, his thighs pressing mine apart so his cock pressed against my slick cleft. His hand slid down my outer thigh until he reached my knee, grabbing it and pulling it up around his waist, giving him better access as he rocked against me, watching my face as he did so, eyes hot enough to burn as my whimpers became moans as he stoked the desire back up to where it had been before he had given me release.
He leaned down, taking my lips again- softer, sweet, unexpectedly heart-melting as his weight shifted so he could reach for the nightstand.
I was vaguely aware of the drawer opening and closing and the crinkle of a condom foil, but was too busy demanding more- harder, rougher from his mouth as he stubbornly kept things slow and loving.
My hips rocked with him for a long couple of minutes before he finally pushed up to protect us, eyes watching me.
He made a move for the bed again but when I reached for him, he moved off to my side, laying on his side facing me, reaching to pull me onto my side facing him as well.
His hand landed on my neck and whispered gently down my arm, my side, my hip, my thigh, snagging my knee again and bringing it up over his hip, letting his cock press against me again.
But he wasn't teasing me.
It wasn't foreplay.
His cock moved down me until I could feel the head pressing against the entrance to my body- just a still, firm pressure there that had my arm going around his back, my nails digging in, my hips trying to sink down. But he had control of my thigh and wouldn't allow it as he watched me for a long minute, eyes unreadable.
My lips parted to ask what was wrong.
And then he slammed deep.
A shocked moan escaped me, making his smile spread slow and lazy, enjoying the torment, eating up my reactions to what he was doing to me.
I didn't know what to expect from him, finding him rough one moment and soft the next. So when he pulled out of me, my body tensed, trying to hold onto him. But when all that was left inside me was the head, he paused, then slammed back inside.
Not fast, but hard.
And that was how he fucked me- hard, deliberate, eyes intense, hands crushing into my soft curves as he drove me up fast, as he didn't even pause when pushing me over the edge, making me crash into an orgasm that had me screaming out loud enough to wake the neighbors in the whole building.
"Oh my God. Oh my God," I whimpered into his chest, struggling to find my breath and failing completely.
But I barely had time to draw one strong breath before he was grabbing me and rolling onto his back, pulling me onto him, and thrusting up into me.
Not hard, but fast.
I buried my face in his neck as he fucked me. There was hardly even a break in between moans- the whimpers becoming like one long, frantic, needy sound that I had never heard myself make before.
"Bethany," he barked, the sound more of a demand than anything, making me grumble as I pushed up on shaky arms, looking down at him. "I want to watch you come," he explained, one hand going to frame the side of my face as his other went behind my head, tracked up the back of my neck, sank into my hair, and yanked.
"I can't," I said, shaking my head.
Three in a row was just asking too much.
"You're going to," he said, voice a rough growling sound. His jaw was tight, his eyes fierce, his body tense.
He was barely holding onto control.
And somehow, that was possibly the hottest thing I had ever seen.
"There you go," he said, sensing the shift and taking advantage of it, his hand leaving my jaw as his other hand yanked so hard that I had no choice but to move backward to ease the delicious pain/pleasure sting. I realized as soon as my hands were flat on the mattress, our bodies more disconnected, that that was his intention as his free hand moved out, cupping my breast for a second before pinching the nipple and moving down my belly to work my clit.
Minutes.
He proved me wrong in a few incredibly short minutes.
My walls tightened as I whimpered.
"That's it," he growled, yanking my hair harder, fucking me faster, working my clit in more firm circles.
And I freaking... shattered.
It was the only way to describe the orgasm that seemed to start where our bodies met and exploded outward until it took over every part of me, until I was nothing but fragments in the aftermath.
I would have collapsed, convinced in doing so, I would literally splinter apart at impact, but Lazarus' hand in my hair held me upward as he slammed deep and cursed out my name, a tremble moving through his body as he came.
He released my hair then and I fell onto his chest, letting out a choked sound that sounded oddly similar to a cry as his hands wrapped me up, holding me so tight that, were I even capable of breathing, I wouldn't have been able to.
"I've been thinking about this since pretty much the first fucking night- mess or not," he said, arms loosening so his hands could trace gently over the skin of my back and behind. "Not one fucking situation I could come up with was even half as good as that was," he told me, easily, no hesitation, no worry about being too forthcoming.
I felt my heart squeeze at that and realized maybe for the first time exactly how much trouble I was in.
Because he was in.
He was under the walls and shields I put around myself.
He had proven himself to be good- bone deep good. The kind of guy who could see your potential even as you were throwing up and shaking and sweating and miserable. He was the kind of guy who didn't see all my dark and twisted and screwed up and think it made me ugly. Instead, he thought it made me interesting.
Find a man who buys the half-dilapidated fixer-upper, my mother told me one of those nights when her body was failing her, when her airway was making it hard to breathe, let alone speak, and not the guy who buys the brand new model. The guy who can see potential and is willing to roll up his sleeves and get to work and make it the best it can possibly be, who will love discovering all the hidden gems hidden inside, all the history, all the layers, that's the kind of man you want to settle down with; not the guy who only sees the pretty, the perfect. Because one day, that pretty and perfect will need work. And he won't want to do that. He will just move on to the newer and prettier.
Lazarus had an apartment in the shittiest building in the area. And maybe when he first moved to town, it was all he could afford. But that was no longer the case. Yet he didn't say fuck it and move on. He rolled up his sleeves and he got to work. He sweat and bled and cursed and put himself into it. He made it as good as it could be.
He was also someone who saw me face down in an alley overdosing and didn't call the cops and have me taken away, didn't wash his hands of me as soon as he was sure I wasn't dying.
He saw potential in me.
As someone who had stopped even seeing it in herself half a year before, that really penetrated; it got right through my layers of protection.
He didn't just see all the damage and think- No thanks. Been there, done that. Don't need the drama.
He saw what I could be, what I used to be, what I could be again with a little commitment, with a little sleeve-rolling and time and commitment to the end result.
It was a truly terrifying realization.
And not just because it meant he mattered, that he had the potential to truly hurt me like I had never let anyone hurt me before.
It was because if this kept on the same path, it meant my success and my failures would be his as well. It meant that for the first time since my mother passed, there was the potential for
disappointing someone other than myself with my actions.
I could, whether I meant to or not, hurt him.
As someone who had constantly ended things a bit abruptly, maybe cruelly if you asked the men I dated, that was a new worry for me. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. The worst feeling in the world I could imagine at that point would be to reward his patience and tolerance and dedication to me by kicking dirt in it.
"Sweetheart," his voice broke into the swirling of my thoughts, his tone sounding a bit tired, but sweet. "I gotta get up," he told me, squeezing me tight and rolling me.
And just like that, I lost him. He slid out of me and moved away to the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click.
I scurried up the bed and under the sheets, taking a few deep, steadying breaths, my chest burning it expanded so wide, before he appeared again and slid under the sheets, pulling me up onto his warm chest and holding me to him as he easily drifted off to sleep- spent from a long night.
I stayed there wide awake for a long time- mind racing but going nowhere at the same time.
He's what you have always needed, but wouldn't let yourself want, my heart reminded me.
But what the hell have you ever done to deserve what he has to offer, my brain piped in, ever the pessimist, always reminding me of my shortcomings, the potential for hurt and failure.
Thinking got my nowhere.
So then I went ahead and pushed the thoughts away.
To be dealt with tomorrow.
TEN
Bethany
Alertness came upon me like an unwanted visitor, making me intimately aware of every ache in my body- the pulsing, uncomfortable sensation in my sore muscles, reminding me that while I may have been able to distract myself from my detoxing the night before by keeping busy, that it could always come back to me in quiet moments.
Lazarus (The Henchmen MC Book 7) Page 12