by Caisey Quinn
“Happy to be of service, ma’am.”
After he’d washed every visible inch of her skin, he washed and rinsed her hair. The little sighs and moans of pleasure she let out were rough on the constant erection he seemed to hold around her. But it was worth it. She looked so…content. Happy, even, when she met his open stare. Barely resisting the urge to tear off his clothes and get in with her, he pulled the plug and began to drain the water.
“Stand up, cowgirl.”
She dutifully did as she was told and he reveled in her gloriously wet body before him. Relathering his hands, he slid them between her thighs and up the seam of her ass.
“Easy,” she commanded, giving his wrist a little smack.
“You love it.”
“I love everything you do to me.”
Her confession caught them both off guard, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Time to rinse.”
Grabbing a blue washcloth, he ran it under the faucet before using it to rinse the soap from between her legs. Her eyes threatened to roll back in her head and he was vaguely worried her knees were going to give out when he ran the cloth through her center.
“My turn,” Stella whispered. Before he had time to wrap a towel around her, she stepped out of the tub and lowered herself onto his lap, facing him. He watched as she snatched the washcloth and began cleaning the dried sauce from his bare chest with it. Once she’d removed the remnants of the spaghetti standoff, she tossed the rag aside and looked up at him. “All finished.”
“Hardly,” he practically growled at her.
Lifting her as he stood, he carried her to the living room. Her bed called out an invitation to him as they passed, but he knew he’d be tempted to tie her to it again. And if he tied her up, he’d fuck her. Furiously. Until one or both of them lost consciousness.
Something inside him had shifted when she’d opened the door to him looking so sweet and soft in that damn sweater. She’d cooked for him. Hand fed him.
It was time for making love to her. Time for slow and sensual. Time for giving her everything he had to give. She already had parts of him he’d never given anyone else. Might as well finish it off, carve out his heart and soul and hand them over.
“I’m still all wet,” Stella said as he lowered her onto the couch.
“That’s the idea, cowgirl.”
“You’re crazy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
His mouth met hers and he didn’t know which of them held the other tighter. Their kisses quickly turned desperate, but he forced himself to pull back. “If you want to stop, or if you’re just not sure you’re ready to see this all the way through, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“I told you,” she panted as her fingers worked deftly to undo the button on his jeans. “The only thing I’ll ever ask for is more.”
“Then more it is.” Van retrieved the condom from his back pocket. She was naked and wet and so ready for him that he was throbbing in anticipation. She slid his zipper down, and he couldn’t roll the latex over himself fast enough. Her eyes reflected the same ravenous urgency he felt.
But as her legs fell open to allow him between them, Van froze above her.
This would change everything. Him. Her. Them. They’d be a them. A messy mural of the future appeared in his mind. He felt like a snake slithering into the garden of Eden.
Would he still go on tour? Leave her here with all these cowboys and doctors waiting to swoop in and steal her the minute he was gone? Or would she go on tour with them? Damien, his bass player, had gotten married last year. His wife, Angie, pretty much went everywhere with the band. But could his sweet Stella handle that kind of life? Would she even want to try?
“Van?” Her voice pulled him back into the moment. “You okay?”
He clenched his jaw, determined not to let his head mindfuck him out of the actual fucking he’d been waiting over a month for.
“Yeah, baby. All good. Hands up.”
She followed orders and raised her hands above her head. Van gripped her wrists, careful to avoid the still red skin the rope had chafed. Despite the twinge of guilt for hurting her, seeing it made him even harder than he’d thought possible.
“Good girl.” He kissed her softly since she’d complied so readily. “I’ll go slow until you come, cowgirl. But after that, I’m fucking you fast and hard. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Stella answered with a twitch of her lips.
Using his free hand, Van gently kneaded her right breast before working his way down. When he reached her slick folds, he nearly cried out with joyous relief. She was already wet. Soaking wet, actually, and not from bathwater. His cowgirl was ready for him.
Lowering his mouth to hers, he parted her with his fingers and inched his cock inside of her.
“Oh,” she breathed out as he proceeded to sink in deeper. He had to bite back a sound of his own. Her walls clenched so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. His dick felt each pulsing throb as he parted her walls.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah,” she rasped, nodding. “No turning back. No safe word, right?”
Van jerked his head back. “That was said in the heat of the moment, cowgirl. If you need me to stop, if it hurts too much, you tell me, okay?”
“It hurts so good, Van,” she whispered. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”
Her pussy gripped him tightly as she spoke, demanding that he thrust into her harder than he’d planned.
“Yes. Oh God, Van. Please. Make me feel. Make it hurt.”
He grabbed the back of her couch into his hand, twisting a handful of the fabric. It was the “make it hurt” that sent him over the edge. He’d been trying to be gentle. But if she wanted to walk fucked up for the next few days, well, he was okay with that.
Releasing her wrists, he sat up and used his hands to yank her legs roughly to him. He pulled and pushed her body on and off of his dick. He didn’t ease in and out like he had at first. He plunged into the depths of her scorching heat and tore out repeatedly.
Her breathing was so rapid he was almost concerned. But she’d said the words. And he was powerless when it came to giving her what she asked for.
Reaching between their damp bodies, he circled her clit with his thumb. She cried out in what he hoped was ecstasy.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Better than good,” she breathed out. “More, please.”
A guttural sound rumbled out of his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing her delicate body entirely too hard, he flipped her onto her stomach. “Get on your knees. Ass up, cowgirl.”
She complied quickly, and he dug his fingers into her hips.
“Fucking hell, you have tiny ass back dimples made for my thumbs.” He pressed into the sexy as hell indentations and slid his cock back into her opening. She rocked against him.
“Awesome. Please proceed with the fucking, Van.”
He let out a dark chuckle. “Easy, cowgirl. I still know where the riding crop is.”
She peeked over her shoulder, tossing him a sinful stare. “You think you do. Maybe I hid them all.”
Van gripped her wrists together behind her back and pulled her upright so that her ear was level with his mouth. “If that’s true, and I have to search, you’re going to be in big trouble.”
“I’m not scared,” she whispered.
“You will be.”
Securing her wrists in one hand and reaching around with the other, he slid his fingers over her clit. She writhed against him and he hummed his approval in her ear.
“If it takes me more than a minute to find them, I will make you bring each one of them to me in your mouth. On your knees. And once you’ve crawled to me and delivered them, I will make you beg for every single touch. Then I will fuck you until you can’t walk.”
“Sounds good to me,” she told him, successfully halting all of his brain activity. “That’s exactly what I was hopin
g for when I hid them. To make you mad. So you’d punish me again.” She paused to let out a moan as he teased her opening with the tip of his dick. “Every time I see the red marks on my wrist or ankles or thighs from last time, I have to touch myself to relieve the pressure. But it never feels as good as when you do it.”
“Fuck, Stella.”
“Yes, please do.”
Grinning like a damned maniac, he slammed his dick back into her throbbing entrance. “Be careful what you wish for, cowgirl.”
Van thrust inside of her in several long strokes, pressing deeper each time until she was calling his name.
“I love when you call out my name. Love how good it sounds in your mouth when you come.”
A series of whimpers and breathy pleas was her response. He flipped her over and jerked her legs apart once more. Sliding back in, he gave her clenching walls everything he had, slamming in harder and pulling out slower until she gave over to her desires and began to come for him. He wished he could record those raucous sounds he pumped from her mouth. Her nails pierced his skin as she tore at the flesh on his arms.
“Give it up, baby. Come for me.” Releasing one of her legs, he ran a hand roughly down her throat, through the valley between her breasts, and over her stomach. Pressing a finger on her clit, he pounded into her as her walls convulsed around him until his release took over.
After they’d collapsed in a satisfied heap of desperate breaths and sweat-slick skin, Van disposed of the condom and returned to wrap her in his arms.
No matter how many times she allowed him to enter her, to bring her to the highest peaks of pain and ecstasy, it would still amaze him that he got to hold her afterward. He was a colossal fuck-up who destroyed all that he touched, but somehow he’d been bestowed the magnificent privilege of holding such a flawless and fragile creature. Well, maybe she wasn’t all that fragile. He’d given her some pretty rough treatment and she’d hung in there—and ridden out the violent waves right along with him.
She wasn’t angry or afraid. Or asking a million questions about what was next. She didn’t make any demands of him, didn’t want to take pictures for evidence. She just wanted him to hold her. Which was good because it was about all he could manage at that particular moment.
His heart was beating the shit out of his chest, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the workout of the sex or something else.
Something else was a strong possibility. The woman in his arms sighed and pulled him from his euphoric high.
“You okay?” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
She nodded against him. She was still struggling for breath when she answered. “More than. So much more than okay.”
Wrapped in her short pearl-white silk robe and his arms, she lay next to him, lightly tracing his ink with her fingertips.
So far they’d eaten cold pasta before returning to bed for another round of lovemaking. He’d gone slower this time, and she was pretty sure he had literally massaged, licked, kissed, and sucked every single inch of her body. He’d imprinted himself on her in a way she felt conflicted about. It felt wonderful, like sunshine saturating her skin after being soaked in a rainstorm. But it also felt…permanent. And irrevocable.
Afterward, they’d discussed the words on his arm and chest. Lyrics he’d written for a song he’d never recorded. His eyes had gone dark and his muscles had stiffened, so she hadn’t pressed for any more information. There were hands praying with rosary beads wrapped around them. And a few band-related symbols. Music notes in flames and a shattered record. His path to his music career had been a rocky one he’d informed her. That’s what the sleeve that covered his left arm represented.
But it was his back, the breathtakingly magnificent mural of ink etched over every flesh-covered muscle and sinew that she ached to know more about. It somehow managed to be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
The faceless angel sat in water, her head down and arms wrapped around the knees drawn to her chest. Stella traced the details of her form and then let her fingers drift outward to expansive black wings.
“Who is this?” she whispered into the darkness. Even with only a bedside lamp for light, she could see the shading, the light and the dark, the pain that accompanied the artwork he’d put on his body.
“No one. It’s just ink.” His gravelly voice effectively erected a wall between them. He didn’t say anything else or turn to look at her, but she got the message loud and clear. This subject was off-limits.
Stella swallowed the lump constricting her throat. She didn’t know who it represented. But she knew one thing for certain. He’d lied. It wasn’t just ink. And whoever she was, his angel of darkness was weighing him down.
She hoped it was just the post-coital vulnerability that made his refusal to share this with her so upsetting. It was clearly none of her business.
Just as the silence became suffocating, Van turned his head. He’d somehow vanquished the demons glaring at her from behind his eyes and the light, teasing version of him had reappeared. Stella struggled to keep up.
“Did you really hide the riding crops?”
She grinned, the tension in her chest easing in as she did. “Perhaps.”
“Hmm.” He stared at her thoughtfully before sitting up and putting his shirt back on. She tried not to read anything into it. Tried but failed. He was hiding his angel of darkness from her. It stung. “So you fell and hurt your knee. Is that why I never see you riding any of those hellish beasts?”
“Huh?” Stella pulled her eyes up from his now covered chest. “Oh, the horses?” She sat up and pulled her robe tighter. “Yeah. My horse Angel’s Breath took a fall. Landed on my leg. I couldn’t walk for two months. It was terrifying. So I quit racing.” There was more to it, but that was all she really felt comfortable sharing with someone who’d just lied his ass off about a tattoo.
Van bent to pull on his boxer briefs and jeans. “And why’s that, cowgirl?”
Now she was the one who wanted to pull away, put up her walls, and shut him out. “Why did I quit? I just told you. I got hurt.”
He eyed her speculatively as he buttoned his jeans. “So you don’t race anymore. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t still ride.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and he put his hands up.
“For fun, I mean. Easy, babe. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He dropped his hands and shrugged. “But I’ve seen that look you get. You want to ride them. Or at least that temperamental pain-in-the-ass one.”
Her lips attempted to fight back the smile attacking them. “Yes, I certainly seem to have a type, don’t I?”
Leaning forward, Van kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Yeah, you do. Thank fuck for that.”
“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t need to ask, she knew he’d been away from the facility long enough. And that they might not ever get to spend an entire night together. For all she knew, and judging from the way he’d shut down and hurried to escape, whatever this was between them might end the day he checked out of rehab. Or before then.
“I’d say I’d call you, but we both know I can’t.”
“And I’d say I’d love to do this again sometime, but…” She made a big show of wrinkling her nose and shrugging. “I think I’m good. Guess it was one of those ‘itches that needed to be scratched so we could move on’ type things.”
Van’s dark eyebrows lifted, and then he smirked. “Speaking of things that got scratched, my arms and back are torn to hell. Guess you scratched the fuck out of that itch, cowgirl. Glad you got me out of your system.”
Pulling her to him, he kissed her. It wasn’t a goodbye peck or a goodnight kiss. It was deep and wet. It went on until she was gasping for oxygen and her jaw ached. It was an I-own-you kiss.
His hands dropped to grip her ass and Stella moaned into his mouth. She had no idea how she could still want him so badly. She was mostly certain that her body would shut completely down if she gave in and let him inside her
again. But she was willing to give it a shot. Mind-blowing euphoric bliss like he’d given her didn’t exactly come around often. Or ever, in her experience.
“Mm. Yeah, you’re right,” he began, pressing his still firm cock against her thigh. “I think we’re all done here.”
Far too turned on to keep playing at the casual banter, Stella pulled him back to her once more.
She flicked her tongue against his lips before dipping it into his mouth. Her hands held his face tightly and she stared into his eyes.
“I’ll put my notice in tomorrow, Van. I can’t…I don’t want to stop.”
“Hey.” He took her hand and pressed his lips seductively to her palm before letting it go. “This won’t cost you your job, cowgirl. We’ll figure it out.”
“Stay,” she pleaded quietly. It was a desperate move and she could feel the rejection as soon as she said it.
He kissed her firmly on the forehead. “Want to know the first rule of performing?”
Having no clue why he was suddenly bringing up his career, she furrowed her brow. “Sure.”
Biting at her lower lip, he let his fingers blaze a trail through the still damp folds of sensitive flesh between her legs. “Always leave them wanting more.”
She moaned as he stroked her. “Van.”
“Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams.”
“Night,” she whispered as he walked out, even though it was nearly time for the sun to come up.
He smiled sweetly, something he rarely did. But there were flecks of sadness in his eyes.
She wanted to reach out to him, cocoon him in that private place where they were one, where they were whole, where there was no sadness and everything was perfect. But she let him go. Back to his side of the line that would always separate them. She could tell by the way he behaved that he thought himself beneath her for being a patient or client or whatever the hell at SCR. But she knew the truth.
When he left here, he’d jet off to his real life, where he was in high demand night after night, where he played to sold-out crowds and made awe-inspiring and heart-stopping music—she’d downloaded some of it. And she’d be…here. Hiding out in a job where she was a glorified secretary. She wasn’t like Miranda or Dr. Ramirez. She didn’t change anyone’s life here or help anyone do anything much other than transcribe notes, send faxes, and respond to emails.