by Raven Dark
“There’s a hell of an alarm system here, and in the clubhouse too,” Gar goes on. “It’s enough to wake the dead. Sinclair and his goons won’t get anywhere near here without setting something off.”
“He has goons? What is he, Mafia? I can’t believe I danced for him.”
Gar takes my hand and his thumb massages the back of it. Then he takes a last swig of his beer, downing the rest of the bottle in one go. I take a big gulp of the wine, letting the buzz cloud any thoughts about Sinclair. When I finish the glass, he sets it and the beer bottle on the desk.
“All right, enough of that. Come here.” He pulls me from the room.
We head upstairs to an equally elegant second floor and into a large bedroom with the same wood paneling and a full window that takes up the far wall on the other side of a huge bed.
“This place is wonderful,” I say, glancing around. Gar watches me with delight as I walk across the room to the window, looking out at the serene lake and the thick forest that hugs part of the bank. There’s a set of stone steps that lead down to the shore. A fishing boat bobs on the water by a dock. I look over my shoulder at Gar, who’s watching me from the doorway. “It’s nothing like the cabin my parents used to rent not far from here when Anne and I were kids. Cal must make some good money. What does he do?”
“I don’t want to talk about my brother right now.” He ambles across the room and takes me into his arms.
Unsure if he’s avoiding answering my question or just brushing aside talk of his brother to avoid breaking the romantic mood, I set my hands on his chest.
However much he’d been taking his time earlier, the heated light in his eyes now tells me he wants to get down to business.
“And what do you want to do with me now, Gar?” I give him an innocent look.
He runs his fingers through the soft bangs that fall on my forehead. “Take your hair down.”
That single command carries so many implications. My heart speeds up. With one trembling hand, I pull the clip out of my hair, unraveling the painstaking up-do my hairdresser created earlier. Gar watches the thick curls tumble around my shoulders as if he’s committing the image to memory.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He runs his hand through the curls. He hauls me against him and snatches in a breath. “You’re not leaving this room until you’ve had so much of me that you can’t take any more.”
“Is there that much of you to take, Gar?” I tease.
“You’ll see.” His head swoops down and Gar’s lips once again claim mine.
God, I love the way this man kisses. He doesn’t just kiss me, he takes my mouth deep and hard as if I’m life to a dying man. Gar’s hand delves into my hair, fisting it and yanking my head back, trapping my lips beneath his while his tongue tangles with mine. I moan, my whole body in flames.
When he breaks the kiss, leaving me weak in the knees and reeling, he spins me around in his arms, pressing me against him with one arm around my shoulders from behind. His lips and tongue leave a trail of fire along my neck, his teeth nipping the sensitive flesh on my shoulder.
I whimper at the sting, and let my head drop to the side, inviting his exploration. My hand skates across the side of his stubbled jaw and into his hair, trying to bring his mouth closer.
He growls his approval, his tongue darting into my ear, driving me mad. He works the zipper on the back of my dress down. “I want this thing off,” he rumbles. He pushes the dress down to my waist, sliding it off my hips.
Awareness of my nakedness momentarily brings a pang of self-doubt, especially when he palms my breasts, heating the mounds and making my nipples hard as diamonds. He’s probably had so many women, older women who are more experienced and know how to please him. I feel clumsy and naïve and too innocent in his hands.
Then he nibbles and bites and licks my ear, driving any hint of those doubts away.
“Gar.” I dig my teeth into my lip to keep from blurting out how badly I want him. Damn, I’m soaked again. Without my panties to contain it, the wetness of my sex coats my thighs.
“Say it, Sandra. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
I grin. And I’d been worried being forward would make me sound juvenile, like I’m begging and lack self control. “God, yes.”
“Yes what? What do you want?”
Borrowing his words, I say it, meaning every word. “I want you to fuck me, Gar.”
He lets out a half-groan, half growl. His fingers glide over my bare belly, down between my legs. Doubts try to rear up with the awareness of the intimacy he’s about to bestow, absurd, considering he finger-fucked me earlier. He quashes those worries easily with a few strokes over my aching clit.
I gasp and fall against him, rocking my hips into his touch.
His free hand slips around my throat, the heat of his huge palm exciting and offering a hint of danger as well as asserting total control. He has me pinned against him, and I know what he could do if he wanted to. The realization makes me hotter.
“Damn, you’re so perfect. Fuck my fingers until you come.” His voice is as dangerous as his hand around my throat. He adds no pressure, but adrenaline and excitement make it hard to breathe, which seems to make me needier while the strokes of his fingers drive me insane.
I pant and buck wildly. His fingers strum mercilessly, sending me crashing over the edge.
“Oh, shit, oh, God, oh God!”
Gar jerks my head to the side and smothers my cries with his mouth. I eat his kiss while he strums out the last of my orgasm. Then he spins me around, and the next minute, the bed is under me, and Gar is kneeling over me.
I’m treated to the fleeting but nonetheless heavenly image of him stripping off his cut, revealing thick, rippling muscles it must have taken years in a gym to sculpt, and more dark jagged tattoos that emphasize those ripples beautifully.
“My God, you’re a monster.” I grin, admiring the muscles and artwork that make him look like a huge beast.
A dark cloud seems to take over his face as he looms over me. “Yes. I am.” A smile touches his mouth an instant later, obliterating the momentary look of regret so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. Then he grabs my legs and jerks me to him, spreading them open.
I mean to ask him what he’s done to make him think that about himself, what he thinks will make me hate him, but he devours my mouth, wiping away the thought. When he sits up, I watch him undo his pants and slip them down to his hips, then stroke the monstrosity of a thick cock that springs free.
I swallow, suddenly thankful I’ve had sex before. If I hadn’t, that thing would probably split me open.
Gar glides his fingers over my sopping sex a few times, rekindling the ache there until I’m ready all over again. Until I’m humming in my throat and rubbing against him. Then he lifts my hips and thrusts into me in one swift stroke.
It doesn’t hurt, but he fills every inch of me; I can feel him stretching me and hitting nerves I never knew I had. I curse, and as he leans over me, I cling to him, shuddering around him in pleasure.
Gar’s lips are all over mine. He holds himself up on his arms, sliding slowly in and out of me while his head angles this way and that, kissing me hungrily. I moan into his mouth. Every long, delicious stroke combined with the wild flicks of his tongue conspires to shatter my self-control.
His mouth bruises mine. His palm angles my head the way he wants. He growls into my mouth, licks greedily and thrusts in and out of me, possessing and enjoying me.
“Gar…” I whimper against his mouth. My hips rock faster.
His hand claps my hip, slowing me down, the sting making me frantic. “Slow down.”
“Please,” I mewl. “Gar, I need to come now.”
“Tough.” His tongue swipes over my mouth. “You’ll come when I’m through.”
I cry out. “Please let me come!”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No!” I sob.
He licks my mouth again and keeps changing his pace. “Se
e? I told you you’d hate me,” he purrs in my ear.
And yet, I get the feeling that delaying my orgasm isn’t what he was talking about at all.
I claw at his back. Gar curses and rears up, pounding me savagely. I scream and tear at the sheets, thrashing like a woman possessed.
We crash over the edge together. The bed rattles, Gar lets out a string of rough curses and I cry out one last time.
With us both panting and spent, Gar flops on the bed beside me, a sprawled-out, heavenly, tatted-up god. He pulls me into his arms. I moan in satisfaction and snuggle into him, resting my head on his chest. Listening to the hammer of his heart.
“Wow,” I croak.
“Yeah.” His fingers run up and down my back. He kisses my forehead. “I could get addicted to you.”
“No complaints here.”
We lie there in silence, and my mind spins with disbelief over the turn my life has taken. At last, I lift my head, looking down at this perfect man who stormed into my life only hours before. It already feels like we’ve known each other for a lot longer. He’s in my blood, in my soul. His eyes meet mine, relaxed pools of silver admiration.
“You deserve so much better.” He traces my cheek with his thumb. “Things I don’t know how to give you.”
“Like what?” I can’t imagine this man not knowing how to make a woman’s every fantasy come true.
“Gentleness. The whole romantic thing isn’t my way, Sandra. You look like a princess, but I’m no fucking prince. I won’t be gentle or sweet with you. I can’t give you the world. But I will keep you safe. I’m a scary guy, sweetheart. But I will try to be good enough for you. That’s all I can promise you.”
There’s so much emotion and hope in his eyes, it nearly does me in. The vulnerability in him, the certainty that he can’t be what I want floors me.
I shake my head. “I don’t want gentleness.” I wrap my arms around him, trying to let him know he is enough. “I don’t want Prince Charming. I had one of those once.”
“And what happened?”
“He turned out to be the villain of the piece.” I shrug sadly. “Money and fancy suits and cars mean zilch when you have nothing in your heart to give. Believe me, I know.”
He cups my nape. “I may not be a fucking fat cat, but I will always give you what you need.”
“No one can ask for more, Gar.”
He looks pleased.
This man is too good to be true. An old adage of my father’s rings in my head. If it’s too good to be true, it usually is. Advice I’d failed to listen to once, with disastrous results.
I move up so that I’m looking down at him. “Gar, I don’t get it.”
He cups my ass with both hands. “What?”
“How do you not care? About what I did? It’s not exactly a job most men are crazy about.”
“I told you, I get it. You were in a jam. Besides, there are women at the club whose job is to fuck the men. We don’t hate them for it. If the men in the club have half a brain, they respect those women for what they give them. And if the men don’t, they don’t last long.”
“Club whores?”
He gives a nod. “Actually, they’re called sweetbutts.”
I remember hearing something about them. “I didn’t think they were real,” I say a little worriedly. “I thought that was just TV.”
“No.”
“Do you…?” I can’t make myself say it. I hate the jealousy eating at me.
The serious look on his face tells me he knows what I’m asking him. He tips my chin up. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Sandra. There is no man in a club who has not. It’s part of club life. Many of them keep doing it after they are married. The women know it’s just how it is.”
I draw back. “Does Vicious…?” The idea that he would hurt Anne in such a way is ludicrous, but…
“No. I mean, not now. He wouldn’t do that to Anne.”
I lower my eyes, anxiety taking a bite out of my resolve, old fears rearing up hard. Until he seizes my chin and traps my eyes with his.
“I could never touch another woman after you. Do you hear me?”
A slow smile spreads across my face.
His palm taps my ass. “We need to set something straight though,” he adds.
“Which is?” I note that his tone sounds like he’s laying down some sort of law.
“I don’t care about what you did in the past, Sandra. I don’t. But you aren’t ever going back to that fucking titty club. If you still need more money for school, I will find another way. The only man I want you taking your clothes off for is me. Do you understand me?”
I put on a challenging smile. I hated stripping, but some deeply ingrained, free-thinking part of me wants to balk at his male superiority. Even though another part of me loves the way he said that, that he’ll ensure he does what’s best for me.
Gar cups my chin and his eyes harden. “Sandra. I mean it. I catch you near that—What?” He narrows his eyes at my cheeky grin.
“I already quit,” I tell him. “I quit yesterday.”
“Fuck.” He snorts and swats my ass hard, making me jolt. “Don’t play with me like that.”
“Sorry. You’re so bossy, I couldn’t resist.” I rub his shoulder.
“Go to sleep, woman.”
An unexpected sense of daring spikes in me. I bend my head and flick my tongue over his nipple. A deep rumble escapes him. I do it again. “Fuck me again, Gar.”
“No.” He chuckles.
I stare at him. “You’re turning me down? I didn’t think it was possible for a guy to do that.”
“Now you know.” His eyes shine with smug triumph while his fingers thread through my hair. “My woman doesn’t tell me what to do.”
“Oh, she doesn’t? So you give the orders?” I tease.
“Yes.” He’s serious. “You need to learn to take it when I want it.” His lips tease mine. “You need to trust me to make the decisions for both of us, and give you what you need.”
I bite my lip, thinking. “That’s kind of hot. But…”
“But?”
I sigh and put my head on his chest. “This is all happening so fast.”
He sounds as if he’s going to take over my whole life. I just know he’d never do anything to hurt me or put me in danger, but am I able to be what he wants?
Gar’s fist takes hold of my hair, tugging my head back. His lips and tongue play slowly with mine. I moan, every stroke driving me mad. He’s revving me up, and then he’ll leave me worked up like this all night.
When he drops his head back, I shake mine. “This isn’t fair, Gar. Now I see what you mean about my hating you.”
He squeezes one ass cheek. “Sleep, or I’ll spank you, and then we’ll see how much you hate me.”
Damn it, I’m so hot and wet I could die, and yet inexplicably, my need mounts until my pussy throbs at the thought of knowing my pleasure only comes when he permits it. And at the thought of his hand across my ass.
I want to swat him, but when I drop off a short time later, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and a deeper satisfaction than I’ve ever felt settling in my belly. A satisfaction that isn’t just because of the great sex we had.
It’s no longer a danger that I might fall for Gar. God help me, I already have.
I’ll just have to hope that I can be what he wants. And to pray that he means what he says…that I’m his. Because I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if he doesn’t plan on sticking around. I can’t go through that again. I can’t.
5
Gar’s Game
I wake the next morning to the heavenly sound of Gar’s deep voice drifting from downstairs. I’m still here, still with him. The thought makes me feel all warm and safe, and I squirm into the bed, burrowing deeper under the covers.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the reassuring rumble of his perfect voice, in what sounds like a phone call. My man’s voice. The voice of the man who’s keeping me safe. The voice of the man
who wants a level of control that I’m not sure I know how to give.
Why I should be surprised that he’s into that sort of relationship, I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t as if the signs weren’t there. It was in every demand he made, in the way he carried me into the clubhouse, but I’d thought he was just being a caveman at the time.
I can’t deny that what he wants calls to something in me I never knew was there.
After lying there for several minutes, his voice is too much to resist. This bed is too big to lie in alone.
Getting up, I look over at the dress and groan. Shit. Unless I want to spend the weekend in that dress, I have nothing to wear. I cross the room to the closet, open it, and ferret out a robe hanging there. If this is his brother’s place, it’s probably his brother’s robe, but it’s either that or go down there nude.
I throw on the robe and head downstairs. The smell of cinnamon and bread fills my nose and my stomach rumbles.
Gar is sitting on a couch in the living room, which is twice the size of the one in my parents’ house. He looks hot, dressed in tight, faded jeans and a plain black T-shirt stretched over his beautiful chest. No cut, but the absence of it doesn’t take away from his sexiness one bit. He has the TV on low, showing a baseball game that must be from last night, and there’s two bags of some kind of takeout on the table. The phone is to his ear while he talks. Before I can hear what he’s saying, he hangs up and looks over at me.
“Morning, sweetheart. My brother,” he adds when he sees my curious look.
“Ah. Morning.” I cross the room, feeling suddenly shy and unsure. So much has happened between us in such a short time, and I can’t help wondering where things will go from here.
Gar sets the phone down, pauses the game, and stands up with a smirk at the robe, which is so big I’m swimming in it. “Nice. Very becoming.”
“Shut up.” I lift my face and give him a kiss, and he smacks my ass. “What time is it?”
“Too early. Not even nine. Here.” He hands me one of the takeout bags. “Eat.”