Heart pounding, she checked the security feed. Sandra. Disappointment and relief warred within as she made her way to the door to admit her friend.
Sandra walked right into her and put her arms around Amy’s waist, laying her head on her shoulder. Amy reciprocated, although she had to drop her head to do it. It had taken nearly six months before she allowed Sandra to touch her, and now she craved the other woman’s caring hugs and little physical contacts like a drug. Sandra’s muffled voice reached her ears.
“You got thrown for a loop.”
Not yet able to go there, Amy extricated herself from her friend’s hold. “I’ll get dressed, fix my hair and makeup. We’ll talk over breakfast, if I even know what it is we need to talk about.”
Sandra sat on the closed toilet seat while Amy applied moisturizer and light makeup, using waterproof mascara, predicting waterworks in her future. Damn. Would she never learn? Pulling her hair up into a clip, she figured it would dry eventually. Sandra may have the day off, but Amy had work to do this afternoon, so they could only spend the morning together. She had no idea what she’d do without Sandra and worried she’d push her friend away at some point with her constant backsliding. So what if it had been months and months since her last stupidness? She’d not only backslid last night—she’d fallen over the proverbial cliff.
The hamper loomed in her peripheral vision while she brushed her teeth. Shoving the toothbrush into the slot in the china holder, Amy leaned to open the folding door shielding the upright laundry unit. It was a simple matter to dump the linens and towels into the washer, adding her bath sheet and the towel from her hair, totally comfortable in her nakedness around Sandra. Her friend had seen her in far more revealing circumstances than this. And in much worse shape. Pouring in detergent with a lavish hand she punched the button and lowered the lid. The comforting sound of flowing water filled the room. Sandra made no comment, her silence eloquent.
Amy had to make a brief trip back to the hamper with her clothes from the night before, searching out her panties and bra, picking up her crumpled shirt and jeans. A fresh outfit was easy enough to pull together, despite the fact she’d put her brain in neutral, and she was good to go. The little dress was perfect for the weather, and the halter tie covered Dean’s mark. She lingered over the necklace, but left it in place. Something had changed. Sandra hustled her out the door, clearly anxious to get to the debriefing, and after carefully locking up, Amy climbed into her friend’s little car.
“Want to go to Zeke’s?”
“Sure.” The food was good, and the booths big and private in a diner patterned after an old fashioned Italian restaurant. And it wasn’t far. Her body clamored for sustenance, but coffee and eggs would have to do. Stop it.
Thoughts drifting back to meeting Sandra for the first time. Amy felt her lip curl and looked out the side window until she could relax it. Trust wasn’t in her vocabulary back then, and trusting someone paid to take care of her made hardly a blip on her thought process. But Sandra persisted, coming in to see her on her days off, assisting in Amy’s recovery, painting the idea of a different lifestyle, a different life. She dragged Amy home with her after being discharged, and Amy went, having nowhere else to go, secretly hopeful Sandra was for real. The thought crossed her mind that the other woman wanted her sexually. They were almost the same age and Sandra had no obvious outside sexual interests, no men or women visiting or calling.
But she soon discovered Sandra’s motives were pure, if altruistic. Sandra saw Amy’s life as a virtual mirror of her own, if taking place several years later and in a somewhat different context. Sandra had been on the streets as a young teen, running from sexual abuse at home, and ironically having to survive in the same way, before fortune smiled when she drew the attention of a street social worker. Sandra was proof that a person could make something of herself, no matter the history. She went back to school, finishing high school in less than three years, then trained as a nurse. It was no secret Sandra wanted to give back, to rescue people, and Amy was her pet project.
They couldn’t be more different physically. Mutt and Jeff, blond and brunette, statuesque and thin, street smart and college-educated. But they shared an intense emotional bond, survivors to the core. Amy knew Sandra had it together in different ways than she did, except her libido was in hibernation, unlike Amy’s. Both had been used for their bodies, but while Sandra denied her sexuality, Amy struggled to leash her own. Some people might think that selling one’s body on the street didn’t compare to being the pussy on the arm of a high roller or an aspiring gambler, but there was scant difference. The men were essentially the same, the sexual acts the same, and the cruelty didn’t vary.
The car jolted to a stop, and Amy jerked her thoughts from the past to the present. While unpleasant to recall, the memories no longer traumatized her, and were far easier to pack away. She only wished she could get a better handle on making appallingly poor choices, although she took heart that last night was the first slip since Vegas. Months ago.
Sandra, who always seemed to know when to keep her own counsel, to allow Amy to think her thoughts, led the way into Zeke’s. The cool air of the place, perfumed with the smells of frying bacon, baked goods and brewing coffee poured out as the door opened. Amy soaked it in, her stomach growling in response. They were seated by the window, part way down the row of red vinyl-covered booths and chrome tables. Both ignored the interested stares of the primarily male patrons.
“Coffee?” Amy and Sandra each shoved a cup in the direction of the cheerful waitress.
Sandra raised a brow. “Two specials?” At Amy’s nod the waitress made a note and hustled away.
Amy arranged all the items on the table, setting the utensils at perfect right angles to one another, squaring off the napkin holder, and placing the salt and pepper precisely in the middle of the table. The ketchup bottle was her final project.
“Are you finished thinking?”
“How’d you know to push me, Sandra?”
“Experience, honey, hard-earned experience. And besides, I know you. I heard something in your voice this morning that scared the crap out of me. I knew if you didn’t get moving, you’d perseverate and figure out a way to lie to yourself. You don’t have much to compare to.”
“What did you hear?” Her voice trembled, and she made an effort to bring it under control.
“I heard an Amy I haven’t heard before.”
“What?” she scoffed. “You called me after one of my aborted efforts to connect with a guy, like usual, and you heard somebody new? Like a split personality?”
Sandra didn’t laugh, didn’t crack a smile. She kept her big eyes fixed on Amy’s. “What happened, honey?”
“We fucked.” There, crude and to the point.
“Here you go, two specials. More coffee?” An enormous plate was set in front of them, filled with pancakes, eggs and sausages, two strips of bacon, toast and hash browns. Amy’s stomach roiled in self defense, no longer hungry. Their cups topped up, the waitress moved away, leaving her no choice but to continue the conversation.
“Okay, honey. Whenever you’re ready.” Sandra carved a small section of her pancakes with the same precision she used when dissecting Amy’s pathetic excuses and protests. It was kind of like dealing with your alter ego, albeit without the Id.
Sulking, she shoved a hunk of sausage in her mouth and chewed it down. After doctoring her coffee with cream, she took a sip. Sandra waited her out. Jesus Christ.
“Okay. There was something different. You satisfied? I felt different with a jerk who wants sex with no strings. Isn’t that just a slap in the face?” She blinked back the tears. “I knew it. He told me, warned me. But I just had to go and get into bed with him, just like old times and…”
“Amy, honey. No crime to want somebody.”
“What are you saying?” Other patrons actually turned in their seats to stare. She probably didn’t need to scream at Sandra. She didn’t want to want that man!<
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Unperturbed, her friend smiled. “You had sex with somebody who touched you with more than just his body. I’m sorry it didn’t end well and upset you, but it’s okay. I was afraid he’d hurt you physically. It’s progress. Do you see?”
She did not see. Breathing heavily, she tried to order her thoughts. “I took a guy home with me you warned me against. We had sex. I felt something different. He was an asshole and I kicked him out. I feel shitty about last night. How is that progress?” The acerbic whisper didn’t carry as far, but Sandra heard her.
“You always feel shitty about meaningless sex, being used over and over. At least this time around you got past that. So he’s not the guy for you. You now have a different measuring stick. A chance at a relationship involving more than sex.”
Her best friend, her only friend, was certifiable. She decided to share the lube story and was gratified to make Sandra laugh. It made her laugh again, too, and if she wished for a different outcome, wished Dean Chambray was a different kind of man, maybe Sandra was right. She’d be looking for someone with additional qualities from here on in. Once she figured those qualities out. But God, this shit was tough on a person.
Eating a little more of the decadent breakfast, they talked desultorily about their plans for the day, about Sandra cleaning her house, and Amy working on a client’s web design request, and they agreed Sandra would make dinner for them both around seven. Amy knew she’d go home and screw the pooch, thinking about what her friend posited instead of getting the job done so she could pay her bills.
They cruised up to her house, Sandra humming along with Adele, something about rumors, Amy wishing she’d eaten more of her breakfast, when she saw it. A big, black truck parked in her driveway, pulled up close behind her Audi, perilously close to old man Zuchinski’s invisible line. Her friend hammered on the brakes and they both rocked against the restraint of the seat belts. Dean leaned negligently against the tailgate, eyes obscured by dark glasses, arms folded over his massive chest. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“You want to drive away?” Sandra eased her foot off the brake as she spoke.
Having visions of a high speed chase, the winner heavily weighted by the size and power of a vehicle driven by someone who likely practiced NASCAR techniques since childhood, Amy croaked out a negative. It was too soon to see Dean Chambray again. She wasn’t ready. The fact that she wasn’t surprised to see him flitted through her thoughts with the zip of a hummingbird’s wings. This felt different, whatever it was she sensed between them.
“Just drop me off. You said it, Sandra. Something different.” It didn’t feel too much like an I told you so as she warred with a myriad of emotions.
“I’m not so sure I was thinking of him, honey, when I went all psychological on you.”
“Yah, well, I think I’ll see what Mr. Fuck ’Em and Leave ’Em wants.”
“Amy,” Sandra warned. “He’s both the same and different than those other men, and in some ways that makes him worse.”
Not questioning how Sandra knew that, Amy shrugged. She knew it too, but she was dangerous in her own right. Dean Chambray had no idea. “And I’m self destructive. I know. But I’m going to see what happens. I have to. I’m not afraid of him.” Just of what he makes me feel.
Her mouth a straight line, visibly containing what was doubtless a lecture filled with sage and wonderful advice, Sandra nodded. “Call me if you aren’t coming for dinner.”
“I will, Sandra. Love you.”
“Love you too, girl. You take care.”
****
Watching Amy uncoil her tall, curvaceous form out of the little car was, in itself, foreplay. Her long legs swung out, feet shod in glittery sandals landing side by each on the pavement. His gaze tracked up over her trim ankles and past her defined calves, lingering on the expanse of thigh exposed by the short skirt. The top of her head ducked out from beneath the doorframe, thick hair restrained by one of those clip things women used, and Dean’s fingers twitched, wanting to release it and let that mane fall free to frame her face and drift over her shoulders. She straightened up in one lithe movement, her height notable, and he studied the jut of her breasts above the narrow waist swelling into the hips he wanted to set his hands on. Fuck. His cock filled and strained against its confinement and he shifted to accommodate the reminder that it knew her far better than he did. Something he planned to remedy before introducing it to her again. Or maybe the “getting to know you” could wait until after that particular introduction.
That hot, greedy pussy, full breasts with tight, suckable nipples, and her talented mouth were just part of the whole package, though, and while he suspected she was as fucked up as he was, the pull was undeniable.
“You have something you want to say to me?” Seeing her saunter up to him in that confident, loose stride, her features set in an amused mask, challenged his dominance, but he tamped it down, held his stance. The friend’s car idled at the curb, then pulled slowly away, and Amy’s affect crumbled, infinitesimally, but he caught it. And exploited it.
“You want to take this inside, sweetheart? Or give your neighbor an earful?”
The involuntary flinch was also minute. Dean pushed up and moved into her space, forcing her to walk along with him, their strides close to matching. There was a lot about her in sync with him. She unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Amy pushed buttons on her security panel. Déjà vu. All rational thought of merely talking with her fled as he pinned her against the wall, the thud of her purse hitting the floor counterpoint to the pounding of the blood in his cock.
Amy wound her arms around his neck, hands clutching the back of his head, tugging at his hair. He ravaged her mouth with the same intensity of the previous night, mindless in his desire. The heat of her warmed the center of him as he registered the way she melted against his body, hips flexing beneath his hands. The skirt of the little dress was easy to drag up, removing one barrier to his questing fingers. They found the scrap of silk at her apex, wet with her need, and he slipped them past the elastic, shoving two digits up hard inside her, the ascent eased by her cream. Feeling her rise up on her toes he pulled out and pushed back in again, hooking to search out her Gspot, rewarded with a drench of hot liquid, her sheath pulsing around his digits.
“Put your legs around me.”
Responding to his growled command, muffled as it was by her mouth, she hopped up and complied, the strength and flexibility of those limbs apparent right through his clothing. One hand moved to clasp her waist, the other he shoved under her ass. She moaned and ground her pelvis against his cock. He managed to turn and make his legs carry them both to the bedroom, hollow with the anticipation of burying his aching shaft deep, clear up to her throat.
Tumbling them down to the yielding mattress, the springs groaning beneath their combined weight, refusing to release her mouth, Dean planted a knee and reached to free his cock. Amy’s hand was already there, scrabbling at the zipper, then gently easing him out, guiding him. He hissed at her touch and she sucked on his tongue. Pulling her panties aside by feel, he felt Amy fit him at her entrance. He thrust forward, fighting to get inside, his body blanketing hers, knees spreading her legs wide. She arched to meet him and whimpered as he fully pierced her, bottoming out at her cervix. Immediately stilling, he lifted his head and studied her face, ignoring the clamor of his cock for more, more, more.
Violet eyes opened and he fell in, willingly. “You okay?”
Her hair, loosened from the clip, drifted in waves around her head, and a fine dew misted her forehead. She shivered and he felt the tiny movement in his balls. “I’m good. God, Dean.”
Was this tenderness he felt? Possessiveness for sure. He wanted to fuck this woman senseless but wanted to make it mean something more. Jesus.
“Please. Don’t hold back. Please.”
Pulling back a little, thrusting forward, he established a rhythm that tested the very bounds of his control, the feel of her liquid heat surrounding
him nearly too much to bear. She lay, acquiescent beneath him, this time holding on loosely and taking what he gave her, eyes again closed, full lips parted. He worked harder above her, building it, never wanting it to end, not yet knowing what it was, seeing to both their pleasure. He insanely wanted her to tighten her hold and assert possession. Feeling her hands tense on his back, he sought her engorged clit, rubbing in concentric circles over the soaked fabric of her panties, holding his own orgasm back.
“Look at me.” He needed to see her, right down to her soul.
Lashes fluttering, she focused and stared back into him, then bit her lip, the moan of release escaping anyway. Her pupils dilated and Dean filled her with his seed, the scald of it pushing her eyes wide. He let his weight drop on her, unable to do anything else in the immediate aftermath, their clothing a jumbled barrier between them. Gaining control over his breathing, he lifted up, slipping from her on a gush of fluids. No condom. Fucked her bareback. Jesus Christ.
Flopping over onto his back, tucking his cock back into his jeans, Dean became aware they lay on a stripped mattress, no sheets, no pillows, nothing. He instantly caught the symbolism and smiled to himself. Well, his Amazon hadn’t expunged him so easily. As soon as his strength returned they’d be having a talk. A discussion. Something he never had with women, unless they were in the business. He tested a few ideas out in his head, some statements and questions. He should have brought a fucking notepad. The newness, the unfamiliarity of this thing, it, was goddamn unsettling but he never backed down from a challenge.
Amy stirred and he got up on one elbow to study her. She stared back solemnly and spoke. “We didn’t use a condom.”
Shrugging, probably not the best gesture to judge by the way she narrowed her eyes at him, he said, “Didn’t seem to be a lot of time, and I told you I was safe. Never been that spontaneous before. You were helping.”
Her gaze softened. “I was. I don’t remember being that spontaneous, either. And I’m clean, but not on birth control, remember.” The soft look was pushed aside by faint anxiety.
Forever (Eternity #1) Page 6