by Anne Malcom
Ian started to look frustrated. “That’s not what I expect. I expect to spend a long time making it up to you. I expect that things aren’t going to go smoothly.” His eyes darkened. “But you are mine and you know it.”
I threw my arms up in the air. “Stop it! I’m not ‘yours’—I’m not anyone’s. I’m my own person. Belonging to a male does not define me and it sure as shit isn’t going to happen.” My anger threatened to turn me green as this whole freaking situation was hurtling out of my control.
Ian stepped forward. I held my hand up. “You need to leave,” I ordered, sidestepping him and opening my door.
He glared at me. “I’m not going anywhere until we sort this out,” he declared.
“There’s nothing to sort out!” I snapped at him. “You think we have some kind of future because now you’ve decided you want it. I disagree. Subject closed.”
Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “The subject is not fuckin’ closed, Amy! I’m going to apologize a thousand times for the way I treated you, but I’m never going to apologize for loving you. I’m going to do it until the day I die, and I’ll do everything I can to make you give me another chance.” He stared at me a moment longer before he strolled out the door.
I slammed it, resting my back against it. I sank to the floor, holding my head in my hands. This was a disaster.
The next few days were spent dodging Ian. This was hard considering he had commenced his ‘make Amy forgive me and remember how much she loves me’ mission. He cornered me every chance he got and did all this chivalrous stuff like opening doors for me while blatantly checking me out and doing his best to touch me in some way.
I did my best to scowl at him, but I was only human. A woman could only be trapped in a house with a seriously hot soldier who she used to be in love with without something happening. That something was either pouncing on him or spontaneously combusting.
I did my level best to be at the store as often as possible and out of the house. I didn’t see or hear from Brock, which I was conflicted about. He was serious about being “done” and I was upset. Then I felt guilty about missing him when I had a kind and extremely sexy man declaring his undying love for me. I didn’t know what to think about the whole situation so I did the adult thing and tried to ignore it.
I couldn’t ignore it, however, on Ian’s last night when Gwen dragged me out to dinner with her, Ian, and Cade. It was torture; he sat across from me the whole night staring like I was his dinner. It didn’t help that his legs kept touching mine. He would purposefully brush them together, rubbing my ankles with his. He wasn’t even fazed when I attempted to kick him, only succeeding in spilling my cocktail.
The attraction between us was something not to be denied; neither was the reality of the fact he was leaving the next day. As much as I wanted to ignore the entire situation, I couldn’t when he was running back off to war and I would regret not laying it all out when I could. I couldn’t spend six more months obsessing over him while he was god knows where. I had to do it now. I was about to creep into his room after the house went quiet later that night, but my door slowly opened, showing he had beat me to it.
I had planned on saying a lot of things. On explaining why it wasn’t going to work after everything that had happened. On telling him I couldn’t open myself back up to him again. On letting him know that I had feelings for another man. I had a speech and everything. But it all tumbled out of my mind the moment he closed the door, the moment our eyes locked.
He was leaving the next day. I didn’t know whether I would see him again. He strode toward me purposefully and clutched my body to his, crashing his mouth on mine.
Ian kissed me tenderly, taking his time like he was savoring me. The feeling of his lips against mine, his hands on my waist had me pressing myself against his hard body. I poured every single bit of emotion I had into the kiss: all the love I had bottled up, all the anger I had already unleashed, everything. Ian directed me towards the bed, lowering me down and covering my body with his.
He peeled off my clothes slowly, worshipping every inch of my body. When I was naked he sat up, his eyes full of hunger and desire.
“You don’t know how much I’ve pictured this.” He ran his hand across my nipple slightly and I shivered. His mouth moved to cover it. “How much I craved the taste of your nipple,” he whispered. His mouth moved lower. “I thought about how sweet you tasted, how perfect it was when you came on my tongue,” he murmured, putting his mouth on me. I held back a scream as he brought me to climax, his tongue working magic between my legs, slowly and tenderly.
He stayed there for a moment, gazing at me. His rough face was soft and full of emotion. He seemed to shake himself out of the moment and pushed himself up to undress, not taking his eyes off me the entire time. When he was on top of me, divested of his clothes he stroked my face.
“I’ve dreamed of making love to you. When I was sleeping, hugging my rifle, fearing I’d wake up with a bullet in me, it was you I pictured to get me through,” he growled, pushing inside me.
I moaned as he moved slowly, making love to me. His huge hands cradled my face and his mouth moved against mine as he slowly built me up to explode in his arms. Every inch of his hard body was touching me, his eyes locked on mine. It was beautiful, tender, and the perfect way to say goodbye. To put an end to everything between us. To get closure.
I awoke the next morning to Ian’s arms around me and I felt conflicted. Extraordinarily guilty. Like I was betraying Brock. Then I felt like I was betraying Ian by thinking about Brock. I didn’t doubt that he was probably waking up next to some club slut right now, but what I was doing was worse. There was an emotional connection with Ian. I loved him. He loved me. He wanted a future with me. Commitment. The thing was I didn’t want that anymore. I didn’t want it with Brock, either. Not right now. We were too volatile. I loved Ian. Last night was proof of that. But it wasn’t the right type of love. Forgive the cliché, but I wasn’t “in love” with him. There was something missing with us. Something I wouldn’t have missed had I not met Brock. It was the fire, the passion, the wild urgency that made me feel like bursting into flames.
I felt dirty. Like a bad person. Like a dirty whore playing two men. I needed a scarlet letter to sew onto my clothes.
I tried to creep out of bed so I wouldn’t have thoughts about one man while wrapped up in another man’s arms. No such luck.
“Morning, sweetheart.” A gravelly voice scratched my ear as arms tightened around me. I couldn’t help but melt back into his warm embrace, my self-deprecating feelings fading away.
“You should get out of here before Gwen wakes up,” I muttered, getting distracted by his mouth at my neck.
“Babe, this is the last time I’m going to feel you in my arms for a long while. Shut up and let me make the most of it.”
I admit I was a coward and let myself relax into his arms. I let his muscled arms hold me. I let us descend into a comfortable silence. For too long. I should have spent the time setting him straight about us. About what last night was. It wasn’t the prelude to Ian and Amy 2.0, complete with commitment and strings. It was closing the page on us once and for all. It was saying goodbye.
“Ian,” I started softly.
He rolled so his body was on top of mine. “Shh. Don’t say anything, babe. Don’t make any decisions about us now. I want to leave with this perfect, untarnished memory of you. It’ll get me through,” he said, drinking me in. “When I come back I’ll have time to win you over, to show you what it’ll be like. Right now I don’t. So just think. While I’m gone think about us. And know I’ll never do anything to hurt you again. I’d die first.” His eyes were intense.
His words shattered the resolve I had been so firm on moments ago. The promise of life with Ian was enticing. I knew he meant every word. He wouldn’t hurt me again, not purposefully, anyway. Life with him would be stable, safe. He’d treat me right and give me mind blowing orgasms. It wasn’t a shabby life.
It just wasn’t one I was sure I wanted anymore.
He kissed me softly. “I’ve got to go get packed,” he said quietly.
My stomach dropped. No matter what conclusions I drew about us being together, bottom line was I cared about him. The thought of him going back over to the place where so many people never came back from had me feeling nauseous.
He seemed to read my mind. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m comin’ back. I promise.” He looked at me a beat more before pushing up from bed.
“You gonna come to the airport?” he asked, pulling on his tee.
I stood, wrapping my robe around me. “Fuck no,” I declared. The thought of saying goodbye to him, being around a blubbering Gwen…no, I couldn’t do that.
He nodded as if he knew this. He gave me one last look then slipped out the door. I emerged later, when he was all packed and Gwen was readying herself to take him to the airport. Her eyes had moved between the two of us as if expecting some kind of performance, but Ian had banished her to the car. She protested weakly then gave me a look before walking out the door.
Ian stared at me a moment, then crossed the room. “This is it, then,” he murmured, gripping my hips.
I nodded, not trusting my words.
“I love you, babe,” he said. He didn’t wait for a response and he kissed me with a furious intensity as I clung to him to stay upright. He pressed his head against mine, then he was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ian’s departure had left a bitter taste in my mouth. I lost any strength I’d had when he declared I was the person that was going to get him through the last of his tour. How could I say anything to that? I was a coward. His visit stirred up feelings I had been previously ready to let go. The last night between us had totally fucked me up. I felt sick over the fact it happened. I felt sick at the reverent, tender way Ian had made love to me. He didn’t know my mind had also been on another man after the sweet performance.
I felt sick over the fact I hadn’t seen nor spoken to Brock since Ian left. It had been weeks. Gwen had tried to extract information out of me regarding the entire train wreck I had created but I had refused to speak of it, mainly because I was ashamed at how it all had played out. Also because I was terrified she would be disgusted with me about the way I had treated her brother.
So I tried to forget it all once again. I tried to pretend I didn’t crave Brock’s touch while dreaming of Ian’s smile. That I didn’t wish for the flames I felt from Brock’s lips on mine while I wondered about what life with Ian would be like. I tried to forget it all. Unfortunately fate had decided to thrust Brock and I back together when Gwen got a death threat from a dangerous gang.
The fact she was delivered a box of tarantulas creeped me out and terrified me. I hated the thought of my best friend being in danger once again, so I supported the club going into ‘lockdown’. I supported it until an unsmiling prospect had turned up at my door.
“Gwen’s already been escorted to the biker fortress, kid. I think you’re a bit behind the eight ball,” I informed him.
Regardless of the fact he couldn’t have been much other than twenty, he didn’t look like a kid. He looked mean and dangerous.
“You’ve got to come with me to the clubhouse,” he informed me.
“You’re kidding, right?” I scoffed at him.
His face was blank. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Well, you look like a kid who’s used to extracting lunch money with little or no argument. I’m telling you now I’m not going anywhere,” I informed him.
He scowled slightly. “I’ve been instructed that if you refuse I’m to tie you to my bike,” he informed me without humor.
My anger peaked. “That’s the only way you’re going to get me to go with you,” I declared, calling his bluff.
The prospect had raised an eyebrow and unearthed rope out of his cut. “You sure about that?” he asked.
Shit. The little fucker was serious. “Cade is so getting his ear chewed when I see him next,” I snarled under my breath.
The prospect stared at me. “It wasn’t Cade that ordered you in,” he said.
I paused. Brock.
I had been pacing the floor in his filthy room for what felt like hours. Tequila had done little to quell my rage; actually, it fed it. How dare Brock force me to not only be locked in this godforsaken place, but sleep in his room? The asshole. We hadn’t even spoken since the whole Ian debacle, but still he thought it was appropriate to play possessive male? He would be getting a rude awakening. I had initially planned on trashing his room but it was so messy I doubt he’d notice.
In the deep recesses of my furious mind a little part of me acknowledged that maybe it was nice that he cared about me, worried about me enough to face what he knew would be my wrath to keep me safe. But unfortunately that little piece of me didn’t have control at the moment. Tequila did.
Midstride the door opened and my eyes snapped to the figure walking through it. “You!” I shouted, stomping forward to poke my finger at his chest. I didn’t register the tired and weary look on his attractive face.
“How dare you get some freakin’ kid to basically force me onto a bike with barely enough time to pack a makeup bag, let alone a sufficient variety of outfit choices?” I paused for a moment; I wasn’t sure that was what I was mad about. Turned out tequila had more control than I originally thought. I continued, “Actually, how dare you have someone drag me off at all? And then demand I sleep in this...dorm room!” I glanced around at the messy room in distaste. “I’m not yours! I do not belong to you. Hell, we don’t even sleep together anymore. You can’t lay some fucked up claim on me!” I had moved right to his face and was breathing heavily.
Brock’s expression was blank. “Sorry this isn’t five star accommodations that you’re used to, Sparky. We’ll get the maid to leave a mint on your pillow in the morning if that helps.” His eyes searched mine. “But you are mine. No matter what shit you pull, no matter who the fuck turns up and tries to tell you any different. You may not be my old lady but you’re mine. I know how sweet your pussy tastes, I know how your mouth feels around my cock, and I know that if anything fuckin’ happened to you I’d lose my shit.” He paused and it was enough time for me to register the wetness between my legs and the fact we were so close our mouths almost touched. I could smell the tobacco on his breath.
“I’ve had a long night. I can’t be fucked dealing with your mouth tonight unless it’s on my cock. How about I fuck you and we pick up this argument in the morning?” he asked with a growl.
The erotic promise in his eyes, the hand that suddenly clutched my hip sending fire through my body dissipated the rage that I was feeling. Or more accurately channeled that rage into desire.
Brock must have read the silent change in my body because his hand thrust into my hair and he yanked my mouth onto his. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t loving. It was raw and it took everything from me.
He lifted me up and roughly threw me on his unmade bed. The carnal, animalistic look in his eyes excited me. It had been weeks since we had last been together and all I could think about was getting him inside me. Evidently he had the same idea, because as he leaned over me his hands went to the middle of my shirtdress and ripped it off me. I barley registered the buttons flying off and scattering everywhere. All I could think of was Brock’s mouth, which had settled on my breast and was sucking my nipple over the lace of my bra. He yanked the cup down to lightly brush his teeth over my peak, the mix of pain and pleasure nearly sending me over the edge. Rough hands plunged into my panties and I cried out as he rubbed me.
“Fuckin’ drenched,” he growled.
I whimpered as his hand rubbed in circles and his mouth worked my breast. Without warning an orgasm shattered me and Brock’s mouth was on mine, silencing my scream.
I vaguely registered him pulling his jeans off but I was in a sort of dream. My focus sharpened as he plunged into me, filling my sensitive flesh. I moaned as he s
ettled on top of me, moving hard and fast. He gripped my neck.
Something changed in his eyes and he stopped, turning me around so he could plunge into me from behind. The new position meant he could thrust into me deeper and it was so intense it bordered on pain. I felt him lean over me, pushing into me hard and slow.
“This is us, baby,” he growled in my ear. I moaned as he flexed his hips and thrust into me. “We’re real—we’re not hearts or fucking flowers. It’s you and me and it’s raw and magnificent.”
I whimpered as he pounded relentlessly. But I met him thrust for thrust, desperate for it.
He leaned back up, fingertips biting into my ass. “You are fucking perfect for me, baby. All gloss on the outside but a dirty bitch who likes my cock hard from behind on the inside,” he growled, moving faster.
I felt myself build at his rough words and exquisite friction. “You’re mine,” he grunted. “Your cunt’s mine,” he added, clutching my hair and pulling it slightly.
I shattered at his words combined with the small eruption of pain that came from his hand in my hair. I felt him jerk inside me as my muscles milked his release.
I collapsed on the bed as he gently pulled out of me, feeling delicate but sated. Brock pulled me up gently, gathering me in his arms. We lay like that for a second, breathing heavily. Brock kissed me on the head.
“Go clean up, baby, then we’ll sleep,” he commanded softly. I was too mellow from my orgasms to argue. I just nodded meekly, wandered to the bathroom, did as he said and curled up with him in bed. With his strong arms around me I relaxed.
“You’re still in trouble tomorrow,” I murmured sleepily.
Brock’s arms tightened. “Baby, I’m in trouble for the rest of my life.”
The words didn’t sink in as I fell asleep.
I woke up with only a slight hangover but feeling happy and warm. Warm because of the familiar muscled tattooed arms around me. Happy because of the familiar muscled tattooed arms around me. I felt tender between my legs, a reminder of the mind blowing sex from the night before. I snuggled into the iron clad chest I was currently using as a pillow, my leg thrown over his thighs. Then the events pre-sex rushed into my mind. I stiffened.