by Jessica Ames
I give him a long look. “I won’t break, Dean. You’re right: he didn’t break me. And it’s time to start living life again. I want this. I want you.”
He lets out a low breath. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
My fingers thread through his hair and it feels as good as I thought it would. “You won’t. And I love that you’re worried, but there’s no need to be. I feel safe with you.”
And I do. Dean has never done anything but protect me. Even before he knew me he was jumping into the line of fire for me. And as much as I’m afraid to let my walls down, they’re already fractured. I never thought I could trust again after Simon, but I can and I do. I trust Dean, even though on paper he doesn’t seem like the kind of person I should trust. He may hurt me one day, but I can’t wonder if that may or may not happen. Holly was right about that. I have to live in the now. I want to heal, I don’t want to be alone without letting people in; Simon has already taken enough from me without taking that as well.
I pull his head down to me, and lick into his mouth. That’s all he needs. His hands around my body, he then rolls us both so he’s on his back and I’m on top of him—giving me control.
And I love him for that.
I don’t let the moment settle though. I lean down, and I devour his mouth, loving the scratch of his beard against my face. His fingers dig into my hips before skimming under my top to rub over the smooth skin of my belly.
I sit up and quickly divest myself of my blouse. I don’t know where it lands when I toss it aside because my focus is completely locked on the tattooed man lying beneath me. His pale, heated eyes watch me as I straddle him, his hands coming up to squeeze my breasts through my bra. I let out an uncontrolled moan, my head tipping back and my mouth falling open as his fingers dip into the cups to skim over my nipples.
It’s been a long time since I was touched by a man and my body is in hyperdrive. I’m so sensitive and every caress, every ghost of his touch sends shockwaves running through my body.
I arch my back, pushing my breasts further into his hands and I reach around my back to unhook my bra. Dean helps me slide it down my shoulders and off. Then he pulls me forward and latches his mouth around my right nipple.
Leaning on my hands over him, I can do nothing as he splits his attention between both my breasts, laving his tongue over my nipples until they become hard.
He works me over until I’m a panting mess, and then he tangles his hand in my hair and pulls me down for another wet kiss.
My fingers go under his shirt. Together, we manage to unbutton it half way down before he loses patience and sits up to tug it over his head. When he lies back down, I run a hand up his bare chest before leaving a trail of kisses over his skin. Then I move to his belt.
Dean lifts his hips and I scramble off the bed to help him remove his jeans. His hands go behind his head as he stares up at me from the mattress, and lying there in just his boxer briefs he looks edible. I don’t waste any time; I unbutton my own jeans, shoving them down my legs and kick them off. I should feel exposed standing like this in front of him, but the hungry desire in his eyes takes away any nerves I have. I push the last piece of clothing off my hips and step out of my knickers. Then, naked, I climb back on top of Dean.
He doesn’t let me settle before he flips me onto my back and climbs off the bed. Dragging my bum to the edge of the mattress, he sinks to his knees. Then he buries his face between my legs. I feel boneless as he licks over my clit and my thighs part wider to give him the space he needs. He swirls his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves until I’m clawing at the sheets, my legs twitching. A finger runs between my folds, up and down, before Dean pushes inside me. And my walls clench around the intrusion.
He fingers me even as he keeps up his devouring of my clit and one finger becomes two before he adds a third. The sense of fullness is overwhelming but I need more. I want more. I want him, inside me.
Squirming, I can feel my orgasm rolling up from my feet, and when it hits me, his fingers are deep inside me.
“Fuck!” I gasp as I’m hit with wave after wave of delicious orgasm.
Dean doesn’t give me time to recover. He pushes off the bed and steps out of his underwear. My eyes lock on his thick cock as he palms it and my mouth dries.
“You on the pill?”
I shake my head. Dean moves over to his jeans and picks them up. He rummages in the pockets and pulls out his wallet. Flipping it open, he takes a condom from the back of it.
He palms his hard cock again, giving it two tugs before he rolls the condom on and crawls back on top of me.
Our eyes meet, and I give him what I’m sure is a dazed smile. He kisses my forehead before he reaches between us to grab his dick in his hand. He rubs the tip through my folds, back and forth, torturously slow, the friction making my eyes roll in my head.
Then he pushes in.
My back arches automatically, lifting me off the bed as he presses impossibly deep. Like everything about Dean, his cock is big, and I feel everything stretching to accommodate his size. He only gives me a moment to adjust before he pulls out and pushes back into me.
He’s gentle but there is definitely a hard, needy edge to the way he makes love to me. I can feel him everywhere and I cling to his arms as he continues his rhythm, my eyes locked on his.
It’s the most sensual moment of my life and I never want it to end because having Dean in me, on top of me, surrounding me feels like nirvana.
He sets a lazy pace, but one that has me coming undone with each drag and pull of his cock, in and out of my pussy. My orgasm hits me like a freight train and I see stars as my entire pelvic region contracts around his cock. He follows me a moment later, spilling into the condom.
He collapses on top of me, his breath hot in the crook of my neck as he tries to draw in air. Then he lifts off me, his hands either side of my head before ducking back down to kiss me.
“Beautiful.”
I don’t feel beautiful right now. I feel like a noodle. He helps me up and we head into the bathroom. I wish we were able to shower together but the cubicle is too small, so I go first then he follows. We then crawl into bed and he pulls me against his chest and that is how we fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I wake to the feel of warm skin pressed against my back. Dean. As I shift, his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, and his nose goes to my neck, nuzzling. Unashamed, I moan.
“Morning.”
I tilt my head, giving him better access to the crook of my neck as he presses his lips against the skin there.
My God. That feels amazing.
His hand rubs up my arm as he kisses me.
“Morning to you too,” I respond, although how I make words, I have no idea. I barely feel coherent.
“You doing okay?”
Something in his tone has me turning over so I’m facing him. Chest to chest, nose to nose, my eyes dart over his face and all I see is concern. And I don’t know why.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Well, last night… we…” He brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to regret it.”
I stare at him, completely confounded by his words. “Believe me, I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever, Dean. Where’s this coming from?”
“Darlin’, you made no secret of the fact you weren’t ready for more and then last night… I don’t want you to regret what happened.”
His words cut through me and I hate that I made him doubt anything. I tip my head slightly, so I can reach his lips from my position and I kiss him. It’s not a frantic, desperate kiss—not like we experienced last night—but it is one that leaves no doubt exactly how much I want him. And I do want him.
“I have zero regrets about what we did.”
“That’s good, because I don’t either.” He kisses my forehead and for a while we lay together, him stroking my side, me pressed against his chest. Eventually, he asks, “You working today
?”
I nod. “Yeah, unfortunately.” I groan. “Bob better be in a good mood today. Lately, he’s been so tetchy.”
And he has. God knows what the hell is wrong with the man. I get that work has been busy and we’ve had some seriously big deals on the table but the meltdown he had at me the other day was completely uncalled for. It wasn’t even my fuck-up on that paperwork. Truthfully, I’m sick of his attitude.
Dean’s fingers sift through my hair, his eyes scanning over my face.
“Don’t take shit off him.”
“He’s my boss, Dean; I don’t really have a choice but to take shit off him.”
He kisses me. “There’s always a choice.”
We get up and Dean starts breakfast while I’m in the shower. When I come down, towel drying my hair, he’s at my stove, spatula in hand. He glances at me over his shoulder, giving me a lopsided grin that makes everything south of my naval take notice. God, the man is beautiful.
I watch him move around my kitchen, completely enrapt. There are four eggs in the pan, sizzling away in a layer of oil—probably more oil than is safe, but Dean doesn’t strike me as a man who gives much thought to his cholesterol levels. In the toaster are two slices of bread, ready to go down once the eggs are closer to cooked.
“I didn’t realise you were so domesticated,” I comment as I glance around my kitchen.
“It’s eggs, darlin’.” His lips tug up at the corner, and I like how that looks against the backdrop of his beard. “Hardly gourmet.”
But he’s wrong; Simon never cooked for me. He never did anything for me.
“Well, I appreciate it. Although if you can cook why in the hell do we buy so much takeaway?”
He gives me a sexy smile that has my stomach flipping and my chest filling with warmth. “Because, darlin’, although I can do it, I hate cooking.”
This makes it all the more special that he’s cooking for me now. “So you don’t like cooking—what else don’t you like?”
“I’d rather talk about what I do like.”
“And what’s that?”
“I like you.”
My pulse kicks up a few extra beats per minutes at his words. “Dean…”
He stares over at me, spatula clutched between a tattooed hand, looking weirdly at home in my kitchen. And I like him being in my kitchen. Truthfully, I like him everywhere in my space.
“You don’t have to say anything back. I’m just telling you how it is.”
I swallow. Hard. Then I say, “I like you too.”
He grins. “Well, that’s a fucking relief, darlin’, because just so you know I don’t make eggs for just anyone.”
I laugh.
Once we’ve eaten (and cleaned up), Dean gives me a lift into work on the back of his bike. My arms wrapped around him, my body plastered against his back, this is fast becoming my favourite place to be. Then again, I feel that way about anything to do with Dean. I have no idea how I lucked out and found a guy like him. Although after my crappy luck with men the universe owed it to me to cut me some slack.
Dean pulls the bike up to the curb outside the gates of Pearson’s. I can see other members of staff entering the building, ready for the midday shift change, but I ignore their looks as I climb off. And they are looking. I’m definitely going to be the subject of gossip, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
I climb off and remove my helmet as Dean takes his off and I secure it in the locker at the back of the bike. He stays sitting as I move over to him.
“Thank you for the lift. And for breakfast. And for… last night. It was all amazing,” is my lame response.
His lips hitch and his fingers go into my hair. “I’m glad you approve,” he murmurs and my eyes shift to his dark beard, which is flecked with copper—which I love. It’s such a rich colour.
“I do. Wholeheartedly.”
He leans forward, as much as the bike will allow, and reaches towards me, his lips brushing over mine. I almost moan against his mouth, tasting the toothpaste he’d swilled around his mouth before we left this morning. When he lets me go, I brace myself using his forearm.
“Have a good day, babe.”
“You too,” I tell him.
I don’t want to leave him, but I have to, so I force my jellied legs to move towards the gates. Before I reach the main entrance, I stop and turn back to him. He’s still sitting astride his bike, his gaze locked on me. He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers at me and I mirror the gesture before pushing into the building.
I head straight for my desk, almost skipping past the bays of desks lining the room. I feel free and light and happy as fuck—something I didn’t think I could ever be again. But with Dean anything feels possible, even if it feels scary too. And it does feel scary. Taking this step is huge for me. I never thought I could do this again—trust a man. Dean seems content to let things run at my pace which makes it feel easier.
My bum has barely touched my seat before Bob appears in his office door.
“Olivia. A word.”
His snapped tone makes my happy mood disappear. Christ. What’s wrong with him this morning?
I hit the power button on my PC before I quickly shrug my coat off, draping it over my chair and head into his office.
He’s moved back to the desk and has reclaimed his chair when I step inside. He doesn’t speak, nor does he raise his head from his paperwork. I shift on my feet as the silence spans between us. Finally, I ask, “Was there something you need?”
He doesn’t look up, he just mutters, “Shut the door.”
My brow draws tightly together, but I turn and shut the door behind me, capturing the tense air in the room, which suddenly feels far too small.
“Sit.” He thrusts his pen in the direction of the chair in front of his desk.
Hesitantly, I move to the chair and sink onto the edge of it. He still hasn’t looked at me, and that concerns me.
“Have I done something wrong?” I wrack my brain, trying to recall if I could have messed anything up the last time I was in.
When he finally glances up, I think I should have been more placating because he looks furious.
“You represent this company, Olivia.”
I have no idea where this is going, so I just nod.
“When you’re standing on the doorstep necking with that—that fucking criminal. What kind of impression do you think that sends?”
I shrink back at the ferocity in his tone. What. The. Fuck?
“Bob, I—”
“Your work over the past few weeks has been suffering. You’re not up to scratch, you’re delivering incorrect paperwork for major contracts, and it’s clear that that delinquent is the reason why!”
Actually, it’s Diane. The woman couldn’t work out which way up to use a biro most days. Fiona, the other admin, hates her with a passion—in fact, she leaves me emails to the same tune. So Bob’s accusation pisses me off, because the mistakes lately are not my mistakes; I’m just the poor fool who is sweeping up the aftermath of Diane’s mess. More than that, his words piss me off because of what he’s accusing Dean of.
“Dean has nothing to do with my ability to do my job.”
“Except you’re not doing your job. Fuck the whole Club if you want—it’s not my business—but when you come to work you leave that at the door.”
Oh. My. God.
For a moment I sit in stunned disbelief at his words. Who the hell does he think he is?
“God knows why you’re associating with those men anyway.”
I should nod and walk out, ignore his words and get back on with my day, but in the back of my mind all I can think about is the kind, beautiful man who gives me his unwavering loyalty. I owe him that back.
Don’t take shit…
He’s always telling me that, and he’s right. I didn’t escape years of hell with Simon to be treated this way by another man—by anyone, in fact.
As I head into a conflict I neither want nor need, I manage to speak
without trembling too much.
“You’re right, Bob. It’s not your business what I do outside these gates, which is exactly where I leave my boyfriend—outside these gates. You should leave your opinions on my private life there too.” I have no idea if that is what me and Dean are—boyfriend and girlfriend—but saying it doesn’t feel wholly uncomfortable. Actually, it feels pretty bloody spectacular.
“Flaunting him outside the building—”
I hold up a hand and surprisingly, he silences. “Is still absolutely none of your business. What I do within these four walls is the only part of my life you’re entitled to. And how dare you say those things about a good man—a good man I happen to care deeply about.”
He snorts, derision clear in his voice and that simply fuels my anger. And I have no idea what happens but something snaps in me. I push to my feet, startling myself and Bob and then I let rip.
“I have no idea why you’re so bent out of shape that I’m dating Dean, but you’ve been like a bear with a sore head for weeks—actually, since I started getting a lift into work with him, which clearly is not a coincidence. Frankly, it’s none of your fucking business if I am shagging the entire Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club and their entire hangaround crew. What matters is the work I do when I’m here.”
“Yeah, that would be true if your work wasn’t going suffering.”
“Not my work, Bob—my work is fine. You want to point the finger, look at the facts first and take a moment to actually check who signed off the forms you lost your mind over, because I’ll tell you right now, it wasn’t me.”
“Olivia, this is a fast-paced environment. If you don’t have the ability to keep up then you’re not going to last here very long.”
“I’ve already been here for months, doing a perfectly adequate job, Bob, so tell me; is the problem my work or the fact I’m dating a Saxons that has you acting this way?”
“Both. It’s not good for the company’s reputation to have bikers sitting outside the front doors—front doors clients use.”
I let out a dry laugh. “For the record, you don’t have to worry about my work or embarrassing clients any longer because I don’t think I want to work here anymore.”