Burning Both Ends

by Sinclaire Jayne

  Then he laid her flat, hooked her legs over his shoulders, his cock poised at her entrance. He loomed over her, his expression intensely sensuous, his eyes hooded.

  Heat curled low in her body. She felt like the flames would consume her if she couldn’t get to where she needed to be.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She writhed under him trying to impale herself. His thumb kept pressing and teasing her clit, and she was so hot and slick that she must be on fire. She was dizzy for him. “Now, Lock, please, I need you now.”

  He pinched her clit and the hint of his nail sent her over the edge. She screamed again, and it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It was like falling backwards into a burbling Jacuzzi. She was submerged in heat and effervescence and before she could even begin to fathom the incredible sensuous high, Lock was thrusting deep and hard, his hands aggressive on her hips, completely controlling her body and the sex and his mastery thrilled her on a mental, emotional, and physical level and, for the first time in her life, Dare completely let go of everything, every thought and emotion and just lost herself in the pleasure of her body and his.

  He drew out her orgasm and, even before the trembling had begun to subside, it started again, building with a ferocious intensity that peaked almost viciously and, through it all, Dare tried her best to keep watching him watch her, finding pleasure in how much their passion affected him. She was drowning in their combined scents, the smell of sex and sweat and each other and the sounds of their flesh slapping together, their liquid heat, and then he came, and the pulse of him inside of her flipped her up and over a third time.

  He collapsed on her and Dare felt his heart slam against hers and she dragged her arms around his body to hold him close. She didn’t want to give any of this up. His feel and weight and heat and the power of their coming together. They were sweatier than after their sprint back to the boat dock or after their run.

  Sex with Lock was one hell of a way to stay in shape. She felt bursting with endorphins. Usually sex cranked her up and after orgasm she wanted to get vertical again and do something active like go for a run or hit the gym, but now, holding Lock to her, lying on the white furry throw rug on his bedroom floor, feeling his heart slow in rhythm with hers and his breath mingle with hers and calm, she just wanted to stay put.

  Not think about what came next because something always did.

  “I love that you’re a screamer,” he said.

  “Awkward if we were in a hotel or staying at someone’s house or had roommates.”

  “Any man who’d be embarrassed that he made you scream in a hotel doesn’t deserve you.”

  He went to roll them to the side.

  “No stay like this,” she urged. “Just a little.”

  “I’m heavy.”

  “I love it.” She sighed, not sure she could explain or if she should.

  She felt safe, grounded, although she didn’t want to be a woman who would ever feel like a man could or should keep her safe. She didn’t understand the feeling and wasn’t sure she should examine it too much so she went back to sex. “Although...” She wiggled. “I think you bruised my breasts. They’re so sensitive.”

  He lifted himself up to look at her. She did have red smudges.

  “Dare, I’m sorry. I was too rough.”

  “No, you were perfect.”

  She was probably just about to get her period. She wasn’t always regular although the pill had helped, and some months her breasts did get a bit swollen and achy, but so not sexy to tell a man that.

  “I didn’t know that was possible,” she said. “I’ve always needed it fast and hard to come, but you...” She paused as he raised his head so that he could see her.

  “It’s trust, Dare.”

  She swallowed hard and struggled. He let her go, rolling to his side, propping his head up with one palm while he watched her. She sat up, cross-legged and plucked at the rug.

  “This looks like it came from a Pottery Barn catalog.” She changed the subject feeling too deep in with him.

  He laughed “It did. A year ago my sister wanted a giant bean bag from there called the furlicious for her birthday.” He rolled his eyes as if laughing at the name. “And I saw this, and it just seemed like... I don’t know... so comfortable and soft and perfect to lie on and watch the fire on winter nights.”

  “So this is your big seduction rug.” She grinned at him.

  “I may have thought that at the back of my mind, maybe,” he said. “But you’re the only woman I’ve seduced on it, but I think that was more you than me or us together so I’m not taking the credit. I don’t bring women home here.”

  The silence had been comfortable, but now it grew fraught.

  “I’m only here for a bit more than two more months, Lock.”

  He stroked her knee, his blue eyes dark with emotion. “I know. I don’t want to think about it.”

  Anything could happen.

  She stirred.

  “Let’s just be here. Now,” he urged, “in the moment. Together, although...” He looked pained. “It would be better if you transferred...”

  “No.” Dare shook her head. “Everyone already thinks we’re... what is the word you use here, shagging?”

  “That is not what we are doing.” Lock was fierce; his face shut down, and Dare felt a thrill to her core at his adamant rejection of casual fucking that she definitely should not feel.

  “I won’t do anything at work like stare or drool or pinch your ass. I won’t have girly confessional moments in the shower and you won’t treat me differently from Mim or Reese or any of the others. We’ll work some shifts the same and different and everyone will be cool with it. And if a bushfire breaks out, you can send me on my way and have a little break.”

  Lock pulled her into his body and kissed the back of her neck.

  “I’m not going to think about bushfires, and I’m not sending you anywhere.

  You make me happy, Dare. In a way never knew I could be happy. So I’d rather have you for the next two months than not at all and think of what might have been.”

  She looked at him, nibbled on her lip. “You have balls of steel, Lock.”

  “I’ll need them.”

  She laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

  “No...” His hands cupped her breasts so gently, his fingers stroking. “You are that good.”

  Lock went for a shower. Dare was planning to join him, but wanted to make them both an espresso so she could try her hand at his very large, very expensive machine he had in the kitchen of the main house.

  “I always wanted to be a barista,” she said, rising up from the floor.

  He reached out and snagged her hips, kissing the flame tattoo licking up her torso.

  “Be a fast barista,” he said, because I want you in the shower. “And wear your panties. I think they are on the stairs.”

  “Why my panties?”

  “Because it turns me on thinking of you making coffee for us only wearing panties.” He told her the code for the key pad to get into the backdoor of the house.

  “Now I’ll know all your secrets.”

  He stood up fluid and silent and caught her hand and reeled her into his body, smoothed her hair away from her face. “I don’t have any,” he said. “Except you. I hate having to pretend, Dare. I don’t want to have to hide my feelings. It makes this”—he pulled her hand up to his chest where it fisted over his heart—“seem less.”

  She kissed his shoulder, wishing she were different.

  “One espresso coming up.”

  She ran down the stairs and scooped up her panties, sliding them on and laughing because her panties were still wet from her arousal earlier as well as the outdoor shower. She wondered if he’d thought of practicality when he’d been spinning his sexual fantasy.

  She strolled into the kitchen, turned on the gleaming espresso machine and opened the fridge to find some almond milk. When she pulled it out and closed the door, she turned back towards the counter and
came face-to-face with a woman, who stared at Dare incredulously, clearly shocked speechless.

  Chapter Twelve

  She was petite, practically a foot shorter that Dare and had curly brown hair that fell to the middle of her back and was pulled back in a scrunchie. Dare didn’t even know any companies made scrunchies still. The woman just stared at Dare, mouth hanging open. Her dark eyes huge and bouncing around Dare’s face, bare breasts, tattoo, and everywhere in between. It was a little unnerving, but she clearly posed no physical threat. Dare’s initial shock gave way to a slow burn of anger, which ignited in her belly.

  “Hello,” Dare said pleasantly as if this happened all the time.

  The woman looked too old to be Lock’s sister whom he’d said was finishing up and at uni, but was still out of the country doing some art restoration course in Italy.

  Dare even poured the almond milk into the steamer cup. “Break in often?”

  “I-I... have a key to the side door. Who are you?”

  “The lover,” Dare said, almost adding the coworker, but she’d promised even though she didn’t think that was going to hold for longer than the five seconds it was going to take her to get her ass up the stairs and seriously shut this shit down with Lock.

  She felt sick. Absolutely sick, but she wasn’t going to let this woman see it, and definitely not Lock. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. She hated that she’d started to trust him. That she’d... she shut down her thoughts and just stayed in the moment, light on her feet, not thinking about what this meant or what would happen next.

  “Are those tattoos?” The woman practically squealed the word like it was dirty.

  “Yeah.” Dare shrugged. She started steaming the almond milk. “If you’re looking for Lock, he’s in the shower.”

  “You’re walking around the house naked.”

  “Got panties. Some kink of Lock’s. He asked. Sure you know all about the panties and nothing else while pulling a shot.”

  The woman audibly gulped.

  “Who... who are you?” The woman asked, her voice so stunned as to be tremulous, and Dare thought she really should be kinder about this. It wasn’t the woman’s fault Lock was a screaming asshole who’d completely fooled her.

  “Darington Knight. And who the fuck are you?” She put the milk aside and started pulling shots. Quick. Tense.

  The woman winced at the profanity. Dare had to control herself from chucking the steamed milk at the woman. This chick was the opposite of her in every way. Maybe that was the true kink of Lock’s.

  “His wife.”

  How the hell was he going to let her go? Lock knew he should shut this down now before he fell even harder. He’d never felt this way about a woman. Never thought it was possible. He felt on top of the world and terrified, which was not helped by Dare’s skittishness. Definitely she was planning on walking away from him with a wave and a smile.

  He had to be prepared for that, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy on her. He wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.

  The shower water was hot like he liked it, and he was just reaching for the soap when the shower door opened and Dare stood framed in the doorway, wearing only her purple panties and holding a coffee mug.

  “Hey, baby.” He reached for her, but she shoved the cup in his hand instead. “Where’s yours?” He held the mug out of the stream of water.

  “Gave it to your wife.”

  “My what?”

  “Wife.”

  He stared at her, not able to process the words. Dare glared back. Her beautiful eyes like chips of ice.

  “Wife. W-I-F-E. She was quite specific in her choice of vocabulary but, maybe you have two, so I’ll help you out. Short. Loads of brown curly hair. Chocolate eyes like a truffle. Huge boobs. She’s here. Waiting for you.”

  “Here? In the house? In the apartment?” He couldn’t get his brain to work.

  “Main house. She had a key, Lock, so cut the ‘I’m a cute idiot’ act. Man up about this shit. Your wife’s in your kitchen, and you’re fucking lucky I didn’t bring one of my combat knives back upstairs with me, because, yeah, I do travel with those. And, yeah, I’d like to cut off your balls and jam them down your throat so good-fucking-bye.”

  He turned off the water and stood dripping in front of her. His hand snaked out and snagged her arm as Dare was in the process of turning. His grip was gentle but firm. Dare glared at his hand.

  “Melissa.”

  “How the hell do I know what her name is? Your wife’s downstairs in the kitchen doing an impression of a fish.”

  “Ex-wife,” he said, unable to keep the distaste out of his voice. Shit. He should have told her but his marriage was so long ago, and he’d tried to put his selfishness and stupidity and Melissa’s betrayal so far in his rearview mirror. “We got a divorce. What’s she doing here? How’d she get in?”

  “Told you, key.” Dare was still glaring, practically vibrating with repressed energy, but she no longer looked like she wanted to clock him. “Divorced? Really?”

  “Seven years ago. I can show you the decree. Seven years. Three months and...” He thought for a moment. “Sixteen days. Three years longer than we were married. Getting out was the best decision I’ve made as an adult.”

  Until now. Damn. He’d hurt Dare.

  “She hurt you that badly?” Dare’s voice was softer now, more of an ache.

  Had he been hurt by Melissa? He’d been furious. Humiliated. Betrayed. Disgusted. And ultimately relieved. But pissed at his stupidity, and ashamed that his motives for marrying her had not been based on love but more desperation, fear, and convenience.

  “I’ll tell you all about Melissa if you want, but I need to find out what she wants so I can get her out of here.”

  He ran his hands though his wet hair.

  “Jesus.” He caught Dare by the shoulders.

  She’d been gearing up for a fight, clearly, and he didn’t blame her, but she was practically shaking with the unused adrenalin.

  “Dare. Baby.” He forced her chin up to face him. She tried to pull away from him, and it felt like she had brought her knife and sliced him. “I know you keep telling me this is temporary, and maybe it’s only for the next two months, but if we are together, I would never, ever touch another woman sexually. I wouldn’t sext one. I wouldn’t flirt with one. I wouldn’t even fantasize about another woman.”

  Just the thought was abhorrent and obscene. Dare was everything he could ever want, and the serendipity of their meeting stole his breath. “I wouldn’t check out dating sites. I wouldn’t look at porn on the internet. I don’t do that. Even if we were together until I was one hundred. I would never ever do that to you. I would never do that to any woman.”

  He’d had all that shit done to him and more. And no matter how bad things had gotten with Melissa, no matter how much he’d wanted out, he’d never once even considered being unfaithful. Even after he learned about her infidelity, he hadn’t regretted one woman he’d turned down in college or at work, the pub with friends or colleagues, or even in line to buy groceries during their short, awful marriage.

  Dare had stopped prowling and was no longer trying to pull away from him, but she was still edgy. He leaned forward, wanting to kiss her, but Dare ducked away.

  “Dare, Melissa was a long, long time ago. She was my high school girlfriend.” He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “I went away to school. Should have ended it then, but it was just easier, I thought, to have someone. To not feel alone. Then my parents died and...” He guessed it still made sense in theory, but in practice not so much. “I married her. I thought that together we’d make better guardians for my brothers and sister. My sister, August, was only eight,” he said, remembering how shell-shocked his little sister had been. How she’d cried and hid under her bed, clutching a stuffed koala at night while he’d tried unsuccessfully for months to coax her to sleep back in her princess bed.

  He’d had to take a leave
from school. Quit training for the Olympic trials. Transfer universities and take a double course load to catch up, and join a masters rowing program with a much lighter rowing schedule. All of it had been devastating, and Melissa had been the one constant. He’d felt lost and alone and bewildered by grief and guilt, and she had been willing to help. Until they’d been married a few months and then she’d wanted him as her husband, but not the kids and none of the responsibility. And she definitely hadn’t wanted him off at school all the time or studying for exams in the library because it was the only place he could concentrate.

  He couldn’t blame her really. She’d been twenty-one. Hardly a fun start to married life, an instant family with three grieving kids and a grieving husband struggling to get his life back on track. He hadn’t wanted to rely on the inheritance. He wanted there to be enough for all his siblings to go to university and get started in life, and he hadn’t wanted to sell the house.

  “I think I was looking more for a mother figure for the kids than a wife,” he said ruefully. “God, I sound like the stupidest, most selfish bastard. I really wanted her to do a job I was supposed to do. She seemed keen. She was over at the house all the time we dated and after my parents died she practically moved in as I got everything settled.

  Christ, he sounded pathetic. Making excuses. He deserved what she’d dished out. Complaining all the time. Going out with her mates instead of staying home with the kids. Finding fun with other men. He’d been more like a selfish, clueless, harried boss, trying to make his life work out for him instead of considering her needs.

  “I didn’t love her,” he confessed the worst part. “I don’t think I ever did. When I went away to school I realized that. I didn’t miss her. Well, I missed the sex but I was really busy with studying for an engineering and architecture degree. And then I was trying to make the Olympic team for crew. I planned to break up with her at the end of the term so I could do it in person. I realized that we had nothing in common. She didn’t have goals. She just wanted to get married, but instead my parents died.”