I can tell when she reaches that point of no return, by the way she tenses up for a split second just before she screams my name out. And fuck if I don’t love it more than I should—my name on her lips in her most vulnerable of moments. When she finally stills, I climb back to my feet, gripping my cock firmly as I position myself at her entrance. I slide my steel-length along her, pushing only the crown inside before taking it away again.
And the girl growls in frustration—fucking growls this adorable growl that makes me want to keep doing it over and over again just so I can keep listening to the sound. Unfortunately—or fortunately, however you want to look at it—me and her have something to set straight.
“You want my cock?” My husky voice teases.
She glances over her shoulder, biting down on her lip as she nods.
“But you didn’t want it a few minutes ago.” A hard crack sounds when my palm smacks her ass, a harmonious combination between playful and rough. She gasps. “In fact, you tried to tell me no. Why was that, exactly?” I arch a brow.
“Because it’s embarrassing. And for the record, no one has ever done what you just did…”
I pause, trying to catch her meaning. “No one has ever…ate your pussy from the back?” My palm slides carefully over the sensitive skin of her ass, a pink-tinged hue springing up due to the love-smack.
Her face reddens. “Yeah. That…”
“Damn. You’re more innocent than I thought. Ever been fucked from behind?” I continue with the invasive questions, because in spite of the fact my dick is hard and insistent due to his long-lived state of arousal, I’m intrigued.
She slowly shakes her head.
“Good.” I slide a little further inside her this time, before pulling out again. “From now on Stars, when I ask you to get on your hands and knees for me—you’ll do it without argument or embarrassment. Wanna know why?”
“Um. Yes?” She replies in a questioning tone.
“Because you’ll do it knowing you’ve got the prettiest, pinkest pussy I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot of pussy. Think of all those magazines from back in the day. I could sit and look at yours all day. But also, you’ve got the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted—not that I’ve tasted many, because I don’t typically do that. I’m a taker. Not a giver. But yours is perfection, Helen.”
She frowns, a deep scowl settling over her face. “My name isn’t Helen.”
I grin in response. “I know, Stars. But I’m givin’ your pussy her own name, and I’m choosing Helen of Troy, but just Helen for short. Because this pussy,”—I slam into her finally and we both groan—“this pussy is the kind wars are fought over.”
I drive into her once more. Then over and over and over again, until my toes are curling and a tingling sensation starts at the base of my spine. When I know I’m close, I slide my hand between her legs, seeking her clit. A minute later we’re both combusting, pieces of ourselves flying off into oblivion.
Chapter Fifteen
Lyra
Nash Freakin’ Hudson just rocked my world. Not that I’d tell him that—there’s some secrets us girls have to keep to ourselves. Informing men they have any kind of sway over us—even if just sexually—well, it’s a major no-no. Give them an inch, and they’ll walk all over your heart.
I knew the asshole was cocky and self-assured, but I couldn’t foresee how that would transfer over into the bedroom. He pushed my limits with a confident swagger, waltzing on the tip of the knife’s point without ever falling over the edge into making me ill at ease. Sure, his full speed ahead, let-me-see-all-of-you approach was a bit unnerving, but I’ve never experienced sex like that in my life. I mean, I’ve only slept with three other guys, one of who was a one-time, lose-my-virginity horrid experience type of thing, so I don’t have much to go on… I still have this niggling suspicion, Nash is on an expert level when it comes to the art of the orgasm. And when he starts something—he follows through.
I’ve never got off when a guy was going down on me. My ex would go at it for a minute and a half tops—apparently, he thought he’d just done a grand old deed for me just because he stuck his tongue to me. Never mind the fact his grand deed didn’t have any type of grand results. If love was based on oral skills alone, I’d be at the head over heels, file-a-restraining-order, Glenn Close level with Nash. Good thing lust and love are two separate entities.
It’s been a few minutes since the sex fest ended, and he immediately fell down onto the bed beside me. We lay here silently, me still on my stomach, and him on his side, both lost in our own head.
Out of nowhere, his hand comes to rest on my back, his fingertips drawing lazy designs on my flesh as if to comfort me. But his touch has the opposite effect. I stiffen from the spontaneity of the action.
Yes, we just had sex.
Yes, his hands—and mouth, for that matter—were all over me.
Cuddling and holding each other, though? That’s dangerous territory. Enter confusing feelings, misinterpretations, and disappointment. There’s room for me to misread what he says or what he does, and actually believe he wants more. Which would be tricky considering I’m not even sure what I want right now.
“Who’s Vega?”
As if the cuddling wasn’t signal enough that I need to move him on out of my bed, that question sends a loud alarm blaring.
“No one,” I snap, turning away so that he can’t look at the tattoo on my shoulder.
“Doesn’t seem like no one considering you have a tattoo with their name on your back, surrounded by stars—Stars. Unless, knowing you and your love for animals, it was a pet that passed away. Maybe some fluffy little puppy dog you had for a while?” He steers the stifling conversation into playful territory, at least to him, but I’m not talking about this tonight. Or ever.
“Your pillow and blanket should be on the couch,” I blurt. His fingers freeze immediately.
A sound somewhere between amusement and irritated disbelief lodges in his throat. “Wow,” he annunciates the word like it’s made of three syllables, yanking his hand back as if I’ve burned him and sitting up abruptly. “Hell, Stars. I don’t think I’ve ever been kicked out of bed so quickly. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been kicked out of bed at all…”
I don’t doubt it. I fake a yawn, stretching slightly. “There’s a first time for everything.” With a defeated sigh, he stands, lingering for a few moments as if I might change my mind. I won’t. Finally, he heads back toward the bathroom door, presumably to grab his clothes. But his steps halt as he’s passing by my vanity.
I can’t see what’s stolen his attention, but his hand suddenly swipes something off the surface, holding it up to study it more closely.
“What are you doing?” I ask lazily, still not wanting to move from the spot in which I fell dead to the world in post-orgasmic bliss.
“What’s this?” He ignores my question, turning to hold up the blue “Reasons” note from high-school.
I’m on my feet in an instant, jumping off the bed and running his way—tripping because I attempt to wrap myself in a sheet so I can hide my body, but it just makes my feet get all tangled up. “Give me that,” I order, reaching for the note.
He holds it above his head. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tsks. “I want to know what it is first…”
We battle for a few minutes, me jumping and attempting to grab the paper out of his hand and him waving it way out of my reach. Finally, I settle down, sending him an evil glare as I huff. “It’s part of that silly project we did Senior year. Do you remember it?”
He appears to contemplate my words. “Not sure I do. Care to remind me?”
“We wrote anonymous notes…Reasons why we liked or admired someone.”
“Huh, I think I might recall something of that nature. Don’t think I was big on participating though.”
“Yeah, that figures. Anyway, I thought I’d be the odd one out—all things considering. You know, no one liking me and all…but someone sent me a few not
es. I kept them. End of story.”
“And you still have them?” He arches a brow.
“Yeah, well…what can I say? I’m sentimental. They meant a lot to me when I was going through a not so great time. They’re cool to take out and look at every now and then…” I let my words drift off. “I’d give anything to know who they were from…” I convey just how sappy I am without meaning to.
“That would take away the anonymity of them. And the fun. Some things are better left a mystery. Besides, what if it was,”—he scrunches up his face—“the nerdy guy with acne that everyone was convinced was going to cast a hex on them. Or someone you really hated. It would ruin the magic it holds for you…”
I sigh. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“That’s a given.” His mouth tilts up at the side.
His fingertips brush with mine as he passes the note off, but he doesn’t immediately release it into my possession. Instead, he stands there, his face a confusing mix of opposing expressions—playful smirk still intact, but serious glint to his eyes.
“What if I told you I was this mysterious wooer of words you’ve been seeking.” He watches me closely, and my heart skips a beat. But I have to remember, this is Nash. He’s charming and charismatic—the world’s biggest flirt. He could probably sweet talk Bridezilla into buying saltine crackers and presenting it as her wedding cake.
I scoff. “Then I’d tell you, you’re full of shit.”
His expression is frozen in place for a half a second before a shit-eating grin splits his face. “Always am, Stars. According to you anyway.”
He releases the note and heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. A moment later, I hear the lock click into place and I’m left to retrieve a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet, and replace them. I’m supposed to be the one who imposed this post-sex, cold-shoulder rule, but why does it feel like a punch to the gut?
~XoXo~
Lyra, The night that changed everything
The shrill ringing of the phone startles me awake. Glancing at the clock, I note it’s only 10 at night, but it’s still a sketchy time for someone to be calling the house line. Dread fills my bones just from that thought alone, and the first place my mind drifts is to Gray. We just touched base with him a few days ago, but I’m always worried even if I’m still angry over him bailing on us. My fingers are already shaking before I even pick up the phone.
“Hello?” My voice vibrates with apprehension.
“Lyra, I’m on my way to pick you up. Your Dad’s been in a real bad accident and is on his way to the hospital. I’ll be there in ten minutes, baby. Be ready,” Nana Rose’s usual teasing tone has been replaced with a stern and commanding one I don’t recognize, throwing me off balance. My brain scrambles to keep up with her words, but they just aren’t making much sense.
“No, Nana. He’s downstairs. He was there when I went to bed an hour ago. Dad,” I yell out, needing him to come and take over for me—to explain someone’s just playing a nasty trick on Nana.
She just celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday last week. God, what if she’s becoming senile? Or worse, showing signs of Alzheimer’s or Dementia?
“Dad,” I call out again, louder this time as the thought instantly has me sobering to the severity of this situation. I just kissed him goodnight a little over an hour ago, and from what I could see, he didn’t drink today. He was sober as a dutiful priest when I left him, so there’s no way he’s passed out drunk somewhere and dead to the world. I strain my ears, desperate for a response, or just any old sound to alert me of his presence. There’s none.
“Honey, your Dad isn’t there. He’s on his way to the hospital.” Her voice transitions from stern to soothing, and my heart begins to plummet. My feet immediately begin carrying me over to my bedroom window, which offers the perfect view of the expansive area in front of the house. I just need to see for myself that his truck and Mom’s old car are still parked out front, to verify he hasn’t left. Maybe he’s just gone out to the barn to feed the horses or something.
He does that a lot at night.
“I need you to stay calm, Lyra. Get your clothes on, and I’ll be there soon.” The line gets fuzzy, and I can’t make out whatever else she’s saying. Then, it’s disconnected.
Knowing she’s just going through the service dead spot that’s about five minutes from our home, I’m not alarmed by the sudden disconnection, but it’s ironically right about that time my gaze lands on the now empty spot where Dad’s truck was parked last time I saw it.
My eyes begin to water, and I struggle to hold it together. Dad has to be okay. I just lost one parent, and I barely survived that. Losing both of them would ruin me. Where would I go? To live with Nana Rose? I can’t even think it about it right now…bad thoughts create bad juju.
“It’s okay. Everything will be fine,” I say aloud, attempting to reassure myself as I strip off my pajamas and throw on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt. Raking my fingers through my hair hurriedly, I pull it up in a messy bun on top of my head, then slide my Sperry’s on my feet as I avoid having to bend over and tie a pair of shoes. I grab my purse, my cell charger, and my latest read, then gallop down the steps in a frantic rush. As soon as the headlights of Nana Rose’s car come into sight, I’m out the door, barely remembering to lock up behind me.
I don’t even give her the chance to get out and walk to the porch, jogging to the passenger door of her Cherry Red Dodge Charger—which I would normally be taking a moment to appreciate if I weren’t in such a frenzy—and slamming the door forcefully behind me. All I know is if Dad’s hurt, I’ll minimize the amount of time it takes before I’m with him. Every second counts. Apparently, Nana is on the same page because the wheels begin to spin, throwing gravel in every direction and causing my head to hit the back of the seat before my seatbelt is even clicked. Her eyes remain trained ahead as she fails to award me with the slightest glance in my direction.
I shoot her a worried glance, instantly catching on to the way she’s gripping the steering wheel with both hands, arms stiff as a two-by-four and knuckles protruding through her thin, wrinkled skin. Her chin wobbles as if she’s holding everything in for my sake, but in reality, is on the verge of breaking down any minute.
“What have you heard?” I barely push the words out, still not wanting to admit this is all real. It’s like my brain is split in half—one half able to acknowledge the fact I subjectively understand what’s happening, and the other still living in that beautiful space of denial.
She’s silent for a few beats, lost inside her own head before taking a steadying breath. She still doesn’t look my way, but she finally breaks the silence. “It’s bad, Lyra. Real bad. I don’t know the extent, but the deputy that called wasn’t very reassuring.”
The hairs on my arms rise. Pain punctures its way into my heart. I sit up a little bit straighter, ready to spring from the car as soon as I can—despite the fact we’re still ten minutes from the hospital. I don’t know what to say, probably because there’s nothing I could say that would have any place in our conversation. She’s laid out everything she knows to me. There’s nothing more to be said, so why waste my breath—my energy—when it would be nothing but pointless? I’m not my mother. I won’t offer lies and falsehoods just to make someone feel at ease.
Instead, I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Gray, assuming he’s already been notified, but needing him just the same. “I’ve already called Gray. He’s on the road already, so he probably won’t text you back,” Nana states, as if reading my mind.
“Oh.” My splayed palm rubs against my jeans as I try to wipe the sweat away before switching my phone over and doing the other. Then I’m a fidgeting mess, my knee jiggling nervously, my pointer tapping the hard plastic of the door’s window and lock control panel like I’m frantically typing out an emergency message using Morse Code. If I can’t speak with Gray, then I need someone who’s even better at soothing my nerves. I need the one per
son who helped me through my mother’s death and ensured I made it through to the other side still sane. I need Nash.
The label ‘Best Friend’ limits him to something so small and finite when his role in my life is exponential. He’s my infinity. My constant. My rock. Nash’s been there when everyone else failed to be, even holding me when I cried until my eyes were swollen shut, one of those times resulting in me crying myself to sleep.
He didn’t leave me that night, even knowing it would end in him being grounded and forced to take on double the chores for a month. He simply locked my bedroom door then came to lay down beside me, his arms encasing my sob-wracking body until I had no more tears to cry.
And then, when I’d cried for too long, and moped too much, he offered brutal honesty—forcing me to get my ass up and out of bed and to rejoin the real world. Even after all that, he’s never brought it up again. It’s like an unspoken secret between the two of us. No need to replay. No need to hold it over my head when we’re arguing. He’s never once thrown my moments of vulnerability up in my face and made me feel like I owed him. Unlike any other person would do, he never asked for something in return. I once tried to repay the favor by ordering him this new bike helmet he’d had his sights set on for a while. That one went over real well…
“And two scoops for you, Midnight.” I drop the feed into my favorite mare, a yearling named Midnight’s feed container, and she blows out a loud puff of air before leaning down to take a hefty bite, crunching away as if I’m not even here. Now that she’s got her food, I may as well not exist.
Movement to the left of me causes my head to jerk in that direction and I spot Nash, apparently having left his Grandfather’s property on foot and cutting through my father’s fields. Something large and round is tucked under his arm as he strides my way with purpose.
I beam in his direction, finally realizing that it’s the helmet I had ordered him and sent to his house—even though it was a ‘just because’ gift, I had it wrapped and sent with a note. I wanted him to be fully aware I was thanking him for being there for me, and for assisting in pulling me out of the funk I was in after Mom’s death. When he’s within speaking distance, however, I can see from his tense scowl and the angry waves rolling off of him, this visit isn’t one made out of appreciation. My smile slips away in an instant.
Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 21