Run

by Byrne, Amanda K.

  “Born and raised. Parents still live in the north end of the city. You?”

  Ah, shit. Walked right into that. But one thing I’d learned over the last year, you could give massive amounts of yourself without sharing your deepest secrets. I poured half the egg mixture into the pan. “From Washington, originally. My parents still live there, too. Small town near the border with Canada.”

  The problem with holding back, though, was the ache became too much to bear, the need to tell someone, anyone, in the hopes they’d understand. That was my cue to leave. That’s when I moved on.

  He took it and ran with it, though. Told me about his parents, still married after thirty years. “Kind of awesome, if you think about it. Long time not to get tired of someone, especially when it’s so easy to get divorced these days.”

  “It is, isn’t it? My parents are still married, too, but it seemed like over half the kids I knew growing up had at least one step parent. Most of the kids in my classes, too.” I flipped one omelet onto a plate and dropped butter in the pan for the next.

  He pulled open the fridge. “I’ve got beer, beer, water, and orange juice.”

  “Water’s fine.” The thought of more alcohol, even as mild as beer, made me queasy.

  A glass of water appeared at my elbow. “Classes. So you must teach junior high or high school.”

  My lips went numb. “I taught high school,” I forced out. “English and creative writing.” The egg in front of me went blurry, and I sucked in air. Blinked. Blinked again. “Now I’m just a waitress.” I glanced over. “Surprised you called me when you did. I didn’t expect to hear from you that early.”

  “Never did see the point in playing around. If I’m interested, you’ll know.”

  The pan skittered as my hand jerked. “Not quite what I meant. I didn’t think you’d be home until later,” I elaborated, when his brows drew together. “When most people get off work.”

  He grinned. “I work for the city. Road crew. Lost my job with a landscaping company a while back and got hired on quick, and it stuck.”

  “Landscaping? Commercial or residential?” I sprinkled cheese into the second omelet and folded the egg over the top. “Shit. I forgot the toast.” A loaf of rosemary bread sat on the counter, waiting to be sliced.

  “Got it.” His touch slid over me, fingers on the nape of my neck, drifting down my arm, and I wanted to lean into it. Wrap it around me and wear it like a cloak. He picked up a serrated knife and cut off a couple of thick slices, dropping them in the toaster. “Residential, though commercial’s steadier work.”

  I flipped the omelet onto a second plate and switched off the burner. “Not enough work?”

  “Something like that.”

  That was something else I missed about Bend. The yard. My tiny yard, full of flowers and bees that annoyed me when I was trying to work in it. “I miss having a yard. My apartment doesn’t even have a balcony, so no pots or boxes for me.” I wouldn’t have been able to afford them anyway, and it wouldn’t have been worth it even if I could. Running meant there was no guarantee I’d wake up in the same place tomorrow.

  Tonight could be my last night here. Every night could be my last night.

  The toaster popped, and I snagged the toast, hissing as the heat singed my fingers.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just grabbed for it too fast, is all.”

  He took my hand and sucked my fingers into his mouth, one by one, his tongue laving the tender skin. By the time he was done, I’d forgotten all about dinner.

  Then he took his plate and sat at the little table in the corner, all nonchalant.

  I grabbed my plate and sat across from him. “Please tell me there’s more where that came from.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted, bringing out half of the sexy mouth creases. “Plenty more where that came from.” He cut into his omelet and forked up a bite.

  My plate became incredibly interesting while I waited for his verdict on the food. Steam rose as I cut into my own omelet, cheese oozing out.

  “Pretty good.” He was grinning at me. “Do you do other food, too, or just breakfast?”

  “I make an excellent lemon pepper chicken.” The omelet was good. But then, anything with melty cheese was good.

  He scooped up another bite. “Make that. Next time.”

  Next time.

  My head bobbed up and down as my mind took that and raced off into the sunset. There would be more. More of us, here, in his kitchen. Talking. Touching. Which meant there was more in the bedroom, too. Right?

  Eating the rest of my dinner was hard. I wanted to reach across the table, fist my hand in his shirt and drag his mouth to mine. Feel those lips and those teeth and that tongue, driving me insane with want.

  As soon as the last bite was gone, I set down my fork, drained my glass of water, and stood. Trevor leaned back, his gaze locked with mine. I bent down and did exactly what I’d imagined earlier, fisting my hand in his shirt and bringing his mouth to where it belonged. Against mine.

  It was slow. A bare hint of a kiss at first, lips rubbing together in a show of coming attractions. A tease. He broke the connection and scraped his chair back, nudging me away to stand in front of me.

  He held my hips as his gaze searched mine, all serious and intense. They flitted down to my mouth and back. He moved his hands again, around to the small of my back, urging me forward. Closer. Pressing there in another show of possession. He inched closer. Closer. Cheek to cheek.

  Hot breath in my ear, his stubble rough on my skin. “Hope you don’t have any other plans tonight.” Feather touches as he worked his way toward my mouth. “Because I have plans for you.”

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t start in the bedroom.

  He didn’t take my hand and lead me down the hall, into a room laden with shadows and memories of that first time.

  It started there. In the kitchen. With his hands pressing me to him, his lips drifting over my cheek, finding mine. Taking them.

  Quiet, quiet kisses, slow and tentative, like I was still standing at the bottom of the steps, wondering if I should walk up and knock on the door or turn around and go home. He could use those lips to steal my secrets, pull them from me. In a way, he’d already begun. That kind offer of a burger, a hard body to lean on when the whiskey tipped me over, loosened my tongue enough to pass on something I would have otherwise kept hidden.

  Opening my mouth under his was the most natural thing in the world. The way they fit together, adjusting and anticipating, his tongue drawing mine into an ageless battle. Not giving up his dominance, just passing it on for a time. Giving me the upper hand, taking it away, all the while bringing on such a keen need for more that I didn’t realize I was whimpering and my fingers were digging into his shoulders until I tried to wrap my legs around him and couldn’t, because we were standing in the middle of the kitchen.

  He drew back, enough his breath ghosted over my lips. “Well? Any plans?”

  My lungs stopped working. I shook my head.

  His mouth claimed mine, claimed it, the force of it all the more potent for the straightforward way he did it. It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t brutal. It built, brick mortar brick, solid and heavy, something made to last. I’d had primal, vicious lust before. I’d had sweetness. I’d had giggles and sighs.

  I’d never had this before.

  His tongue moved, curling, gliding, taking the kiss to that fine edge of lusty sloppiness and balancing there. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I wanted his skin under me. I wanted to feel it heat, degree by degree. They curled into his shirt instead. Handfuls of soft, worn cotton, threatening to tear at the slightest provocation.

  A brush of a finger on the skin of my lower back, bared where my tank rode up. I shivered. He did it again. A third pass. On the fourth, his hand snuck up under the fabric, fingers flexing as I sucked on his tongue.

  Now he broke the kiss. Now he led me down the hall, walking backward, his eyes neve
r leaving my face, his hands roaming between my waist and my hips and my ass. The dying light of day didn’t stretch into the room, blocked by the blinds. The last time I was here, we’d left the light off. Found each other by groping around, following dips and bends and moans.

  Not tonight.

  Trevor let go long enough to turn on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. “I remember something about a tattoo on your back.” He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head. My hands itched to touch him. Trace the lines of his abs, pinch his nipples between my fingers, find the soft spots that collected the scent of him and hoarded it.

  He caught my hands before they connected with his chest. “Show me,” he whispered.

  I tried not to shake as I grasped the hem of my tank and drew it up and off, twisting my arms behind my back and flicking open the hooks of my bra. A few steps skipped in the seduction chain. His mouth hadn’t explored my neck. My ears, my jaw, I hadn’t felt the rasp of his stubble under my lips. More than a few. A canyon, almost, of missed steps and pieces of information. Trevor moved with the surety of someone who knew me better than myself, who would coax the fears and secrets from me little by little. It scared the shit out of me.

  But I let him turn me around. Let him run a single finger down the length of my spine, follow the curve of first one wing, then the other.

  Massive black wings, feathers rustled in preparation to close up tight, covered my back. It had taken quite a bit of time and money to do, the shading intricate. The rounded tops took up most of my upper back, curving into a double tipped point sitting on either side of the base of my spine.

  Shock bolted through me as he brushed the end of my ponytail aside, his teeth closing over the nape of my neck, teeth scraping along skin, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. Whatever steps we’d skipped in the seduction dance were being made up for now, as this quiet, unassuming man set out to devastate me, his hands molding my breasts, tongue slicking a line of wet heat along my throat, nipples catching between his fingers. And as he tugged and pulled and pinched, I arched into the touch, pushing my ass into his groin. The thick ridge of his cock, straining against his jeans, brought on a fresh rush of wetness. If I didn’t get out of the rest of my clothes soon, my panties would be ruined.

  “Fuckin’ hot,” he growled, voice rough with desire. He found the button of my jeans and flicked it open, deft fingers slipping under the waistband of my panties and into the soaking heat between my legs. Rub. Rub. Rub. He withdrew his fingers, tugging his hand free when I clutched at his wrist. “Take your pants off for me, darlin’.”

  I pushed the denim down my legs, my underwear following close behind. I turned around. He had a twisted sort of smile on his face, and I fought the urge to cover myself. “You, too,” I croaked. I wasn’t going to be the only naked one here.

  His belt came undone quickly enough, even as my fingers grew fat and clumsy. I fumbled with the fly of his jeans, managing to get the zipper down. He’d neglected to put on boxers. Or underwear of any kind. Nothing but his naked cock, hot against the backs of my fingers.

  He hissed. Reaching out, he tangled his hands in my hair, our mouths meeting in a clash of want and heat. It was artless and slippery and perfect, a shard of craziness piercing the weight of the moment.

  We tumbled onto the bed. I lost myself in the surge of arousal, limbs twining around each other, his dick hard against my thigh. Muscles bunched and moved, hips shifted, and it would be so, so easy to take him inside.

  Not yet. Not that way. Bareback implied a level of trust neither of us had earned. I twisted my hips away, moving out of temptation’s reach, wishing I had something to rub against because the craving for friction was becoming too much. “Wait,” I murmured. “Probably should have talked about this before the clothes came off.” Or before we slept together for the first time. “I’m clean. Always use protection, on birth control. That first night…I should have said something then.”

  He stroked a hand over my body, pausing at the dip of my waist. “Same. And it’s not all on you. I didn’t say anything, and I should have, especially given what we were about to do.” He gave me a quick kiss. “Lie back. And no touching.”

  On my back, Trevor braced above me, he kissed his way down my body, absorbing the jerks and shudders with a chuckle and redoubled effort. He teased my nipples with his tongue, learned the lines of Lady Justice with his fingers. Arousal thickened my blood and dampened my thighs. It was embarrassing. I’d been turned on before, the night we’d met, nerves holding me back. That wasn’t happening here. I was pretty sure I could come from the anticipation alone.

  Then he blew a raspberry on my stomach.

  I almost choked on the laugh, surprise batting away some of the tension. He took advantage and dove in, the broad flat of his tongue causing the laugh to die in a sob of need. “God. Do that again.”

  He did.

  He was smart. He took his time, trying long, firm licks, short flickers of his tongue, his teeth grazing my clit, one finger, two, twisting and curling, drawing back to trace my flooded folds with the tip of his tongue. I squirmed, hands scrabbling and clutching at the sheets. Too much. He was trying to learn it all now, so he could use it against me later. “Trevor. Stop.”

  Another lick, and I whined. “You sure about that?” He slid a finger inside and stroked. “Maybe I want you to come all over my face.”

  An image of him, face buried between my thighs, tension stringing me rigid, flashed in front of my eyes. “Do it,” I whispered hoarsely.

  The tip of his finger flirted with my clit, twitching and tapping. I glanced up to see him studying me. “No.”

  No? Bloody hell. No?

  He wiped his chin with his hand and crawled up my body. My taste was thick on his lips and tongue. “No,” he repeated. “I want to see your face when you come.”

  Pinned by the fierce need in his eyes, I couldn’t argue. He stretched across me and got a condom out of the drawer, sitting back on his heels to roll it on. It was one of the hottest things I’d seen in a long time, watching him stretch the latex over his dick. It meant he’d be inside me. In seconds.

  Less than.

  One burning thrust, splitting me open, and I arched off the bed, still unused to the invasion after having gone so long without. “Christ. Forgot how tight you were.” The tendons on his neck stood out, and I wanted to bite them. So I did. I reared up and closed my teeth around one.

  “McKenna.”

  His hips drew back, plunged forward, the movements steady and even. I snuck a hand between us, needing to chase my orgasm, having been left teetering on the edge of it for so long. I was fit to burst, and I couldn’t stand the teasing any longer.

  The first firm rub drew a groan from him as my inner muscles fluttered in response. “Keep going.” He spat the words out. I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts, fingers pinching and rubbing that hot spot, fighting the need to shut my eyes against the intensity of his gaze.

  The flutters became a pulse, stronger, stronger, building to a heavy throb that threatened to blank my mind. What would it be like to feel him naked inside me? Thick and hard, pushing through slick and swollen tissue. The thought knocked me off the ledge, and I smashed my hand between us as release stole everything, the air in my lungs, the words in my throat, laying waste to everything in its path.

  He stilled, chest heaving. “You been holdin’ out on me.” His hips snapped against mine. “Again.”

  I shook my head, nerve endings oversensitive and on high alert. “I can’t,” I gasped.

  “You can.” He switched to short, shallow thrusts, rocking his hips so his pelvic bone rubbed my clit with each nudge. “C’mon. Come all over my cock.”

  Sweat dripped and stuck our skin together, dampening the sheets, the salty tang sliding over my tongue as I licked along his collarbone. He was doing it again, coaxing my orgasm back to life, the aftershocks growing stronger as they mutated and became a new wave of release. I wound my legs around h
is waist and my hands gripped his back. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I wanted to see him. Wanted that moment where he broke apart and reformed.

  One more thrust, his hips circling and pushing into mine, and I fell apart, barely aware when he cursed and held himself deep inside me.

  A roaring noise filled my head, sweeping away the whispers and doubts. Calm. Utter calm. Limp, loose calm. I’d sleep tonight, no doubt. The next couple of nights. He pinned me to the bed, his face buried in my neck. “Fuck,” he mumbled. The sticky, heavy weight of him had me dreaming of things I had no business dreaming of. My head on his shoulder, the shadows dancing around us as we lay there. The room empty and silent except for our murmured, rambling conversation about nothing of importance. Nothing I’d get, not after one night. Maybe not after many nights.

  Being lonely was like being in your own personal hell.

  I winced as he withdrew, the cool air rushing over my superheated flesh welcome as he got up to deal with the condom. When he came back, he lay next to me, groping around until he found my hand. He brought it to his lips, the sweetness of the gesture causing a hitch in my breathing. “So is that what it takes to make you come? Dinner first?” he asked.

  I twisted my head to the side, saw the grin. “What?”

  He rolled and propped his head up on his hand. “Took a blow that night, ya know. Knowing I got off and you didn’t.”

  Oh, you— I scowled. “If I was after an orgasm, I could have just gone home that night and had a hot date with my hand.” Which I had, after I’d left him.

  His gaze heated. “I’d like to see that sometime. Watch you.”

  I’d watch him. Fisting his cock, the head slick with pre-come, breathing shallow as his face twisted in a rictus of pleasure.

  The sheets were bunched under me, and I shifted, trying to smooth them out. It didn’t work. I sat up and glanced down. “Okay if I shower?”

  His teeth flashed in another grin. “Only if I can join you.”