I growled in my throat.
“I’m trying to save you a world of hurt,” I told him honestly. “What if one day you decide that I’m too clingy and annoying, and…” he shut me up with his mouth on mine.
His tongue plunged down inside of my mouth, and I gasped, pulling the breath right out of his lungs.
He let me have it, though, and then he let me have it.
It being his hands.
They were everywhere all at once.
One went to my shirt, which he hiked up, and I cringed when he found my sports bra.
I didn’t wear normal bras. I didn’t like them. They were uncomfortable and annoying.
Same with my underwear.
I had a sensory motor problem. Anything that I had on, socks, shoes, pants, shirts—if any of them were uncomfortable, I obsessed about it.
Which led me to now.
I was kicking myself for not being into wearing sexy things.
Hanes bras and underwear were definitely not sexy.
Aaron, though, pushed my bra up, exposed my breasts, and then dropped his mouth, yanking up my shirt with his teeth before latching straight on.
“Oh, fuck.”
He chuckled deep in his throat, and then let his other hand trail down my belly, stopping at the top of my boy-short underwear.
They were hot pink.
They said ‘Tuesday’ on the backside and right above my pubic bone.
His head was too preoccupied with my breast to be looking at my panties, but the moment his fingers found their way underneath the elastic band, his head came up, and he watched me.
I didn’t know what he saw, nor what he was looking for, but he saw whatever it was he needed, and then let his fingers delve deep between my legs.
His talented fingers swiped over my clit, but instead of stopping, they continued all the way down until they were perched right at my entrance.
His head dropped down, mouth touching mine, and then slowly let them slip inside.
No words were exchanged. No words were needed.
My breathing started to quicken, and my hands finally unfisted in the sheets and found their way to his body.
The first touch of my hand on his scarred back had him pausing, lifting his head, and staring at me.
With one look, I knew what he was thinking. Knew that he thought the scars were ugly.
And maybe they weren’t very attractive to him, but to me they made him who he was.
I still didn’t know the whole story. I sensed that it was a tough subject to broach, but I found the scars to be appealing.
Not in an ‘I like pain’ kind of way, but in a ‘I like everything about you’ kind of way.
When he read that in my eyes, his muscles loosened, allowing me to feel my way along the scars, touching every single part of him that I could reach.
I’d just gotten to the top of his ass when one of his long, thick fingers slipped inside of me, causing me not only to gasp, but to arch up, pushing him even deeper than he’d been intending to go.
He pushed his face into my neck as one hand snaked up to my hair, pulling it so my head was forced to the side and allowing him full access to assault my neck with his mouth.
My fingernails clenched on the skin of his back, and I lifted my hips, urging him to do more.
“You want more than my finger?” he rasped against my skin.
“Yes,” I said instantly. “I want it all.”
I felt him smile against me.
The rough bristles of his beard tickling its way up and down the cord of my neck.
I’d have a beard burn tomorrow for sure.
Did I care? Not in the least.
One finger turned to two inside of me, and his thumb swept up, causing my body to jolt the second he found purchase against my clit.
“Sweet baby Jesus, you’re going to kill me,” I moaned, my eyes clenching shut in reaction to the need that was coursing through my body.
I’d never felt anything so good in my life.
If I’d known what I was missing all this time, I would’ve seriously rethought my promise of chastity until I was married.
Likely it was just the man I was doing it with, though.
I’d always had a thing for this man. The boy had been beautiful, but the man was perfect. Gorgeous inside and out.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Please!”
I felt his grin against my skin as his bearded face moved down my throat, zeroing in on my breast.
“Oh, God,” I gasped the moment his mouth latched onto my nipple.
His hands went to each ass cheek, pulling me up at the same time his cock went down.
“Put me in,” he ordered after letting go of my breast with a small suck.
I bit my lip, reached between my legs like a good little girl, and guided him to my entrance.
He was big. My hand was small, yes, but it wasn’t that small.
He felt huge, my thumb circling around his cock one way while my fingers went around the other.
Giving him a small pump with my fist, I licked my lips and stared straight into his eyes.
“Don’t have much control, baby. You want me to come on your belly, I’ll do it.”
I moved him where he wanted to be, knowing for a fact that I very well might cry if I didn’t feel him inside of me.
“Oh, my…”
My breath squeaked out of me as he started to ease inside. My heels dug into the bed, pushing my body up, and urging him in further, all on its own accord.
All the while he pushed into me, he continued to stare into my eyes as he did.
The moment he bottomed out inside of me, my hand went to the scarred half of his face, and I pulled his lips down to mine.
His mouth devoured mine.
The burn of his cock stretching my entrance paled in comparison to the way the overall feel of him stretching me tore through my nerve endings.
“Fuck me,” he grated through clenched teeth. “You feel like a fucking inferno in the middle of a hurricane surrounding my cock. How is that even fuckin’ possible?”
I started to laugh, my arms going around his neck as I pulled him impossibly closer. “Are you going to wax poetic words to me, or are you going to show me what you’re made of?”
His hands clenched on my ass cheeks, and then he started to move.
“I won’t show you. I’ll make you feel.”
And he was right. I felt everything.
The drag of his cock against the sensitive spot inside of me. The way his beard hairs rubbed deliciously along my collarbone. The rock of his hips pushing against mine. The fist of his hand tightening in my hair.
There was nothing that I didn’t feel.
Pairing it all together, though, was what really made this moment particularly amazing.
My belly tightened as he started to move less carefully. Hitting me deeper and harder than before.
Smack-smack.
The light went out.
We both froze.
Then we started to laugh.
“Oh, God,” I wheezed. “We should…”
Before I could finish my sentence, he was on the move again, pounding inside of me faster and harder than before.
In. Out. In. Out.
Over and over again he went, the light following each slap of our skin meeting skin.
I had to close my eyes because the light was snapping on and off too quickly, making my eyes unable to adjust, and my head to become dizzy.
Though, the dizziness likely could’ve been caused by lack of oxygen to my brain.
I had to wrap my arms around his shoulders to keep my body from jolting up the bed with the exuberance of his thrusts.
But with my body curled around his, it only meant we both started moving up the bed.
Something happened though. Something magical that I’d never felt before.
Yes, I’d had orgasms. I was twe
nty-nine, not a confused sixteen-year-old. I had a vibrator at home.
But nothing, not even birthday cake, compared to the feeling that coursed through my body only moments later.
My hands fisted in his hair as something started to build down deep in my core. Something that turned into full blown exaltation as my orgasm burst through me.
I splintered into a million tiny, itsy bitsy, never putting Imogen back together again, pieces.
I screamed into Aaron’s neck.
He cursed and started to buck his hips.
The hand in my hair pulled, and the hand on my hip clenched.
It was likely that I’d have a bruise from the force, but I’d wear that bitch like a badge of honor if it came with this feeling every time I got it.
My scream ran dry when my breath left my body, as did my ability to stay conscious.
I came back to myself long moments later to Aaron’s sticky body lying flat on top of mine, the light blazing beside my head.
My breathing was labored, as was his, and I was fairly sure that if I tried to move, my legs wouldn’t support me.
“I’ve never, not once, experienced anything like that. Not even with my six speed, dual vibrating heads vibrator,” I informed him between gasps.
The hand in my hair let go, as did the one at my hip, as he pushed up to his knees. His body stayed connected with mine, and I couldn’t help but look down.
A gasp left me as I got my first good look at his cock.
Or the base of it, anyway.
“You have a wiener tattoo!” I cried. “What is that?”
By leaning forward, I moved my body and forced him to fall completely out of me, and my mouth formed an O as I got a look at the rest of the tattoo.
“Did that hurt?” I asked, touching it with the tip of one finger.
“I was drunk off my ass, pissed off at the world, and ready to prove to everyone that ever wanted to know that my wife wasn’t ever going to lead me around by the dick again,” Aaron sighed. “It’s not my most shining moment. I regretted it in a multitude of ways when I saw it the next morning. Though you’re the first one to see it in all its glory.”
I started to laugh.
“Did they do the tattoo while it was hard?” I asked curiously, running my fingers around the tribal tattoo.
His dick, which had begun to soften, started to harden again.
I licked my lips, causing him to laugh.
“I don’t remember to be honest. I got a man in a motorcycle club to do it, his name was Peek. I have no clue what or how he went about doing it, but he did it. I never asked and he never told.”
“I thought in Texas you weren’t allowed to give tattoos to drunk people?” I asked in confusion. “At least that’s what I’ve always heard.”
“You’re not…technically,” he amended. “But I knew the guy, and he had no clue I was drunk. I’ve always been awesome at holding my liquor. The only way you’d know I was drunk was if a breathalyzer was done on me, or a blood draw.”
I blinked.
“The one and only time I got drunk, it was to cut off every inch of my hair on my twenty-first birthday. As you can see, this is as far as it’s grown back since then.” I indicated my hair. “I also got a piercing.”
“Where?” He started to run his eyes up and down my body.
I grinned.
“It was a tongue ring. I took it out the next morning and let it heal up. It was a scary few days, though. I couldn’t talk right, my mouth was swollen, and I feared I’d have to go to my doctor and explain my idiocy when the hole wouldn’t close. Luckily, everything was all right seeing as I’d done the piercing myself.”
He stared at me in bemusement.
“That is impressive,” he agreed.
“Anyway…did you know the dog’s been watching us this whole time?” I asked him, trying not to look at Tank.
Aaron had no such desire.
He looked over at the dog who was laying on the floor in the corner, his head resting on his paws, eyes directed at us.
“He probably thought it was an awesome show,” he grinned.
I got out of bed and walked to Aaron’s discarded t-shirt.
“I’ll be back,” I told him. “I have to go take care of this.”
“Don’t get anything on my shirt, woman,” he ordered me. “That’s my favorite tee.”
I looked down at it.
It was nothing special. Just a faded black t-shirt with a Rolling Stones tongue logo cracked and peeling in the middle of the chest area.
“What’s so special about it?” I asked him, picking lightly at the soft material before letting it fall back to my body.
It practically swam on me. Literally, it covered me from head to knees.
Then again, that wasn’t hard to do. I was five-foot-one, and Aaron was well over six feet tall. The shirt fit him snugly, and having it swallowing my body only emphasized how very large he actually was.
“That’s the only one my ex-wife didn’t manage to burn…” he hesitated. “Though you can see she did get it a little bit on the edges.”
I lifted the hem of the shirt and looked at it, then stared harder.
He was right. There was a tiny hole in the very bottom right corner of the shirt.
“Why would she burn your clothes?”
“Because she’s a she bitch from hell who liked to torture me as her evil pastime,” he muttered. “Go take care of yourself. I’ll give you a condensed version when you get back.”
I hurried. Not to mention I was very careful not to get anything—body fluid or water alike—on his shirt.
I’d just exited the bathroom—which might I add was practically all the way at the end of the hall, past five bedroom doors—when I ran into something solid.
“Sorry,” a deep male murmured. “Gotta pee.”
Ghost.
He didn’t say another word as he pushed past me and walked into the bathroom, not turning on the light as he did.
Brows furrowing, I hurried past the rest of the doors back to Antarctica, AKA Aaron’s room, and shut the door quietly.
“What’s the rush?” he wanted to know from his position leaning against the headboard.
He looked reserved, like he knew I was about to force him to answer questions that he didn’t want to answer, let alone think about.
“Ran into Ghost on the way out of the bathroom. In only a shirt. With no panties or bra on,” I informed him.
His mouth twitched, bringing my attention to his face.
Aaron’s left side was burned, yes, but his face had fared better than the rest of him. He only had two really obvious scars. One that started around his jaw and cut across his cheek to his mouth, and another that started at his ear and curled around his cheekbone.
He likely had more under his beard, but none that I could see. Not right now, anyway.
His chest was bad. Really bad. Most of his upper arm, side, and pectoral muscle was scarred. Likely, at one time, the scars would’ve inhibited his movements, but knowing Aaron, he would’ve worked on it until he was back to almost perfect—or as perfect as he could make himself, anyway.
I couldn’t inspect his lower half since he had the comforter pulled up over his waist, but I’d felt scars on his hip and left butt cheek.
He was lucky.
Very, very lucky.
“Done?” he snapped.
My eyes found his.
“Is there a time limit on how long it takes you to recover before you’re ready to go again?” I asked him, licking my lips.
I could tell that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting.
He’d thought it would be denial that I’d been studying him.
But denying that would’ve been futile.
Admitting it, however, wasn’t. I was looking at him, and despite the scars, they didn’t take away from his overall beauty.
In fact, the scars made him more b
eautiful. More him.
The new Aaron. The one not associated with Tawny and the boy she used to date.
“Probably should not do it again until I can get to the store for some condoms,” he murmured, his eyes taking in my body before sweeping back up to my eyes.
I grinned.
“Yeah, that would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
His mouth twitched.
“As a medical professional, I really think we should…”
“I’m clean,” I blurted. “I haven’t had sex since I was sixteen.”
His eyes were intense as he took me in, read the sincerity in his eyes.
“I had to pass about a gazillion tests to get on at the fire department here. Not to mention I haven’t fucked any one since my wife deigned to allow me the use of her body in two thousand and eleven.” His grin was harsh. “Not having sex in years doesn’t protect against babies, though.”
“No,” I agreed. “But birth control does.”
His eyes lit.
“What kind of birth control?” he questioned.
“The kind that makes me cringe every time I take it in the morning,” I told him. “I don’t swallow pills well.”
He snorted.
“Aren’t they about the size of a grain of rice?” he asked.
“More like the size of a dime,” I muttered.
He snorted.
“Gotcha.” He threw the covers off his lower half. “Since we have that all taken care of, why don’t you come retake your seat?”
I laughed and launched myself at him.
Twenty minutes later, his t-shirt back on the floor, and my body still resembling cooked spaghetti, he explained about his wife.
“My wife thought it’d be a grand idea to tell the media every confidential thing I ever told her over our eight-year relationship,” he said into the dark room. “And she was an asshole. I hated her. I hated my life…but I was stuck. I didn’t want to leave her. Not the her that I married. The her that she became after we married, though…she was terrible.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She was bi-polar, I think,” he explained. “There were days that she’d be perfectly fine. Then there were days that I would wake up—only opening my eyes and looking at her from across our pillows—and she’d go off. She hated that I worked at a firehouse that also employed women. Hated that I was a firefighter who worked so many hours—hours that she couldn’t account for my whereabouts. She also disliked the fact that I enjoyed my job and would rather spend my days off with my friends rather than with her.”
Beard Mode (The Dixie Warden Rejects MC Book 1) Page 11