But—
Snarling, he tore his mouth from hers and jerked away, sitting at the far end of the futon. With hands that shook, he rubbed at his face.
Son of a bitch.
“Lizzie…fuck. I’m sorry.”
A harsh intake of breath reached his ears and the last thing he wanted to do was face her, but that was what he made himself do.
The minute he turned his head to look at her, she surged up off the futon, moving across the small office to stand by her desk, head bowed, arms wrapped around herself. “Get out,” she said, her voice quiet.
Too quiet.
“Lizzie?” Wincing, he climbed off the couch. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” The word was pure steel and it caught him off-guard, for a second.
But just a second. Because while Lizzie was soft and sweet, under all of that, she was steel. She always had been—he’d figured that out when he hadn’t chased her off within the first few hours of meeting her. Now, as she turned and looked at him, tears glinted in her wide, dark brown eyes, but nothing could hide the fury, and the hurt, in those eyes.
Fuck, he thought miserably. Rising from the couch, he lifted a hand only to let it fall uselessly to his side. “Lizzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she shouted, cutting him off.
He had to duck to avoid the little potted orchid she sent flying his way. And damn, she still had a good throwing arm.
“Do you hear me?” she said, her voice starting to shake. “I don’t want to hear it. I get it, okay? Nobody wants me. No fucking body. I’m fine as a doormat for Noel as long as I let him treat me like shit, but he doesn’t want me. Neither do you. I get it. Okay?”
Stunned shock rippled through him as she shoved her tumbled hair back from her flushed face. Her eyes shot sparks as their gazes clashed. “I get the point. You’re a fucking hound dog and I know that. But I’m not good en—”
He caught the rest of her words with his mouth and when she went to shove him back, he caught her wrists, too. Sinking his teeth into her lower lip, he backed her up against her desk. “Not want you?” he muttered against her mouth. “Are you blind?”
She tried to turn her head and he tangled a hand in her hair, yanked it back. Her pupils flared, her mouth falling open on a startled moan. “Give me your mouth, Lizzie,” he said and then, without waiting, he took it, thrusting his tongue deep.
She bit him and he responded by letting her wrists go and catching her hips, boosting her up with one arm while he used the other to swipe out against her desk, clearing it with one careless gesture. Lizzie worked her hands between them and although he didn’t break away from her mouth, part of him held his breath—waited.
When she reached up and tangled her hands in his hair, he snarled in savage satisfaction.
Lying her down on her desk, he broke away. Her hands clutched at him and he caught them, shifted her wrists to one hand and pushed them up over her head. Then, as he held her gaze, he reached down and freed the top button of the top she wore. With each successive button, he bared more and more skin, pale, pretty skin, lush curves, her breasts cupped by silk and lace and his brain almost exploded as he flicked a look from her face downward to study those ripe curves.
“My hands are shaking,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from doing the same as he trailed his fingers along the delicate lace design of her bra, watching as a soft blush pinked her flesh and started to climb upward. “I’ve dreamed about touching you a thousand times and now I am and my hands are shaking…”
Now he looked at her, watched her throat work as she swallowed.
“And you think I don’t want you.”
And you think I don’t want you.
Elizabeth felt those words echo all the way down to her soul, she’d swear it. Felt them ripple through her, all but touching her, the effect was so profound.
And he continued to stare at her, dark blue eyes locked on her face as though there was something more, something bigger, something deeper he was trying to tell her.
Shaken, she closed her eyes.
His fingers trailed down the line of her torso, then back up and she swallowed as he undid the catch on her bra.
“I dream about this,” he said and he let her hands go.
She whimpered when she realized why—both of his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples and she felt each slow circuit pulsing through her core. She’d had less shattering effects when she’d stroked herself to climax.
“These tits…Lizzie, I love these sweet, beautiful tits. I dream about tasting them and my mouth is already watering.”
Her eyes flew open at the bald, blunt statement, heat suffusing her face as he started to lower his head. His lips brushed across one nipple. “But you think I don’t want you.”
“Decker.”
She whimpered out his name, unable to do anything else as he closed his mouth around one nipple, already swollen, already drawn tight. The way he used his mouth should be outlawed. He tugged, suckled, stroked, and when she was so sensitive she didn’t think she could stand it, he caught the peak between his teeth and lightly bit down.
If he hadn’t reached up at the last moment to cover her mouth, her garbled shout would have been heard clear through the door.
“Shhh,” he whispered against her flesh. “Have to be quiet, sweet Lizzie…”
Quiet? She barely understood the meaning of the word—any words just then.
Her mouth fell open under his fingers and he slid one along the curve of her lip, then inside. Instinctively, she sucked on it and he groaned against her breast before he straightened. With his free hand, he caught her hip, dragged her closer to the edge of the desk. “I’ve dreamed about that, too,” he said, gaze locked on her mouth now as she drew his finger in. He tugged it out and then let her suck it back inside, repeating the process over and over. “I dream about your mouth, tasting it…and then seeing you put that pretty mouth on me. Everywhere. Any way. The thought’s enough to turn my balls blue…but you think I don’t want you.”
He tugged his finger free and a gasp hissed out of her as he traced his damp finger around the nipple he’d neglected, over and over until it peaked and pulsed in time with the other.
She closed her eyes when he slid his hand lower, his fingers ghosting along the edge of her panties. “And here.” He pressed his mouth to her neck. “I can tell you more, Lizzie. Do you want me to?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
All three answers leaped to her lips and when he lifted his head, dark blue eyes searching her face, she jerked her head away.
“No.” He cupped her chin, guiding her face back to his. “You think I don’t want you…I want you to see just how much I do. You have to see.”
He brought her hand to his chest and once more, she could feel his heart slamming away against her hand. “That’s for you,” he said, his hold loose, easy. It stayed that way even as he went to guide her hand lower.
She could pull away at any time.
She could.
Except…she couldn’t.
Even when shocked hunger stabbed into her as he folded her hand around his cock, she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t think about it. “That’s for you,” he said, his voice lower, harsher. “I’m so hard I hurt with it, but you think I don’t want you.”
Elizabeth swallowed, shaken in ways she couldn’t describe, her hand convulsively tightening around the heavy length of his cock while her core ached, while wetness gathered there and need twisted inside her like a coil.
“But…”
Cut adrift when he tugged her hand away, then backed away, she stared at him. Cold swept through her and she would have wrapped her arms around her body if she could have moved.
“I’m not making love to you when you’re heartbroken about that dickless wonder Noel,” Decker said, and his voice went tight, laced with too much emotion
for her to decipher. His hands curled into fists at his side as he stared at her. “I’d do almost anything for you, but I can’t be your toy while you try to forget about him and how he just broke your heart.”
He turned away.
The black of his tattoos seemed almost stark against skin that was normally gold as he strode toward the door.
“Deck,” she said, the words coming out in a painful whisper.
Common sense warned, Don’t. It’s easier this way. You made yourself forget for a reason, remember?
Yeah.
She’d made herself forget.
And look where it had led her.
Shoving off the desk, she lurched after Decker just as he reached for the doorknob.
“He couldn’t have broken my heart,” she said at his back.
He tensed.
Don’t walk away, she thought, realized she was so close to begging. What would he say if he knew the truth—that truth she’d hidden for so long?
The only person who could ever break my heart is you…
But she couldn’t tell him that. Couldn’t ever tell Decker.
The door’s hinges groaned as he tugged the door open. Grabbing the edges of her sweater, she forced herself to admit the truth—that ugly truth that she’d admitted as Noel had stormed out of her shop, the ugly truth she’d admitted as she cried on Decker’s shoulder.
That ugly truth that some part of her had come to accept over the past few weeks…a truth she’d hidden from, until today.
“I never loved Noel, Decker.”
The one thing that had kept him from falling into the abyss was gone. Shutting the door, he pressed his brow to the cool, painted surface of the wood, tried to breathe.
Don’t do this, he advised himself.
He could have sex with any number of women. Have sex, then walk away and keep anything emotional out of it.
Because all of his emotions were tangled up in the woman behind him. But if he got naked with her…once he’d had her, how could he ever let her go?
“Did you hear me?”
Reaching down, he turned the lock on the door and then he turned, stared at her. Thick, disheveled golden curls fell in a crazy mess around her shoulders.
Her top still hung open, held together by the hand she had fisted between her breasts and her nipples, still swollen, stabbed against the thin material.
Taking his time, he crossed back to her. Her lips parted on a ragged breath—and he wanted to kiss her, steal that breath away, take it inside him.
"I heard you," he said, reaching up and pushing his hands into her curls, tilting her head back and forcing her to look up at him. "Do you get what I want, Lizzie?"
She licked her lips and he stared, avidly, wanting to follow that same trail with his own mouth, his tongue. "I'm not as naïve as some people think I am, Decker."
"No." She couldn't be as naïve as some thought, not considering their history. But there was a difference between a lack of naiveté and actual knowledge, especially the kind of knowledge he was talking about. "I know that. But let me make this clear."
As she stared at him, eyes going opaque, he caught the hem of her skirt and dragged it up. "I want to put you back on that desk and pull your panties down. I want to spread your thighs and lick you, lick you until you are so wet, so ready for me. And then I want to fuck you until you come around my cock and then I want to do it again. I want to make love to you. I want to hear you moaning my name. And then do it again, and again. And when I do it, I want you to look at me. I want to know you're seeing me, and nobody else. Do you get that?"
"Um..." She blinked, heat suffusing her face—no, it was her whole body, like she'd suddenly started to rage with a fever. A dangerous sort of fever, dangerous in a certain way.
Fatal in his case. It had been killing him slowly for years.
"Yeah. I get that."
He slid his hand inside her panties, shuddering as he reached the juncture of soft round thighs. Her curls were damp already as he slid his fingers through her folds, and when he found her entrance, she was slick with want. Her eyelashes fluttered closed as he teased the entrance to her pussy.
“No, Lizzie. No closing your eyes.” Decker dipped his head, bit her lower lip. "I said I want you to watch me. All of me. All of this."
"Okay." It was a dazed, weak whisper but she forced her lids back up, locked almost sightlessly on his face and the dazed need there brought blistering satisfaction to him.
He pushed one finger inside her, his muscles going tight with anticipation as she closed around him. "Now, tell me what you want—what we're doing. Do I stop? Or am I going to lay you down on that desk and fuck you?"
She gripped his arms and then, as disappointment threaded through him, she backed away.
But then, she settled her hips against the desk as she shrugged out of her bra and top. "Come here, Decker."
He made himself count to ten first.
And then he looked around, spied her bag lying near the futon where she'd first dumped it when they came in.
Grabbing the straps, he placed it on the desk and then turned her around until she faced away, the purse in front of her. "Selah gave you something when you started messing with that damn website. Where is it?"
"How..." Her breath hitched. "How did you know about that?"
Because she told me. "Because she's my best friend, too. And I saw that grin she flashed you after she swiped your purse. What did she give you?”
"You already know."
He pressed his lips to her neck, the skin flushed hot with her blush. "Get them out. And I hope there's more than one."
While she fumbled with the purse, he caught her hips in his hands and pumped against her.
A weak moan escaped her, one hand falling away to grip the desk.
"Hurry up," he ordered, bending his head to rake his teeth down her shoulder.
A minute later, she dumped a box of condoms on the desk and he grabbed the purse, dropped it back on the floor. Selah, that nosy bitch, was going to get a giant hug from him at some point. Slowly turning Lizzie around, he studied her face for a long moment and then stepped back. "Take off your panties."
She went to push her skirt down and he stopped her. "Your panties." He reached out and fisted his hands in the loose, flowing material of her skirt. "I missed seeing you in these...I used to think about what you wore under them, and then I'd pretend you were naked. Naked for me and I could come up behind you, pull up your skirt and drive my dick inside you, maybe while you were in the storeroom..."
Her eyes widened. Oh, Lizzie...that's just one fantasy.
"Or I'd follow you in here and do just this,” he murmured, watching the way her pupils flared, listening as her breathing kicked up. “I’d pull that skirt up and have you, up against the door, or right here like this. I'm having my dream, sugar. Now take off your panties."
Her throat worked as she swallowed, and then she reached under her skirt. He watched her hands disappear and his cock gave a demanding jerk as she pulled off a pair of pale pink silk panties.
He held out a hand for them and she blushed, shoving them into his hand.
He shoved them into his pocket and moved in closer, cupping her still-covered hips in his hands. "Now you're naked for me, under that skirt, just like I dreamed you'd be. A hundred times. A thousand times..."
She moaned as he caught her lip and bit down. He soothed the hurt with his tongue and then he caught the material of the skirt, gathering it in his hands until it bunched around his wrists. Boosting her up on the desk, he settled her there. It was a physical exercise to get his fingers to uncurl from her ass. That ripe, lush curve, so soft and full...
But...condoms. He needed a condom and he thought he just might have a zipper imprint on his dick at this point.
He went to loosen his belt, but Lizzie stopped him, her hands resting on his wrists.
He shot her a look.
She toyed with the hem of his shirt. "I..." She caught her
lower lip between her teeth, then let it slide out before she said, "Can you take this off? I want to see you, too."
His body was a tool to him. He was big and he was strong, facts he’d known for a good long while. He’d used his strength and size in high school to kick ass on the football field and in wrestling, hoping to use one or the other to break free from the shit he’d known growing up.
That strength had served him well in the times he needed it, although that strength was why he’d landed his ass in prison. Of course, that strength had also saved Lizzie, and that had made it bearable.
He’d fought and brawled his way into making people believe he wasn’t worth messing with and that had been the case most of his life, even before he’d gone to jail and it hadn’t changed. His body was a tool.
But for the first time, his body felt like it had some other worth. Well, other than protecting Lizzie—and that, in and of itself, was a worthwhile thing.
Watching her intently, he reached up and stripped his shirt away, letting it fall to the floor beside him. Pride flooded him as her eyes went soft, almost dazed with heated, female hunger. She reached out with both hands and rested her palms on his chest, lightly raking her nails across his skin. "Your tattoos. You're covered in them."
"You can run out of things to do in..." He didn't finish. One of those things they tried to avoid. He didn't talk about it because it hurt her, and now, as he saw the understanding in her eyes, he wished he could take it back.
"But you kept getting them." She swallowed and he could see her steeling herself to finish it. "After you...got out. Once they let you go."
She stroked her thumb over the tiger that covered most of his chest, a tiger crouched behind bars. He caught her hand, pressed it flat. "You can get to needing it—that bite of pain, letting it make you forget things." Pretending to let the ink and needles take and hide your secrets…
She didn't ask what he meant. He suspected she thought she knew. But she didn't.
"Did it help?"
"No." He pressed her hand flat against his chest. "But the things I wanted to forget were the sort of things I'd never be able to forget...things I shouldn't forget. Things I need..."
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