Head On (Strength And Love)

by S. R. Jones

  “You wanting to work out, Rose?” He uses my last name.

  “Erm, no. I mean, yes, I might. Not now though. I heard the music.” I gesture into the room.

  Prowling toward me, like a lion stalking its prey, he never takes his eyes from me, not even when he stops to grab a towel. I’m stuck, a deer in the headlights of his charisma, and I can only stare as he approaches.

  If I thought the back view was impressive, then the front’s even more so. He makes my mouth water. He makes me want things. Things I’ve never wanted before in real life. Things I’ve been happy to leave to my toys and my porn.

  His abs are defined, and his torso fans out into a broad chest and massive shoulders. He has a smattering of hair over his chest, and in a trail down to his shorts. I realise I’m eating him alive with my eyes and drag my gaze back to his face.

  His deep blue eyes are watching me and he smirks. “Like what you see?”

  “N-n-no.” When did I start stammering?

  “You’re a terrible liar,” he murmurs.

  “And you’re an insufferable big head.” Great, I sound like a child.

  He’s right next to me now and I can smell him. He smells of clean sweat, and something fresh which might be aftershave. Underneath it all, something darker and more masculine. I realise with horror that I’m literally throbbing between my legs, and my panties are damp.

  I want to run away and hide in my room, like the stupid child I clearly still am, but instead I stand trapped in the fog of desire he’s created around us. Because it is him doing this, I’m not capable of anything more than swaying where I stand.

  God help me. I’m completely and utterly out of my depth.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan

  Her eyes are wide, and they darken as she watches me. Her pupils growing until the cornflower blue is only a ring around the edge of her irises.

  She’s breathing in shallow, rapid breaths. Her chest is rising and falling and I can’t help but let my gaze flicker down for a moment. Jesus, her tits look mouth-watering. All full and firm, the rest of her so slight and slim. Her legs are long and lean in her skirt and I wish it were shorter. But like most things she wears, it’s sensible. Knee length denim, plain, but on her as sexy as hell. She’s fresh and pretty, everything I never thought I wanted, and nothing I can have.

  There’s no artifice to her. Where other women flirt, and pretend, and play the game, same as all of us do, she’s just…herself. She’s probably the most genuine person I’ve ever met.

  I want her…badly, it takes all my strength not to reach out and touch her. But I can’t. She’s not some, been around the block, hot MILF I can have some fun with. I know, deep down, if we go there, we’re going to stir up feelings. And feelings are messy. I don’t have time or room for them in my life.

  She licks her lips and her weight shifts slightly, a sure sign she’s about to run. I half want her to. I’d love to chase her. To catch her, take her down to the ground, and fuck her senseless right here in the house. On the thick, creamy hallway carpet. I want to stain it with the evidence of us.

  Holy fuck! I shake my head. Where am I going with this? This isn’t me. I fuck like I do everything else these days. In a half daze. A momentary burst of pleasure in a washed-out life. It’s been the same ever since I came back from Afghanistan.

  I can’t complain. Others have it worse. Luka, for example. He has it a whole lot worse. Doesn’t sleep. Can’t stand being out amongst people. At least I don’t have PTSD. Just some sort of never ending, half-assed mild depression that never leaves.

  Speaking of Luka. We’re meeting him later, and I hope to hell Isla doesn’t look at him the same way most women do. I don’t think I can stand to see her going all gooey-eyed over him. And since when did I get jealous?

  I lean in close to her, unable to resist, and take a deep breath. She smells of fucking roses. Like her surname. I mean who is called Isla Rose and actually smells of roses? She’s ridiculous.

  “You smell of roses.” It comes out like an accusation.

  She juts her chin at me. “I like it. I know some people think it’s old fashioned, but my mum used rose perfume and now I do, too. I like to smell like her.”

  “Rose by name, rose by nature, eh?” And I tell myself to shut the fuck up.

  “I know what you think of me? Naïve, stupid. A boring, silly virgin.”

  “Stop.” I take her chin in my hand, and it’s tiny. “I don’t think you’re stupid, or silly. Naïve? Maybe a little, but that’s no bad thing.”

  “It isn’t?” She sounds genuinely curious.

  Christ, she doesn’t know the half of it. This world is so jaded. Full of bitter, bored people who know it all. She’s nothing like them. Simply being in her presence makes me feel younger, less used up and worn out. And those are the reasons I need to walk away from her right now. I’m thirty-two and she’s only twenty-one. She’s a virgin and I’m a whore. Literally. I’ve killed with my bare hands, and she’s one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever met.

  But I can’t do it. I’m a selfish bastard, and for one moment, I want to lose myself in something better than me. I keep hold of her chin, and lower my face.

  The moment my lips meet hers my world changes. I breathe her in and taste her and I’m lost. And she whimpers against me. Fucking whimpers, like she needs more.

  I lick the seam of her lips and she opens for me. Oh, fuck, she’s eager. Those heavenly tits are pressed up against my chest, only her strappy top between us. They’re full and soft, and I know they’ll be heavy and ripe in my hands. I wonder what colour her nipples are, and if she’ll like them bitten or prefer them sucked. Will she like it gentle or prefer it hard and fast? Gentle at first, I’m sure.

  And at that I break away. I’m not gentle. My whole current career is built around me absolutely not being gentle. She needs some sweet young kid. Someone near her own age. Even though the thought of anyone else getting their hands on her makes me want to do violence, I know it’s what’s right for her.

  She’s panting as she stares up at me. She moves forward and I see in her eyes she’s coming back for more. I muster every single bit of willpower I possess and step to the side.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not? I enjoyed it.” Her mouth is swollen and shiny and I want to nibble on her full bottom lip.

  “We’re a million miles apart in what we want and need.” I put my hands on her hips and move her to one side.

  “Oh. I see. You prefer those older women you shag for money.”

  Her words shock me. Every time I see that flash of fire in her I like it. But I stomp that down, too, and sneer at her. “You got it in one. I don’t have time to teach a virgin the ropes. I do have a friend who specialises in that sort of thing, though. I can give you his number?”

  I hate myself. Fucking hate myself. Her face drops in disappointment. She’s no longer looking at me as if I’m someone she wants to jump in the sack with. Instead she’s looking at me with disdain. I expected hurt, maybe tears, but this is worse. Because this makes me feel like shit on her shoe.

  “You are a disgusting pig of a man.” She pokes me in the chest, turns, and marches defiantly down the corridor. When she gets to the end, near the kitchen, she turns around. “I’ll take your friend’s number later. I’ve been deciding for a while this whole virginity thing is a burden I want rid of. He’s bound to be better at it than you are. You suck.”

  What the fuck? I hope she’s only saying she’ll take Nate’s number out of some need to rile me. It’s irrelevant anyway because I’m not fucking giving it her. He’ll ruin her, and only I get to do that.

  I stalk out of the room and upstairs, heading for the en-suite in my bedroom. I stink and want to wash the sweat off. I also want to wash the scent of roses from me. Otherwise I’m going to be spending the whole day as hard as nails.

  I shove the door to the shower stall shut with an angry thwump, and turn the water t
o hot. I let the water warm up before standing under the scalding jets letting them pummel my tight and aching muscles. My traps are screaming from my workout and the heat soon loosens them up.

  After a few minutes, I turn the heat down to lukewarm and soap up, using the stupidly expensive Aqua di Parma shower gel I bought. One thing I found out about women, they like you to smell nice. Most of my clients don’t give a shit what I wear when I go around to their houses, which is good as I’m no fashion victim. But smelling good, that matters. As do other things like short, groomed nails, and moisturised skin. I can’t believe how many guys in my age group do fuck-all about stuff like that. They expect their women to primp and preen, and wear half of Harrods’ beauty counter, but the lazy fuckers can’t even be bothered to go get a regular wax. They walk around the place with their beer guts, and their hairy toes and arses, and then I get to screw their wives for a lot of money.

  As I reach for my cock, it stirs at the thought of Isla and I resent her for it. She’s stirred me up in ways I didn’t think were possible anymore. One kiss from her got me more turned on than the filthiest shit I’ve done with any client in the last year. I want her. Badly.

  I’ll take the next best thing. I close my eyes as I wrap my hand around my throbbing cock and stroke up. I sigh and let my head fall back. It feels good, and I let myself imagine it’s her small hands on me. Her feeling her first dick. Learning how to touch a guy and what a man likes. I wonder if she’s seen a guy come before? Just because she’s a virgin doesn’t mean she hasn’t done other stuff. Has she sucked a guy before?

  Christ, the thought of those pouty lips wrapped around me makes my dick jump in my hand. I take a firm hold of myself and stop messing around. With my head back and my eyes shut, I pump myself hard and fast.

  It only takes a few moments before I’m blowing my load all over the tiles opposite me. I sag against the wall, and give a couple of last pulls, getting the last of it out of me. Wringing every last drop of pleasure from my dick.

  I want to fuck her. I want to be in her bad, I feel like a drug addict jonesing for his next fix. I’ve known her mere hours and somehow, she’s already wormed her way under my skin.

  Someone wants to hurt her. In the worst way possible. To try and get to her daddy is my guess. He might be a good father, but he’s no angel in his business dealings, or his personal life. He’s crossed a fair few people, and ruined one. It’s that lead I’m going to follow first, and I’m also going to consider his business partner. Tonight, I need to see Luka. I’ve arranged to meet him in Josephine’s Bar. It’s somewhere we sometimes meet for a drink. A few of my clients go there, and I like to network a bit there. Luka likes to pick up women to screw, so despite him not liking crowds in general, he’ll sometimes brave the place mid week.

  Luka has two ways of dealing with his issues—running until he can’t think about them, or screwing them away. He used to drink, but he’s stopped that now and sees a shrink, but he still gets fucked up now and again.

  He’ll be a good person to get to investigate Rick Smythe, the guy Isla’s dad fucked over. Luka can make himself invisible, which with his looks is a truly weird talent. But he pulls a ball cap down low, kind of shuffles along, hunches up a little, and he’s gone from movie star handsome to nobody. My plan is to get him into Rick’s office as a delivery guy and see if he can snoop about a bit. Maybe even lift Rick’s phone. Luka’s other talent is being a light-fingered fucker. He once took fifty quid out of my back pocket and I had no idea until I tried to pay for my cab home. Shithead thought it hilarious. He gave me it back the next day, but I’d nearly ended up in a fight with the cabbie.

  I sigh, and start to get dressed. I should leave Isla here with Ann, but a masochistic part of me wants her next to me. Her scent driving me crazy. I even kind of like the righteous way she views the world and me. Makes me feel like maybe I can be a better person.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eight

  Isla

  I don’t know what to wear. My nerves are shrieking at the thought of having to go into some trendy bar with Ethan, and meet his friends. He says this friend of his might can help us figure out what’s going on. He’s convinced the issue is with someone coming after me or my dad. I’m not. Ethan is an arrogant arsehole who screws married women for money. How he can so easily dismiss the target of the other night being himself is beyond me. He says he’s looked into it, but he can’t have looked that far, or that deep in the short amount of time since the horrible event.

  The horrible event I keep thinking about when I’m meant to be sleeping, and then getting all confused and turned on. And that kiss! I’ve never been kissed like that. I might be a virgin, but I’m not some idiot innocent like he seems to think. I’ve messed around with a few boys. Given a few hand jobs, even experienced one boy go down on me, which was okay, but I’m not sure he knew what he was doing. We were both eighteen, and he was a virgin, too. I watch porn and pleasure myself with my trusty vibrator or my g-spot stimulator.

  I smile as I imagine Ethan’s shocked face if I tell him the things I get up to sometimes in my bedroom by myself.

  The thing is, I may be a virgin, but I probably know what I like and what my body likes more than some girls who’ve been screwing since they were fifteen. I’ve been able to focus on my own pleasure and exploring my own needs, and from what little I hear from my friends, that’s not what happens with most guys. It’s all about them and what they want. About ticking off some stupid checklist where they have to have blow jobs, and then full on sex, and then anal, and then after that God knows what. They use women’s bodies as if they’re with a doll. I blame some of the porn they watch myself. I’ve seen enough of it when I’m surfing for the kind of stuff I like, to know there are plenty of men out there who only want their own satisfaction taken care of. Ethan is probably the same.

  I don’t want or need hearts and flowers, but I do want someone who respects me, and wants to make it good for me. My body has been through so much, and I have a bloody healthy respect for it, and that extends to who I let in it. I’m not a virgin because I’m a prude. I’m a virgin because most of the time in my life when I should have been experimenting, I was sick. I’m shy at times, and awkward, so find it hard to meet people. From the small pool I have met, there’s been no one I want enough to go the whole way.

  Sadly, the one guy I have met who I want enough is the worst guy I could pick. Sick of going around in circles thinking of Ethan, I start at the knock on the door.

  Ann comes in and holds aloft a big, shiny box. It looks like a feminine toolbox. “You said you wanted to try some make-up. You’re going out tonight, why not let me put some on you now? I promise to keep it subtle this first time. I’ve got some clothes you can borrow, too.” She glances at my outfit of an ankle length skirt and t-shirt. “Only if you want. I know you’ll have left most of your stuff at home.”

  I smile at her pretending we both don’t know that I don’t have any fashionable clothes at home either.

  “Okay. I’d like that.” I know Ethan is bad news, but I still want him to notice me. Want him to see me as something other than a frumpy, naïve idiot. Why he kissed me I have no clue, but I want him to get the urge to do it again. And then I’ll shoot him down. I’ll be the one to reject him this time.

  She comes to sit by me, and opens her shiny toolbox, and my eyes nearly fall out of my head. There’s so much stuff in there. All different colours. Wow. She looks at me and narrows her eyes. “I’m definitely going to go natural with you. You’re gorgeous anyway, too much and it’ll take away from your natural beauty.”

  I give a little huff of breath in response to her delusions about my looks, but don’t say anything.

  “I think some warm peaches and golds. You’ve got a light tan, and those colours will complement it and bring out your eyes.”

  I have no idea what colours would suit me so I merely nod. I’m completely in her hands. She sets to work and I find i
t oddly soothing. We don’t talk much as she swipes at me with soft brushes and pencils.

  After about fifteen minutes, she sits back and eyes me, before grinning wide. “You look fantastic. Take a look.”

  She points to the mirror, and I turn to it. Holy crap! I stare, dumbfounded. Who is that girl looking back at me with the cheekbones and the full, pouty mouth? Whereas before my features always made me feel baby faced and childish, now they look womanly and sensual. My eyes are highlighted with a faint wash of gold, there’s a coral gloss on my lips, and warm blush on my cheeks. She’s done something to my brows, maybe brushed them or something, because they are the same colour, but they look more arched.

  “How did you give me bone structure? I don’t understand.” I’ve always possessed pudgy baby cheeks.

  Ann laughs. “Oh, darling. You’re the perfect canvas. You’re gorgeous. Your skin is a dream. As for the cheekbones, I did a bit of contouring, and then put a dab of highlighter on the top of your cheekbone to reflect the light. She gently moves my head side to side. “See? And don’t be hating on your cheeks. There are women who pay a fortune to get stuff pumped into their face to get the youthful, full look you’ve got going on.”

  “Right.” She claps her hands. “Clothes.”

  She pulls me up from the bed and we head to the room she’s staying in. “I stopped at my place on the way home from work when Ethan texted me to tell me he was taking you out tonight to meet Luka, and I grabbed some things.” She frowns then. “What size shoe are you?”

  “Five.”

  “Perfect! I’m a five too. This is like…meant to be.” She giggles and I’m not sure what she’s talking about but her enthusiasm is catching, and I find myself grinning.

  She begins to pull some things out of a small case. She holds up a strappy, wispy dress and I shake my head. No way am I wearing that.

  She shrugs. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Okay, what about this?”