I Breathe You

by Lori L. Clark

  He chuckles, “I’ve tried nice when I’m with you. It don’t work.”

  “It doesn’t?” I blink.

  “Hell no. Because whenever I’m with you, being naughty is all I wanna be.” His arms wrap around my waist seconds before his lips crush against mine.

  I run my hands through his hair and slide my tongue into his mouth. He groans and my heart begins beating a crazy rhythm. Our bodies mold together, my hands roaming down over the bare skin on his back. That familiar hollow emptiness begins throbbing inside of me, and I brazenly lower my hands, cupping his ass to pull him hard against me.

  He presses into me and I feel his arousal between our bodies as we move together. When he pulls his lips from mine, we’re both breathing hard. He watches me through hooded eyes. His hands grip my waist, he lifts me off my feet and my legs slide around him, clinging, holding him as close as I can. He hisses, “Fuck, Sunshine. Are you sure about this? Because if we stop right now…”

  I press my index finger to his lips. “If we stop right now, I’ll die of frustration,” I breathe.

  His smile makes me feel all melty inside. He doesn’t say a word and his eyes never leave mine as he carries me down the hall. It’s as though he’s memorizing every minute detail of my face, and it never crosses my mind to be self-conscious. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

  My lips graze that left cheek dimple before sliding closer to his ear. I gently nip at his earlobe with my teeth. He groans, “I’m going to drop you and have my way with you right here on the hallway floor if you keep that up.”

  Though he can’t see it, a smug smile crosses my face, and I bury my nose in his hair. His just showered scent of soap and hot guy is beyond intoxicating. “I can walk you know,” I tell him.

  “Nope. Not letting you get away this time,” he tells me. “In fact, I may just tie you to the bed and keep you there until sometime around January second.”

  And the downside of that would be? I muse to myself. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

  He stops inside the bedroom and I unlock my legs from behind him. “A little of both, Sunshine.”

  I bite my lower lip, my eyes glued to the deep V dipping below the waistband of his sweats. “Should I be scared?”

  “Maybe a little,” he winks. My fingers play with the hem of my shirt. I start to pull it over my head when he stops me by laying his hand on my arm. “Let me get that for you.”

  I arch an eyebrow at the idea, but nod in agreement.

  “Sit,” he tells me, pointing to the bed. I do as he asks and perch on the end of his queen-sized bed.

  He moves between my legs, pressing his palms against my shoulders to ease me back onto the thick comforter. He leans close, teasing his lips against the hollow of my throat. My nerve endings are raw and every touch causes me to crave more. Like an addiction, the more he touches and teases, the more I ache with need. He straightens and his eyes burn into me as he removes first one of my boots, then the other.

  Him removing each article of my clothing, one piece at a time, is about the hottest, yet most excruciating form of torture ever. My breath quickens when he pushes my shirt up and splays his hands against the bare skin of my stomach, gently caressing me. His fingers deftly work the button of my jeans, then the zipper. He pauses, locking his eyes with mine, as though waiting for my consent. I’m trembling, but manage to nod my head. He begins to ease my jeans down over my hips and I close my eyes.

  “Open your eyes, Sunshine,” he pleads, his voice thick with desire, mirroring his darkened gaze as my eyes flutter open.

  I lift my hips off the bed, helping him get me out of my jeans. Part of me burns with the need for him to hurry; another part wants to savor every single second of anticipation. A wolfish grin spreads across his face. “Nice panties. Pink looks good on you,” he teases.

  My cheeks warm. “I didn’t dress with this in mind, trust me.”

  He laughs and takes my hands in his, pulling them up over my head. With one hand he holds me captive. With his other hand, he traces the edge of my underwear before dipping one finger beneath the fabric between my legs. I suck in a quick, surprised breath. “So wet,” he murmurs. Within seconds, my body responds, and I hover on the edge when he stops, leering at me, he says, “Not yet.”

  My eyebrows pull together. “Ian. Please.”

  He watches me intently through lowered eyes while working my panties down around my ankles, and I kick them the rest of the way off. I’m not sure where they land and don’t care. He unties his sweatpants, dropping them to the floor, and I’m not surprised when I see there’s nothing on underneath them. He slides slowly up the bed, his body hot against mine. The friction is nearly enough to cause my undoing. I pinch my lips together, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare.

  “So impatient,” he teases in a mocking tone. He reaches into the drawer next to the bed and pulls out an unopened box of condoms.

  He stares down at me. His eyes are nearly black with desire. He rests his weight on his forearms while gently rocking against me, his erection glides against my most sensitive spot. My hands fist in his hair, my hips meeting his in perfect rhythm.

  “Tell me what you want,” he urges.

  “I want to feel you inside of me,” I breathe against his skin.

  He reaches between us, positioning himself and eases into me so painstakingly slowly I want to beat my fists on his back. My hands release from his hair and slide down his back, clutching at his ass, drawing him deeper into me.

  “I’m not going to last very long if you keep that up, Sunshine,” he groans. Suddenly he pulls out and flips me over onto my stomach. He lifts my hips and I get on all fours. He pushes into me roughly and I gasp in pleasure. With one hand resting on my lower back, his other hand reaches under me and finds its target.

  The combination of him sliding roughly in and out of me, while his thumb rubs circles on my clit, drives me quickly to the peak. “Shit, Ian!” I hiss as I explode into a blinding orgasm.

  His thrusts quicken until his body grows rigid against me. I feel him throbbing deep inside of me as we collapse against the sweat-dampened comforter.

  Chapter 46

  Ian lies on his stomach watching me. The mischievous grin on his face makes me feel a little too exposed all of a sudden. “Stop that,” I say covering his eyes with my hand, trying to get him to break his intense gaze.

  He pulls my hand away from his eyes and kisses my knuckles. The vague twinge I feel inside reminds me of another place and time, somewhere I no longer belong. “You’re so fuckin’ amazing. I can’t take my eyes off of you. Get used to it.”

  “You can stop with the charm,” I whisper and roll my eyes. “You’ve got me now. There’s really no need trying to flatter me into your bed anymore.”

  Something hard flashes in his eyes and his smile falters. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing? That I saw you as some sort of notch on my headboard or something?”

  I smile faintly, licking my lips. “No. I actually sort of thought you were a notch in mine.” The look of reproach causes me break into a fit of giggles. “I’m kidding. Jeez!”

  “Not funny,” he frowns. “Just so you know? All future notch-creating ends here tonight.”

  His words sound so possessive, yet so right. Though I’ve known for a long time how I feel about him, it’s one thing to admit it out loud and another thing to fantasize about it. Telling him that I love him is not part of tonight’s dialogue. I sit up and swing my legs off the bed. “I better get back with T’s car.”

  Ian lays his hand on my shoulder. “Stay with me a little while? Please, Sunshine?”

  I glance over my shoulder at him. His gray-green eyes soften around the edges as he watches me hopefully. I sigh heavily and crawl back beneath the sheets. “Oh, okay. It is Christmas. I’ll be nice and stay. For a little while.”

  He wraps his arms around me from behind while he brushes his lips against that sensitive spot beneath my ear. Warmth radiates through my body as my t
houghts turn to the passion he brings out in me, the desire he makes me feel, and the touch he makes me crave.

  Let’s face it, I’m falling. Hard and fast, and I’m powerless to stop it. I turn in his arms, facing him. My breath hitches in my throat. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me tenderly. This time, the passion between us builds slowly. We savor one another, exploring with our eyes and hands until we’ve reached, and gone over, the edge together again.

  He holds me afterwards. With my eyes closed, I listen while his breathing slows and evens out just before I drift off to sleep entangled in arms, legs, and sheets.

  I’m jarred awake by the sound of the front door slamming and a woman’s voice coming from the hall. “Ian? Did you forget I was coming over?” My eyes fly open in horror. I glance at Ian’s sleeping form.

  I give Ian’s shoulder a hard shove. “Wake up!” I hiss. He blinks at me, bleary eyed. “You’ve got company.”

  “Ian? Is this an invitation for me to join you in the bedroom?” she giggles.

  “Fuck!” he barks. He’s off the bed in two seconds, trying simultaneously to get his sweatpants pulled up and head off our visitor before she barges in on us. “Just a damn minute, Aubrey. Don’t you fucking knock?”

  “I’ve still got my key, silly.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should use it,” he tells her.

  “Did you forget I was coming over?” she asks. “Oh…wait. You did forget. Do you have company, Ian?”

  I hear her footsteps down the hall, headed in my direction. I sit up and grab the comforter, pulling it up beneath my chin. My heart races wildly and my breaths come in tiny gasps. My eyes flit around the room. Where the hell are all of my clothes?

  Ian blocks the doorway but she ducks past him into the bedroom. She leers at me and plants her hands on her bony hips. A maniacal smile spreads across her hateful face. She throws her hands in the air. “You did this on purpose! I should have known. Invite me over so I can catch you in bed with some whore. Some things never change.” She sighs. “Well, get rid of her. I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

  My mouth drops open as I watch her stroll casually out of the room. In less than five seconds, she’s managed to reduce something seemingly beautiful and meaningful into something very cheap and wrong. She just shattered every last ounce of hope in my pathetic life. Ian takes two big strides into the room, his eyes pleading.

  I narrow my eyes into an icy stare and hold up a trembling hand. “You come one step closer and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “Rhane…It’s not what you think,” he says.

  I shake my head. “You have no idea what I’m thinking right now. But one thing’s for certain,” as I fling the covers off of me and leap from the bed gathering up my clothes in one hand while pointing at him accusingly, “You are incredibly lucky right now that murder is illegal because you’re not fucking worth going to prison for.”

  He reaches for me and I twist away from him. “Listen to me? Please?” he begs with a small voice.

  “Not even kidding here,” I threaten and my throat aches painfully from straining to be heard. I blink away angry tears and yank on my pants. I pull my t-shirt over my head, not caring that it’s inside out. I wad my remaining clothes into a bundle and poke him in the chest. “Run along, go play house with your wife. I’m out of here.”

  I brush past him trying to maintain some semblance of dignity as I carry my half-dressed and barefooted self toward the front door.

  “Honey, he’s not worth it. But I hope he at least paid you for your services. Doggy-style’s his favorite!” Aubrey says cheerfully as though we’re best friends exchanging recipes.

  Bile rises in my throat and I swallow hard. My fists clench and unclench and it’s all I can do not to turn around and dunk her head into the aquarium. Instead I paint on a fake smile. “Have a nice life.” The pounding in my ears is deafening as I hop up into T’s SUV. I resist the urge to drive it through the front of Ian’s house. But only because T would kill me for wrecking his car.

  Chapter 47

  I drive with reckless abandon through the deserted streets. I’m trying to not let the quickly building rage consume me alive. I park in T’s drive, too shaky to worry about pulling it into the garage. I stumble from the car, my feet should be freezing, but I don’t notice as I hurry up to the front door of the house. T is snoring on the couch. I kick off my boots, sending them sailing one at a time across the foyer. One of them lands with a loud thud against the opposite wall, rattling a large picture hanging there.

  T stirs awake and sits up. He rubs his hands in the scruff on his chin, eyeing me warily. “What the hell?” he mutters.

  I clench my teeth and cross the room to where he sits warily watching me. I clench my hands by my sides. “Fire him.”

  T’s eyebrows pinch together, and he reaches for his cigarettes on the coffee table. “What’s going on? Fire who?”

  “Ian Callahan.” Adrenaline courses through my body, giving me a twitchy feeling. I turn and head to the kitchen. I push the assorted bottles of booze around on the counter, looking for the strongest thing I can find. I take a swig of something God-awful tasting and it burns all the way down, pooling in the depths of my churning stomach.

  T scrutinizes me from the doorway. He folds his arms in front of his chest.

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” he asks. His smug-ass tone pisses me off, so I fling the half-full bottle of whiskey at him. It shatters into a million shards of glass and amber liquid against the tiled kitchen floor. T gapes at me. “What the fuck?!”

  I gasp for air, my shoulders heaving. I angrily swipe the tears away from my cheeks and give him a venomous glare.

  He holds his hands in the air, trying to placate me. “Baby girl…”

  “Don’t you ‘baby girl’ me!” Enraged, I charge him like a mad bull seeing red. I pummel his chest with my fists over and over, desperate to release some of the coiled up tension. T wraps his arms tightly around me, pinning my arms at my sides. He becomes a human straightjacket, working to keep me immobile. I kick and struggle against him. My eyes dart around the room wildly, and I try to twist out of his grasp. “Put. Me. Down,” I squirm. He loosens his grip, and I scramble away from him, panting heavily. My heart feels as though it’s going to explode out of my chest.

  The reflection of the lunatic I have become taunts me from the window beside the front door sending me over the edge. “What the fuck are you staring at?” I pull back my arm and swing at the glass with every ounce of rage-charged fury I can muster. For the second time within minutes, glass explodes violently around me. I bend at the waist, putting my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath. I stare with morbid fascination at the blood flowing from the gashes on my knuckles, dripping into a fast-growing puddle on the floor by my feet.

  “Jesus H. Christ. Rhane?” T whispers. He lurches from the kitchen, returning with a large towel and orders, “Give me your hand.”

  My eyes glaze over as I stare at the mess I’ve made of things. My knees give out and I sink heavily to the floor. He reaches for my arm and begins wrapping the towel quickly around my shredded hand, trying to ease the blood loss. “I’m sorry, T,” I sob and blink up at him, stunned.

  His jaw clenches. “Can you walk?” he asks gruffly.

  I shrug. “I think so.”

  Like an exasperated parent who’s lost all patience at a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the mall, he has little, or no, sympathy, or empathy for my behavior at the moment. “Get. Up.”

  My eyes fill, and I stare up at him. “Help me?” I plead, my lower lip trembling.

  T rubs his chin and steps behind me. He puts his hands under my arms and helps me to my feet. “Where are my keys?”

  With my good hand, I dig into my jeans pocket and hand him the keys. I’m so ashamed by what I’ve done that I can’t even look at him.

  The sun is just beginning to paint the sky with splashes of orange and pink by the time
we pull back into the garage a few hours later. T hasn’t had much to say. He explained patiently to the ER technician how I’d fallen through a window on accident. He held my good hand while they cleaned the nasty wound, painstakingly removing all the tiny fragments of broken glass embedded there. I didn’t deserve for him to be nice to me after what I’d put him through.

  My throat is thick with shame. I don’t want to think about the pain in my hand, but thinking about that helps keep my mind off of Ian and Aubrey. “I’m sorry, T. About the window,” I tell him.

  He shuts off the ignition, and angles his body in the seat to look at me. “I don’t care about the window, Rhane. You know that.”

  I stare down at the bandage around my hand. “I know.”

  “Baby girl, you have got to do something about this temper of yours,” he says. He reaches for his pack of cigarettes out of habit. “This is something different from PTSD. You’ve had a volatile temper ever since I can remember.”

  He’s right. I don’t even know what to say right now. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t have a ridiculously hair-trigger temper and how easy it was for me to unleash it when least expected over just about anything. Only to feel horribly remorseful and apologetic afterwards. Like I do right now.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to try and keep them from starting again. “I’ll talk to Dr. Stephens about it. I promise.”

  T nods slowly. “Tell him you think you may have Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

  My head snaps up. “Tell him I have what?”

  Without answering, he pushes open the driver’s door and gets out of the car. He walks around to my side and opens my door. “Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Look it up on the Internet. It can be hereditary.”

  My forehead creases. “But my parents don’t have hot tempers.”

  He sighs. “No, baby girl. But I do.”

  I snort, “You? Yeah, right. I’ve never seen you get crazy mad. Ever.”

  “It’s not so bad anymore,” he says as he lights a smoke. “I’ve been through therapy, and I take my meds.” I gape at him, but he waves me off. “We’ll talk about it later.”