Bite & Release

by CORY CYR

  “How can you look so . . . sexed up this early?” I mumbled my voice deep from sleep.

  Shea looked at me with a dazzling, lazy smile, running his hands through his hair, making it stand on end, making him look really edible. I tried smoothing down my hair, but then I gave up and threw the sheet over my head.

  “You’re beautiful . . . and hot . . . and in my bed,” Shea murmured as he tried to lift the sheet.

  “Yeah, you got one out of three right. I need a shower,” I mumbled underneath the sheet. He tugged at the sheet, finally wrestling it down. He brushed his lips across mine as he threw the sheet off while getting up. The loss of his body heat caused the temperature in the room to plummet. Holy crap, it was freezing and I was buck-naked. So was Shea, and what a glorious sight to see on a Sunday morning.

  “Fuck . . . it’s freezing, Shea,” I said as my teeth chattered. I watched as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants. Damn, his body should be listed as the Eighth Wonder of the World. He was beautiful, and he was all mine. He sat back down on the bed and put on a sweatshirt and boots.

  “You go and take a hot shower; I’ll turn on the heat and start a fire too,” he said as he wrapped the sheet around me like a cocoon. “Are you hungry?”

  My stomach growled loudly at the mere mention of food. I was starved.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled. “Omelets coming right up.” Shea stood up and went into his closet. He turned and handed me some towels.

  “Help yourself to any clothing . . . or anything else you might want.” There was a very sexual glint in Shea’s eyes. I set the towels next to me on the bed as I pinched my fingers into the waistband of his sweats, pulling him towards me.

  “Anything?” I asked seductively, the question lingering in the air. After my shower, I might just be hungry for more than breakfast. Seeing him standing there was a feast in itself. I licked my lips, realizing that he was commando, and even the slightest innuendo about sex was getting him hard. I sighed softly as I let my hand brush over the hard outline of his cock.

  “Shower, breakfast . . . anything comes later,” he suggested, laughing as he pointed towards the bathroom door.

  When he left, I reluctantly headed towards the shower. I cringed when I saw myself in the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess, my makeup was everywhere it shouldn’t be, my lips were swollen and my face had razor burn. Everything I was complaining about had been well worth it, but I certainly wouldn’t want to wake up to this hot mess.

  I got into the shower and decided, after the hot water kicked in, that I just might stay in here forever. It felt divine. Twenty minutes later, and barely any hot water left, I got out and wrapped my body and my hair in towels. I went back into the bedroom, where it was beginning to feel toasty and warm. I opened Shea’s closet and searched for something to wear, since I certainly couldn’t wear that bride’s maid dress all day.

  I found a long gray knit sweater. It was very heavy and thick, so it would not only be warm but it would also cover me properly. I decided to go without my bra, but I was able to retrieve my panties. I dropped the towel and pulled on the sweater, rolling up the sleeves and laughing because it came to right above the knee—practically dress length. I went back into the bathroom and dried my hair. Thank God I had my bag that I brought to Trina’s wedding, considering it was fully loaded with cosmetics and hair products. I was able to put blush, mascara and some lip-gloss on, and I found a sealed toothbrush in Shea’s medicine chest. I almost felt human again. I stuffed my cosmetics back into the bag and hung my wet towels over the shower door. I managed to pick up all the bedding that was on the floor and toss it back onto the bed. I walked over to the window and peeked out of the blinds. It was lightly snowing. The pine trees were tipped in white and the day had no sun—it was the beginning of the truly bitter Alaskan cold. I shivered as I turned away from the window.

  As I walked out of the bedroom, I could smell the aroma of coffee and food mixed in with firewood burning. The door next to Shea’s bedroom was opened slightly, so I decided to sneak a peek. It was his workout room. A weight bench with assorted weights sat in the middle of the room. Piles of books sat against one wall, along with a small flat screen and DVDs. Sweat pants lay casually on a chair by the closet. Just then, my stomach growled again and I set off to find Shea in the kitchen. He looked comfortably at home, cooking food and brewing coffee, and I have to admit, I’d never seen a hotter cook.

  “Hey,” I said, sneaking up behind him. His eyes grew wide as he checked out my choice of apparel.

  “Damn . . . and to think I almost gave that sweater to a thrift store.” He grinned wickedly as he flipped the omelet over. “I think I may have to mount and frame that sweater now, because it’s definitely a work of art on your body.”

  I frowned and crossed my arms. “Does that line actually work for you?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Don’t know . . . you’re the only woman I’ve ever used it on,” he replied, laughing. Shea slid the omelets from the pan onto plates, added some toast, and grabbed some mugs.

  “Can you bring the coffee pot?” Shea asked as he took our food into the small dining area. I picked up the coffee pot and followed him, setting it down on a hot pad. He went back into the kitchen and returned with creamer and different condiments for the omelets.

  “Did you see that it’s snowing?” I asked, cutting into my omelet.

  “Yeah, when I went outside to get wood,” he said, nodding towards the door. “Most of it was too damp, so I had to take some from my bottom pile. I’ll need to start throwing a tarp on it—it seems winter snuck up on me early.” He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “I must have been distracted.”

  I nodded, smiling. I was famished and the omelet was fantastic. As we finished our breakfast, my eyes settled on this incredibly beautiful man. While I drank my second cup of coffee, I studied him. Never mind the blue eyes—Shea’s eyes were the rarest color of blue I had ever seen. He had some natural, golden pigmentation in his skin, but he had obviously spent more time outdoors recently because I could see the fading lines of a summer tan. His brows and his hair were dark, with long eyelashes that any supermodel would kill to have. He had amazing bone structure—the perfect kind that people paid big bucks to plastic surgeons to implant. This morning, his short hair was wild and wavy and his facial scruff still had a few days of growth. Damn, it was all I could do to stop myself from straddling him right here in the dining room.

  “Something you like?” Shea looked over at me, with heavy-lidded eyes, as he sipped his coffee.

  Oh yeah, plenty I like, and that may be the problem. I think I may like this way too much.

  “Tell me about your tattoos,” I said, putting my coffee cup down. I scooted my chair closer to him. The light I saw in Shea’s eyes faded away as he rubbed both his arms where the tattoos were. He looked away from me self-consciously, and he appeared irritated like he did when I had asked him about them last night. Clearly, this was a taboo subject. I got up and stood behind his chair, reaching over and kissing him on his forehead. Shea turned, and pressed his face into my heat, which made my sex hot and moist for him. His body language spoke anguish to me.

  “What is it, Shea?” I prodded gently, worriedly, running my fingers through his hair and inhaling his scent. He stood up reluctantly and pulled off his shirt, his tattoos standing out . . . dark, creative, and menacing. He took my hand and pressed it to his heart, my fingers traced the path of the needle used to create these marks. I hadn’t been imagining it last night; this tattoo felt wrong, and I was confused, not quite understanding what I was feeling under my hand. I passed my hands up and down his strong arms, and I could feel more bumps, raised up areas, and scar tissue graze my fingertips along the path. I ran my hands across his shoulders and down on his back. The thickening of skin only seemed to be beneath the tattoos, and a chill settled in my body as a sickening thought crossed my mind.

  “Tell me about the tattoos, Shea,” I demanded softl
y. I swallowed the lump in my throat because I feared the truth I was now forcing him to tell me. He sat back down in his chair, his eyes glassy, almost non-responsive. I touched his hand as I sat down next to him, and I almost had to draw it back because my hand was shaking so badly.

  “Somehow, I always knew I’d have to answer for my tattoos. You’re the first person I’ve ever been with without a shirt. I’ve always been kind of apprehensive, but with you I didn’t care, it didn’t matter. Even Carrie didn’t seem to wonder about the whole shirt thing, and frankly I’ve never had anyone in my life I cared enough about to reveal myself to, until you,” he said, sighing. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my tats, they took over a year to complete, and it’s the best decision I ever made.” Shea lowered his head and continued. “You know what a mean prick my dad was?” I squeezed Shea’s hand. “Let’s just say he fucked me up . . . when I was younger.”

  Tears welled in my eyes and I blinked them back. As I held his hand, my other hand was rolled into a fist, and for a moment, I thought I would have to shove it in my mouth to keep me from screaming. My body felt as tight as a guitar string and my heart was pounding.

  “You don’t have to tell me, it’s alright.” I reassured him, squeezing his hand.

  “No, I want to tell you. I’ve never told anyone about this, only Trina and my mom—they know. You knew he hit my mom, and when I got older I started defending her.” Shea exhaled, “I used to get in his face. I think he pretty much got tired of my shit and he started coming after me too.” There was so much pain and humiliation etched in Shea’s face that it was gut wrenching.

  “Please stop, I don’t want you to relive this . . . not for me,” I told him. Oh, I needed to know, but I just didn’t know if could deal with the knowledge that while I was off trying to live my dream, Shea had been stuck here in some fucking nightmare filled with abuse. He lifted his eyes towards me and squeezed my hand back.

  “First it was just the belt, and then he put his cigarettes out on me. When I was thirteen, he tried to kill my mom, and when I pulled him off of her, he gouged me in too many places to even count with a broken beer bottle. I almost didn’t survive it, physically or mentally. He went to jail and I finally left when I was sixteen and stayed with friends, got better grades and straightened myself out. I never wanted to become him, so as soon as I turned eighteen I went and had every single scar he ever gave me covered with tats. You know it’s supposed to be one continual piece, but my skin was so fucked up with scar tissue that my tattooist had to break them up into separate tats, some with more black than the others. What I didn’t anticipate was that even though you couldn’t see them anymore, anytime I touch my body, it all comes back—the memories, and the flood of pain, coming straight to the surface,” he admitted in a strangled voice.

  I suddenly felt uneasy and ill. I bolted out of my chair and ran for the bathroom. As I sat on the floor with my arms cradling the toilet bowl, I started crying. This child I left behind had gone through so much by the time he was eight, only to have it unfold into a nightmare in the years that followed. Everything in my body ached for him. I should have never asked . . . I now felt like a voyeur into something so very personal, probably a place I shouldn’t be or even belong. Yes, Shea had been a handful when I babysat him, but that was more to do with his actual home life than who he was as a person. He had grown into a beautiful man with a loving heart and a compassionate soul. He had endured so much pain and trauma, and he still turned out to be such a good person.

  I closed the lid to the toilet and sat. I grabbed a handful of toilet paper to wipe my eyes. How could a father do that? How could anyone do that to a child? If Mr. Michaels weren’t already dead, I’d have killed him myself.

  I heard knocking on the door. “Babe, open up the door . . . please.” I could hear the pleading tone in his voice. I stood up and unlocked the door.

  “Ryan, please don’t cry . . . it was a long time ago. Baby, come here.” Shea pulled me into his arms. I pressed my face into his chest as the waterworks began again. He held me there and let me sob for about five minutes, then pushed me back as his lips pressed into mine. His tongue stroked mine as he pushed into my mouth deeper. My arms reached around him, caressing his back, as he kissed me harder.

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” I whispered.

  Shea hugged me tighter. “The happiest day in my life was when I found out he got shanked in prison. I guess the word got out of who he was and what he did.” He kissed the top of my head. “No one would ever help us because of who he was and all of his connections, but I guess in prison they don’t give a shit about your credentials,” Shea spoke coolly. “I’m guessing that my old man was the one responsible for putting many of those guys away . . . then add in the abuse.”

  Everything he just admitted to me and trusted me with brought me to my knees. I lost it again. While I had been in New York trying to be an actress, and marrying an asshole, Shea was stuck here fighting for survival. Did it really matter at what age it had happened? Goddamn Trina . . . she never fucking told me the extent of Shea’s abuse; she had never emphasized the brutality. I couldn’t even fathom the reasons why she had kept this from me, especially since she had been so eager to get Shea and me together. Had Trina’s father hurt her too? She had denied it, but obviously, she had withheld other information also. The reality of the situation was I couldn’t have done anything anyway. Sure, I could have stayed here and been a witness to the horrors, but I had no real power to stop the abuse.

  Obviously, everyone knew what was going on except me. I wondered if my dad had known, and that had been the reason for the coolness I sensed between them when I was younger. I had always known that Mitch Michaels had been a hotshot attorney, but evidently, he had the influence to put quite a few people in his pocket and have them look the other way as he beat his wife and kids.

  As much as I was pissed at her for never telling me what actually went down, when Trina got back, I wanted her to confide in me, as a friend. I needed to know everything, and I wanted to make sure that she hadn’t gone through what Shea had. It was important to me to be there for her. I wasn’t when she needed me, but I wanted it now. I had no idea what the future held for Shea and me, but if there was even the remotest possibility that we were going to be together, I wanted to know it all, every single detail.

  I think he anticipated my next question and he shook his head. “As far as I know he never touched Trina, even once.” Shea looked at me, his eyes filled with concentration, like he was trying to remember something. “It was weird, but he never went after her . . . only me and my mom.” He shrugged as he pulled me up to my feet, holding me by the waist. We both walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. The room was now warm and I just wanted to hold this man and comfort him.

  “Thank you for telling me . . . for trusting me.” I tugged at the sweatshirt he had put back on, trying to cover the scars of his past. I pulled it over his head. He was too breathtaking for words as I ran my fingertips over the intricate patterns of criss-crossing lines. I pressed my lips over his heart and ran my tongue over the scars covered by the tattoos. I heard a very soft growl that came from deep in his throat as I kissed and licked my way through the entire tatted piece.

  “Oh, you do love to tease, Ryan. I was so hard for you at your Dad’s wake, and I thought I’d rip out of my pants when I saw my bite marks on your arm. You just about undid me,” he murmured into my ear. His lips left my ear and found my mouth. The kiss was aggressive and frenzied as though he feared I might disappear.

  I took both hands and cupped his face, trying to assure him with my kiss. I then lowered a hand to his lap and ran it across his hardened state. I already knew, without even looking, that Shea would be rock hard, but I loved confirming it in my grip. He groaned into my mouth as I let my fingers glide along his length, stopping momentarily to reach into the waistband of his sweats. His cock felt like it was on fire, so hot to the touch. A bead of moisture sat on the slit, and I teased
it with the tip of my fingernail.

  “Jesus, you’re going to kill me woman,” he choked out, groaning again.

  “You want me to stop?” I replied coyly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

  “Proceed,” he said, chuckling as he nudged his lips onto my cheek. I continued to tease and taunt his member until he was so hard that even his veins became prominent and the head engorged.

  “Blowjob or sex?” I asked devilishly.

  Shea just blinked as though he was confused by the question and wasn’t sure how he should respond.

  My lips curved upward as I arched one brow “Now Shea . . . really . . . answer the question. Do you want me to suck your cock? Or do you want to sink deep into me and come together?” I smirked slightly. He wasn’t the only one who could talk dirty. Shea appeared very conflicted on which he should choose. He finally leaned forward and pushed his sweats to the floor. I sucked in a breath, because, man-oh-man, he was so hot. He pulled my sweater over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He grabbed a condom from his drawer and fisted it in one hand as the other hand caught the side of my panties and, with one fiercely quick tug, tore them from me and threw the scraps of material on the floor. I frowned because I actually liked those panties, and now I would have to go commando the rest of the day.

  No foreplay, no conversation, no notice. Shea pushed into me like a man on a mission. I squeezed my core muscles around him and heard him swear—loudly. I smiled and let him sink into me. I wrapped my arms around his back and matched him stroke for stroke. He felt so good that I wanted him to stay embedded inside me forever. He moved inside me faster and harder, and I felt his balls slapping against me as he pounded into me. My body began to tingle as I pushed upwards into him, rocking my body quickly to meet his. I moved my hands from Shea’s back and gripped his arms—I wanted to dig my nails into his tattoos and become a small part of the artful tapestry on his body as I felt the sensation of release coming over me like a tidal wave.