Conditioned (Brewing Passion Book 3)

by Liz Crowe

  Sounds and smells pierced my post-nightmare brain. Coffee. Bacon. Music. I blinked, clearing away the last fog of fear and rolled onto my side, curling into a shivery ball of naked skin. I hurt between my legs. My nipples stung. My lips felt swollen. But my heart was calm. I smiled, recalling the night. Remembering that odd but glorious feeling of finding myself—my true self—the pre-victim Melody that Trent had discovered and teased out of me.

  With a sigh, I rolled onto my back, letting the sheet slip down to my waist. Every inch of my skin felt happy, tingly and satisfied. I bit my lip, my face flushed as the wash of recent memory filled my brain. Trent—his lips, hands, tongue. The way I’d wanted to taste him. How I had tasted him, pleasuring him, swallowing the head of his penis and making him climax.

  I smelled the sex lingering in the room, then rolled and pressed my face to the pillow where he’d slept, sucking in huge lungsful of him. How in the world had I gotten here? Since when did I ever wake up happy, satisfied, dare I say still horny?

  This was going to be fun, I decided, shoving aside thoughts of our age difference, among other things and getting to my feet. I limped to the bathroom, realizing just how sore I was between my legs, and took care of a few things including a quick clean up with a warm washcloth. There was some blood on the cloth so I kept cleaning myself until it disappeared.

  I popped a few painkillers and ignored my still bruised face in the mirror, deciding to slip on my ratty robe at the last minute instead of putting on clothing. I didn’t want anything touching me too tightly—because of the pain, yes. But also because I wanted my skin to stay exposed to the air, to relish this wonderful, after-a-night-of-lovemaking feeling.

  “There she is,” Trent declared as I wandered over to the kitchen where he stood in his jeans and nothing else. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

  I stared at the broad, muscular expanse of his back, wishing I had the nerve to walk over and wrap my arms around his waist and press my lips to his shoulder blades. But I held back, wary all of a sudden. He turned, brandishing a spatula. “I hope you like pancakes. It’s my specialty.”

  I nodded, still speechless with wonder and a twinge of anxiety. His eyes narrowed at my expression. I turned away, seeking something to do with my hands. We had been so intimate. We had said and done things that went beyond this casual, morning-after scene. My pulse raced. My heartbeat thumped in my ears. I tried to pour a cup of coffee, but my shaking, stupid hands wouldn’t cooperate and the mug crashed to the floor, shattering and sending hot liquid splashing everywhere, including onto my feet.

  “Wait, don’t move,” Trent demanded, setting the spatula down and stepping over the mess. He scooped me up, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of rice. I yelped in surprise, but the nearness of him, of his bare flesh, soothed me. When he dumped me onto the couch, I bit my tongue, hard.

  “Meirda!” I covered my lips with one hand. “Ow.”

  “You’re sort of a klutz, eh, angelita?” He kissed my cheek and reached back for a tissue. When he handed it to me, his eyes were soft. His face relaxed and happy. “Should have warned me.”

  “Then you wouldn’t have come over for lunch…was that yesterday? Seems like a long time ago.”

  “Oh, you have your redeeming qualities.” He winked. “Sit. Relax. I’ll clean up your mess.”

  “No, no, I’ve got it.” I tried to get up but he pressed me back.

  “No. I’m taking care of you right now, okay? It’s part of my thing. Some of which you haven’t seen yet. But we’ll talk more about that later?” His grin widened.

  “Fine,” I said, feeling like I could rip off his jeans and jump his bones with little more provocation than his musical, mildly erotic words. “May I please have coffee?”

  “Yes, you may. Give me a few.” He handed me the remote. “Here, go ogle some hot soccer man flesh. I’ll let ’em fluff for me. I’m that confident.”

  “Fluff?” I blinked up at him, honestly confused.

  He chuckled and ran his fingers across my lips. “Yes, bella. They will fluff you up, get you excited and ready for me. Then I will finish you and way better than any of those pseudo-athletes would ever do.”

  My face flushed so hot it made me gasp. “You are very bad,” I said, loving how my body had gone from tingly to full-bore horny at his words.

  “Guilty. Now, sit. Relax. I’ve got this.”

  “But…” I half-rose, then flopped back when he glared at me. My phone buzzed from the table, reminding me that I’d gone for hours without checking it. I had a missed call and a half dozen texts, all from Evelyn.

  I glanced over at Trent, who was indeed sweeping up the mess. I waited as directed while he wiped down the cabinets, poured me a fresh cup, added the perfect amount of milk to it because, of course he’d figured out how I preferred it. “Gracias, guapo.” I smiled up at him.

  “My pleasure, diosa. Pancakes in about five, all right?”

  “All right.” I turned on the telly, then grabbed my phone as soon as his back was turned.

  You need to call me, woman. I need to talk!!!

  OMG, Mel. I need to talk to you!

  Jesus. Woman. Please!

  The other three were in a similar vein. I typed out a quick reply.

  What? Sorry. Was busy. You know…

  The little bubbles popped up immediately as if she’d been waiting for hours for my reply.

  I sold with Austin Fitzgerald yesterday. I’m a wreck.

  Frowning, I tried to figure out what this meant.

  Why? Was he a jerk?

  Her reply took a little longer this time. No. That’s the problem.

  He’s pretty good-looking, if I remember right, I said, feeling her out a bit.

  You do remember right. Oh shit, Mel. He’s a trust fund asshole. I should not be feeling this way about him. At all.

  Doesn’t he have a twin brother?

  I think so. Anyway. I’m still trying to get over it. Tell me about your fun night!

  I sighed, closed my eyes and relived a tiny corner of it before answering.

  I’ll tell you some other time.

  Mel! Puta!

  Hardly, I typed out. I’ll call you later, promise. Gotta go. I’m getting breakfast made for me.

  I hate you right now. But you know, I don’t. You get into that, chica. You deserve every bit of it.

  “Who’s that?” Trent asked as he put a single plate on the coffee table in front of me.

  “Evelyn,” I said, before realizing how awkward that answer was.

  “Ah,” he said, as he sat on the floor, pulling me down with him.

  “Is that weird? I asked as he picked up a piece of bacon.

  “Is what weird?” He held the bacon in front of my lips. I smiled and took a bite. “That you’re friends with Evelyn?”

  “No…I mean. You know.” I bumped his side, and picked up the fork. He bumped me back, hard. “Hey!”

  “Hay is for horses,” he said, snagging the fork out of my hand and cutting into the butter and syrup-drenched pancakes. The bite he brought to my lips made me frown.

  “I am perfectly capable of—”

  “Ah, ah ah.” He waggled his finger at me. “I am not taking anything away from you by wanting to treat you this way. I think women are not only the fairer but the stronger and smarter sex. We will have plenty of time to debate and for you to prove it to me. But now…I’m feeding you. Because I want to. Now open up, mi amor. Let me take care of you for a little bit longer?”

  And what red-blooded woman could resist that? Not this one.

  I opened my mouth, took the bite, chewed and swallowed it. He touched the corner of my lips and put his fingertip to his mouth. I was starting to understand what the romance novels meant when they talked about wanting to swoon. He handed me bacon, then took his own bite. We sipped coffee in between our bites while the television droned on in Spanish.

  “Can I ask you about Evelyn?” I said, once we’d finished and he’d put our dishes in
the washer.

  “Of course.” His smile was wide as he returned to the couch and flopped down onto it with a sigh, rubbing his flat belly. “Damn, I’m good at that breakfast thing.”

  “You are,” I admitted. He reached for me but I kept my distance. “About Evelyn…”

  He settled into his end of the couch, looking way too comfortable considering the topic. “I told you, we went out a few times but agreed that we weren’t a good couple, in that way.”

  “She told me about you,” I blurted out, not even sure why I was doing it.

  He raised a dark eyebrow but didn’t reply. I swallowed hard and plowed on. I’d started this and it was something I wanted to be clear between us. “That you had…a kink.”

  “Yes,” he said, keeping his gaze on me and his face neutral.

  “So…why didn’t we…I mean, you know.” I jerked my chin towards the bed where we’d shared such an amazing experience a few hours prior. My face and ears were getting hot. He leaned his head to one side, as if studying me. “Never mind.” My body was revving in a way that confused me. I rose, pulling my ratty robe around me like some kind of prude.

  He stayed put, his eyes following my movements. And it was as if this alone was enough to make me want to do things—to do more things—with him. Now. My hands shook as I pulled my hair back and fastened with an elastic I’d left on the side table.

  “Don’t stare,” I said, as anger flared up in my chest. “It’s rude.

  “Here’s the thing, Melody.” He rose slowly, gracefully, and stood within centimeters of me, his hands at his sides. My knees shook and as hard as I tried to do it, I could not meet his eyes. I stared down at our feet. Mine with their silly red nails. His—large, and capable-looking sticking out from the hem of his jeans. “I do have a preference for being in charge, in control. But I don’t always manifest it by a specific sort of activity in the bedroom.”

  I closed my eyes, swayed a little, trying not to reveal how badly I wanted to launch myself into his arms. When I opened my eyes he frowned at me, which made me train my gaze on the floor again. For some reason, it felt right, natural. Which was so strange I had to choke back a nervous laugh.

  “Just listen a minute while I try to explain it.” He kept his hands at his sides. I studied them while he spoke—noted their size, the length of his fingers, their tidy, squared-off nails. “I do enjoy a certain level of kink, yes. If you want to call it that. I go to clubs. I choose partners who are strangers to me. These women have come of their free will and pay as much as I do for the pleasure of my company. We both enjoy our roles. We require it, I guess, to maintain our equilibrium in other parts of our lives.”

  He lifted my chin, as if giving me permission to look at him. His eyes were shining, his expression serious. “It’s a part of me that I’ll never give up—the need to control. But I’m not ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, bella. You’ve been through too much. It’s not the right thing for you. At least not yet.”

  “Maybe I want to decide that,” I declared, sounding way more confident than I felt.

  He frowned deeper, causing distressing lines to form on either side of his mouth. “No,” he said, as if convincing himself as well as me. “Not yet. If ever.”

  “But if it’s part of you, something you won’t give up, how will I… I mean…” I dropped my gaze again, and gnawed at my lip, worried I was getting way ahead of myself.

  He pulled me into his arms. I went gladly, wrapping my arms around his waist and lifting my face in eager anticipation. But he didn’t kiss me. He just stared at me, as if trying to figure out how to proceed. “Never mind,” I said, worried I’d upset my lovely new applecart and regretting every word.

  “No, we’ll talk more about it, I promise. But it’s something that…bears taking a bit more time to ponder, let’s say.” He smiled, which sent relief pouring over me like a warm waterfall. He leaned into my ear. “Didn’t you like what I did for you last night, querida? Was it not enough for you, my sweet little sex kitten?”

  I giggled, and turned my head so his lips met mine. The kiss was slow, easy, perfect. It left me gasping and wanting more. “So, what is this then?” I leaned away from him, keeping my fingers linked behind the small of his back.

  “This,” he whispered, pulling me close again and opening my robe. As it slid to the floor at my feet, he cupped both my breasts reverently. “This,” he repeated, brushing his thumbs across my already hard nipples. “This,” he said, as one of his hands slid around to grip my ass. “This.” His voice dipped lower as his other hand dropped between my legs. I stood, speechless, humming with need as he touched me all over, murmuring the word “this” over and over again.

  He walked all the way around me, pulled the band out of my hair, pressed his face into the mass of it as it tumbled down my shoulders and back. I started to reach for him. But he stepped away from me. “No,” he said. “I’m touching right now. You are to remain perfectly still and let me. Nothing more.”

  “All…all right.”

  I felt him against my back again, sliding his fingers through my hair until he reached my scalp. He rubbed, making my knees weak again with the perfection of his touch. “I don’t want you to ever put your hair up when I’m around.”

  I started to speak. But he pressed a finger to my lips. “It’s a simple request, querida. And a good way for you to understand that my needs are simple. But I expect them to be met.”

  His voice had that edge to it again. The edge that crawled up my spine, one vertebra at a time, and landed squarely in the part of my brain that I’d discovered the night before. The part that made me pant, spread my legs and want him inside me so badly I ached with the lack of him. He stayed behind me, cupping my breasts, teasing my nipples, kissing my shoulder and neck until my knees did give out. I fell back against him with a low moan.

  “Touch yourself, mi diosa,” he said, his voice low and clear.

  “I don’t…know what to do.”

  His fingers pinched my nipples, making me cry out. “Tell me a word,” he said from behind me. “A word that you’ll use when you want me to stop whatever it is I’m doing.”

  He kept working my nipples, but gently now, teasing them into even harder peaks. My hips were moving, like they had last night. I was on fire between my legs. I needed him to do more, not less.

  His fingers clamped onto my nipples again. I groaned and reached down between my legs, requiring the relief so badly I was willing to find it myself. Even though I had never, once, done this.

  “That’s it, mi amor,” he crooned in my ear, keeping his lips on my neck. “Touch that beautiful pussy. You’ll know where.”

  I nodded, my breathing ragged, sweat beading up on my skin. “What do I do?”

  “Find your clit. It’s that tiny little nub of flesh at the top. It should be firm right now, ready for you.”

  I gulped, and felt around my own anatomy, as he tugged my nipples, distending them, and making me want him so badly I thought I might cry. “I…c-c-c-can’t.” I reached back to cup his neck, but he took my hand and put it back where it had been, guiding my finger, showing me what he meant. When I touched it—that tiny little bud of skin that felt plumped up and sensitive—I cried out, crying “Si! Si! Si!” as he and I stroked me to orgasm together.

  “Oh, Mi Dios,” I sighed, leaning back into him fully, letting him hold me up with his body. “Mi Dios. Mi…Dios.”

  He took my hand and brought it to my mouth. I hesitated. “Taste it, querida. Taste your sweet cream.” I put my finger in my mouth. I tasted like the ocean—like the sweet, brine-encrusted breeze that I used to love so much as a child—not like the evil memory that its smell had invoked for so many years.

  I tried to turn around, but he held me still. “A word, Melody. I need you to give me a word that’s ours, only ours. A word that you know will keep you safe no matter what.”

  I nodded, still shaking all over from the climax. His hands were roaming over
me know. Breasts, nipples, stomach, pubic hair, thighs, ass, shoulders. Everywhere he touched me I burned, like fire. Such a cliché. But true nonetheless. “A word, bella. Give me your safe word. I’ll hold it close to my heart.”

  “Anything?” I was dying to get my hands on him and was arching my back, pressing my ass against his crotch, which promised much even as he withheld it from me.

  “Anything.” His fingers fluttered all over my skin.

  “Mariposa,” I said, reaching back to touch his scalp, knowing already how that made him react.

  “Mariposa,” he sighed into my neck. “Perfect.” He pulled my hands off him, making me whimper. “I told you, Melody. I am doing the touching.”

  “Yes. All right.”

  “I want to feel inside you.” His hand parted my legs from behind. He cupped my entire, pulsing sex in his large palm. “You feel so good. So ready for me.”

  “I am,” I sighed. His other hand moved up my back to my neck and into my hair again. He tightened his fist, gripping hard, pulling my head back gently. I spread my legs wider, but he kept his hand still, giving me exterior friction but nothing more. And I wanted more. But I waited, knowing he would give me exactly what I needed.

  Which had to be the weirdest thing I’d ever thought. My sense of unreality ramped up higher as I stayed still, so still I thought I could hear our heartbeats syncing up, matching rhythm. His breathing was soft, near my ear. I moved my hips, feeling the leading edge of another climax roiling up from the soles of my feet. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling and bringing tears of pain to my eyes. But I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t want him to stop.

  “Touch your breasts, mi amor,” he demanded, his voice firm, in control. The sound of that edge, fully realized now into something new and exciting made me gasp and move my hips faster. “Stroke those nipples. Make them harder. Pinch them.” His fingertips burrowed between my legs until he found my eager clit. “Ah, yes, you are so sensitive there. In those huge, delicious nipples. I love them,” he said as he stroked me.