With that realization, her doubts in herself and suspicions of him all settled into the shadows, and she claimed this decision wholeheartedly. She wasn’t surrendering, not to his demands or to her baser urges. She was deciding to take this, to have it. If there were consequences, if she was a fool, so be it. She liked this man. Right now, she liked him very much. He went deeper than that scowl. He was more than a bully.
As if he’d heard the workings of her mind, Tony grunted and grasped her hips. He lifted her and set her on the stainless steel island top. Insinuating his body between her thighs, he tugged at the knotted tie of her robe. She dropped her hands to his chest and fumbled at his buttons. They were both clumsy, unwilling to give up the kiss to see what they were doing. Finally, he got the tie undone, and before she could undo the last couple of his buttons, he shoved her robe off her shoulders, and then broke free of the kiss.
Billy gasped at the loss, but the breath died in her throat when she saw the look in Tony’s blue eyes. He stared at her body, in the underwear set she’d worn beneath her outfit tonight, and his eyes sparked heat.
From toddlerhood, she’d been a tomboy, despising the stiff, frilly dresses she’d been made to wear to Bradford events. Even after puberty, her hips remained swimmer-slim, without a dramatic hip-to-waist ratio, so she’d always been able to wear guys’ jeans. Her chest had developed enough to betray her hopes for a true menswear shape to her clothes, but in her early twenties, she’d figured out a style that celebrated both her curvy and her straight parts and fit her personality as well: sort of Katharine Hepburn with boobs.
Tonight, she’d worn navy pencil pants with a striped, French-cuff tailored shirt, and nude platform pumps. Showing under that menswear look, peeking out from the shirt with its top four buttons open, was a navy lace longline bra. A matching thong kept the line of her pants smooth. That lingerie was all she’d still been wearing when he’d buzzed at the door.
Tony was taking in the sight, which might have been a surprise, considering that he’d opened a sky-blue terry cloth robe adorned with puffy white clouds to get to it.
Entranced, he slid his fingers under the straps of her bra and tugged them off her shoulders. Wanting to feel the weight of his body on her, the warmth of his touch, Billy worked her arms out of the sleeves of her robe and through the straps of her bra. She pushed the cups down, freeing her breasts to his gaze—and, she hoped, his touch. His eyes flared wide and flamed hot.
“Goddamn. You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered. The words were hot and potent as a touch.
His gaze still fixed on her chest, Tony set his hands on her shoulders and pushed—with steady intent, but not force. He wanted her to lie back, on the island.
She did, and he took hold of her hips and tugged her to the edge of the table. The height was almost perfect at this part of the island; she felt his jeans against her inner, upper thighs, and the ridge of his cock, pushing at her center. When she flexed her hips on him, a rumbling sound like a growl rolled up from his chest, and he leaned over her.
His shirt, almost fully open, gaped as he came in, and she saw his chest—oh shit, he was gorgeously cut. Not bulky, but broad and lean, like he’d been chiseled by an Italian master. He had tattoos—something in writing at his ribs, and something else low on his hip. She couldn’t make it out before he was on her, pushing his hands under her body, diving in to put his mouth on her breast.
And that was exactly what she’d wanted. As bolts of wild sensation flared through her, Billy cried out and arched up, and Tony hooked his hands over her shoulders, digging his fingers in at her collarbones, drawing her body tightly to his. She hooked her legs at his hips and burrowed her hands into his almost-open shirt, pushing in under the collar, over his shoulders, scrabbling at his back, wanting to hold him close, to hook in and keep him in place.
The skin of his back was uneven—long ridges, intersecting, running parallel, some thick, others faint. He lived a violent life, but there were so many scars, so similar. They didn’t seem like the remnants of wounds he’d earned fighting. They felt like those left from a beating. More than one. Surprise pushed her out of the moment, and she went still.
So did he. Releasing her breast, he lifted his head and looked down at her. “Don’t get hung up on it. Get back here with me.”
His face was rosy with lust, and his lips were wet, but his forehead had pulled into a frown. Billy blinked away her surprise and brushed her fingers over his brow. With a nod, she let her curiosity and burgeoning concern go and got back to the moment with him.
When she did, Tony’s grip on her changed, and he dragged her up to sit again. His hands came up and clutched the back of her head, his fingers gripping as he took her mouth again. Now, there was some force. Not cruel or angry, but determined. Now, he was taking control.
Billy let him have it, but she stayed with him, kissing him back, clutching his head, twisting her fingers in his soft, thick hair. She wanted him to know she was giving him the upper hand, not being overwhelmed or intimidated—she wanted him to know it, and herself not to forget it.
Again, he tore away from their kiss, this time dragging his mouth roughly, hungrily, over her cheek. As Billy twisted her arms around his neck, he took a nip at her ear, sucked in her lobe, then let it go, burying his face against her throat. He bit down on the meat at the join of her neck and shoulder. It hurt enough to make Billy gasp and flinch, but she didn’t push him off. That sharp pinch of his teeth at her flesh had sent a shockwave through her so intense she’d seen stars.
His hands moved from her head, down her back, around her sides, to take her breasts. He was rough, everything about him was rough since she’d put her hands on his back, but not harsh. He didn’t paw at her. His palms were firm and hot—neither workman coarse nor rich-man smooth. Simply strong. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, making her shudder. He caught them between his fingers, making her moan.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her shoulder, and rocked his hips forward, so his jeans ground against her mound.
She wanted him naked, wanted to be naked. She wanted to fuck him, wanted to be fucked. But when she grabbed at his jeans, seeking his fly, Tony’s hands dropped from their beautiful work at her breasts and pulled her away.
He leaned back. “Not yet. I want you to beg for it.”
Billy was all set for begging. “Fine. Please fuck me.”
That earned her a smile, and she was glad to see it. “Not yet. I mean really beg.” He moved to her back and grappled with the hooks of her longline bra. “Fuck, Bill. This is like some kind of armor!”
She laughed and reached back to do it herself. “Nope. Just more hooks than usual. That’s the price we pay for style.”
“Almost worth it.” He took the lacy garment and tossed it over his shoulder, and dragged her robe away as well, letting that fall to the floor at his feet. Then he dived in and captured a breast in his mouth again, wrapping her in his arms as he did. Billy curved back over his embrace and gave in to the pulsing delight of his mouth. He sucked and tongued and played until she squirmed and writhed and twisted, trying to grind herself against his jeans, twisting the strands of his hair in her fingers. Her whimpers and moans echoed off the steel surface of the island and surrounded them. She was cold, she was hot, she wanted so much more than this, and nothing else but this.
As she reached the point that she thought she might actually come, simply from his mouth on her breasts, the clutch of his hands at her back, the heat of his body, the strafe of denim between her legs, he let her go and dropped low.
His hands moved to her hips, and then his mouth was between her legs. The lace of her thong was still mostly in place, and he didn’t move it. He sucked her straight through it, taking her clit, nipping and licking, using the texture of the lace to double, treble the effect of his mouth.
She’d been so close already, it took mere seconds of that spectacular sensation to push her to the brink.
“Yes! Sweet fuck!”
she cried, and arched so high she saw the door behind her, upside down and tilting wildly in her capsized vision.
He stopped and stood up. Her climax hung suspended, like the first drop of a coming storm, poised at the tip of its cloud. Quivering.
Billy’s back sagged to the steel. “What?”
While she gaped at him, delirious with need, he undid the final buttons of his shirt and opened his jeans. He pulled out his cock, and oh shit. She wanted that gorgeous rod right the fuck now.
“Like I said, I want you begging.”
No shame here—she was happy to beg. “Please.”
He shook his head. Setting his hand on her belly, at her hip, he brushed his thumb over her clit, which was still encased in lace. Billy clenched at the electric touch against the quivering drop, but it wasn’t enough to let the storm loose.
“Please!”
“What do you want, Billy?”
“Let me come!”
He drew one finger along her folds. “How do you want it? Like this?” That finger moved to flick lightly, quickly over her clit, making her spasm from her knees to her waist. “Maybe like this?”
He pushed beneath her thong and slid his finger inside. Billy let out a long, hungry moan, a single note that echoed and hovered above them. Her toes curled.
“You are so beautiful like this. And so ready for me.”
She opened her eyes, found his, and nodded. “I am. Fuck me, Tony.”
“I want everything. You ready for that?”
Billy didn’t know what he meant, but he’d taken her to a point beyond rational thought, beyond fear or doubt, beyond consequence. He wanted control, and she no longer had any thought or power that could stop him. Nor did she wish it.
“Do I need a condom?”
The question required rational thought to answer, but Billy couldn’t think. She could only want. She shook her head.
Pleased, he took hold of himself with one hand, pushed his other under her ass, and pushed in.
His groan as he filled her matched her moan, and for a moment, they froze together, fully connected, until Billy just absolutely had to come. She rocked her hips. With a grunt, he drew back and slammed in again, and there—oh god! Just a couple more ...
“Get up here.” He gripped her arms, dragging her up to her seat once more. He shifted hard inside her and she was there. He slammed into her again and she was over—finally, finally coming. It rolled out from her center like a shockwave, and she threw her head back and moaned, another ululating howl that bounced off all the steel surfaces in the room.
Dimly, she felt herself leave the island, felt Tony take her weight, but she was already wrapped so tightly there was hardly more to take. Standing in the kitchen, holding her on his arms, Tony pounded into her, prolonging her climax, chasing after his own.
Finally, Billy’s reached its end, and she sagged forward, holding on, resting on Tony’s shoulder, as he fucked her wildly. Each thrust was punctuated by his animal grunt and her throbbing whimper until he went completely still. She was caught, clenched, in the vise of his body. The tendons in his neck rose like cables. His skin reddened. His release seemed to drag unwillingly, agonizingly through him, bringing with it a deep, feral growl that started low in his body and climbed up. Suddenly, his head flew back and he howled.
For another moment, they stood without moving, barely even breathing. Billy’s body was coiled as if boneless around Tony’s. His body was made of stone.
Then he took a staggering step forward and set her on the island, easing out of her as he did.
She found the will to move and leaned back. He was staring at her, frowning, his eyes wild. He seemed—Billy didn’t know. Not angry, but something as intense as anger. Frightened, almost—but that couldn’t be it. What could he possibly have to fear from her, from this?
“Tony?”
He blinked, and the strange expression disappeared. “You okay?”
“I’m great. That was ... really something.”
“Yeah.” Again, he frowned. He was staring at her, searching her face like he’d lost something in it.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. Then he bent down and collected his jeans from around his ankles and pulled them back up. No underwear, she noticed.
Here they were at the awkward moment that always happened after the first—only?—time. The sex was over. Mind-blowing or banal, there was always this: what happened next. When the sex was banal, the question in this moment was how to set the tone for the end. If she wanted the person to leave, how to get them to do it. A cold, quick time-to-go? Or a friendly, unhurried wander to the door?
This encounter had been of the mind-blowing variety, and Billy wanted Tony to stay. But should she? Now that her body was sated, her mind had stepped back to the podium and tapped its note cards into order. Tony was a hired gun. A man who’d made causing fear and suffering into a livelihood. The organization he worked for was the reason she wasn’t sure she could make her own livelihood work. A sane woman’s list of the pros and cons of actually being with this man would lean all the way to the con. All the pros were about frivolous, physical things.
Every encounter until this one had been adversarial, at least in part. He was not nice. He was not kind. He was not a good person. He was the actual opposite.
But there was more to him. Billy could feel it. She’d felt it since she’d opened the door. She’d felt it since she’d bandaged the hole she’d made in his side.
With that thought, she tugged on his shirt, exposing that side. A small red line was all that was left.
He looked down and studied it as well. When Billy let go of his shirt, he met her eyes again, and he was smiling. He had an absolutely beautiful smile. “Think it’ll scar?”
The question reminded her of his back. She’d only felt the scars, but she was pretty sure he’d been whipped. That thought balanced out his cons in some way. Maybe because they could serve as an explanation, a reason for who he was. She had no idea how he’d gotten them, but in that moment, if at no other time in his life, he’d been a victim. He’d suffered.
Keeping those thoughts to herself, she answered his grin with her own. “I hope so. Something to remember me by.”
He brushed his hand over her shoulder. “Oh, I don’t think I’m gonna have trouble remembering you.”
His words had brought them to the pivotal moment: ask him to stay, or to go. “Tony, stay. Come upstairs and stay the night.”
His grin faded out. “Why?”
“Because this was great. I think I like you. I know I want to fuck you some more.”
“I’m ... I’m shit at long-term ...” he waved vaguely, not knowing what to call this thing between them. Relationships was the word that eluded him.
She shrugged. She had a lot of soul-searching to do before she’d be ready to consider such a thing with this man. “Okay. I’m not saying long term. I’m saying while it lasts. When you piss me off, I’ll kick you to the curb.”
He laughed. “You think?”
“Yup. I’m cold-blooded like that.”
“You’d need to be, if you get tangled up with me.”
She took hold of his shirt again, this time in both hands. “Come on. We had a good time together, and it’s past three in the morning. Let’s go to bed. We can take it from there. Day by day.”
“Day by day. Okay.”
~ 11 ~
Tony wasn’t sure what he’d expected of Billy’s apartment, but he certainly hadn’t expected what it was: not an apartment at all. Just the second floor of the nightclub, almost entirely wide open. A warehouse. Plain wood floors, old two-by-sixes that had never been stained or treated in any way. Brick walls. Huge, tall windows with iron panes and casement openings on either side. The windows on the far side were even bigger—the entry points for when this had actually been a warehouse and goods were craned to the second floor. No kitchen, no room discrete from any other space—except for the bathroom near her bed. That was a
bout as basic as it could be, but it was, at least, new.
She’d made some attempt to cozy it up, but her efforts were halfhearted. The far side of the space was obviously storage for the nightclub below. She hadn’t even bothered to frame out a wall and hide the crates and boxes from view.
What she had done was hang heavy black drapes on a rod that ran all along the walls above the windows, the fabric pooling on the floor. Mostly drawn, like now, in the ripening morning light, they made the room bearable for sleeping and rest. She’d also made little areas that approximated rooms. Near the front windows, an oriental rug with a couple of old-fashioned velvet chairs and a low table—a sitting room, of sorts. A big desk and leather chair on another big old rug, and an impressive array of books in a dozen or more stacks beneath the nearest window—a den. Three surfboards were racked on the wall facing the stairs, with a large, utilitarian chest, like an oversized military footlocker, on the floor beneath them.
And here, in this corner near the bathroom, on a couple overlapping, faded old rugs with mismatched ornate patterns, her bedroom: A queen-size mattress and box spring on the floor. A tall armoire. A low, long chest of drawers. A free-standing oval mirror. Three long wheeling racks of clothes. And a massive unit of cubes against a wall, each cube holding a pair of shoes, one toe out, the other heel out.
The bed was placed away from the wall, at an odd slant, and Billy had accomplished something like a headboard by putting the chest of drawers against the head of the bed, facing out. It was a nice piece, probably antique, and the back was nearly as nice as the front. Tony arranged pillows and leaned against it. Billy slept at his side, sprawled on her belly, one leg hooked over his. He grinned at the cheap-flash ‘devil horns’ tattoo, about the size of a silver dollar, she had on her right hip, just above her ass. It was her only ink. Never had he seen a more obvious example of a drunken decision than that shitty little black sketch.
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