She nods. “Kinda hard not to, Cade.”
“Never doubt how I feel about you, Ana. I’m never gonna stop loving you, and baby, I am never ever gonna get tired of fucking your sweet little pussy.” I open the sash on her robe and push the silk from her shoulders. I lower my head to her tits, sucking her nipple, along with the black lace of her bra, into my mouth. Her nails dig into the skin on the back of my neck. I pull her closer with the arm that’s circling her waist, wrap her ponytail around my wrist and yank on it. Ana’s breath catches in her throat. I hold her gaze with mine. “Do we need to talk more about this?”
She tries to shake her head but I won’t release her hair from around my wrist, so her range of movement is limited. “No, we don’t need to talk.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then no more fucking thoughts. Thoughts lead to fear, and that leads to fights, and while you’re sexy as fuck when you’re angry, you’re also stubborn as hell. And I don’t wanna fight. I just wanna bury myself inside you, and fuck you so hard you see stars. We good here?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I pull the band from her hair, silky blonde waves tumble down around her shoulders. I slide my hands through them, feeling the softness, breathing in the rich vanilla scent of her shampoo that ignites a fuse in my veins.
Her fingers tremble as she pops the button on my fly. I let her unzip me, and then I grasp her hands firmly before she can pull my cock free. I tug at her robe, slide her bra strap from her shoulder. “These. Off.”
She laughs and slides the silk off her body. Goosebumps break out all over her flesh. I set her on her feet and don’t waste any time shedding my jeans, and then I pump my cock into my fist as I watch her undress the rest of the way. “Hurry up, baby girl. Or I’m gonna start counting, and when I get to one, if you’re not completely naked, soaking wet and spread before me on the couch, I’m going to ruin another one of your pretty lingerie sets.”
One perfect blonde brow arches in challenge. Ana’s arms drop from the clasp of her bra, and she slowly peels the lace away. It falls to the floor with a whisper. I clench my jaw and inhale sharply through my nose. “Five ... four ...”
She stands defiantly before me, wearing just a pair of lacy knickers, unhurried. I take a step towards her. “Three ... two ...”
I don’t even make it to one before she launches herself at me. Maybe we both lunge at each other. Who the fuck cares? All I know is Ana’s in my arms, thighs wrapped around my hips, her wet, lace-covered pussy pressed against my hard stomach, and our mouths are devouring one another. I stumble forward, and wind up slamming her back into the wall. She protests, but it comes out as more of a moan, so I ignore it in favour of transferring my arms until they’re under her arse. I allow the wall to take her weight, but I wedge my knee between her legs so she doesn’t fall and I use both hands to tear off her underwear. Ana gasps, but I know it’s all for show—she fucking loves it when I go caveman on her sexy arse.
“One,” I whisper in her ear, and lick that sweet spot beneath her jaw.
“I love it when you get to one.”
“I know.” I chuckle. “Press your back into the wall, babe.”
She does as I ask. Using the wall as leverage, I lift her arse so her pussy is level with my face, her thighs resting on my shoulders. My tongue darts out to taste her. Fucking perfect. Ana wraps her thighs tighter around my head and bucks against me. I spear her with my tongue, plunging inside as far as I can without pulling a muscle—or suffocating. Death by pussy. What a way to go.
She grinds her pelvis against my mouth until she’s panting, her back slamming against the wall with each breath. I let her ride my face until she’s close, and then I draw her clit into my mouth and take her over the edge. Ana comes, kicking and screaming as her fingers tug at my hair. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders, and I’m not gonna lie, it kinda feels like she just kicked my kidneys in.
“Christ. Remind me to have an oxygen tank nearby the next time we attempt that,” I joke as I wipe her arousal from my chin with the back of my hand. “For a minute there, I thought I could see a white light.”
She lets out a groan, which quickly turns into a lethargic little laugh.
I love this part—where her limbs have turned to jelly, and she’s so caught up in the afterglow that she forgets to be self-conscious, forgets the dark place that scumbag Scott had taken her, and she just lets go. It’s pure bliss. Ana’s come a long way since all that shit, and it usually doesn’t touch us when I’m touching her, but from time to time I catch her slipping back into that darkness when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention. It’s usually around that time that I do something extra douchie so she’ll yell, or throw things at me, and then I can make her forget by sweeping her up into some fucking awesome make-up sex.
I tell her to plant her hands against the wall, and then I shift my arms beneath her. Ana carefully lowers her legs one at a time, and wraps them around my waist. She snags my bottom lip with her teeth. I drive my tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself on me. I tangle my hands in her hair, and then I walk us across the room, where I lay her down on the back of the sofa.
As she’s stretched out before me, I run my hands over her perfect tits, down to her soaked pussy, and then I slide my arm beneath her hip and flip her over until she’s lying face down, her back bowed, arse in the air, and her perfect pussy on full display. I slap her arse hard, just once—because I can’t help myself—and then I slide my cock between her cheeks and down into her warmth.
Ana gasps as I bury myself balls’ deep. I allow her a second to adjust to my size, and then I begin pounding her as furiously as she rode my face a few minutes ago. I lean forward and grab a fistful of hair. Wrapping it around my wrist, I force her head back, her throat arching upward as I thrust mercilessly inside. It isn’t long before her pussy clenches around my cock, tight and wet, and so fucking sweet it hurts. She rides out the rest of her orgasm by slamming her hips back into mine. My balls tighten, and her pleasure tips me over the edge. I pull out, and hot come jets out all over her cheeks. I slowly rub it into her milky skin with the palm of my hand.
“This arse is mine.” I trail my hands down her seam and trace my come-stained fingers over her pussy, focusing my attention on her clit. She moans, her legs shake, and she presses herself against my hand. “This pussy is mine.”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Say it, Ana. I wanna make sure we’re crystal clear.”
She protests as I pull my hand away, and then I slap her clit. It’s not a hard slap, but it’s enough to gain her attention. Her whole body stills beneath me. She lets out a shaky breath. “Yours.”
I move my fingers back to her clit, stroking softly, just hard enough to keep her on edge, but not enough to make her come. “What’s mine?”
“My pussy.”
I slap her perfect cunt again. She flinches, and then she gently pushes against my hand. It’s clear she’s torn between wanting more and wanting me to stop.
“My arse,” she whispers.
I double my assault, pushing two fingers inside as I rub her clit. “And?”
“Me,” she pants. “All of me. I’m yours.”
“That’s right, baby girl,” I whisper as she comes against my hand. I lean over her body, not caring that I’m getting jizz all over the couch. “And I’m all yours. Always have been.”
If I knew with one hundred per cent certainty that she’d say yes, I’d ask her right this second. But my heart gives a pathetic little stutter at the thought of dropping to my knees and having her reject me. Plus, answering that, “How did he pop the question” line with, “Well we were both covered in spunk, and he’d just fucked me senseless and then he proposed with his junk all hanging out” could be kinda awkward. Especially around Bob. Thanks to a home movie and a curious six year old, the dude’s already seen way too much of my junk. I don’t need him picturing it as he contemplates walking
her down the aisle at our wedding.
I wipe the fresh sheen of sweat from my brow, and help Ana to her feet. As she walks to the bathroom, her thighs tremor, and I smile to myself. I’m gonna marry that girl, if it’s the last thing I ever get to do.
THERE’S SOMETHING strange going on with Elijah, and I’m determined to find out what the hell it is, even if I have to screw a confession out of him. This feeling has been irking me for days. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but there’s definitely something off about him. Putting aside the fact that he shot me down when I was half-naked and begging for him to sleep with me—which, by the way, has never happened, ever—he’s been acting shadier than the cast of Others on Lost.
He’s quiet and moody, and twice now I’ve walked into our room to find him hovering over the dresser, only to have him slam the drawer when he notices me standing there. One time he even caught his fingers, but he wouldn’t let me come near him. Did curiosity get the better of me, when I was putting away his laundry? No, it’s not like I’d ever—yeah, okay, maybe I did have a quick peek into his sock drawer. Obviously, I found nothing. I can’t decide if coming up empty was worse than all the terrible things I imagined: scary Dino porn, dirty knickers from some Asian vending machine, a little black book … It’s driving me crazy not knowing what’s going on with him, but lately, every time I try to talk to him he runs out with some half-arsed excuse about running late, or helping Jack with something.
I stare out the shop window and over at Bob’s. I can see Elijah working beneath the hood of some old bomb. His shirt is off, and the giant skull tattoo does nothing to hide the definition in his back and shoulders, even from here. I think back to early this morning when I traced my cold fingertips over the bold outlines until he woke and pinned me beneath him, kissing me and warming me both inside and out.
Really, it’s ridiculous how much I want to jump his bones. I just wanna go over there, straddle him on the hood of that car and practise making pretty little Elijah and Ana’s. I lean over the counter, fantasising about riding my boyfriend in my dad’s auto repair shop, and ignore Holly’s tirade about our annoying “new” neighbours. She’s referring to the pizzeria that opened next door more than a year ago. Antonio and his family are lovely, and they do make great pizzas, but that great pizza fills our previously saccharine-scented diner with the scent of tomato, garlic, and freshly wood-fired dough. Not so good when you’re trying to tempt patrons with fries, pies and milkshakes.
“Uh-oh,” Holly mutters, and I pull myself from my daze long enough to stare at her.
“Uh-oh what?”
“Nothing,” she says, but her gaze darts to the window, and away again. I glance out the front and see a trashy blonde strutting across the road, wielding a pizza box that’s practically bigger than her body.
Nicole.
She started working at the pizzeria two weeks ago. Apparently she got fired from some fancy pants secretarial position for a law firm in Brisbane, and her skanky arse has been sullying up Antonio’s ever since. And yes, even after all this time, she still makes me feel stabby.
I know Elijah was more to blame than her. He should have come to me that night instead of leading who’s-a-skank into the bathroom and nailing her to the wall, but the truth is, I’ve never really gotten over it. I don’t think I ever will.
I forgave him; I got it. He was hurting. I was hurting. Together we only hurt one another, and we were on a break. We weren’t in the place back then that we are now. We’ve both grown up a lot, we’ve grown together, but I still can’t see past my hatred of her. Every time I see her I want to vagina punch her into infertility.
She prances into the workshop wearing an Antonio’s shirt that comes down too low—and covers too little of her boobs—a skirt that’s a size too small, and heels. Heels, for God’s sake! Who the hell wears heels in hospitality?
Elijah turns, and from here it looks as if he’s giving her a megawatt smile. This manic, piercing panic sets my chest on fire, as if I’ve swallowed burning coals. It’s the same feeling I had last week when I ran into them coming out of the supermarket together, laughing and pretending like they hadn’t fucked one another that night a few short years ago, and that it hadn’t torn my whole world apart.
“Oh hell no,” Holly says from over my shoulder.
“She’s just delivering a pizza,” I rationalize, but then of course my mind runs away with me, and I untie my apron and throw it on the counter. “That bitch is delivering a pizza to my man.”
“There you go,” Holly says and picks up my apron, slapping me on the arse with it, and drawing the eye of every customer in the diner. They go back to enjoying their pie soon enough though.
“Everyone knows the way to Elijah’s heart is with pie and pussy, and she’s already given him one of those things. Nobody gives him food but me.”
“Go gouge her eyes out, tiger.”
“I’m gonna take her arse down.”
“Thatta girl,” she yells after me as I clear the counter, and head for the door. Several heads turn to follow my march of terror. “Once you’ve done away with the skank, make sure you take his arse down. Leave the door open, though—it’s been too long since I saw the two of you in action.”
I bite back the retort about how creepy that sounds, glancing instead at the guy occupying the last booth as I reach for the door. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s watching me closely. I give him a pained smile. Since we had that two-page spread in Great Food Magazine and the five-minute segment on Sydney Weekender, Belle’s Pies is kinda famous. Not bad for a rundown little diner in the middle of nowhere that had burned to the ground just three years earlier.
It’s not unusual to see strangers in here now, though something about this guy’s face is familiar. I tilt my head, trying to recall what it is, but then Holly makes this weird growling tiger sound, and reminds me of my very important mission. I turn my gaze back to Bob’s, set my shoulders, and pull back the shop door.
Of course, being a tiny street, both Elijah and Nicole hear the bell ding above the diner door, and they turn their heads in my direction. I stalk forward, a woman on a mission. Elijah’s grin falters. Good. He knows he’s in trouble then. Nicole’s mouth tips up in one of her smarmy smiles, and then she brushes his arm like a complete and utter slut, and shakes her arse out of the shop faster than I can angry-stride across the road.
“Ana,” she says by way of greeting as she passes me on her way back to the pizzeria. I grab her wrist as she walks by, which completely takes her—and, if I’m honest, me—by surprise. “Ow!”
“What did you say to him?”
“Let go, you psycho. Did you forget your meds this morning?”
“Why are you talking to him? Why are you even back here?”
She wrenches her arm from my grip. “We messed up a customer order, I remembered how much he loves it spicy, so I thought he might want.”
“He doesn’t want, you got it? Leave him alone.”
“Oooh, is there still a raw nerve there? You know, I think about that night often. You’re really lucky he took you back, what with all that slutting around you did with Scott.”
She did not just say that to me. I don’t know if it’s just too much time spent with Holly, or the insane jealousy invading my brain, but I lunge at her.
“Holy shit.” Elijah throws the pizza box, it springs open, flinging greasy pizza onto the hood of the car he’s spent all morning working on. He runs towards us, wedging himself between me and the home-wrecking wench. “Ana, what the hell are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” I glare up at him. “What is she doing, Elijah?”
He barrels into my chest, forcing me to inch back. He clasps my face in his hands and stares down into my eyes, imploring me to listen. “Back it up, baby girl. You have a diner full of witnesses. Let’s not do anything that’ll get us all arrested, okay?”
He’s looking at me like I’m a crazy person.
Wait; I’m acting lik
e a crazy person.
“Keep your bitch on a leash,” Nicole says to Elijah.
“Hey, she’s sorry,” he snaps.
“Whatever,” Nicole says and stalks away. “You two deserve one another.”
Elijah turns his attention to me. “Babe, what’s gotten into you?”
“What’s gotten into me? She just accused me of fucking Scott, instead of being raped by him, and you apologised to her?”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, the next time you step in to save my arse, you might wanna make sure it doesn’t just need to smack some stupid, mouthy, bitch upside the head,” I say, and stalk back to the diner. Elijah’s exasperated sigh follows me to the door, and then I open it and push through, drowning out any further protests with the falsetto ringing of the shop bell.
“Wow, when you said you were gonna take her arse down, you weren’t kidding,” Holly crows from behind the counter, once again ignoring the fact that there’s an entire shop full of paying customers that I’d really like to not scare off. Though I did just go all WWWF on their arses, so I guess anything Holly says now is sort of Disney by comparison. I shake my head, and hurry behind the counter.
“God, I’ve been hanging around you too long. I just went postal on Nicole for delivering a pizza to my man.”
“You were kinda bad arse.”
“I just wanted to warn her to back off, you know?” I bury my head in my hands, and stare down at the scratched Formica. “But when she started talking crap about Scott, I just lost it.”
Holly’s mouth twists into a sneer and all trace of humour is gone when she says, “What did she say about Fuck-face?”
“Basically she called me a whore, made it sound like I was screwing around with him.”
“I’ll fucking kill her.” Holly fists her hands at her sides until her knuckles turn white.
“Take it easy, Cujo. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I sigh, and take my apron from her outstretched hands. “What time are you bringing Pepper around tonight?”
Greetings from Sugartown Page 2