Shouldn't Want You (Cataclysm Book 2)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “Yes.” Her answer comes out on a hissed exhale. No hesitation.

  Her head falls back as I loosen my grip, letting the bra fall away, exposing her sweet pink nipples to my gaze for the first time. Hard little points begging for my mouth.

  With my hands full of her tits, I lean forward to run my tongue across one nipple, flicking it a few times before doing the same to its twin. She pants, her chest flushed and heaving beneath my mouth, and her hips shift again.

  Her throat works in front of my eyes as she swallows, and when she looks at me again, her eyes are dark pools glazed with lust. Her hands reach down to my sides, grabbing handfuls of my shirt and pulling.

  “Off. Take it off.”

  I don’t need her to ask again. Leaning forward to drag my shirt off reduces the friction of our hips, and I hate it, so once my shirt is out of the way, I arch my hips up into her again, wishing that she were ready for more than topless fooling around. But as much as my dick aches to get inside her tight wet heat, I know we need to wait. Yeah, sure, this is moving faster than I planned, but no way am I taking her virginity on the couch in my suite. Not the first time I kiss her. Not before giving her an orgasm or two to relax her, make sure she enjoys her first time as much as possible.

  She answers the movement of my hips with another swivel of hers, and I grip her ass, dragging her forward and back over my iron cock, needing the sweet pressure of her pussy to relieve the tension building in me at least a little.

  When I lean forward to capture her nipples again, she allows it for a second, hissing air through her teeth before pushing on my shoulders.

  I lean back immediately, looking at her with concern. “Is this okay? We can stop. I’m sorry, I—”

  She shakes her head, and horror shoots through me. I drop my hands to the couch at my sides, letting my head fall back against the couch and closing my eyes, forcing myself to be still so she can climb off and find her clothes. I knew I should’ve gone slower. I knew I should’ve stopped at kissing. But when she rubbed herself all over me and practically tore off her clothes, I thought …

  “Danny, look at me,” she says, her voice low, calm, still husky. Still planted firmly in my lap, though she’s not moving either.

  I crack my eyes open and find her smiling at me. I swallow hard, feeling lost for the second time tonight.

  “I just wanted to look at you,” she whispers, her words calming the roiling acid in my stomach. “I’ve wondered how far your tattoos go. This is my first chance to see. But I can’t look at you when you’re …” She trails off, gesturing with her hands between my face and her chest.

  “When I’m licking your nipples?”

  Her cheeks, already flushed and pink, turn a shade darker. “Yes. That.” The contrast of her topless in my lap and her prim embarrassment makes me chuckle.

  She shoots me a little glare, her lips pursed, and that does nothing to stop my laughter.

  But when she crosses her arms and covers herself, her expression morphing from aroused and a little flustered to something closer to hurt and says, “Stop laughing at me,” I stop.

  “Hey.” I run my hands up her back, hoping to soothe her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. You’re just too cute, sitting in my lap topless, letting me touch you and suck on your nipples, but you’re too embarrassed to say it.” When she won’t meet my eyes, I keep going, encouraged by the fact that her shoulders are relaxing, even if she hasn’t dropped her arms again. I pull her against my chest, hugging her, smoothing the tendrils of hair away from her ear. “I think you’re adorable and sweet,” I whisper to her, “and I don’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable or hurt. If this is too much, if I’m crossing a line, say the word. We can chalk it up to exhaustion and the weirdness of forced close proximity. Attraction is natural. But we don’t have to give in to it if you don’t want to. I can control myself.”

  I swallow hard, resisting the urge to press against her again, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under my hands. My voice drops even lower. “I know you come from a conservative background. I understand, too, that you’re probably … um, less experienced with certain things. Even if you want to explore this, I can wait however long you need. Okay?” I pull my head back so I can see her face where it’s buried against my neck.

  She does me one better and sits up again, her arms still covering her breasts, but looser, less defensive. More like she’s less comfortable being topless if we’re not fooling around, which reinforces the idea that she’s relatively inexperienced since she’s not very comfortable with her own nudity, even in private like this.

  Her eyes examine mine, flicking back and forth, no longer glazed with lust, more serious and assessing.

  “I’m not a virgin,” she announces.

  At first I just blink. “What?”

  “That’s what you were getting at, right? With the last thing you said. You think I’m a virgin. I’m not.”

  The longer she talks, the stiffer she gets, her shoulders inching higher, her arms becoming more rigid around her, her legs pushing firmly on either side of mine, but not like before when she was trying to get as close to me as possible without me being inside her, but like she’s poised to leap off me and flee.

  I rub my hands up and down her legs, more concerned with the fact that she’s grown tense again and wanting to help her relax than my own shock at her revelation. “Okay. That’s good.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “It is?”

  “Uh … sure?” That makes her laugh, at least. I give her a crooked smile in return. “I mean, assuming that you were an active and willing participant in becoming not a virgin.”

  “I was.” She’s solemn still, but starting to relax once more.

  “Good.” I nod and keep rubbing her thighs.

  The tension leaks out of her, and then she sort of slumps. “I’m sorry. I’m being such a weirdo. This was … nice. And I’ve ruined it.”

  “Nice?” I growl. “Just nice?”

  Her lips part, and I want to dive back into them. “Um, awesome?”

  I need to get rid of the question mark. My hand skates up her back, behind her neck, and I pull her mouth down to mine again. She opens for me immediately, and her arms finally drop away, her breasts pressing against my chest, her soft skin sliding against mine. Her hands crawl up my arms, gripping my biceps, moving to my shoulders, where she digs in her trimmed, unpolished fingernails, so different from the highly primped and made up women who follow us around, clones of the women who bullied their way in here to wait naked in my bed, with their talon-like acrylics and salon-styled hair. They always moan like porn stars at the slightest brush of my fingers, and come across just as fake.

  Nothing like Ava, who’s honest and real, diving into our kiss, opening herself to me, making breathless little noises that can’t be faked. My hands roam her back, down to her ass, gripping her and moving her again. She takes over, grinding on me just right. My jeans and her leggings have become torture devices, keeping me painfully aroused, but not allowing enough friction to provide relief. Which is actually good, because I’ll be damned if I come in my pants like a fifteen-year-old making out with a girl for the first time.

  I want her skin. Everywhere.

  And if she’s not a virgin, do I need to move as slow as I’d originally planned?

  I’m not sure what she meant by telling me that. My reaction to her embarrassment derailed that conversation before it could go farther.

  All I know is that I don’t want to stop kissing her right now. Especially not to have a conversation that’s sure to cause more embarrassment.

  So I move things along with the only option left to me. This evening started with following the lead of our bodies. I’ll continue it the same way.

  I toy with the waistband of her leggings, slipping my fingers just inside but leaving them there, waiting to see if she objects or removes my hand. When she doesn’t, I slide them inside a little more, finding a thin band of cotton just below her w
aist, separating the bare skin above from more bare skin below.

  Letting out a groan, I flex my hips up into her again. She’s wearing a fucking thong. And even if it’s cotton and not lace or satin, I want to see it. I want to see her standing in front of me, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lips puffy and pink from my kisses, her nipples hard and reaching out for me, only a tiny scrap of cotton separating me from the promised land. I want to drag it from her body with my teeth, then toss her leg over my shoulder and lick up all her juices until she’s crying out and unable to stand from the sheer pleasure I’m inflicting on her. I want to guide her to the floor, where I continue to feast on her until she comes all over my face. Then I’ll crawl up her body, claim her mouth, and sink inside her all at once, riding her with her legs wrapped around my waist, her hands cradling my cheeks, swallowing her moans and sighs as I drive her to the heights of pleasure once more, following her over the edge into shuddering bliss.

  What would she say if I detailed that fantasy? Whispered it into her ear right now? Would she blush? Probably. But would she stand and strip off her leggings and let down her hair, bringing the fantasy to life right now?

  She tears her mouth from mine, gasping, her hands still on my shoulders, her eyes locked on mine.

  I suck in air, not sure why she stopped, my hand still firmly planted on her bare ass under her leggings. She hasn’t made any move to get away or told me to stop, and I’m not willing to give up any ground unless she tells me to. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. You?”

  “Fuck no.” I squeeze her ass and press up against her at the same time. “I’m so fucking turned on it hurts.” When her eyes flare wide, I can’t suppress my smile. “How does that make you feel, knowing you’ve reduced me to this?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ava

  Danny watches me expectantly, holding himself still underneath me.

  I swallow, taking him in, messy hair, scruffy beard, ink scrolling over his collarbone, shoulders, arms, and pecs, trailing down his rib cage, but blank across his stomach where a treasure trail leads down past his belly button, into the waistband of his faded jeans.

  He’s lean, muscular but not overly built. Perfect.

  He looks dangerous like this, the quintessential bad boy with his rocker style, the rings in his ears, his nostrils flaring as he waits for my answer.

  “How does it make you feel, Ava?” His voice is low, but still demanding for its lack of volume.

  “Turned on,” I finally breathe.

  His eyes flash. “So maybe you’re not all that fine either?”

  My lips curve. He doesn’t seem to like my preference for understatement. “Do you not want me to be fine?”

  “Not when I’m as far from fine as I can get while still feeling amazing.”

  “You do feel amazing,” I whisper, the confession falling from my lips before I can call it back. Something about him loosens my usual reticence. Maybe it’s his unfiltered honesty about how he’s feeling. His admission that he fantasizes about me while he touches himself, that he’s so turned on it hurts, it makes me want to reveal the same thing. That I’ve thought about him while touching myself. That I want him to touch me more, suck on my breasts, slide his fingers between my legs and relieve the pressure building there.

  Even so, I can’t quite bring myself to say those things. Not out loud.

  “So do you,” he whispers back, his eyes straying down my body. He makes an appreciative noise in his throat. “You’re even more gorgeous in real life than I imagined.”

  “So are you.”

  He smiles up at me. “What would you like to do now?”

  My lips part, and he stares at my mouth again, robbing me of whatever answers I might’ve been able to come up with. Whatever I might’ve said, I doubt it’s what he wants to hear, though. It’s not what I’d really like to say, either, because I’m not brave enough to ask him to carry me to his bed and have his way with me.

  Grayson was always the initiator. The one who moved from kissing to undressing to sex. I don’t know how to do those things.

  Stripping off my own clothes without encouragement felt like a moment of madness.

  Part of me wishes I could just throw caution to the wind, stand, and lead him to his room. But some other part of me, the part that still sort of clings to how I was raised despite being betrayed by everything I was taught was important, that part of me whispers that this is wrong. That I shouldn’t be making out with this man. That I shouldn’t let him touch me like this. That I shouldn’t allow him to take me to bed, no matter how good it would feel.

  And that’s apart from the issue of him being my employer. I apparently decided that didn’t matter a while ago, somewhere around the time he told me he’d be jacking off in the shower to thoughts of me.

  His face softens, like he can read my conflicting thoughts. He lifts a hand and smooths a piece of hair behind my ear. “I told you already that I’d wait however long you want. The fact that you’ve had sex before doesn’t change that. Not everyone likes to jump into bed that quickly. I’m not going anywhere.” He grins, that sexy half-grin of his that means he’s feeling playful. “Well, I suppose I am, but you’re coming with me, so I don’t think that’s a problem.”

  I chuckle as well, which makes him glance down at my chest again. A stab of self-consciousness lances through me, but covering myself now just seems silly. Too little too late. He’s had his mouth on my nipples, after all. My breasts still feel tender from where his facial hair rasped on my skin.

  He lets out a little grunt, his hand that’s not still inside my pants slides down to cup my breast, his thumb brushing across one hardened nipple. “So perfect,” he whispers. Then his eyes raise to mine. “We don’t have to do any more than this tonight. Or any night. If this is as far as it goes, if this is the only time, I won’t be upset.”

  “Not even a little?”

  His eyes widen at my saucy response. “I’m not saying I won’t be bummed, just that I wouldn’t hold it against you. You’re safe with me. No matter what else happens between us, I won’t let things be awkward. This, here,” he gives my breast a squeeze and flexes his hips again, “this has nothing to do with you taking care of Eli. Understand?”

  I nod, but he waits, watching me expectantly. I clear my throat. “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  He wraps his arms around me, finally removing his hand from my ass, and gives me a squeeze, sitting up taller and guiding my mouth to his for a brief, chaste kiss. Then he slides me off his lap to the couch next to him, and disappointment wells up inside me, even as I watch him stand and shamelessly adjust himself in front of me.

  Striding across the room, he retrieves the remote from next to the TV where I’d stashed it earlier. Then he returns to the couch, where he sits next to me and pulls me against his side. “Is this okay?” he asks as I adjust to get more comfortable. I end up leaning back against him, his arm across my torso, between my breasts, his hand resting on my rib cage.

  “Um, yeah?”

  He glances at me with a raised eyebrow. “If you’d prefer to put your shirt on, just say so. I meant it when I said I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  “No, that’s fine, I mean, I’m fine. I just … I’m a little confused.” And have a little bit of whiplash from going from making out and grinding on him to cuddling. Especially with his comments about our attraction being a product of proximity more than anything else. Attraction doesn’t necessarily mean cuddling. I mean, I’m not a highly experienced woman of the world, I’ve led a fairly sheltered life, but I’ve watched movies. I’ve read books, even some dirty ones that would’ve appalled my parents if they knew what was in them. I know enough to know that attraction doesn’t necessarily mean cuddling and lounging on the couch. Especially while we’re both still painfully turned on. I mean, I can still feel his erection against my side. It hasn’t gone down at all. And he’s happy to be sitting here li
ke this instead of either trying to get me to at least give him a blow job or kick me out so he can find relief on his own?

  He gives me an amused look. “I invited you to watch TV with me. Like we used to.” His eyes wander over my body. “It’s maybe a little different. Your feet were the only thing that ended up on me before. But I think I prefer this.”

  “Um, but, you don’t want …” I let the unfinished sentence hang between us.

  He waits, obviously wondering if I’ll finish it. When I don’t, he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Sex? Yeah. I thought that was pretty obvious. But you’re not ready. That’s okay. We have time. All the time you need.”

  With that, he turns on the TV, flipping through the channels until he settles on reruns of Friends, which he knows I like, and that my parents never let me watch it growing up. They declared the show too immoral, what with all the premarital sex.

  What would they think of their oldest daughter watching this forbidden show topless in a rockstar’s hotel room?

  I push that thought aside, knowing exactly what they’d think. They’d be horrified.

  But they’re not here. And they would be beyond horrified by so many things I’ve done by this point that it hardly matters anymore. Other than the fact that I won’t tell them any of it. Not anytime soon, anyway. Not until I have to.

  For now, I’m just going to enjoy the life I have. Which somehow includes a sexy, frowny rockstar who has a hidden playful side.

  Soon, my eyelids grow heavy, the stress of travel and taking care of an energetic two-year-old combined with late nights and rioting emotions taking its toll. Snuggled against Danny’s warm chest, his arm wrapped comfortingly around me, I let my head fall to the side and my eyes close. I want to enjoy this, this rare moment of contentedness, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Danny