by Meghan March
Fuck. Shit. Goddammit.
I don’t know why I said what I said. It was a fucking mistake. I didn’t need to go shooting off my mouth in front of Vanessa. I’d all but straight up told her I was planning to kill someone—and just when she was showing initiative for the first time since I’d thrown down my ultimatum.
Of course I’d fucking ruin it. Watching her cringe as I’d admitted that I planned to take my own justice was not how I wanted this night to go.
I blamed it on the house. I didn’t know why I’d brought her here. But when I’d climbed on my bike, wanting to get her as far away from Tassel as I could before the cops showed up, and she’d have to give a statement as a witness, this was the only place I could think to bring her.
My apartment above Voodoo would have been more convenient, and a hell of a lot smarter, but I didn’t want to bring her back there. She deserved… better.
Which was ironic considering I hadn’t had a problem bringing her there before. Or maybe I had had a problem with it. I didn’t know, because I didn’t fucking remember.
I strode up the stairs at the back of the house and dug the keys out of my pocket. I didn’t turn to see if she followed. If she wasn’t following now, she would eventually. Or she’d call the cops and have me dragged away in cuffs for planning a murder. I left the door open and made my way to the liquor cabinet.
Spying Andre’s favorite Irish whiskey, I poured three fingers into a glass. Tossing it back in one long swig, I lowered the glass and filled it again.
Shit. I’m driving. I can’t get hammered.
Normally I’d just crash here for the night, but I couldn’t imagine Vanessa would be cool with a sleepover. Besides, spending the night in a house empty of people except for her and me? No way I’d be able to keep myself from climbing into her bed.
A hand on my arm ripped me out of my ricocheting thoughts. “Con, I’m not going to say anything. I can only imagine that if someone had murdered my parents, I wouldn’t stop until I’d gotten justice either.”
I glanced down at the manicured fingernails resting on the ink-covered skin of my forearm.
“You say that now.”
“I mean it. Your business is your business. I won’t pry, and I won’t try to track you down again.” She gestured to the full glass on the bar. “Can I have one? Or are you the only one drinking tonight?”
Wanting to lock away all of the bad shit for just one night, which was damn near impossible while sitting in Joy and Andre’s dream house, I forced a smile. Her fingers curled around my glass, and when she held it to her lips, I wanted to snatch it away. I wanted to keep her stone cold sober, because I promised myself that we both would be the next time we were together. I watched as she tipped it back and the amber liquid disappeared.
It was for the best. I was too raw tonight. In this kind of mood, I just wanted to fuck and fuck hard. And I still wondered if Vanessa was just getting this out of her system. Her little field trip to the strip club might’ve just been a rich girl’s walk on the wild side.
I was saved from coming up with a new topic when she asked, “How long has it been since your last one-night stand? Although I guess I shouldn’t assume it was a one-night stand. But you know what I mean.” The words tumbled out, as if she was unable to stop them.
Her cheeks flared bright red, telegraphing her embarrassment. “I don’t know why I just asked that. It’s none of my business.”
As a rule, I didn’t talk about my conquests with anyone. Ever. But I think I got what she was getting at. “Before you walked into Voodoo that first night.”
“So, if we… take this further, are you going to be… seeing other women at the same time?”
I arched a brow. I’d give just about anything to know what was going through her head right now. Suffice it to say that all the heavy shit going through mine had faded away once she’d started on the topic of sex. Don’t look so surprised. I’m a guy, and my dick is in full working order.
“You want to know if we fuck, whether I’m still going to be fucking other women?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Yeah.”
“What makes you think I’d want to?” I was truly interested in her response—although, let’s not kid ourselves, I was pretty much interested in anything that came out of this woman’s mouth.
“You’re used to… variety, and I’m only one person.”
I reached a hand up to cup her cheek. Her skin was porcelain smooth. “Why would I need variety if I had you?”
“I’m just asking the question. I’d like to know where I stand before…” As if losing her nerve to finish the sentence, she turned away. I thought I heard her whisper, “Jesus. I don’t know if I can do this.”
I snagged the whiskey and poured another glass as though I wasn’t affected by the conversation. Years of training kept my movements steady and my expression neutral.
I recapped the bottle and set it on the shelf. Before I could take a drink, Vanessa snatched up the glass and downed it.
My laugh was strangled and harsh. “It ain’t too late to back out, princess. I’m not forcing you into shit.”
She replaced the empty glass on the granite bar with a clunk and reached up, wrapping both hands around my neck and dragging my face down to hers. Our lips connected, and her hot little tongue slipped inside my mouth.
What the hell?
Breaking out of my momentary paralysis, I buried one hand in her hair and slid the other around her back. I slanted my mouth along hers and took control of the kiss. She tasted of whiskey spiked with something sweet.
Whiskey she’d had to drink to find the courage to kiss me.
If I were a better man, I’d have stopped the kiss. But I wasn’t. And I didn’t.
I slid my hand lower, cupping her ass and lifting her off her feet. Her legs twined around my waist as she pulled her head back. “You need to stop carrying me everywhere. I’m too heavy.”
“Shut up. You’re fucking perfect.”
I crossed the room and lowered us to the couch. Vanessa unwrapped her legs and knelt above me.
“Are we really doing this?” Her tone was underscored by something that sounded strangely like… amazement.
I needed to set the ground rules for tonight.
“Making out on the couch like fucking teenagers? Yeah. We’re doing that. Straight up fucking? No.”
Vanessa pulled back, her forehead scrunching in confusion. “But I thought…”
“Told you the next time I fucked you we’d both be stone cold sober.”
Realization dawned. “You’re seriously worried you’re not going to remember tonight? Neither of us is drunk.”
“Don’t care. I’m not changing my mind.”
Her eyes flashed, as though I’d thrown a challenge down. If the woman wanted to try to change my mind, she was more than welcome. But it wouldn’t happen.
“Why?”
“I’m not taking the chance that you’re doing this only because of the liquid courage.”
“But—”
I gripped her around the waist and gave her a little tug forward. “No.”
She rested her hands on the couch on either side of my head. “I don’t get you.”
“I’ve waited a hell of a long time for this, and I guess I can wait a little longer.” She pushed against the cushions and shifted her legs, preparing to climb off my lap. I tightened my grip. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I thought you just said we weren’t doing this?”
“Did you miss the first half of what I said? We’re totally fucking making out like teenagers. And I might even try to round third base.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper red. “Don’t worry that you’re going to get bored, princess.”
“Oh.”
“So give me that mouth again.” I waited, wondering if she’d take the initiative, or if I’d have to help her along.
She leaned in, her lips an inch from mine. “You’re kind of bossy. You know that, rig
ht?”
“You like it.”
“You sure about that?”
“As sure as you’re straddling my lap right now.”
“Cocky bastard.” She didn’t speak the words so much as breathe them, the final syllables lost as our lips collided. My cock, already hard, pulsed against the zipper of my jeans.
Sorry, bud. Not tonight.
I was too old and too heavy to be straddling a man’s lap. But whiskey was an amazing thing. It wiped away inhibitions and made otherwise questionable actions seem perfectly reasonable. Advisable, even.
Now I understood why Con insisted on no sex until we were sober. Because he didn’t trust that I would actually follow through if I wasn’t. I was going to prove him wrong.
Even as we devoured each other and heat gathered between my legs, I was firmly aware of what I was doing. I hadn’t had that much to drink. I was also firmly aware that part of Con’s appeal was an edge of danger. It was so cliché, but something inside me had lit and burned brightly when he’d said he wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten justice for his parents. That kind of devotion—that kind of gut-wrenching emotion—wasn’t something I’d witnessed very often in my life. I wondered what it would be like to be the focus of that kind of ferocity.
Con’s hands drifted from my waist to my ass, and I couldn’t help but grind down on his erection. Jeez. I’m such a hussy. I hadn’t done something like this since… well, never. My skirt was hiked up my thighs, and my thong barely qualified as an undergarment. I was surely going to leave a wet spot on his pants, which would be incredibly embarrassing, but I wasn’t going to worry about that just now. His hand slipped down to the back of my thigh and then up under my skirt. I froze, waiting for him to comment about the thong, and then realized for everyone else in the world, this wasn’t a novelty. Just for sexually repressed thirty year olds who still live with their fathers and wear full butt-covering underwear.
His callused hand skimmed my ass cheek, and he pulled away from my mouth and groaned. “Fucking A, Van. I put you on my bike in a skirt with you wearing practically nothing beneath it. You could have flashed the entire town.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know I was going to be on your bike, so that’s not really my fault.”
Con’s fingers curled, gripping my ass tighter, and pulling me closer. “I want to feel you on my dick. Jesus, why in the hell did I say I didn’t want to do this tonight? A little whiskey, and I decide to take the moral fucking high ground.”
I leaned back and looked Con in the eye. “You’re not changing your mind now. Not because I don’t want to, but because you’re right. It matters. And when we do have sex again, I don’t want you to wonder if it’s whiskey giving me the courage. I want you to know I’m with you because it’s what I want. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Even as I spoke the words, I knew they weren’t completely true. Because Con would probably always wonder—would have to wonder—if I was only sleeping with him for the deed. Because if not for that deed, who knew if I would’ve ever set foot back into his world and given him the shot he’d asked for?
His lips landed on my collarbone… then his teeth. Shards of pleasure shot through me, and I moaned his name. His hand, still clutching my ass, squeezed and released, and I rocked against his erection. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed against the flimsy lace of my panties, ratcheting up my arousal. If we kept this up, I was going to come. My head dropped back, and I whispered, “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Con didn’t listen. He twisted sideways and lowered me at an angle. Pressing my body into the sofa, he covered me completely. My skirt was shoved up to my waist, and my legs were spread, accommodating his narrow hips. If I thought I could feel his hard-on before, that was nothing compared to the thick, solid heat that branded me now.
He was relentless.
Lips skimmed along my jaw, to my ear, to my throat. Teeth scraped against the tendons of my neck, sending shivers through my entire body. My hips bucked, and I relished the friction his body offered.
I cursed us both for putting sex off limits tonight. I hadn’t been beneath a man like this since… I didn’t even want to admit how long it’d been.
“Con. I lied. Tonight. Now. Please.”
My words made no sense as they fell from my lips. But I was certain that the intensity of my need was obvious.
Con pushed up, and I cursed the lack of contact. “Don’t stop.”
This time he didn’t stop. Thank God.
He tugged down the neck of my camisole, exposing my lacy bra. It matched the thong and was much more daringly cut than I would normally wear. I could picture myself through his eyes. Face flushed. Breasts spilling out from the tiny demi cups barely large enough to cover my nipples. For the first time in my life, I wanted him to look. I wanted him to want. I didn’t think about my boobs being too big or the spidery stretch marks left over from my adolescence. All I thought about was how amazing it was to see the reverent look on his face when he supported himself on one arm and reached out to cup my left breast before freeing it from the bra. His eyes darted up to mine before dropping once again.
“Fucking Christ. You’re so goddamn gorgeous.” His thumb brushed my nipple and it pebbled under this touch. I released a pent up breath, arching toward him, wanting more.
And he gave me more.
Sliding down and propping himself up on both elbows, Con’s big hands squeezed and kneaded my breasts, flicking at my nipples until I was writhing against him. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I desperately sought the friction that would send me over the edge. I didn’t care that this was ridiculous. I didn’t care that this was insane. I just wanted Con to make me come.
It’d been so damn long since anyone other than me had gotten me off. But when Con pulled away and untangled himself from my legs, disappointment filled me. I was so close.
“Please. Don’t stop. I just want to—”
“You want to come?”
I nodded helplessly.
“Don’t worry, babe. I got you.” On his knees, Con stared down at me. “I want to taste you first.”
I blinked as his words crystallized in my brain. “Wh—”
“You going to let me get you off my way? Or are you going to make me leave you wanting more?”
My mouth dropped open. “You would seriously—”
Con’s grin was wicked, and at that moment, I wanted to slap it right off his face, the arrogant son of a bitch.
“You want to try me? Or do you want to come?” He raised an eyebrow, and his hand trailed up my thigh, teasing me with the promise of an orgasm.
The same stretch marks were there, but in the mostly dark room, he wouldn’t see them.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Make me come.”
“Good girl.”
His eyes stayed on mine as he lowered his face between my legs. My muscles clenched as his hot breath ghosted over the tiny scrap of lace separating his mouth from my pussy.
Con didn’t know it, but he was the only man who’d ever gone down on me. The memory sent quivers racing through me. I’d never known I was capable of multiple orgasms until that night. The things he’d done… the things I’d begged him to do again...
One blunt finger skimmed along the crease at the top of my thigh, lifting the edge of my panties away from my skin. Con’s eyes darted up to mine for a split second before he tugged at the delicate fabric and it gave way.
My mouth dropped open, but no words came out because he was already leaning closer to trace the seam of my pussy with his tongue. My nipples puckered, and my hands grew a mind of their own and tangled in his hair. His eyes lifted to mine again, and his grin damn near stopped my heart. The devilish mischief was almost an even bigger turn on than his tongue. Wrapping one huge hand around my hip, Con’s thumb followed the neat landing strip of hair left after my last wax.
“I like this.” He paused just above my clit, pressing only slightly. Not
enough to send me over the edge. The glint in his eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying the hell out of teasing me. “And I like that you kept your lips bare.”
I squirmed under his close inspection, and his grin faded as his thumb slipped into my heat. “Jesus fucking Christ, Van. You’re soaked, baby.” When he lifted his hand and brought it to his mouth, I thought I might lose my mind before he finally gave me the orgasm I desperately wanted.
Sucking his thumb between his lips, he groaned. “Just as sweet as I imagined.”
A memory of him saying the same thing once before slammed into me, and I had to wonder if that night had been a fluke. If he hadn’t been drunk, would he have still brought me home?
I forgot to care about the answer to that question when he finally lowered his mouth to me and feasted.
All the pent up tension twisted tighter and tighter until it just… snapped. My fingernails dug into his scalp, and if I’d been capable of coherent thought at that moment, I might have been embarrassed. But I wasn’t. I could only focus on the orgasm ripping through me in muscle clenching waves.
I woke up on the couch with a thick arm wrapped around me, just under my breasts. The heat and hardness of the chest at my back clued me in to the fact that I’d spent the entire night with Con.
Oh crap.
I struggled to free myself, but the arm tightened, one hand slipping to cover my left boob. “You trying to run out on me again, princess?”
I tugged at his arm. “No. I have to go. I have meetings. Appointments. A schedule.”
Con released me, and I stumbled to my feet. My destroyed panties lay draped across one of my sandals. Lost cause.
My head pounded, and I realized the whiskey from last night must have been a lot more potent than I’d thought. I usually only drank wine, so my tolerance for hard liquor had been mostly unexplored. Note to self: take it a little slower next time. And then I remembered that if I wanted the next time to end with actual sex and not just oral, there would be no alcohol involved. Con’s decree was more than a little intimidating.
I snatched up my panties, balling them in my fist, as I slipped on my sandals. I did a quick pat down, straightening my skirt and camisole, and then I looked to Con. He was watching me intently through shuttered eyes. Considering I wasn’t very good at reading him, even when his expression was more transparent, I was at a loss for how to gauge his mood.