by Emily Snow
He moves backward enough so that he can lie me down where I was to begin with. Then, when his lips reconnect to mine, I can’t help stroking my tongue against his.
He groans and pulls back. His eyes are fire, hot, liquid volcanoes. Warning bells should be sounding. Hell, they are, but I don’t want to run to safety. I want to be consumed.
“You look so scared, little lamb. You look scared, yet you lie there. Tell me something.” He strokes across my cheek with the back of his hand, and instinctually, I melt against it. “How many times have you thought about this moment?”
He is beautiful. His chiseled face and tanned skin make him even more so. He’s blond, which is new to me. Dark-haired men have always been the ones who seem to come into my life.
I stare into his blazing blue eyes, not wanting to answer. Instead, I reach up and grip the back of his neck and pull him down as I lift up into the kiss I want so badly.
Wet, hot, greedily, his tongue pushes into my mouth, and I stroke mine against his. As quickly as it begins, though, it ends.
He pulls back and looks at me. “That’s what I thought.”
He pushes himself up on his knees beside me and adjusts himself. I can’t look. I’m afraid to see him like that: hard, erect, ready.
A chill sweeps over my heated body, and he sees me tremble, just as he seems to see everything when he looks at me.
No one else sees me—the real me, the girl who was abused, the girl who hid in crowds, the girl who hated herself for feeling emotionally shattered by a past. The girl who tried for years to turn off the dirty, shameful, physical desires her body was forced to know.
He steps off the bed and drops his boxers. I now see him—all of him. I swallow hard as I take in the sight of his large, erect penis. He’s cut, thick, and perfect. I want to please him. I want to, but I shouldn’t want to.
I look up, hoping he didn’t see me looking at him.
He did.
He reaches down and strokes himself a few times while looking me dead in the eyes, unashamed of what he is doing.
“Tell me, little lamb.” He leans down and opens the drawer.
“Don’t,” I say, trying to stop him, but it doesn’t come out as intended. It’s weak, soft, timid. It’s … me.
He sits beside me, one knee bent and laying across my knee.
I look down at where our skin touches, sure I will see smoke or steam rising from the connection.
He reaches over with the bullet in his hand and places it between my legs, not yet touching my most intimate parts.
“Tell me,” he demands as he reaches between his legs and grips his cock. He strokes himself up then down, up then down.
“I hate this. I hate stroking myself when I lie in bed at night, imagining you lying next to me, unable to take any more of my cock. I imagine your pussy bruised,” he groans out, continuing his slow, harsh strokes up and down. “I tried so fucking hard not to fuck you for months now. I’ve fucked other women while thinking about how tight your pussy would feel wrapped around my cock as I slaughtered you. I thought of you, Mary. Now tell me when you used this.” He stops and turns it on, holding it against my inner thigh.
I gasp, and his strokes become faster.
The look in his eyes tells me he won’t accept anything except the honest answer. My denials thus far have been lies, ones he has seen through.
I nod.
The vibrating bullet moves up as he pushes his hand up my leg. He pulls my knee toward him, spreading me as he moves it slowly up until it lands exactly where it affects me the most.
My back arches, and I bite my lower lip, stifling a cry. Then I try to close my legs, not knowing if I am trying to stop him or capture his hand.
“That’s it, little lamb. Show me how you want it,” he instructs, his nostrils flaring as he strokes himself faster and faster. My hips buck, and he hisses, “Fuck, yes. Get it, girl.”
“You,” I begin, trying to form a sentence while on the verge of an orgasm. “You …”
I stop trying when he applies more pressure, and I can’t stand to hold back any longer.
I cry out my release, digging my feet into the mattress and pushing up, trying to escape, but he won’t let me. He holds me in place and applies even more pressure, but this time, he moves it all around my clit, and I can’t get away. I don’t want to get away.
“Fuck yes, little lamb. Fuck. Yes.” He watches me with hunger and awe.
I close my eyes and arch into his touch when the next wave of pleasure rocks my body with a force that nearly batters me.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” I cry. Each yes is a higher pitch until my body literally shakes.
Needing an anchor, needing to know that what I am feeling is real and not just in my head, I seek the truth in his eyes. Only then do I realize he is no longer stroking himself and that I am, in fact, alone in this.
He shakes his head, pulls my leg up, and rests it on his shoulder. Then he begins kissing down my thigh. His kisses are hungry, harsh, and more hurried.
When he gets closer to the apex, I hear him inhale before his full, wet, hot mouth caresses my lips. His touch is gentle, but his groans tell me he is holding back.
I expect him to ravage my sex as he did my mouth, my neck, my shoulder. I expect his touches to be harsh like they were on my ribs, my breasts, my nipples. He does neither.
His kisses move back down my leg until they come to my ankle. Then he sits up and holds the bullet in his hand, almost inspecting it, before he rubs it across his lips then slowly licks it, all while staring at what I know is a shocked expression on my face.
He takes in a slow and deep breath then stands from the bed and walks out of my room.
I lie still, trying to catch my breath, hoping when it returns, the trembling in my legs and body will stop. I also hope I find my voice. I will be able to ask him all the questions swimming in my head.
My legs finally stop feeling like Jell-O, and my heart is no longer racing from anxiety and orgasm. I sit up, fix my nightgown, and wait. When he doesn’t return, I get up and walk toward the door. I hear the shower running in the next room.
He’s taking a damn shower? What the hell does he want from me?
Angry, I walk toward the bathroom. Seeing the door is open just a crack, I push it fully open and see him through the glass, my stomach knotting and my insides clenching.
His tall, large body is hunched over. His arm is bent and against the wall. His forehead is resting on it. The other, the one closest to me, is massaging the back of his neck as if to relieve tension.
He sighs and his muscles contract. Then he drops his hand from his neck, and I hear him say, “Fuck it.”
My chest tightens. I know he thinks of me as too much: too much of a mess, too much of a burden, too much for any man who ever truly knew me to deal with. I can’t blame him. That’s why I hid my past, buried it so deep I often was able to go a day, maybe two, without remembering who I truly am.
The water runs down his strong, muscular back and his perfect gluts.
I am ready to tell him to go, just leave. I don’t need him or anyone else to make me feel any worse about myself than I already do.
He turns around, his eyes closed, and leans against the shower wall underneath the showerhead. His muscles are long and lean yet so very defined. The water runs down his abs to his narrow waist, and I watch as his cock starts to rise.
“Fuck it,” he says more quietly and grabs ahold of himself. “This is gonna have to do.”
His size is intimidating and very impressive. The length and width are in perfect proportion. He is … beautiful.
With one hand, he strokes slowly, the other cupping his balls, which are equally extraordinary. He pulls them up and massages them while stroking himself. The sound he makes, the growl vibrating in his chest, makes me tingle everywhere.
I should leave, walk away, but I can’t stop watching the way he works himself, the way his jaw tightens and his nostrils flare.
“Fucking slaughter you,” he groans and works himself faster. He grips around his cock and releases his sac.
“Need you, Mary,” he says as my focus remains on the way his hand works his cock.
My mouth is watering. I swallow hard. I want him in my mouth. I want him. He knew it. He knew it all along.
“Little lamb, this should be yours,” he grunts then hisses.
I can’t stop watching his hand. I can’t help wanting his cock. I lean against the wall, still focused on his hand’s movement.
He takes his time, each stroke making my body heat. I clench my knees and cup my breast, hoping to alleviate some of the burn inside me.
“Can’t wait to do this inside you,” he says a little more loudly.
I want to see what he looks like when he comes, but I don’t want to miss watching it actually happen.
I look up, and he is looking at me.
I want to run. I want to hide.
Evidently, the fear, guilt, and shame written all over my face are noticeable to him.
“Don’t leave me when I am about to show you what you”—he hisses and pumps himself faster as his jaw clenches—“do to me.”
He sees me. He. Sees. Me.
His actions capture me, rendering me motionless, unable to move away, afraid that, if I do, I’ll miss the rawest, most animalistic sexual act I have ever witnessed.
His words sting me, seize me. He says this is for me. I feel the truth in his words, yet it makes no sense.
“You. Did. It. For. Me.” Each word is interrupted by a strong, hard pump and a groan. “Fuck.”
He leans over, aiming himself down as the first burst of his cum rockets out of his massive erection … then the next and the next.
I lean against the bathroom wall, watching, aching, wanting, and hating myself for it.
When he is empty, he steps out of the shower, grabs the towel, runs it through his hair and over his body, his eyes always holding me prisoner.
He throws the towel over the drying bar, and in two steps, he is toe to toe with me. He grips my shoulder with one hand and pulls me toward him. Then he holds me tightly.
I feel my body shake and feel the tears on my face before I even realize I am crying.
“You’re gonna be fine, little lamb. Gonna be better than fine.” Then he whispers as he kisses the top of my head, “Gonna be mine.”
Chapter Four
Shadows
Shady and the Lamb
I’m pushing her hard. Hell, I’m pushing myself harder than I thought I would.
She finally returns the embrace, and a shred—just a shred—of calm washes over me.
I walk us into her room and throw my clothes on while she sits on the end of her bed, looking down. I can’t see her face; her hair is covering it. Her arms are crossed over her body, and I know she’s holding herself together.
I quickly sweep the room with my eyes and assess the amount of time it will take to throw everything in the bins and bags she has. Twenty minutes, tops. So that’s exactly what I do.
“Stop,” she says when I start emptying drawers into a big fifty-five gallon Rubbermaid bin.
“Get dressed.” I throw her a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.
“Shadows—”
“No. This isn’t an argument you want to start. You’re moving. That’s final.”
“But—”
“It’s not fucking safe.”
“We’ve been fine.”
“You’ve been protected,” I grumble the truth.
“There isn’t a threat against Frankie and Jax anymore.”
“Mary, goddammit.” I stop and stomp toward her, grabbing her under her damn arms and lifting her so we are eye to eye. “My girl isn’t stupid.”
“I’m not—”
“Bullshit. Again. My. Girl. Isn’t stupid. The threats are only gonna get worse with the election coming up. Get dressed.” I set her down and walk away.
She grumbles but does as she is asked, which I expected.
Fifteen minutes later, I am carrying two fifty-five gallon bins, a backpack full of shit, and she is wheeling two suitcases behind her.
After loading everything up in her car, I get in the passenger seat, and she gets in the driver’s seat. Her hand shakes as she tries to get the key in the ignition, so I reach over and start the car then take her hand and hold it to my chest, allowing her to feel how fucking hard my heart is pumping. She looks over and up at me, her eyes showing sadness and concern.
“Bolling Ave,” I say, leaning back in the seat.
Minutes later, we pull into the gated community, and I lean forward and nod to Chappy, the gate’s night guard.
“This is Mary. She has access.”
“Saw the note when I got here.” He nods. “Welcome home, Mary.”
She looks at me then him and nods. “Thanks.”
The gate opens, and I give him a salute.
She pulls forward, and I explain, “Chappy is retired military. He’s good people. Anything you need—”
“He said he knew I was coming.” She stops and shakes her head, no doubt trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
“He knew, so did I, and now you do, too.” I point left. “Third place on the right.”
She pulls in, and I jump out, punch in the code on the panel outside the garage, and motion for her to pull into the garage.
I see her look at me before she shifts the car into gear. Instead of pulling forward, though, she starts to back out.
Fuck, I didn’t see that coming.
I walk toward the car, and when she stops to let a car go by, I hit the top of the hood. She looks up, and I shake my head. She looks away then quickly pulls out.
I reach into my pocket then call her number and she answers yet doesn’t say anything.
I’m pissed, so fucking pissed, but I kind of get that she is freaked out.
“I know you can hear me. I know this is overwhelming, but it’s right, Mary. You know it; I know it.”
She still doesn’t say anything.
“It’s almost ten, Mary. I leave in ten hours. I’m leaving the garage door open because I know damn well my girl—that would be you, and it’s been you for months—is smart. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want her to miss out on being mine. No one has had that privilege. I never wanted to have that with anyone … until you.”
I hang up before I lose my cool, pacing up and down the driveway then walking into the garage and sitting on the steps leading inside.
My instincts are never wrong, not fucking ever.
I look at my wristwatch, seeing it’s been five minutes. I get up and walk inside.
“Come here, girl,” I say to Shady, my adopted greyhound mix mutt.
She actually adopted me. She was getting her ass kicked on the beach a year ago when I yelled, trying to scare the fuckers into laying off her. When they looked toward me, she came running. That was it. She was mine.
“I still think you scammed me. It was a set-up, wasn’t it, girl?”
She sighs because I’m sure she is sick of me questioning her ass, or she knows what’s up when the duffle comes out.
“I’ll be back. You are gonna have a vacation yourself.”
I open the sliding door to the fenced-in yard and let her out to do her business. When I turn around, I shake my head.
The fucking place was all set up for this moment. The fridge and cupboards are stocked. There is nothing she will need, at least for a couple weeks, anyway.
Fuck it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she will be here.
I take the stairs two at a time to bring down Shady’s bed. I need to call the kennel and get her in. She likes it enough. I think of it like camp for her. There’s no other way to get through leaving something you love.
I haul the damn thing down the stairs to throw it out in the garage so it’s easier in the morning.
When I open the door, Mary is pulling in. My chest physically feels like it’s expanding when
she puts it in park then kills the engine.
I stand frozen, feeling like, if I move, I’m going to scare her off again.
She opens the door. Her hood is up. She’s hiding, and I know damn well she’s been crying.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she demands when she slams the door. “Why did you do all that at my place and not even …” She stops and looks down, gripping the hem of her hoodie like it’s a lifeline.
I drop the dog’s bed and walk to her as quickly as I can. When I reach for her, however, she jerks back as if I may hurt her. I don’t give a fuck.
I grab her and yank her against me. Her two tiny fists hit my chest before she grips my shirt and buries her head against me.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but it seems like hours. Then I reach down and swoop her up, and her head finds its place against my neck.
As I walk in, I hit the garage door button and close the door. Inside, I set her on the counter and reach behind her to set the security system for the night.
I hear scratching and immediately remember Shady was outside.
“Sit right here. Gotta let my other girl in.”
I walk over and open the sliding door. The fucking alarm sounds, and I realize I didn’t disengage. Shady starts barking immediately as if we are under attack while I run over and key in the code.
“Five, two, six, two,” I say as I punch in the code. “L.A.M.B.”
I look over and see her slide off the counter and look around. I watch as she takes in the shit that I set out, welcoming her home, the welcome home banner and all. Now I kind of feel like an ass.
She leans over and smells the vase full of white roses, and I see a small smile then a slight shake of her head.
“You like them?” I ask as Shady walks over and buries her nose in the ass of Mary’s pants. “Shady, mat,” I order as Mary turns around and squats down to pet her.
Shady sniffs her hair, gets right in there, and Mary braces herself so she doesn’t fall over. I hear her giggle before Shady licks her face.
“Oh, dear,” Mary says as she pets her.
When she finally stands up, she looks at me. “You have a dog?”
I nod. “Yeah. You wanna take care of her for me while I’m gone?”