“No,” I agreed, and it sounded more like a sigh than it should have. I circled my clit and bit my lower lip. “You’d be rough with me,” I repeated his words, an aching moan in my voice, shameless.
“I’d fuck you, Violet.”
“Oh,” I gasped and shoved two of my fingers up inside of me, picturing it. A tremor jolted through me as I worked my pussy, so slick and hot.
“I’d fuck you hard. I wouldn’t be gentle. I’d fuck you rough the way you want it.”
“Yes, Heath,” I panted, not caring if he knew how turned on I was, past self-consciousness, past worrying or wondering what the hell was going on between us. All I knew was his deep voice was working such a filthy, wicked spell on me. I wanted him to keep going, keep giving it to me.
“Would you like that, Violet? Do you want me to fuck you rough?”
“Yes,” I moaned, eyes closed, fingers stroking my pussy.
“I’m a big man. My cock is huge.”
I groaned and panted shamelessly, my wetness dripping through my fingers. I’d felt him through his jeans and he had felt gigantic, bigger than any man I’d ever had.
“You make me so big,” he continued. His voice sounded strained, and I wondered if he had his cock in his hand right then. Was he stroking himself talking to me, just like I was with him? It made me even wetter to imagine it, and I bit my lip with a whimper.
“Do you think you can take it?” he asked, his voice almost harsh, guttural. “Can you take all of me?”
“Yes,” I cried out, my pace increasing. I worked my pussy, fucking myself with my fingers, getting close.
“Are you wet, Violet?”
“Yes,” I moaned my confession.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes,” I admitted in a whisper, so guilty and so turned on to be caught.
“That’s naughty,” he growled.
I tilted my head back, my mouth open, pushing against my throbbing clit. “Are you naughty for me?” he asked me, low and demanding.
“Yes,” I moaned, getting close, so close.
“Naughty girls need to get spanked. I might have to spank you Violet. Spank you and then fuck you.”
That was it. I didn’t know why the thought of him spanking me pushed me right over the edge, but it happened, hard and fast and my orgasm crashed over me full-throttle.
“Come for me, baby. I love the way you come.” His voice coaxed me on and I came in waves on my own fingers, slick and slippery in my own pussy. I sighed, pleasure wracking my body, leaving me warm and throbbing and yet still desperate for more.
“I can’t get enough of you, Violet,” he murmured, low and intimate into the phone.
“Wow,” I whispered, completely mesmerized by his voice, by what we had together, by him.
“So you shouldn’t come over,” he finally said.
“No,” I agreed, dazed and half-crazy over this man who’d just made me come with his voice alone.
“Now go to sleep,” he said. “And dream of me.”
“I will,” I sighed, blissed out and overwhelmed. We both sat there on the phone, silent together.
“Good night, Violet,” he whispered.
“Good night, Heath.” I loved saying his name. I loved the way he made me feel. And I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face dreaming of him, Heath like a huge warrior from the 12th century, shirtless in his workshop. What I wouldn’t do to that man.
CHAPTER 12
Heath
I felt like I had a fever. Only usually a fever made you feel weak, like you needed to lie down and rest. This fever made me restless. It powered me through killer workouts, drenched in sweat, pushing my physical limits. It made me want to stalk through the woods like a wild animal at night, searching, seeking my prey.
And I knew where I’d find it. Tucked into a little condo on the outskirts of town. Nestled into her bed, dreaming of me if she followed my orders.
And it sounded like she liked doing that.
Fuck. I was walking around hard as a goddamned rock. Violet had turned my cock into solid granite. My balls ached. Nothing helped. I felt crazy, like I never wanted food again. I wanted to suck and lick and bite and eat Violet, only Violet, for days on end.
I hadn’t felt this way since…ever. The last time I’d gotten all worked up over a girl had to be back when I was 19. I’d always been a loner, keeping to myself. I’d had sex before, but it had been the high school variety: drunk, quick and forgettable.
At 19, I’d had my first serious girlfriend. She’d been gorgeous, stunning from head to toe, and like a typical 19-year-old guy that had been enough. The wrapping around the package was so pretty I’d clean forgotten to wonder how attractive she was on the inside. I’d been young and stupid, so amazed by her body I’d felt drunk around her. And I’d shown about as much smarts as a drunk.
Good thing I’d overheard her talking to her girlfriends. I’d been heading over to her dorm room like an idiot, wanting to surprise her with a bouquet of flowers like a 17th century cavalier poet. And I’d heard her talking about someone she kept calling “the caveman.”
“I know, he’s a total project.” She’d sounded exasperated.
“I don’t know how you’re putting up with him,” one of her friends said.
“I don’t know how much longer I can,” she’d admitted. “But I keep reminding myself it’s worth it. He’s a caveman. But his father practically owns New York.”
Oh. I’d realized it was me she was talking about. I was the caveman she was barely putting up with. I’d listened to another minute of their bitchy laughter, mocking my giant size, my gruff and rough ways. Then I’d put the bouquet of flowers, crushed in my large, caveman hands, into a wastebasket and barely talked to her ever again. I hadn’t ever let her know I’d overheard her conversation. That didn’t matter.
What mattered was not getting played like a sucker ever again. And I hadn’t. I’d learned my lesson. I’d been a fool, thinking that girl had been different, despite all appearances. She’d had all the markings of an Upper East Side society viper, but I’d convinced myself otherwise. Since then, I’d tried to adhere to the golden rule. If it looked like a duck, swam like a duck, and quacked like a duck, then it probably was a duck.
I’d avoided all forms of ducks. Until now. I thought I’d had it bad back in college. That was nothing like I felt for Violet. I’d tried to tell myself that she was the worst kind of a duck in the form of a high-maintenance city girl parking her MINI convertible on the sidewalk and slipping around in heels on the snow. Sure she was hot, but not my type and sure as hell not sticking around Watson, Vermont.
I’d seen or heard about her every single goddamned day since. A week and a half now and Violet seemed to be all anybody could talk about. Violet came by my shop. Violet loves the coffee here. Violet wants you to fuck her rough.
OK, that last part was from me. But the problem was it had also come from her, over the phone, her voice sweet and needy, breathless with desire and lust. I’d talked dirty to her and she’d liked it so much she’d dipped her fingers down into her slick, hot pussy and stroked herself. Next time I wanted to watch her do it. I wanted her to tell me exactly what she was thinking about while she pleasured herself. What got her so wet? What made her come so hard she cried out, screaming my name? I wanted to know so I could do it again and again.
I’d tried to shake this, tried to talk myself out of it, but it wasn’t working. I still tried to remind myself about the duck wisdom. But maybe Violet wasn’t actually a duck. Maybe she was something else entirely.
The day after she came on her sweet little fingers for me over the phone, I drove into town. I told myself it was to check on the store. It was to find Violet.
I found her all right. At the local pizza shop, the one she apparently loved so much. Of course she loved it. It was outrageously good. I loved it, too, and often got myself a pie there. That’s what I was doing then, grabbing some lunch, and if I happened to see Viol
et, all right then.
The only problem was I found her sitting with fire warden Tom, laughing about something hilarious he said. I bet it wasn’t how many women he’d fucked. Because he’d fucked a long list of them all over the state. Not that funny.
She got less laughy when she saw me. I’d called ahead so all I had to do was pick up and pay. I was nearly out the door when she flitted over to my side.
“Hi, Heath.” She sounded breathless. Just like she had the night before on the phone. Right before she’d come, hard, having phone sex with me.
I nodded at her. She looked really beautiful, even more than she had when she’d first arrived in Watson. She’d softened up. Less makeup, her hair more natural. She looked gorgeous either way, good enough to eat. But I’d take this Violet any day. All day.
“Are you not staying to eat?” She looked over at the pizza carton I held in my hands.
“Got work to do.”
“Heath doesn’t much hang out with other people.” Schmarmy and smiley, Tom came up alongside Violet. The dick even tried to put his arm around her waist. She did a quick side step, out of reach. I liked that.
“I don’t hang out with you.” I looked Tom in the eye. He knew what I thought of him. All strut and no substance.
“Let’s get back to lunch, Vi.” He tugged at her like a little kid.
“Heath are you, um…?” She looked down at the floor, a pink flush on her cheeks. Her skin was so soft. Perfect for kissing. And sucking. Or spanking. “Will you be around later?”
“I’ll be in my workshop.” I looked down at her and our eyes met for a second. She knew what I had on my mind. Life could go back to being a whole lot simpler if she stayed away. I walked out, leaving her to make her choice.
§
I was in my workshop when she came to me that afternoon. Again, she got inside without my hearing her enter. I looked up from the pieces I was welding and there she was.
Silky, golden hair cascading down over her shoulders. Slightly nervous, big eyes, watching me work. I set down my tools and flipped up the face guard on my helmet.
“You came.” I watched her. She took me in, her eyes roaming my arms. Now that I had her where I wanted her, in my workshop, I planned to put those arms to good use. I took off my work gloves, removed my helmet. She watched me, biting her lip, twirling a strand of hair around and off her finger. Around and off. She was wound up.
I walked over to her. “How was lunch?” I took that strand of hair from her. I wanted to play with it. Mine.
She sucked in her breath at my touch. And I wasn’t even touching her skin, not yet. Not like I had planned.
“Lunch was…fine.” Her eyes flickered nervously up to mine, down to my lips, over to my biceps. I liked seeing her so agitated. I liked knowing what did it to her.
“That right?” My voice came out low as I stroked her hair, capturing that lock between my fingers, admiring it like fine silk.
“I want you to know something.” She licked her lips again. She should stop doing that. I knew exactly how to stop her, too. With my mouth on hers she’d be licking my lips instead. But first I wanted to hear what she had to say.
“Tell me,” I coaxed her, my hand down on her shoulder now. She always wore such thin, gossamer fabrics, too delicate for Vermont. Just right on her, though, sliding over her curves. This shirt was a little bit see-through. Her bra strap was visible and I traced my finger along it, watching her nipple pebble in response. So quick to surface, I savored her desire.
“I want you to know, there’s nothing going on with Tom.”
I knew that. I could tell by the way she pulled away from him, the way she drew close to me. But I liked hearing her say it.
My fingers tracing a slow path down, I assured her, “I know who you belong with.” I found the curve and swell of her breast, circling a path around her stiff point.
“Who?” she asked, her breathing growing more shallow.
“You need me to show you?” I cupped her breasts in my large hands, holding her, giving them a light squeeze. She felt so good in my grasp, so soft, so yielding and feminine.
“Heath.” Her eyelids fluttered slightly and she brought her hands up to my shoulders as if to steady herself. She ran them down my muscles, holding on to my arms as she devoured me with her gaze. But then she shut her eyes again, seeming to wrestle with her response.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted. “We fight and you don’t just call me and ask me out like a regular guy.”
“I’m not a regular guy.” I brushed my fingertips along the peaked swells of her nipples and she moaned from deep within. Her brain was fighting this, but her body knew exactly what it wanted.
“I don’t…” she panted, clearly struggling. I guess I could have stepped away, given her some space to sort things out. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to see how hard I could make it for her. “We don’t talk.” She continued to try to protest.
“We talked last night,” I reminded her with a wicked smile. My favorite kind of conversation.
“But we don’t, you know…”
“Talking’s overrated.” Swiftly, I dropped my lips down where my fingers had played. I took one of her stiff nipples into my mouth and sucked, capturing it between my lips. She tipped her head back and groaned as I licked and teased her bud, her thin shirt plastered to her skin. With a hiss, I brought my teeth down on it. She cried out, her hands reaching up again to my broad shoulders. Only this time she didn’t even attempt to push me away. She dug her nails in, clutching at me, pulling at my shirt as she cried out.
“I know what you need,” I growled into her chest, giving her other quivering nipple a lick. “You want me to show you?”
“Yes.” The word tore out of her with a deep ache. I didn’t need any more invitation. My hands on her hips, I swiftly turned her around. Then I pulled her ass toward me and pushed her back down onto my worktable. She lifted her head up and started looking around at me, startled.
“Put your hands down on the table in front of you,” I ordered. “Now I’m in charge.” Shaking, she placed her hands as I told her, palms down on the wood. She needed to stop fighting this, and she needed to do it now.
“There, that’s good,” I praised her, admiring how sweet she looked like that. Her ass thrust out in her jeans, so tight on her. I traced her curves with my hands, worshipping her hips, her ass, the insides of her thighs. Nervous as she was, she started warming up under my touch, melting into me. Sighs came shuddering up from deep inside as she started giving herself over to my touch.
“You look so good, Violet.” I cupped my hands around her hips, dug my fingers in on either side to tilt her ass up to me. Running my thumbs along her cheeks, I could tell she liked being held like that.
“Do you know who you belong with, baby?” I asked.
“Oh, Heath,” she moaned.
“Yes, that’s right.” Smack, I brought my large palm right down on her ass. She gasped, shocked, then groaned into my caress when I stroked her right where she stung. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I needed to own her, possess her, mark her. It was time to stop all these games, all this back and forth. It ended now. Now I’d make her mine.
“Say it, Violet.” I stroked her and she quivered under my touch. “Who do you belong with?”
“Uh!” She gave a little moan. Smack, my hand came down hard on her ass and she cried out, panting. “Say it!” I commanded.
“Heath! You!” she gasped as I soothed the sting, sliding the palms of my hands over her round ass cheeks.
Gliding my fingers down along her pussy, I rewarded her. “That’s good.” Harsher, more demanding, I ordered, “Again,” and I brought my palm down with a loud, firm whack.
She moaned, her fingers gripping the wood. “I belong with you,” she cried out.
“That’s it.” I brought my fingers right up between her legs, pressed them right where I could feel her wet heat through her jeans. Right where she’d played with h
erself last night on the phone with me. Wanton, she sighed and pushed into my hand. “Yes, give in to it, Violet,” I urged her, one hand on her back holding her where I wanted her, letting her know I was in charge. The other one pushing, pressing, pulsing right against her throbbing clit. “I know you’ve been fighting it. I have, too. That’s all over now. Now you’re mine.”
Smack, I brought my hand down again on her ass. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her ass into my hand. She wanted more, so intense in her response, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted. This woman might be the death of me.
“Stand up and take your jeans off,” I barked, taking a step back.
Shaking, wobbly on her feet, she stood up. She turned to look at me, flushed, eyes filled with desire. She hooked her fingers into her waistband and undid the button. I stood, arms crossed over my chest, watching her. I could strip her jeans off in seconds flat, tear them right off of her. Some day, I’d do that. But right now, our first time, I wanted her to dive in herself. I wanted to see her admit the struggle was over. The resisting, the pushing away. Now it was time for her to give herself to me. It was time for her to be with the man she belonged with.
She kicked off her shoes and pulled her jeans down her long, creamy legs. Then she stepped out of them and stood there, nervous, looking up at me with her wide eyes, her hands in front of her as if to preserve her modesty. There was no more modesty, not with me.
“Take your shirt off.” She hesitated for a moment, then did as she was told, pulling it up and off. She wore a pretty bra, all confection and lace. She looked like a lingerie model. But today wasn’t about admiring from the sidelines. Today was game day.
“Off,” I growled. Her eyes widened, her nipples so stiff they strained against the fabric. She liked it when I bossed her around. Good. I had a lot more where that came from, and I had a feeling she’d like it a whole lot. She reached around and unhooked her bra, her luscious mounds spilling out naked for me to enjoy.
Then she pulled down her panties and exposed her perfect, slick, gleaming pussy for me. She was so wet. She’d liked her spanking.
Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) Page 13