“I’ll make you forget,” he says, his voice sounding surprisingly sober all of a sudden. “But I’m not going to kiss you again.” I close my eyes which makes no difference because it’s dark, but it helps calm my frantically racing heart. “I’m never going to kiss you again, Gidge. It’s too risky.”
“Risky …” My voice trails off as Sin pushes my skirt up around my hips, his hand caressing the curve of my ass with a dark reverence that I wish I could see. What must his face look like as he feels me up with those hot hands of his. When he cups me between the legs, I bite my lower lip and curl my fingers into the bedspread.
One of Sin’s fingers traces along the wetness of my core, slicking up to my ass, and teasing that opening, too. I wonder then, if he might spank me the way Grainger teased. Part of me thinks I might punch Sin if he does … while the rest of me thinks I’d love it.
“Spank me.” The words come out before I even mean them to, making me wonder if I have even more fucked-up psychological issues than I realized. But a small, wicked chuckle sounds from behind me just before Sin’s hand slaps my ass hard enough to hurt. There’s a sharp crack of flesh on flesh, and the burn of a fresh sting.
There’s a brief moment of reprieve, and then Sin is spanking me again, even harder. He runs his palms up my sides and under my shirt, finding my breasts again and yanking down the lace of the cups until they spill free into his hands. My back is arched, my ass pressed back against the denim of his jeans. I can feel him through the fabric, straining for me, wanting.
Sin uses both thumbs to rub my nipples, and my back arches with pleasure, like a cat, rubbing my ass against his crotch. He palms my breasts in rough hands, kneading them and groaning as he moves his hips against me.
“I could spend all night doing this,” he murmurs, but then he releases me abruptly and I can hear the sound of his zipper coming down. He could spend all night doing this, but he’s not going to because he knows that temporary is the only option for us. Cat could be here at any moment. Hell, the mafia could be here at any moment. “Instead, we’re just gonna fuck and forget all about it.” Sin sounds almost sad when he says it, but he doesn’t give me any time to respond. His cock teases my folds, sliding against me and making me groan, my nails digging into the bed.
When he puts the tip to my aching core and pushes in, it’s a much slower, easier motion than Grainger’s thrust. Sin slides in balls-deep, gripping my hips for support. Sensations roll through me, delicious waves of pleasure that I can taste on the tip of my tongue. That’s how good it feels, like every single sense is activated and on fire.
And oh, Sin is good. I figured Grainger would be better because, well, he’s an experienced man-whore, but both men know the strength in their bodies, the power in their cocks, and they know how to use it, too.
Sin moves against me, the rain outside the only sound besides the wet joining of our bodies.
He rides me hard and fast and dirty, and I let myself fantasize that I’m just some nomad chick, looking for a place to stay at the clubhouse, interested in quick, raunchy flings. My fantasy extends to my feelings, pretending that I’m whole and healthy emotionally, that sex is just sex, and not another drug I’ve decided to hit up.
My body buys this bullshit, and I feel myself tighten around Sin. Filthy, filthy pleasure winds through me, this wrongness that crashes up against my pain and makes me come. Yeah, more than anything my own fucked-up feelings are what bring me to orgasm, shuddering around Sin and tearing a ragged groan from his throat.
I come first, but I’m so wrapped up in my own pleasure that I barely notice Sin getting his until he’s pulling out and collapsing beside me on his back. He’s got the used condom in his hand, which is sort of gross, but I don’t care. I just stare at him, my ass still in the air, while he stares at the ceiling.
Shadows dance across his face as the porchlight flickers, and then goes out. No, no, that’s not ominous at all, right? But the monsters tonight, the demons, they aren’t external. They aren’t these guys or the mafia or even Cat. No, they’re inside of me, fighting for purchase. Tonight feels like a turning point, like I should hit rock-bottom, so I can either drown or kick off the stony surface and swim for light.
“Colton?” I ask as I climb onto the bed. When he doesn’t answer, I poke him with my foot. My body is throbbing, alive with need. Fucking two men hasn’t changed that. I still feel all over, tingles and prickles running across my skin like electricity. “Do you miss your sister?”
His body goes stiff, and he sits up, chucking his condom into the same wastebasket that Grainger used. I’ll have to empty it before Nellie sees. The last thing in the world I’d ever want to do is have a heart-to-heart with that woman.
“My sister …” he starts, and then he grits his teeth in anger. “I don’t have a sister.”
“Not anymore, but—” The glare he levels on me cuts me right off.
“We just fucked; I owe don’t you anything,” he snaps, but his voice is rife with hurt. At first, I think he’s going to storm out and leave, but he just fixes his pants and leans back on the bed, covering his face with his hands. When he drops them by his sides again, his face is empty. “Or maybe I do. I should’ve been there.”
“Cat told you not to be,” I say with a shrug, feeling my own wetness on my thighs. I’ll need to shower before too long. Sitting in this cocoon of darkness with Sin is nice though, unexpected. “What could you do?”
“I …” he starts, and then sighs, closing his eyes again. “He didn’t expressly tell us to stay away, just that we no longer had to be here. And I … thought about stopping by that day.”
“Why didn’t you?” I choke out, my voice rough. I’m trembling now, and I’m not sure I can bear to hear what he has to say. And yet, I make myself endure it anyway.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he continues, keeping his eyes closed. “We can’t go back in time, now can we?” His breathing evens out, shallows. I lean closer and poke at his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. Either he’s asleep, or he’s pretending to be, so he doesn’t have to talk to me. Whatever. He’s drunk anyway, right? Pursing my lips, I fix my skirt and settle myself in the pillows, content to watch and wait for him to wake up.
But after a while, I fall asleep. It’s only for a minute or two, I swear, but when I open my eyes, Sin is gone.
Fucker.
I slip off the bed, stumbling a little and realizing I’m still drunk or high or whatever. Between my legs, there’s a sweet soreness, but I don’t mind it. It’s a good reminder that it all actually happened, that I managed to bag two of my father’s officers in one night. The hot water of the shower helps soothe some of that ache, and when I get out, I change into a black silk nightgown that hits at mid-thigh.
Beast is sitting in the living room when I finally come downstairs for some water, a solitary figure limned in darkness. He glances over at me, and I get chills all over my body. I pause in the doorway to the kitchen, my hand on the archway. For a week after my sisters died, I didn’t think I’d be able to come back to this house. Shit, I didn’t think I’d be able to drive in this neighborhood again. But as my pain grew and twisted inside of me, I realized that I was desperate for any little piece of them. A glimpsed memory here or there, even a horrible one, is better than no memories at all.
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, but not because I actually care. The last two people I want to see right now are Sin and Grainger, weird as that may sound. After sharing my body with them, I feel like I just need space.
“Taking turns canvassing the property and the neighborhood,” he says, voice low and quiet. I’d be afraid of him, if I had any sense in me. Or if I had anything worth living for. “Did you need something?”
I shake my head, and he turns away, breaking the tension. Well, at least there’s tension on my part. Maybe not so much on Beast’s end. Padding across the floor in bare feet, I get a glass and fill it with ice and water from the fridge. It’s sort of surprising how much sex
has taken out of me. I feel exhausted, thirsty, and hungry at the same time I feel energized, like I could take on Cat if I had to.
“Any sign of trouble?” I ask as I grab another beer, and move back into the living room to sit opposite Beast on the couch. He turns to look at me again, one brow just slightly cocked in surprise. Sitting casually on the sofa with the club’s sanctioned assassin while in my nightie is a little weird. Even with my fucked-up upbringing, I know that.
“Nothing yet.” I nod and sip my water, watching Beast over the rim. The storm is still raging, and the power’s still out, but I’m not worried. With these four men in here, the mafia would need an army. And even if they bring one, at least I won’t be going out a virgin. I lean back into the pillows, making the hemline of my nightgown crawl up my thighs until it’s damn near indecent.
Beast, surprisingly, is still watching me.
“I saw you fight tonight,” I say, finishing my water and going for the beer next. “Very impressive.”
He nods, acknowledging my statement without reacting to it.
Damn.
This man has iron-clad control. When I reach up and undo the top button on my nightgown, his eyes remain stoic. Makes me wonder how far I can push him. Or if it’s wise to.
Whatever.
This reckless streak flares to life inside of me, and I lean even further back into the pillows, running my tongue across my lower lip. Beast watches every motion I make.
“You were hot as hell,” I tell him, wondering if I sound sexy or just stupid. He doesn’t even smile at that, just keeps watching me. It’s infuriating, his lack of action, his silence. Biting my lower lip, I swallow back some of my beer and then set the can on the floor. With a fresh surge of alcohol in my veins, I pretend it’s the booze making me crazy tonight, and then I spread my legs wide.
Beast still doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and puts his warm, rough palms on my knees. He closes my legs while I gape at him. Is he really telling me no?
“You should go back upstairs, Gidge,” he tells me calmly, like I didn’t just flash him. The thing is, with the little bit of light from outside, I can see a tenseness in his neck and shoulders, like maybe I really am having an effect on him.
“Why? What’ll happen if I don’t?” I sound like an asshole, I know that. But tonight has been … interesting. I woke up angry, and I’m still roiling with emotion. Losing my virginity didn’t change that. Maybe nothing ever will.
“If you don’t,” he starts, turning toward me, “then I can’t promise you’ll make it out of here unscathed.”
My cheeks flush, and I find it suddenly hard to breathe.
“Are you going to ravage me?” It’s a cheeky thing to say, but I can’t help it. I am my father’s daughter, after all. I’m not some blushing teen who can barely say the word cock without losing her shit. I might be a little sore between the legs, but there’s a challenge to seeing if I can get Beast to lose his control that I like.
“Is that what you want me to do?” he asks, voice still neutral but threaded through with a hint of primal need. It’s there, base and animalistic inside of him. Spreading my knees wide again, I watch as his pupils dilate. That’s the only sign that he’s interested, just that one, little tell.
“Maybe.” I wait there, my muscles tight, sweat pouring down my spine. I can feel my nightie sticking to my chest, my nipples pebbling to hard points.
“Mm.” That’s the response I get from him. He pulls out his phone, checks his messages, and then slips it away again. I’m still sitting there, feeling like an idiot, the aching heat of my core right there for him to see. Instead, he focuses on the quiet darkness of the fireplace. “You should go back upstairs and get some rest.”
“Are you serious?” I choke out, so shocked by his refusal that I’m shaking. At age sixteen, I’m sure that I know everything. He can’t tell me no. Guys don’t say no. Dropping my hands between my legs, I tease my clit with my fingers, using my own wetness as lubricant. It feels good, not as good as if Beast were to touch me, but … A moan escapes my lip, but he still doesn’t look at me. “You’re going to sit there and let me masturbate in front of you?”
“My only job is to protect you, suge.” Suge, like Southern for sugar. That nickname kills me; I love it. “Do whatever you want to do.”
“I want to do you,” I whisper back, my voice husky and broken. There must be something to it because he finally glances back over at me, my hand moving in rhythmic circles, my breathing coming in shallow pants. “But if you won’t touch me, I’ll just do it myself and imagine it’s you.”
“I ain’t easily tempted, but when I break, I shatter.” He says this as cool as a cucumber, no emotion whatsoever. Holy hell. His words spiral through me along with the pleasure. “Tempt the beast, get the claws, Gidge.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him, voice steady. “I never have been.” He stands up, like he’s going to walk away and leave me to it. “Don’t leave me alone with my thoughts,” I add, voice cracking. “It’s dark in here, the things inside my head darker still.” I swallow and lick my lips. “Please.”
Still, he stands there, completely and utterly unmoving, but then my fingers reach out and brush against his. Heat flares between us, and I know I’m not the only one that feels it.
Our eyes lock, and even in the darkness, I can feel him staring into my soul, like he’s seeking permission.
Finally, finally, Beast turns, climbing onto the couch on his knees and reaching out to put his palms on my legs, sliding them down the soft flesh of my inner thighs. He pushes my legs even farther apart, and I gasp, throwing my head back as he drops his own down low, breathing against my tender flesh. What is it about tonight? I wonder, and I can’t decide if it’s the storm or the threat of the mafia or months of sadness and anger and pain all coalescing into one, single evening.
My breath rushes out as I throw an arm over my eyes, letting the pleasure answer whatever questions I might have about what Beast’s doing. He presses his lips to the inside of my knee, making me shiver and shake all over. It’s a sweet, filthy torture, what he’s doing to me, kissing his way along the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, his stubble a rough counterpoint to the heat and warmth of his lips.
When he gets to the pulsing spot between my legs, I move my arm and look down at him, my eyes wide as he puts his mouth to my folds, his tongue a much harsher master than his mouth. It almost feels too good, like I’m not sure I can sit here and just take this.
“Fuck me,” I tell him, but he says nothing, just adjusts himself on the long expanse of the sectional so that his head is between my legs, and his big arms wrap around my thighs to hold me in place. His grip is rock-solid; I’m not going anywhere.
Beast works dark magic on me, his mouth teasing places I hadn’t even realized were quite so sensitive. It’s a completely different experience from Grainger’s hard, angry thrusts, or Sin’s almost melancholic fucking.
That bergamot nectar and musk smell of his teases my senses as my fingers play in his sandy hair. I can hardly believe I’m touching the man, let alone that I have his face between my legs. We’ve barely spoken a dozen sentences to each other, and he’s going down on me? He’s the first one to go down on me? How did that happen?
I don’t question the direction of the moment. What’s the point? If I’m doing this then I’m not thinking about other things. I’m not contemplating the future and seeing how bleak and empty it looks without my sisters. Instead, I’m in the moment and I’m not immediately suicidal. Yay for small miracles, right?
My fingers dig harder into Beast’s hair, nails scraping his scalp. He doesn’t seem to mind, turning my body into a sloppy mess of pleasure. I’ve never paid so much attention to my clit, not even when I was touching myself. Instead, it feels like Beast knows more about my body than I do. And that irritates me. I try to push him back, but he ignores me. After the third or fourth time, his head finally lifts up.
“Do you want m
e to stop?” he asks, completely stoic. It’s too dark to see his eyes; they’re just black pits right now.
“No. I want you to fuck me.” He grunts, and then puts his face down again, making my eyes tear up with pleasure. It feels too good, physically. Emotionally, it hurts too good. Beast stays right where he is, bringing me to climax with just his mouth, no fingers needed, no cock.
My heart is pounding so hard, and so fast that it feels like it might burst right out from behind my ribs, soak the room in blood. That’d be poetic, for me to die here, too, bleeding out.
Instead, Beast lifts me up and into his arms, letting me hook my own around his neck, his hands gripping my ass. He carries me outside and sets me next to the pool in a chair before bringing me another beer. He has one, too, and we end up sitting in silence and drinking, watching the endless darkness of the water. Without the lights on, it looks like it goes down forever, a depthless fathom of secrets.
We finish our beers and Beast sits beside me, close but not close enough to touch.
He does, however, reach out and put a hand on my knee.
“I meant it,” I tell him, but he’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s staring at the spot where Posey died. I’ll always remember that exact spot, the way her blood ran into the inset drain. A few times since that night, I’ve come out here and laid on my back, positioned my limbs the way hers were, just to see if I could feel what she might’ve felt in those last horrible moments.
They raped her first, but I try to tell myself it was over quick.
It doesn’t help.
“Meant what?” Beast asks finally, several minutes later when I’ve almost forgotten what I was talking about myself. I turn to him, and he finally looks at me. I wonder what I tasted like to him, if he liked it, why he did it at all.
“That I want you to fuck me.” He stares me at me for a long time, almost too long. I get uncomfortable and turn away, but he reaches out instead and takes my chin in his fingers, turning me back.
“Get naked and climb in,” he says, standing up suddenly and shedding his shirt. His boots and pants follow next, and then he’s leaping into the water in a soundless dive. As big as he is, he hardly makes a splash. I only hesitate for a moment before I shed my nightgown and join him, using the steps to get in. The water’s still warm, even though the power’s out and the heater’s not working. The cool rain against my scalp is a nice contrast.
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