He nodded. “Damn straight. Gym is life.”
I extended my fist and he tapped his knuckles against mine. Honestly, I was grateful he’d let most of the painful shit go without comment.
“Gym is life,” I repeated. “So, it’s my turn. Your family, go.”
He twisted the steering wheel leather with his fist again, which I was starting to recognize as a nervous gesture. “Well, Dad was a sick fuck, let’s just get that out of the way first. I say ‘was’ but, as far as I know, he could be alive somewhere. I just got no fucking desire to lay eyes on the evil bastard ever again.
“I had one of those stereotypical abusive childhoods, I guess you might say. Got beat on the regular, but it sometimes went beyond a mere beating. Got my size from him, and he never pulled his punches with me, starting from when I was just a kid in diapers. He’d break bones on bad days, but there wasn’t ever money for a hospital, and he wasn’t about to let me go anyway, since I might talk.
“Mom had been a nurse, so she’d set my bones when he broke ’em. Mom was my…she was the only light in my life. The one thing I ever had that wasn’t pain and despair. We lived in a trailer in the middle of nowhere in Buttfuck, Mississippi. Wasn’t nothing but nowhere, nothing, and nobody. Surprising I even got any schooling, to be honest. But I did, and I got scouted by FSU for football, and you know the rest.”
“You’re skipping a lot.”
He snorted. “No shit, Doc. Not much worth repeating. Dad beat me every single damn day and Mom kept me alive. That’s it.”
I felt the pain, the things he’d never say, not to anyone. The shit he’d buried way down deep, long ago. “So the one time you ever lost your temper…”
He sighed—or actually, it wasn’t really a sigh, it was more of a growl, a rumble so deep I didn’t know a human could produce such a sound. “The one time I went back. After I made Recon. I was shipping out, knew I wasn’t going back, not ever. So I showed up to see Ma, and…he’d ruined her. Without me to take the brunt, she just…” He shook his head. “He’d ruined her.”
“I tore that trailer apart, every stud, every board, every stick, I wrecked the whole damn thing. Tore the old man apart too. Took ten deputies, four tasers, pepper spray, and a baton to the back of the head before I went down. Nearly killed that fucker, and I wish I had. Got Mom out—just took her away. Used every cent I’d ever saved and put her up in Florida. When I went pro, I gave her all my money. Every cent.”
I blinked back tears. “Fucking hell, Thresh.”
He winked at me. “Hey, baby, it’s all in the past, now. It ain’t worth revisiting, so I don’t do it all that much.” For the most part, his voice was fairly accent-free, smooth and intelligent and clearly educated—but sometimes, like right then, I could hear the Mississippi in his voice.
“I’m sorry.”
He rested his hand on my thigh. “Don’t even think on it, Doc.”
I didn’t dare ask about his mom again. I had a feeling it wasn’t a good answer.
As the miles continued to mount, we shared a few minutes of silence. I ruminated on my past, and on his, and…mostly, the attraction between us. But I did have one more question, which I wasn’t sure I was going to get an answer to.
“So…Thresh—”
“Nope.” He cut me off. “I’m not telling you my real name, Doc. One person on this earth knows it, and that would be my miserable, no good, evil, abusive, sick fuck of a father, and he’s probably dead drunk in a ditch somewhere in the backwoods of Mississippi, where he belongs.”
“How can I get you to tell me your real name?” I asked.
He shot me a lecherous grin. “Well, if you’re so determined, I can think of a few trades.”
My stomach flip-flopped, and my blood raced. “Oh? Such as?”
He checked the rearview mirror, then pulled off the road, shoved the shifter into park, left the engine on and the A/C blasting against the blazing south Florida heat. His gaze burned into me, hot with lust. “You say that, Doc, but you’re all kinds of standoffish when it comes to me touching you. Something bad happened to you, and I ain’t gonna push you to tell me what it was. But it ain’t no secret that I want you. I want you six ways to Sunday, and every moment I spend with you I’m thinking up new ways I could make you scream my name.”
He unbuckled himself and then me, and then reached out, dragged his palm up my thigh, and this time he didn’t stop to tease me, he just cupped his huge hand over my core, covering me completely, and then began rubbing the heel of his palm over me in such a perfect way that I felt it in my gut, in the quivering of my thighs, in the shortness of my breath, in the way my eyes wouldn’t quite stay open. “You want this with me, you’re gonna have to let go of some of your mental blocks, sweetheart.”
“I—I don’t have mental blocks,” I lied.
He grinned at me. “Oh no? Then tell me what I’m doing to you, right now?”
He drew his fingers up, found the waistband of my yoga pants and underwear, and slid his fingertips under, against my skin, and then began slowly worming them down, closer, closer, through my neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair—yeah, I wasn’t shaved bare, and I wasn’t about to apologize.
He’d read my mind, it seemed. “Mmmm, Doc…you wanna know something? I really like that you ain’t shaved bare down there. I don’t like feeling like I’m messing around with some girl not old enough to grow pubes.”
“I—I trim it.”
He leaned closer to me, pressed his lips to my neck, and kept working his way down between my thighs, centimeter by centimeter, in no rush at all. “I can feel that Doc. It’s perfect. Just how a woman should be, if you ask me.” He finally reached the apex of my core, and his long middle finger found the beginning of my opening. He began teasing his way in. And I—I couldn’t breathe. Not at all. “So now, Doc, on the subject of mental blocks. What am I doing to you, right now?”
I swallowed hard, but my mouth was dry and my throat was seizing, and my gut was doing its best impression of a roller coaster. “You’re—you’re touching me.”
“No shit, Doc.” He found my clitoris, then, and any breath I had left was gone in a sharp gasp. “Where?”
“Between my thighs.”
“Say it, Doc. Tell me where I’m touching you.”
“My—oh, oh, oh god—” His fingertip pressed lightly, delicately, perfectly against my clitoris, and everything inside me started whirling and zinging and tightening and heating. “My—my vagina.”
He laughed outright. “Well, yeah, but that’s not really the sexiest word there is. Try again.” He moved his fingertip away just enough that the wild frenzy of sensations subsided, leaving me aching and empty. “Or I’ll stop.”
“No, no. Please don’t.”
“You like it, don’t you, Lola?” He whispered this in my ear, his voice thick, his breath hot. “You like it when I touch your pussy?”
I writhed, seeking the touch, the pulse of heat, the pressure. “Yes…god, yes. I like it.”
“What is it you like, Lola? Say it for me. Let me hear you. Whisper it to me.”
He bent closer, twisted his head, and now my lips were brushing against his ear. He touched me again, pressing a single fingertip to my clitoris, giving me a bolt of intense sensation that left me breathless and aching. And then, swiftly, abruptly, he slid that finger through my opening and penetrated me with it, slid through my slickness—god, I was wet, hot, pulsing…and his finger filled me, making me feel tight. Then out again, and now as he smeared my own essence over my clitoris, all the sensations were heightened.
And god, fuck, I was no virgin, not by a long shot, but I didn’t remember anything feeling this good. Nothing had ever felt like this. No one had ever touched me like this. Made me feel this so strongly. God, it was good. It was addictive. It felt like an illicit drug high, like I was spiraling out of the universe and into some alternate dimension where all that existed was—pleasure. And that word wasn’t enough, didn’t encapsulate even
partially how good this felt. His finger, sliding back into my channel and gathering my essence and smearing it against my clit, and then circling a light even touch against my clit—
“Tell me what I’m doing to you, Lola. Say it.”
He drew his touch away, and this time I moaned in protest and my hips flexed, driving my core forward, seeking the touch, needing it. I needed it. Needed. It had been so long and it felt so good, better than anything I’d ever felt, and I wanted more, I was aching, drowning in the ache, years and years of built up, pent-up, denied sexual frustration long buried now boiling up and all focused on my hard, throbbing clitoris, on his touch, and he kept stopping because he wanted me to say—
What? I didn’t even know what he wanted.
“What am I supposed to say, Thresh? Tell me what to say and I’ll say it. Just—god, please don’t stop touching me again.”
I felt his grin, triumphant and hungry. He nipped my earlobe, and then I felt his voice. So powerful, so strong, so deep, so smooth and hot and wild. “You want me to tell you what I want to hear?”
“Yes, Thresh. Please.”
“Beg me a little more.”
Fuck him and his games. “Please, Thresh. Please. Tell me what to say.”
He put his finger back where I needed it: against my clit. But he didn’t move it, just…touched. And it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. “You know what I’m doing to you, Lola? I’m touching your pussy. I’m fingering your clit.” He slid his finger inside me, gathered wetness and smeared it over me, circled, and I gasped in equal parts relief and renewed need. “That’s what I’m doing. And that’s what I want you to say. Tell me what I’m doing to you, Lola.”
“You’re—oh god…” He stopped, and I whimpered. “Fuck, don’t stop, please!”
“Then stop thinking and start talking dirty to me.”
“You’re touching my pussy.” He circled faster then, a reward for me saying a dirty word, apparently. “You’re gonna—you’re gonna make me come.”
Faster and faster then, and all thoughts flew out of my head; all capacity for speech left me. “That’s right, Lola. I’m gonna finger your tight wet pussy until you come all over my hand.”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, why was that so fucking hot, hearing him talk like that? Why did it make my pussy throb even harder, even hotter? Why did it make his swift light circling touch all the more delicious?
“And when you come, you’re gonna scream my name.”
“Thresh…” I panted.
So much. So fucking much. My hips were driving, thrusting, my clitoris pulsing under his finger, and my tits ached and felt heavy and my nipples were hard and I couldn’t breathe and I was going to—oh, oh….ohhhh—
“Louder, Lola. Let go.”
“More…god—more—don’t stop, Thresh…please don’t stop, now. It feels so good.” I couldn’t stop the words, now. They were flowing like a river. “I love the way you touch my pussy. Oh—oh god, I want—I want—”
“What, baby? Tell me what you want. Ask me for anything, and I’ll give it to you.”
I couldn’t help arching my back to thrust out my tits. “More. I need…more. I need you to touch me here.” I reached up, wrapped my hand around his head, feeling the soft smooth skin of his shaved scalp and the soft yet prickly stripe of his mohawk.
“Say it, and I’ll do it.” His finger was flying in mad circles and then pausing to slide into my tight wet channel and gathering dew and smearing it against my clit and circling again, and each time he stopped even for a second I panted and whimpered, but when he started up again it only felt all the more intense, better, deeper, and the building climax was a force inside me waiting to be unleashed, so much pressure, so much heat it was unbearable. “Say what you want, Lola, and I’ll give it to you.”
I tugged down the strap of my tank top, heart pounding, palpitating uncontrollably, and then the other strap. I hesitated, because I was crossing a line, somehow, baring myself for him. Touching me under my clothes was one thing, but letting him see me? I was scared even through the need, even though I needed to feel his touch on my bare flesh so insanely much, even though my nipples ached and throbbed and begged to be included, to be touched, to be licked and sucked and whatever other wonders Thresh might work on me…
To both say what I wanted in so many words, and to expose myself to him? Even in the heat of the moment, it was almost too much to ask.
What I’d been through had ruined me. I could admit that, deep down in my soul, in that moment, I could finally admit that what Jeremy had done to me had ruined me.
But maybe Thresh could fix it.
I wanted to be fixed.
I wanted to feel again.
I wanted to enjoy…my self again. My body. Sensations. Emotions. I’d shut them all down for so long, and Thresh just yanked them all out of me unbidden, and he did it so easily.
“You’re thinking, Doc.” His voice ripped through my internal war. “Stop thinking. Just feel.”
I slid aside one bra strap, and then paused to take a fortifying breath…then pushed away the other. “I want your mouth on my breasts, Thresh.”
“Thank fuck,” he breathed. He withdrew his hand from between my thighs, and I whimpered in protest. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m not stopping.”
“I need it, Thresh.”
“Need what?” he asked as his hands reached into my top, between bra and flesh, and tugged down one cup and then the other, letting my tits fall free with an ample bounce, my dark flesh mounding over the top of the bra, nipples puckered and hard and standing tall and dark against the lighter brown of my palm-sized areolae.
“I need to come. I need to come so bad.”
“You will, honey.” He murmured this in my ear, and then pulled back and ducked to meet my gaze. It was difficult to hold those eyes of his, palest blue and seeing so much, too much, not just my body but my soul, my heart, my fears, my insecurity, the knowledge of my flaws. “I’ll make you come so hard you’ll see stars. I’ll make you come so hard you’ll be left crying from it. I promise you.”
“I hate crying.”
“You won’t be able to help it, by the time I’m done with you.”
“Stop talking and do it, then.” God, that sounded bossy, rude.
But Thresh only grinned. “Mmm. Tell me what to do, Lola. Tell me what you want. Make me give it to you.” Now that my breasts were bared, he returned his hand to the waistband of my pants. Dug his fingers under the elastic, but then stopped. “Let’s move these out of the way, shall we?”
He started tugging them down, but I caught his wrist. “No, Thresh. Not yet. That’s too much. Okay? Please? This is as much as I can take right now. Any more and I’m liable to panic.”
He searched my eyes, and seemed to see the truth there. “Whatever you need, Lola.”
“Just…touch my tits. You seem to like them, and I need to—” I had to cut myself off to take a breath as he simultaneously slid his fingers under my panties and between my thighs and into my pussy, and lowered his mouth to my left breast, tongue flicking against my nipple, lapping flat against my areola.
“You need to what? Say it, baby.”
I couldn’t. It was too much. Making me too vulnerable. I shook my head, arched my spine to press my breast into his mouth, and let my knees fall apart to grant him better access to my core. God, who was this, doing this? In a car, on the side of the road, with a man I just met. A killer. A warrior. A mammoth, insanely powerful, self-admitted player.
But fuck, a sexy one. A goddamned gorgeous human being. A primal beautiful man, and one who seemed to know exactly how to touch me. How to draw me out of myself, how to draw me past my fears and insecurities.
“I need—”
He worked his finger against my clit hard and fast now, and covered my nipple with his mouth, and then—oh, oh, ohhhhh, started suckling the hard, sensitive nipple. Jesus, oh Jesus—
“Thresh, oh my god Thresh—”
“Does that
feel good?” he asked, then leaned across me to suck my other nipple into his mouth and flick it with his tongue in light fluttering flickers that had me gasping staccato breaths.
“So good…so fucking good.”
“Finish what you were going to say, Lola.”
“Just let me come, Thresh. No more talking.” I was already exposing my body; no way I could expose my vulnerability to him, too. It was too much. Too much. He was too much. This was too much.
He circled my clit a few more times, and now my hips were rolling against his touch, and I was aching all over—and then he slid that finger inside me, curled it and touched me somewhere deep and high inside and I just—shit, I just lost it completely, sank back against the chair, fumbled with one hand for the lever on the side of the bucket seat and lowered the back until I was lying down, crying out loud, wordless breathless whimpers as he rubbed that magic spot inside me. And then he withdrew that finger, tapped it against my clit, once, twice, quick sharp taps, and I—already breathless—couldn’t even manage a whimper. But oh, he wasn’t done, no ma’am. He slid his finger back inside me, but this time it was…more. Stretching me wider; god, two fingers? Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh god. Two fingers, sliding in and out of my channel, and each time he worked those thick strong fingers into me, he bumped my clit with his fingers and then it happened… Lightning. Fireworks. Heat blasting through me, making me twitch, making me jerk and jolt and writhe.
And scream.
God, I was screaming.
He was licking my nipples and suckling them and biting them, and then gently and reverently kissing my areolae and the upper slopes and the undersides…
He was…god, everything inside me curled up and tightened and tensed.
He was making love to my breasts with his mouth.
And it was enough to make my eyes prick. To make my gut churn. To make my heart palpitate and my chest tighten.
Because with his hands, his mouth, his eyes raking over me and meeting my eyes as he passed from one breast to another—he made me feel beautiful.
Like a desirable woman.
I was coming apart and he was suckling my left nipple into his mouth—the more sensitive one—and then he added a third finger to the sliding driving penetrating rhythm, and my hips were driving, and I was fighting to breathe, trying to scream, and holding at bay the tears he’d promise I’d shed.
Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2 Page 9