by Amber Rides
“No,” she replied quickly.
I examined her face. I was almost positive she was telling me the truth. It didn’t even matter, though. Whatever he had done was enough. The asshole needed to pray to God he never met me in a dark alley.
“Cutter?” Melissa’s voice was hesitant.
I knew my face must be dark as hell, and I tried to keep my reply even-toned. “Yeah, baby-doll?”
“I’m freezing cold.”
Her eyes held an invitation.
Fuck.
I couldn’t crawl into bed with a girl who’d just been assaulted. Or near-to-assaulted. Could I? Even if she was asking me to.
I forced a light tone. “If I get in there with you, and you touch me inappropriately…”
Her little smile, breaking through her otherwise cloudy face, was all the encouragement I needed. I slipped the blanket up, and she drew in a sharp breath as the cool air hit her, then sighed thankfully when my body slid up against hers. She wriggled a little, backing her ass into my crotch.
Double fuck.
“Just until you warm up,” I muttered.
Very carefully, I put an arm over her waist.
“He called me a frigid bitch,” she announced, her voice full of hurt and doubt.
I tried to cover a spontaneous chuckle with a cough, but couldn’t quite manage it. Melissa stiffened.
“You think it’s funny?” she demanded.
“Not in the least.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
I couldn’t think of a delicate way of telling her how un-frigid she’d been at every turn – at least with me. She rolled over, and as she did, the blanket twisted, driving us even closer together. Melissa tilted her head up, exposing those too-kissable lips and fixing her drown-in-me, blue eyes on mine.
“Your boyfriend isn’t only a first-class asshole, he’s an idiot, too.”
In all my fucking life, I’d never wanted to simultaneously knock the sense into someone as badly as I wanted to thank him. At that moment, I was filled with hatred, resentment, and abject fury, all directed toward her jackass boyfriend. I was also ever-so-fucking-grateful, because if he wasn’t such a tool, she might still be in his bed instead of mine.
Slowly but purposefully, I placed my palm overtop of the back of her hand and threaded our fingers together. Heat, electric and startling, shot through me. She must’ve felt it, too, because she gasped and shivered against me. I dragged our hands to her thigh and rested them there, just above her knee.
“What are you doing?” Melissa gasped.
“Holding your hand,” I teased.
She sighed softly. She was quiet, and her breathing was even, and after a few minutes, I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. Damned if there was any chance of me falling asleep with her curves pressed into every inch of my body.
Then she spoke, her voice muffled by the covers. “Could you talk to me for a bit?”
“About what?”
“Anything. I don’t think I can handle the silence right now.”
Maybe I blurted it out because I’d just seen Fiona a few hours earlier, and she was fresh in my mind. Maybe it was Melissa’s situation. Most likely, it was a combination of the two.
“Five years ago, my little sister went out with her boyfriend and his friends. They got high. Really fucking high, and raped her.”
Melissa drew in a sharp breath. “Jesus.”
“She called me, and she kept saying ‘They just took it from me. I said no. They must’ve thought I meant yes’. Repeating it, like it was her fucking mantra. It took me forty-five minutes to get her to tell me where they left her. When I finally picked her up and I took her to the hospital, she refused to talk to the police. She was so fucked up, she kept calling me Dad, screaming at me to leave her alone, saying that they hadn’t really meant it. Then she starting defending them. It killed me. Broke my heart. I waited until she came down, and tried to reason with her, thinking if she was sober, she might be able to see how bad things really were.”
I closed my eyes, remembering, and the fucking burn in my chest as real now as it was then.
“She didn’t change her mind, though. Not even after we brought her home. And when I pressured her, she kicked me out of her life.”
I didn’t recount the rest. I’d already said more about it in the last five minutes than I’d said in the last five years.
Melissa unthreaded her fingers from mine and put a warm hand on my cheek. I opened my eyes and met her gaze. I was surprised to see something fiercer than sympathy in her baby-blues.
“I’m sorry,” she said with apologetic vehemence. “The other day at the restaurant…I accused you of not being able to tell when a girl was saying no. It was out of line, and not true, and –“
I put the tips of my fingers over her lips, both to silence her and to stop myself from driving my mouth into hers in an attempt to bury the hurt I felt. She brought her hand up to mine. She pulled it sideways and up so that I was cupping her face.
“You were right,” she whispered. “I wasn’t saying no. And I know you would never take anything from me I wasn’t giving up freely.”
Guilt hit me. She was utterly fucking sincere. I could see it in her eyes. Only I had taken something from her without her permission, in the country club, and again at the lumber yard.
Her boyfriend wasn’t the only complete tool in her life.
Melissa leaned forward, lips parted, eyes half-closed. I let my mouth graze hers, then pulled away.
“I’m not going to take anything else from you,” I said softly. “Not even a kiss.”
Her face crumpled. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“Fuck, no. But there’s plenty wrong with me.”
I couldn’t stand the thought that she felt so down on herself. I threaded our fingers back together, and fought to find the words to explain the ache in my heart. I was out of practice at expressing myself. I didn’t want her to think she was anything less than she was, which was about as un-fucking-frigid, un-fucking-messed-up, and un-fucking-believably perfect as they came.
“Melissa, I’d like your permission to prove a few things to you,” I growled. “To help you prove them to yourself.”
Immediately, her breathing quickened. “Like what?”
I pulled our hands, together, to her throat.
“Like the fact that you’re passionate and full of life,” I told her. “I can feel your pulse, right now. It’s racing through your veins, and there’s nothing cold about it.”
I slid our fingers down, slowly, to the bottom of her robe, then up, stopping mid-thigh.
“I can feel it here,” I said. “And I can see it in your eyes, and in the rise and fall of your chest.”
On cue, she inhaled and exhaled deeply.
“Do you believe me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“If you want to stop, say so now.”
In response, she pulled our hands up a little further. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and I was pretty fucking pleased by that.
“Leave your hand there,” I said. “I’m going to undo your robe so I can watch.”
“So you can watch what?”
I gave her a wicked smile as I slipped my fingers into the knot at her waist, unfastened it slowly, and slid the fabric from her shoulders. Her body was fucking amazing. Soft curves in all the right places.
I pushed her knees apart and drank in the view with my eyes. My cock strained against my pants in response to seeing her splayed out like that.
“So I can watch you show me where it feels good, baby-doll.” I drew her hand up, positioned it in just the right spot, and whispered, “Show me now.”
She obeyed without protest, opening herself wide, and running her fingers over her pussy in a smooth, rhythmic motion. Her eyes met mine for the first few moments, pulling me in, driving me crazy with the desire I saw there. Then she started to get into it, and her lids slid shut. Her breathing grew quicker, and s
he whimpered a little as her fingers sped up, too.
She reached for my hand, guided it up to her eager pussy, and moaned when I refused to drive my fingers into her. I watched as she found her clit, but I kept my fingers on the outside. Even though I longed to tunnel into her perfect, wet pussy, I held back, letting her spiral around. I left my thumb stay just on top, rubbing and pressing. She grew hotter and hotter. I could feel it under my hand, even from the outside. Her hips twisted, matching her motions, and every breath she took was ragged.
“Cutter,” she gasped, and my name on her lips spurred me on.
“Come, baby-doll,” I said. “Not for me, but for yourself.”
Her free hand found my hair, and her fingers clutched at it roughly as she found her release.
“Thank you,” she murmured into my hair.
“No one should ever take this from you,” I said thickly. “And I’d kill any motherfucker who tried.”
I pulled her to me, holding her as close as I could manage.
I want her, I thought. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
MELISSA
I felt good. So good. Liberated. Like the last hour before Cutter, the one I’d been forced to spend with Danny, had been wiped away from me completely.
My rapidly beating heart was finally slowing in my chest, and I was regretful that the high had to wear off.
I could still feel Cutter’s hardness, pushing into my back.
Shit. I’m being selfish, lying here, and enjoying the aftereffects, while he’s left wanting.
Even though I’d just experienced one of the best orgasms of my life in a way that should’ve made my face flame red, the thought of Cutter, wanting me so badly it was obvious through clothes and blankets, was enough to reignite the spark between my legs.
I waited for him to grab me, to push aside my robe again, and to take what we both wanted. But he just held very still, gripping me like he was drowning and I was his life raft.
He sighed. His hand traced a gentle trail up my arms, warming them in the cool air.
“Cutter?”
“Mmmhmm?”
“Are you all right?”
“You’re asking that again?” he teased.
“I can’t help it.”
“Baby-doll, I’m a little bit better than all right.”
“Do you want to -“
He cut me off. “No.”
“No?”
He chuckled softly. “Not the answer you were expecting?”
“Not exactly,” I replied. “I was thinking maybe a hell, yes. Or at least a yes, ma’am.”
“Hell, yes, ma’am?”
“Exactly.”
He still didn’t reach for me, and I frowned. I might’ve thought I was misreading him if it weren’t for the obvious physical indication that gave him away.
So why isn’t he all over me?
Cutter sighed and let me go. My heart deflated. But in only a moment, he grabbed my shoulder, rolled me over, and tilted my chin toward him with his finger.
“I’ve got a very good reason for resisting the urge to throw you down and fuck you senseless,” he said in his softest, sexiest voice. “And believe me…It’s pretty damned selfish.”
I was speechless, unable to decide if I was offended, or turned on.
Maybe with Cutter, it’s a bit of both. The thought turned up my lips at the corners.
“Your smile makes me crazy,” he murmured, and ran his thumb along my lip.
I grinned wider. “Does it?”
“It does. And that’s why what I’m about to say makes me a little sick,” he stated. “Melissa, cover up and roll over so we can cuddle. Please.”
I laughed. “What if I won’t? Are you gonna make me?”
I was kidding, but I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I’d hit that sensitive subject again. Cutter’s face grew serious.
“I promise you, no matter what happens, it will always be because you want it to,” he said. “I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“Thank you, baby-doll.” His voice was very nearly sweet.
“Dammit, Cutter.”
I rolled over quickly, not wanting him to see the ridiculous tears forming in my eyes. Cutter draped an arm across my body, cupping my breast and resting his chin on the top of my head. The gesture was possessive and familiar, like he’d done it a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times again. A bubbling elation built in my heart and spread outwards. It made my toes tingle.
“Sincerity,” he said teasingly, right into my ear. “Gets ‘em every time.”
I snorted, and wiggled back up into him, pleased when he exhaled a breath that was almost a moan.
“Are you going to elaborate on your selfishness?” I asked.
He was silent for a long moment. When he did answer, it was in a quiet, rough voice.
“When we have sex, Melissa, I don’t want it to be in the shadow of some asshole who made you bleed and cry. I don’t want it to be as a bandage to cover up whatever damage he’s done. I can’t fucking stand the thought of him being anywhere in your mind when you’re with me. I want it to be all about me.”
It was my turn to go quiet. I knew his statement was partly about me. About us. But I knew, also, that it was about the assault on his sister and how much it must pervade his own life.
A thought struck me, and I blurted it out before I could stop myself. “What happened to them?”
“Who?”
“Your sister’s boyfriend and his friends.”
Cutter’s grip on me tightened, and he laughed bitterly. “Not much. They were underage. My sister was complicit in the drug use and wouldn’t implicate them in the rape. The boyfriend…I kicked his fucking ass. And today, Fiona married him.”
Holy shit.
I wanted to comfort him, to protect him. And in spite of the fact that he was a foot taller than me, and outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and in spite of his tough-as-something-stronger-than-nails exterior, it didn’t seem ridiculous.
“I could be your bandage,” I offered softly.
His chest vibrated against my back, and for a second, I actually thought he might be crying. Then I realized he was laughing. When his amusement finally subsided, he gave me an affectionate squeeze.
“Baby-doll, tell me something about yourself.”
“So you can laugh at me some more?” I retorted, only half-meaning it.
“No. Because you make me feel all fucking vulnerable and exposed, and while I very much like your offer to be my bandage…I’d like you to distract me from the fact that I feel naked. And not the kind of naked I like.”
“You’re not the kind of naked I’d like you to be either,” I replied archly.
Cutter groaned. “Tell me something about yourself that’s not going to make regret being such a selfish prick. What’s your biggest secret?”
“What are you? A twelve-year old girl?” I teased.
“What I am, is incredibly horny, and I’m trying as hard as fuck to control myself.”
I decided to take pity on him, and opened my mouth to confess all the little things I kept from my friends and family. My wish that I’d never been a cheerleader because it was so damned typical. The philosophy class I signed up for every semester, then dropped because it was too impractical. What came out instead made me glad I was faced away from him so he couldn’t see the red in my cheeks.
“Last month, I found out – by accident – that my sister was actually my mom. And the woman who I’ve always called Mom, told me my dad was some idiot who got himself locked up in jail, then died there. Oh, and I think my fake-mom stole my toothbrush to get my DNA.”
Cutter was silent for a moment, and then he chuckled his increasingly familiar chuckle.
“I wasn’t being funny,” I told him, and tried to pull away.
He brought both arms around me and forced me to stay where I was.
&nbs
p; “Actually,” he replied seriously. “I think I’m funny.”
“You would make my questionable parentage about you,” I muttered.
“I mean, when I asked you that question, I just assumed you’d say me. I wasn’t expecting you to drop a soap opera bomb instead.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Suddenly, you’re not just beautiful. You’re white trash beautiful. It brings you down to my level.”
“Shut up. Nothing could bring me down that low.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t even know why I told you,” I admitted. “I’ve known for weeks, and I haven’t told anyone else.”
“My open and caring nature breeds trust,” he replied.
“Uh huh.”
He stroked my bare leg, the rough skin on his palm making me shiver.
“Melissa?”
“Yes?”
“If you weren’t so annoyingly perfect, I might really fucking like you.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “And if you weren’t so annoyingly redneck, I might really fucking like you, too, Cutter.”
It was the last thing I remember saying before I drifted off.
When I woke again, I found him seated in the chair across the room, legs curled up, yoga-style. A bit of sun peeked through the blinds, showcasing his amused expression. It wasn’t bright enough to be real morning, and it was definitely too early to look so pleased.
I’d been pretending for twenty years that I was a roll out of bed go-getter. And I didn’t want to do it anymore. I stretched a little and shot Cutter an I’m-not-a-morning-person glare.
“Something funny yet again?” I asked.
“You.”
“Clever, as always.”
“I aim to please.” Cutter’s grin widened. “You know…I’ve heard of the ugly cry. Even seen it a few times…But until this morning, I didn’t realize there was also such a thing as an ugly sleep.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you saying?”
“You, baby-doll, have an ugly sleep.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” he insisted. “Your mouth hangs open, and your eyes don’t close all the way, even when you’re dreaming. You twitch occasionally. Oh, and you snore a little.”