A Brutal Tenderness

by Marata Eros

  Our eyes lock from across the hall and I don’t know who moves first, but we’re suddenly locked together, hip to head.

  I’m not gentle. I find I can’t be as I devour her mouth with my own, my hands moving to her ass even as she links her ankles around my waist.

  Oh, dear Jesus . . . no. She grinds herself against my raging hard-on.

  Yes, my body answers for me as I eat at those lips I’ve been dreaming about all week, denying myself.

  I ram Jewell against the wall between the locker room and a utility closet, one hand bracing the blow as the other spears apart the braid, her damp hair catching us like a moist curtain around our joined bodies. “Ah,” she emits in a soft grunt as she kisses me back.

  “Where?” I ask, but I know. I’m barely waiting for permission here and don’t know that I can, my resolve is shattered with her body in my arms. I can’t think of anything but her. Her scent fills my nostrils and they flare in primal recognition.

  Jewell wakes up from her daze enough to say “No!” in a soft rasp, as she hears the knob rattle on the closet. I move like a starved man and Jewell’s the meal, as I enter the small janitor’s room with a low fluorescent under-cabinet light. I just make her out in the gloom and bend to sweep my hot tongue along her collarbone.

  “Yes!” I answer, kicking the door closed with a boot. Her taste’s on my tongue, drowning sense, logic, reason.

  “Are you fucking him, Jess?”The words burst from my lips. I have to know if she’s let him have her.

  She’s mine and I have to know. Have to.

  I hold her against the wall and use my hardness to force her legs apart as she’s suspended by my erection and hard hands on her small wrists. The softest part of her yields to me, and she groans against my mouth and I press my forehead to hers, thrusting against her, denim to the thin yoga pants she’s wearing. She strains against me, a line of emotion that mimics anger even as she pushes to get closer.

  “Are you?” I ask again, and Jewell cries out against the surge of my cock, her hands convulsing around mine.

  “No . . . I’m not,” Jewell answers as she grinds back against me, her eyes flashing in the gloom, and my dick gives a responsive pulse against her heat. I know I’m gonna go right here if I don’t slow down. “God, Jess . . . you’re killin’ me,” I say as my hips give a reactive thrust against her and we both groan, our heads falling away from each other from the powerful surge of raw lust.

  So help me God, I don’t think I can stop. Jewell has to say yes to me where she says no to Mitch. Right now. In this moment. “Say yes,” I say, hearing the near beg in my voice, beyond embarrassed, beyond fucking caring.

  I need in her. Now. I also need her permission.

  I feel like my entire world tilts on its axis when she says, “Yes,” against my throat, her hot breath warming my day-old stubble, which stands on end from her words . . . her heat . . . her scent.

  I kneel down, shaking from want, from need.

  “What are you . . . ?” she asks and gasps when I tear her panties off and plunge my tongue inside her wet center.

  “Oh . . . yes,” she moans, and it’s music, invitation, and aphrodisiac rolled up into a fine shot of that drug that is Jewell. I can’t get enough and groan against her slickness when she puts her small hands on my head.

  “Put your feet on my shoulders,” I rumble against the most sensitive area on a woman, and she does what I tell her as I nibble and lick against those outer folds. When her legs begin to shake from my torture of her, the torture of myself, that sweet edge of release comes knocking. I feel how wet she is for me, how ready, and I lift my head, the proof of her arousal on my face, and I free my imprisoned dick. It jumps free with an almost audible sigh as I lick my face of her.

  Loving the taste of her on me, as much a part of me as anything, I say, “I’m going to fuck you now, Jess.” My face is devoid of emotion, because it’s too strong to mask. I’m numb with it, like a great high that won’t quit, a tidal wave that never lands.

  Falling again . . . so falling.

  “Okay,” she says and almost makes my load come with slender fingers wrapped on me. I shudder in an exhaustive sigh, my chin dipping to my chest.

  So right, so fucking right.

  The cords of my neck stand out, the mother of all orgasms coming, and I throw my head back, whispering, “No . . . you don’t.”

  There’s no choice: I either go out of her or in. I’m beyond the point of no return as I feel the tip of my cock zero in on her entrance with an accuracy that’s scary.

  Jewell spreads her legs and I stop, holding back . . . holding. It’s so hard it’s painful.

  I need her eyes. I grab her ankles, and her mouth parts as I say, “Watch me, Jess.”

  And when our gazes lock I give a single shove, thrusting my hardness into her softness. I feel her clench around me and I think about anything but what’s happening, anything to slow my release. I grit my teeth even as the pleasure of her heat begs for me to let go inside her.

  Not yet, I shout inside myself, hold on.

  Jewell’s succulent wet pull begs when I’m so deeply inside her my balls kiss her ass. And I move backward in slow withdrawal, rocking back inside her again, my eyes on hers. She meets me perfectly, her small hips lighting against my pelvis. Our mutual grind makes my jaw go slack, my mouth salivates as those small hard muscles grip me like a sweeping velvet glove of slick, sweet friction.

  My huge body trembles against her tiny one, and her eyes peg mine, understanding what I need.

  What she needs.

  What we both need.

  I grab both sides of her face, my elbows planted alongside her, my cock buried deep. I begin a slow pump, when all my body wants is to fuck her into the small table I’ve put her on.

  But Jewell changes that primal directive. The soft yield of her body instructs mine and it listens, sweeping in and out, deeply, urgently . . . owning my moves, claiming my need as I plant myself inside her. She gives a single wet pulse, a throb so deep, so strong it brings me before I know it, before I can stop it, and Jewell shudders against me, my release brining hers, and she cries out a little.

  It sounds like pain.

  But that’s what true pleasure is . . . it’s almost painful. A poignant torture of the senses.

  I close my eyes against tears. Not tears of sadness but of self-realization.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Jewell’s made me love her. Against everything I am, every choice I’ve made—she forces me.

  With her body.

  With her gentle nature, her vulnerability.

  Her.

  I can’t tell Jewell, but I’ll show her.

  I gaze down at her, tracing the gorgeous lines of her face, planting a tender kiss against her fragile jawbone.

  I close my eyes. Mine, my mind intones and I give in.

  My body always knew it, but now it has convinced whatever small combative intellect remains.

  Jewell lets out a sigh of contentment as I slip out of the perfect confines of her body. I pull her against me, moving her small body against my bigger one. Our physical forms fit like a perfect pair of missing parts now unified.

  So this is what it feels like, I think in wonder, spreading soft kisses against Jewell, her temple, her healing cheek, her beautiful bones that beg for it. On every surface of that face I love I lay my lips. Her eyelashes flutter and Jewell gives a small groan of pleasure that pinches my heart, one that feels like it just relearned how to beat.

  And it’s scary as fuck.

  Not much rocks my boat.

  Jewell’s done more than that . . . she’s sunk my ship.

  I find I don’t give a shit and feel myself grinning like a fool into her upturned face, the small bit of light pooling and removing enough shadows so I can see her expression of vulnerability.

  It won’t be easy. When two halves of the same whole come together, they’re not the same, they complement but mostly they’re opposites.

&nb
sp; We’ll work through it together.

  My optimism’s about to be put to the test.

  Whoever says love is easy should be shot.

  14

  I see the shutdown on Jewell’s face and I’m helpless to stop it, like much of what I’m helpless against with Jewell. She shivers and begins to collect her clothes. “We shouldn’t have done that . . . here.” Her small hands push her damp hair behind her ears. I feel Jewell’s shame, her uncertainty, it permeates the room. I don’t want her to feel bad about the moment I know I love her.

  She looks full on at me. “Don’t you see that?”

  No. But my perspective comes from a point of knowledge. I know what’s happening. I sigh, rummaging around in my pocket and pull out a smoke, a nasty little holdover from a rough patch in my life that clings with stubborn fingers. I’ll never admit it, but when I get anxious, I light up.

  I strike the match on my boot and it flares as the first acrid inhale singes and bakes, grounding me. Only smokers understand that nasty little secret. Cigs give something back, and they don’t talk back. Simple.

  Jewell turns, only her profile illuminated . . . and a tantalizing glimpse of one upturned nipple catches my complete attention, her bra hanging off one shoulder like a sexy flag. I give a low laugh, the smoke rising in a spiral as I reach out and press that beautiful soft flesh in my palm. It fits perfectly.

  Like Jewell.

  She frowns. “You’re not smoking in here,” she half asks, incredulous.

  I smirk, barking out a short laugh. Fuck yeah, I am . . . I want to get calm fast. I need to. Jewell’s face tells me that. It’s like a feminine storm’s brewing and I’m caught before the rain without an umbrella.

  Screw that, without anything. I smell the ozone of her emotional signature and brace myself.

  “Doesn’t look that way,” I answer, giving her a puzzled look.

  “Somebody’s going to smell that, Cas!” she says in a low voice as I take another drag. Something besides me smoking has her ire up. The red glow from the cig lights up her face, her eyes narrow on me, her body tight with tension.

  Where does intimacy go when one of the players is frightened by it?

  I’ll tell you, it chills my balls off that I can feel her withdrawal, her distrust, and it makes me goddamn frantic. We’re too close to the end of this thing, too near to realizing what we can be to each other.

  Once Thad’s put away, I can have her . . . I know she’s the one I want.

  I stub the cigarette out with a practiced crush against the bottom of my boot, and the dark gloom swims in around us again. I watch Jewell put her clothes on, giving a sigh of disgust that her panties are in shreds.

  In the darkness, Jewell misses my smile at her ruined underwear.

  I can’t let her leave; escaping what’s happening between us won’t make it go away.

  “Wait,” I say quietly as Jewell moves toward the door, shoving her G-string in her small gear sack.

  She doesn’t stop, and as she opens the door I slam into her from behind, the door shuddering as my palm shuts it with a bang. I move her body into my waiting hands as I cup them against her chest, pressing her back into me. I move my hands and cover her breasts completely, breathing in her scent against her neck, and my cock gives a responsive lurch and I reel as just her nearness alone has me on my proverbial knees to be in her again, touching her, loving her.

  I’m so fucked.

  I can’t have her leave, I can’t have her with anyone else, and it’s beyond unfair to ask her. So I don’t.

  I tell her instead, “Don’t see Maverick, Jess.”

  I feel her go stiff and know I’ve lost her.

  “No, you don’t get to control my life. You haven’t earned that right yet,” she says against me as my hands knead her softly, my lips kissing her neck. Jewell says the words even as she moves to open her neck for me and I suck in a breath, biting back the emotion that surges forward, that mix of fragility and defiance intoxicating.

  God, how I want her.

  She throws cold water on my face with her next words. “You came in me.”

  Fuck.

  Jewell pulls away and I keep my hands on her, though they grow cold when she gives me a look filled with anger.

  “Oh . . . pregnancy?”

  Sometimes we do unconscious things that get us what we want. It punches me in the gut when I realize I don’t care if she’s pregnant. A small part of me hopes she is.

  It’s beyond screwed up but also so right it makes my chest constrict.

  I look down at her without remorse. Knowing how I feel and not being able to say it is killing me slowly, this kind of lie by omission is the worst one I’ve never told. I hate what it’s doing to her.

  “STDs,” she says, probing for a reaction I won’t give, can’t give. I know I’m clean, I haven’t been with anyone for a while. Like my mind isn’t giving my body permission. The roles with the female FBIs nothing more than a stepping-stone for the case, not reality.

  This, this woman in front of me, vulnerable, fragile . . . mine. Jewell is my new reality.

  “I’m clean,” I say in a terse one-two.

  Jewell folds her arms, unsatisfied with my short answer as I knew she would be. “Can you say something, Cas?”

  No . . . Yes. “I don’t want anyone but you. Only you.” I cup Jewell’s face, her cheek moving into my palm like a perfect scoop of flesh and warmth. I stroke my thumb lightly over her lips, plumped by my brutal attention.

  It’s all I have, all I am. A brutal tenderness is all I’m capable of giving.

  I don’t know if it’s enough.

  I’m willing to try with Jewell forever.

  “You’re lying,” she says softly into my hand.

  I’m finally telling the truth and she doesn’t see it, hear it.

  I drop my hand and reply, “I’m many things, but I’m no liar.” Then my mouth is on hers, moving and sipping at those swollen lips that move seamlessly beneath mine in a savoring mutual taste. The smell of our lovemaking is on my mouth, on hers . . . it instantly gets me ready again.

  I come up for air and she throws her palms out in a warding-off gesture. “We can’t do this!” Jewell’s hand covers her mouth, eyes round . . . even she doesn’t understand our pull. I’ve given up trying to reconcile the inexplicable. It is what it is.

  I won’t fight it anymore. Our chemistry has beaten me into submission, my love for her solidifying my choices.

  “Which part?” I ask, stalking toward her as I cup my hand around the heated core of her, the place I licked, kissed, and stabbed with everything I am. It isn’t just my flesh that’s pierced her but my heart. Jewell doesn’t know it, but a little torn piece of my soul’s inside her.

  “This part?” I continue, kissing her forehead. “Or this part?” I lean into her body, my hand still against that soft heat, and kiss one of her eyelids, my lips brushing over the bridge of her nose as I move to the opposite, blowing the heat of my mouth against the other as the fragile little lashes tickle the stubble of my jaw like a butterfly begging for escape.

  I straighten and Jewell falls back in a kind of sexual lethargy against the cold cinder block of the closet’s interior. “Or this?” I back away swinging my hand at the odd surroundings of where we’d just fucked each other senseless.

  “Which part do you not want to do, Jess?” I ask in a low voice I hardly recognize, raw and filled with anger. Because Jewell doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass when I’m moving inside her, taking her every way a man can have a woman.

  Jewell doesn’t answer, casting her eyes down.

  Fuck this, She. Will. Answer. “Don’t you want to fuck me, Jess?” I ask. I’m in front of her now as I place a finger under her chin and lift her gaze to mine.

  “Don’t lie. I deserve more,” I say, searching her face.

  Seconds tick by, and I see the answer on her face before she says the word. “Yes,” she confirms softly.

  “Then tell me What. T
he. Problem. Is?” My voice doesn’t camouflage my hurt, my frustration.

  “Why were you following me?” she asks, turning the tables so fast I have to fight for a neutral.

  I grunt and scrub my skull with a harsh grating sweep as I step away. “I don’t know.”

  Because I don’t. Beltaine had it. There was no need for me to be secondary. Maverick isn’t a labeled threat, target, or anything really. He’s just the prick who wants to fuck Jewell, and I want to crush him for it.

  My pulse pounds with it.

  Now it is she who stalks me, stepping into my personal space, and I have to keep my hands at my sides, the urge to hold her . . . touch her is so strong it’s unnerving, undoing me like a spool of unraveling yarn.

  “Tell me,” she demands, and for the first time I waver.

  Women don’t realize their power over men. If they did, they’d rule the world.

  I get hold of myself with an effort, resolve kicks in, saving my ass. “I can’t say.” The second truth I’ve told tonight.

  “No,” Jewell says, part statement and part dismissal. I know she’s leaving.

  Leaving me.

  I can feel a tear start, a sort of slow-moving fissure like a Band-Aid being pulled from a wound, torturously slow.

  I begin to bleed as I move forward.

  Then I remember. My mind already giving me the time before I can confer on my cell.

  My partner will be waiting in that hall. Not expecting us to be in this closet.

  I’m supposed to stall, delay Jewell in the hall.

  Shit, that plan got . . . sidetracked.

  “No . . . Jess, wait!” She’ll get in the middle of it . . . she’ll . . .

  “No!” she responds, blowing my ass off as she swings the door open. It’s what my ambiguity deserves.

  The glare of the hall sweeps inside, momentarily blinding me, and I hear it before I can stop it: Luke taking a checked swing at Jewell.

  She’s not prepared, no woman would be. Jewell is trying to escape our interlude, avoid more words . . . so she runs out into the hall and into the mess of our staged conflict.

  Fuck me running.