Hard Pass (Saints of Love Book 3)

by Elizabeth Perry

  “Yeah.” His chin lifts. “If he can’t, I will. Party’s almost over, anyways.”

  He digs her keys out and drops her clutch on the floor. She’s wiggling and kicking, trying to break free of his grasp. I smack my hand against the service elevator. The second that the door opens, I grab the clutch and the contents that scattered onto the floor and climb into the elevator next to Wyatt.

  “What are you doing, Gia?”

  “Helping.” Once the doors close, I turn a cool gaze to his mother, who has fought to break out of her son’s grasp so hard, that they’re both covered in sweat. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this woman all alone.”

  “I’m his mother. I spent twelve hours of my life pushing him out.” She spits her words at me. “I deserve a little bit of respect. Get your hands off me.” She jerks away from him and then turns her glare to me.

  “Let me guess. You’re the latest whore, ready to do anything that he says for a nice purse and a fancy dress. I promise you, honey, he’ll treat you the same way that he’s treating me right now when he’s done with you. Any man who treats his mother like this is no good.”

  She looks like at one time she was beautiful. The hint of beauty is still there, but it’s overshadowed by years of drinking and bad decisions. Her skin is dull and patchy, hair thin and littered with broken ends. Her dress is too big for her small frame, the one that’s barely skin and bones. Amazingly though, she gave her incredibly buff son a run for his money. She’s quite spry for an old drunk. But while her eyes are the color as Wyatt’s, they’re completely different. Where his are filled with humor and a touch of arrogance, her eyes are just plain mean.

  “Oh, I’m not his whore.” I keep my voice low, as the elevator travels down to the main floor. “But what I am, is an old friend. One who has known him long enough to know that he,” I motion to Wyatt before narrowing my eyes at her, “doesn’t owe you a damn thing. You have no right to even call yourself a mother. The way that you’re acting right now, embarrassing your own children, is frankly pathetic.”

  The doors ping open, and before she can even respond to me, Wyatt scoops her up and marches out of the building. A few heads turn in our direction, but as they do, I wave them off.

  “Nothing to see here. Just an unexpected guest trying to crash the party.”

  Wyatt tosses me his keys.

  “I’m going to drive her back to her hotel in her rental car.” He clicks the button on her keys, and a small compact car lights up.

  “A rental I had to pay for myself, asshole,” she mutters. I just roll my eyes.

  “She’s staying at the Super 8 in Winchester.” His voice is flat, devoid of any emotion. “I’ll probably lose you in traffic, but meet me there, ok?”

  I nod, and then scan the parking lot while pressing Wyatt’s unlock button. I smile wide as a black Maserati GranTurismo lights up. Hell yes.

  “Hey, Gia.” Wyatt’s attention shifts to me just long enough for his guard to be down. She takes that moment to clock him. My eyes widen, as anger floods his face. He looks like he’s ready to snap. I can’t say that I blame him.

  “You can drive a stick, right?” His teeth are clenched as he shoves her into the passenger seat and slams the door hard.

  “Yes.”

  The makings of a smile form on his face.

  “My girl.”

  “Oh my god.” I’m going to be honest; I’ve never been much of a car girl. Sure, I like to drive a new car and there are certain options that I prefer, but I’ve damn sure never driven a Maserati. I’ve also never driven a car that made me nearly orgasm as I stepped on the gas. I hand Wyatt his keys and eye his car admirably. “That is one hell of a car.”

  “You liked driving it, huh?” He looks exhausted, but still manages to smile. “Good. Care to drive me back?”

  I glance over him, noticing the scratch marks all over his face and neck. His shirt is torn on the collar, his tie twisted into a knot. Two of the buttons on his shirt has been tugged off. He looks like he’s walking out of the hotel after getting one wild piece of ass, instead of wrangling his drunk mother.

  “Jesus.” I take a step towards him, placing my hand on his chest while I inspect the visible wounds. He looks like he was mauled by a rabid cat. “These have to hurt.”

  “I play football for a living, Gia.” He stares down at me, trying to make light of the subject. I’m not exactly buying it. “I get slammed into the ground by three hundred-pound linebackers. This is nothing.”

  “But these are fingernail scratches, Wyatt.” I shake my head. “All kinds of bacteria live underneath fingernails. These wounds need to be cleaned out.”

  “I’ll be fine.” My hand is still on his chest, and I can feel how fast his heart is beating. I know that I need to take a step back from him, but I can’t seem to make myself. He leans towards me, and inhales deeply.

  “My fucking god.” He reaches up, his finger tracing lightly against my arm. “You smell so damn good.”

  Maybe it’s the high from just driving his car. Maybe it’s the way that the moonlight shines down on us, causing his eyes to sparkle and catch mine. I can’t really be sure what it is, but either way, the need to stay away from him leaves me, and something else takes its place. As if sensing the hesitation inside of me, he nods slowly, and then takes a step back.

  “We should get back to the party.”

  “You can’t go back looking like this.” I manage to get my wits together and climb back into the driver’s seat. “Willow is going to wonder what happened. Tonight might not be the best time to tell her. It’ll ruin her day for sure.”

  “Oh, I’m not telling her at all.” His eyes lock with mine. “Willow was shielded from a lot of this shit growing up. She doesn’t see our mom the way that I do. She’s still willing to give her a chance.”

  There are parts to Wyatt’s personality that aren’t very appealing. He is arrogant, and cocky at his baseline. That fact can’t be argued. He’s had a long history of using women, putting himself first, and not seeming to care who gets hurt in the process. But one thing has always remained true. He adores his sister and has always done everything in his power to protect her, even if it means taking a beating at his mom’s hands in order to save her from causing a scene at her party.

  I crank the engine, the purr of the horses hidden underneath the hood putting a goofy smile on my face. I glance at Wyatt.

  “Buckle up, hotshot. I’m about to take you for the ride of your life.”

  The first real smile that I’ve seen on his face since his mom’s performance covers his face. His dimples appear on his cheeks, and his eyes darken.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say that, Gia.”

  “Car ride, Wyatt.” I roll my eyes and shift the car into reverse. “Keep it out of the gutter.”

  “My mind is always in the gutter when you’re around.”

  I burn rubber out of the parking lot, the tires squealing as I peel out onto the street. Traffic is light tonight, which is perfect. We speed through downtown, zipping past all of the other cars with ease. This thing shifts like a dream, so even though it’s been years since I’ve driven a stick, it makes it easy. We zoom down Main Street, and when I pull up in front of my house, I’m almost sad. I swear, I could drive that car across the country and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

  “This isn’t the party.” Wyatt glances up at my house, and then back to me, an arrogant smirk covering his face.

  “I didn’t expect you to bring me home tonight, Gia. I thought I was going to have to work a lot harder than showing off my drunk mom to you.”

  “Har har.” I roll my eyes and hop out of the car, sadness creeping up on me as I hand him back his keys. Damn, that’s a nice fucking car. “My place is closer than yours. You need to wash those wounds, and I’m going to sew some buttons back onto your shirt. You can’t go back to the party looking like you were just ridden hard and put away wet. It’ll do nothing for your reputation.”
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  He and I both know that his reputation is exactly that. We both chuckle.

  He takes my porch steps two at a time, slipping off his jacket and beginning to unbutton his shirt as I shut the front door. I flip on the lights, while he looks around.

  “Ignore the mess.” We’re standing in the middle of the showroom for my business. “Most of the stuff for Willow’s wedding got delivered today.” Cardboard boxes are stacked floor to ceiling, all filled with fake floral, vases, candles and table linen. I haven’t even had the chance to inspect it all yet, but I have every intention of handling it tomorrow.

  “Come with me.” I lead him towards the back staircase and up to the loft. It’s actually quite spacious up here, large enough to be sectioned off into two makeshift bedrooms, a decent sized living room, along with a kitchen and a dining area. When I purchased this house, it had originally been two apartments, so luckily, each floor had its own kitchen. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but it works for the time being.

  But all the space in the world wouldn’t be enough for what happens next.

  Obviously, I realized that Wyatt would have to take his shirt off in order for me to replace the buttons. I just didn’t realize that he was going to do it standing in front of me. The second that the fabric leaves his skin, my knees get weak. I’m transported back, to the first time that I saw him shirtless. Back then, he was a boy, just starting to turn into a man.

  All traces of the boy that I used to know are gone. In his place, is a rock hard, sexy as sin man. Every inch of his skin laced with muscle. Colorful tattoos flank his skin, making me want to lean forward and trace every inch of them with my fingertips. My eyes travel down his body, studying the intricate designs, pausing at the area where his pants cover the rest of the artwork. I force my eyes away and inhale sharply.

  “So.” I clear my throat. “Looks like the tattoos are real.” I bite my lower lip hard, bringing just enough pain to clear some of the madness from my head.

  “Not an inch of that billboard was airbrushed, Princess. Nothing was enhanced, either.”

  My face flames. I hate the fact that I noticed but come on. It would have been impossible not to see how the compression shorts he wore in the photo on that billboard accentuated his…ahem.

  “Huh.” I tug at the neckline of my dress as heat creeps up my back. “We should probably get you cleaned up, huh?”

  “I guess we should.” His eyes lock with mine. “Unless you wanted to get me dirtier.”

  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I do. I so fucking do. I want to maul the man. Climb him like a fucking tree and let him bring me to a place that I haven’t been in such a long time. But as much as I want that, I know what the end result would be. Waking up tomorrow, filled with regret isn’t something that I want to do. No matter how badly I want to do it.

  “I don’t,” I lie, putting on my best poker face. “I just want to fix your shirt, wash your wounds, and get dropped off back at my car.” The disappointment on his face is obvious. I set his shirt down on the kitchen table, and then lead him down the hallway towards the bathroom. I step inside first, and point to a small bench in the corner.

  “Sit there, and I’ll grab some peroxide.” I reach into the medicine cabinet and pull out some supplies. The second that I shut the cabinet and look up into the mirror, though, I see that he’s standing directly behind me. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. My body tightens. I know that look. I recognize the heat and desire. I feel it too, every time that he’s close to me. The way that he’s staring at me only intensifies it.

  My hair is gathered into his hand and draped across one shoulder. His face moves towards me, breathing me in deeply, causing his warm breath cascades across my sensitive bare skin. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and as they do, his dilate, turning into pools of black on his gorgeous face. Then, they travel down.

  His fingertips brush lightly across my skin, starting at the nape of my neck before traveling down the deep V in the back of my dress. The sensation of his hands on my bare skin is too much for me to bear. No matter how hard I grip the sink, or how much I tell myself that I don’t want to do this with him, it doesn’t matter. My brain and my body are working against each other, and I have no doubt, the ache between my legs is going to win.

  “You’re so beautiful, Princess.” My teeth mash hard against my lower lip, and I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself to find the word no.

  But it’s been so long. Well over a year, as a matter of fact. And while in my heart, I’ve been content to be alone, my body has ached to be touched by a man. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, it’s always ached to experience Wyatt.

  I feel his fingers trace underneath the straps of my dress. My eyes shoot back up to the mirror, and as they once again meet his, he holds my stare, daring me to say no.

  Of course, I can’t.

  He exhales slowly, and then presses his hips into my ass. It feels like a steel pipe, pushing against me. I grip the sink harder, as wetness pools between my legs. He rocks his hips against me again, making me cry out for him.

  “Wyatt,” his name leaves me in a pant. “What are we thinking?”

  He leans forward, trailing his nose along my tender skin. “I don’t know about you, Princess, but I’m thinking that I want every scrap of clothing off of your body. I want to feel every inch of your skin. Slide my hand in between your legs and watch your face change as you cum all over my fingers. Then I want to see my dick slide in between those full lips, feel your mouth and tongue on me…”

  His voice stops and he takes a deep breath. I watch his every move, the way that his eyes close, his lashes fanning across his cheeks. How his mouth opens slightly, and a groan leaves him, right before his eyes open again and lock with mine. “I want your hot mouth on me Princess. I want you taking every inch of me down your throat. God dammit, Gia. I want you on your fucking knees in front of me. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jerked off to that vision?”

  I’m not sure if it’s the intensity in his eyes, the idea of him thinking of me while stroking himself or the massive erection pressing up against my back, but a wave crashes through me, causing me to cry out for him, and leaving me defenseless to stop whatever this is from happening. Faintly, I hear the zipper of my dress and then feel the fabric sliding off of my shoulders. I think about how I must look, chest heaving, hair twisted off to one shoulder, my skin flushed. My breasts feel heavy and tingly, begging for sensation. As if reading my hand, his hands reach up and cup them.

  I fall back against him, his skin on my skin, his hard chest against my back. He cups me and tugs on my nipples, until I’m a panting mess in his arms. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and then drops one hand, sliding his fingers in between my legs. His hand is fast, and he shudders with every stroke. My entire body quivers from his touch, until I’m a panting mess uncapable of a single coherent thought. Vaguely, I hear my lips mutter his name.

  “Wyatt…” I’m breathless.

  “Say my name, Gia. Say it.”

  “Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt…”

  He lets out a grunt, his head falling against mine as he slides another finger inside of me. I lose all control at that point, spiraling down all over him, my legs bucking from underneath me, nearly causing me to collapse. Without any warning, his hands grip around my hips, spinning me around until I’m sitting on top of the sink. That’s when his lips meet mine.

  His hand fists into the hair at the nape of my neck, keeping my face close and taut with his. I open my mouth, letting him inside, soaking in the taste of him.

  He kisses me as though he’s been aching for me, devouring my mouth as only a starving man could. He murmurs my name and groans often, his free hand moving wildly over my body, until his lips finally leave mine and move down to my breasts. He tugs me, licks me, and caresses my skin with the skill of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. This alone should be enough to make me stop this before it ends up with his massive
erection buried inside of me.

  But it’s not.

  I want him. I fucking need him.

  And I’m all done playing games.

  As it turns out, so is he. Sure, the words that he murmurs as his fingers slide in between my legs are the equivalent to spitting game at me, but I no longer care. He slides inside of my slick folds, his face tight with tension as he murmurs how badly he wants me.

  I know that this is all it’s ever going to be between us. To be honest, I’m ok with that.

  Whatever the outcome may be, it’s not going to change the way I feel in this moment. Right now, all that I care about is feeling him bury himself between my legs.

  “Fuck me, Wyatt,” I mutter, my fingers gripping into his skin. “Fuck me, now.”

  There is no more foreplay. No more building up to the moment that I so desperately need.

  We’re not kids in the woods anymore, laying on a blanket underneath the stars and trying to set up the perfect night. He’s been through hell tonight, dealing with his mom. I’ve walked across fire over the last year, losing everything that I know.

  None of it matters anymore. I want to forget all of it. And it seems as though he does too.

  I hear the telltale rip of a package, and within seconds, my panties are pushed to the side. As I watch his thick, massive dick pause at my entrance, I lower myself towards him.

  He inhales sharply, mutters my name, and then groans loudly as he slides inside of me. Everything that happens next is a blur. He pulls my hair, tugs it hard as he fucks me with precision. Our sweaty bodies slide against each other, each of us clawing and desperate for our own releases.

  As they finally come, and the dust settles between us, our eyes meet again.

  “Holy fuck, Gia.” He’s panting. “What are you doing to me, Princess?”

  22

  Gia

  Awkward morning afters are something that I’m completely unfamiliar with. I’ve never experienced one, so I have no rule book to follow on how to handle this. The person who should be well versed in situations such as this, is still standing in my kitchen, looking insanely sexy with still no shirt on, holding an empowered women empower women mug, casually sipping coffee.