When she comes back, she sits on the couch on the other side of the room, tucking her hands under her thighs.
“Once I finish this sketch, we can go.”
“Can I see?” she asks.
I hesitate. I don’t like showing people my work, especially before it’s done. Even when it’s for clients, I still have a hard time handing it over. I always want to make one last change. The problem is, I could work on it for one thousand days straight, and still find something I want to tweak every single time.
“Come on,” she drawls. “I can’t even draw a respectable stick figure. I won’t judge.”
“Sure,” I relent. She saunters toward me, her too-long flannel sleeves falling to her fingertips, her ponytail crooked and disheveled in a way that somehow still looks hot. She bends over to get a closer look, taking it in. I think her expression is one of awe, but I can’t be sure.
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes.
“Sure the fuck is,” I say, but I’m not talking about the drawing. She looks at it, but I’m looking at her. Her berry-colored lips and soft skin so pale that I can see faint traces of the blue veins that run beneath it.
“What is it?” she asks, tracing the elephant head with a crown of jewels and its trunk that’s wrapped around a trinket with her chipped-black fingernail.
“Ganesh. The god of good fortune. One of my regulars wants it on her thigh as a symbol of good luck.”
“Maybe I should get one, too,” she jokes. “I could use some luck.”
“Only if I’m the one to put it on you,” I say. She looks at me to gauge whether I’m joking. I’m not. If anyone gets to put ink on that untouched skin, it’s me. The air between us is charged with tension, and when she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, I press my thumb against her chin until she releases it. Her pulse flutters in her neck, her chest heaving.
Fuck it.
I grip her jaw, and her eyes flutter shut right before I pull her toward me. I lick at her lips, and she instantly parts them for me. My tongue slips inside, sliding against hers. I stand, keeping my mouth fused to hers, and deepen the kiss. The hand around her jaw slides into her hair at the nape of her neck while my other hand snakes around her waist.
I lift her, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist, and she moans when she feels my hardness through my jeans at her center. I prowl over to the wall and roughly pin her to it as our frenzied hands fight to remove the layers of clothing between us, finally giving in to temptation. Lo rips my hoodie off, taking my shirt with it. I shove my hands underneath her flannel, desperate to feel her skin, as she fumbles with the buttons. Flattening my palms, I move them up her stomach and her ribs, pushing her shirt up as I go.
“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she breathes, tossing her shirt to the floor.
“Definitely shouldn’t be doing this,” I agree, pulling down the soft, thin, black fabric of her bra to expose her nipples, pebbled and pink. I brush my thumbs over the peaks, and she arches into my touch, only her shoulders touching the wall now.
“We should stop.”
My hands pause their exploring, and I lean back to meet her eyes, waiting for her cue. Lo pulls me back in, her hands in my hair, tugging at the short strands, and sucks my bottom lip between her teeth. I groan, gripping her ass, and swing her around. I lay her on the couch, working my thigh in between her legs.
Lo rubs herself against me and reaches for the button of my jeans. I half-consciously register her phone buzzing somewhere in the distance, but we ignore it. The buzzing never stops, causing Lo to mutter a curse beneath her breath. “It could be Jess.”
I peel myself away from her body, running a hand through my hair. Fuck. Lo sits up, pulling the straps of her bra back over her shoulders before running over to the spot on the supply shelf that she’s claimed as her own personal storage space. When she looks at the screen of her phone, she bristles, and I tense up, knowing exactly why. Lo turns her phone off completely, schooling her expression before walking back over to me.
She pushes on my shoulders and straddles my lap, but I stay still, my arms at my sides, hands resting on the leather cushion. Lo grinds on my lap and leans in to kiss my neck. My dick and my conscience are at odds, one wanting answers, the other wanting action. When her teeth sink into where my neck meets my shoulder, my conscience loses the battle and my hands fly to her ass, squeezing and guiding her movements. My hips shift, seeking the warmth between her legs. Lo slides off my lap, sitting in between my legs. She moves down my body, her delicate hands dragging down my chest and her lips follow. Her teeth tug on the small horseshoe-shaped piercing through my nipple as she goes for the button of my jeans once again. Lo gets my pants halfway around my ass before I muster up all my self-control to stop her, my hands covering hers.
“Stop.”
Wide eyes fly up to mine, hurt, and maybe a little offended. I groan, because the last thing I want to do is stop where this is going, and putting that look on her face is a close second.
“Who keeps calling you?” I ask point-blank. Her lips turn down, and a crease forms between her eyebrows.
“No one.” She’s on the defense again. Her default setting, I’m realizing.
“Don’t bullshit me, Lo.”
“It’s none of your business,” she says, wrestling her hands from my grip. She stands and picks up her discarded flannel. I know she’s going to bolt, so I stand between her and the door, blocking.
“The fact that you just tried to put your mouth on my dick says otherwise.” Okay. Not the best delivery, but the point stands.
“Fuck you,” she spits, trying to move around me.
“Lo. Stop.” I hold her shoulders, trying to get her to meet my eyes. “I’m just…fuck, I’m concerned for you, okay?”
“I can take care of myself,” she insists, her voice still full of steel.
“I see that. I know that,” I agree. “But it doesn’t mean no one else can give a shit.”
Her shoulders sag, and I see some of the fight leave her. I can’t fault her for being closed off. I’m the fucking king of closed off—to everyone besides her, it seems. I’m a hypocrite. It’s like the blind leading the blind, but I’m trying here. Lo sits on the couch, pulling her unbuttoned flannel to cover her chest.
“It’s complicated.”
I wait for her to continue. She rolls her eyes and exhales harshly when she realizes I’m not going to let it go.
“Eric’s someone I used to…date.” She says the word date like it tastes sour in her mouth as she picks at her black nail polish. “He was my boss. It wasn’t healthy. He was manipulative and cruel…and most of all, a liar. Everyone thought he was this stand-up guy. He had me fooled for a long time, too…” She trails off. “I didn’t like who I was with him, so I left. He thought I’d come back. I didn’t. He’s not taking it well. The end.”
My gut tells me she’s oversimplifying things—that there’s more to this story. “When he calls you, what does he say?”
“He mostly just asks me to come back. But the less interested I seem, the pushier he gets.”
“Has he ever hurt you?” I ask with more bite than intended.
“Not physically. I’m not afraid of him,” she says, avoiding a straight answer, and I narrow my eyes. “I just want him to leave me alone.” She inhales deeply. “I just want to move on, but I can’t if he keeps calling me, reminding me of my mistakes.”
I get that more than most people. So many times, I’ve thought about picking up and leaving and starting over somewhere new where no one knows the gritty details of my past, but something has kept me rooted in River’s Edge. It wasn’t until I opened my shop—that I had something to stick around for, though I could relocate if I really wanted to.
“Why not just change your number?”
“I have. This number is brand-new. I don’t know how he got it. He’s very…resourceful.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“God, no,” she say
s, horrified. “That would only make it worse. Trust me.”
We’re both quiet, neither of us knowing how to proceed. This girl. She’s beautiful and feral and confusing and messy. And that’s exactly why I need to stay away. Neither one of us has room for any more complications in our lives.
I swipe my shirt and hoodie off the floor, balling them up in my hands. “Let’s get you home.”
“Let’s get you home,” Dare says, his voice flat. I knew he’d think differently of me once I told him about Eric—and he doesn’t even know the whole story. Imagine what he’d think if he knew that Eric was also married. Is married.
I nod, tucking my hair behind my ears as I avert my eyes to hide the hurt. The shame. I’ve done a lot of fucked-up things in my life—hazard of growing up the way I did, I guess. I was taught to lie, cheat, and steal, to survive by any means necessary. But out of everything, Eric is the thing I’m most ashamed of. It’s not even the fact that he was married, though that doesn’t paint me in the best light. It’s the fact that I allowed myself to be one of those stupid fucking girls who falls for everything, as long as it comes from a pretty face.
Eric was larger than life. Successful, smart, charming, gorgeous, and completely intimidating…and he wanted me. A ghetto girl from Oakland. I was used to guys like him wanting my body for the night, but Eric…he wanted me. Forever. He preyed on my weaknesses. Preyed on the fact that I was poor and that I wanted to make a better life for Jess. Preyed on the fact that I was hungry for a better fucking life. Preyed on my love for his son, Cayden. He wanted me completely dependent on him.
His wife, Olivia, was too busy snorting pills and drinking vodka for me to ever question his lies. But I started to see Eric for who he was, and suddenly, Olivia’s behavior started to make sense to me. If I had stayed, that could’ve been my future.
The more Eric tried to control me, the more I pulled away. The money wasn’t worth it. None of it was. I stayed longer than I should have because I had this stupid notion that I was one of the only ones in Cayden’s life who even kind of had their shit together, but who was I kidding? I was the worst possible role model. In the end, I left a town that never loved me and a man who wanted to own me.
The keys on Dare’s belt loop jingle, pulling me from my thoughts. He’s sliding his T-shirt down over his head, and I can’t help but notice the way his tattooed muscles flex with the movement. The same ones I had my hands on two minutes ago, until he rejected me.
“Ready?” he asks, tossing his hoodie onto the back of his chair.
Wordlessly, I stand, following him out. When he stops to lock up, I don’t wait for him, heading straight for his truck instead. I hear the truck doors unlock as I approach. I lift one foot onto the bar and reach for the handle to hoist myself inside. I watch Dare as he moves toward me, head down, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, but when he gets into the driver’s seat, I look anywhere but at him.
I hear the truck start, and he hesitates for a minute. I can feel him looking at me, but I don’t meet his eyes. He denied me when I was on my knees for him. My ego took a blow, and I need a minute to recover from the embarrassment of the situation.
Dare huffs out a breath and starts to drive once he realizes I’m not going to budge. My knee bounces restlessly as I stare out the window. This part of town is decked out for Christmas already, all the buildings and trees glowing with lights. It’s such a difference from the city. It’s like something out of a storybook. I focus on a huge tree with color-changing lights, when I feel Dare’s hand on my knee, stopping my movements. He gives a squeeze, and this time I do meet his eyes. Their blue so bright, even under the night sky. Holding my gaze, his thumb moves back and forth, soothing. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to clamp my thighs shut. He trains his attention back on the road, but his hand stays on my leg. His fingers ghost the inside of my thigh, putting the slightest amount of pressure as he slides them up and down the thin fabric of my leggings. My breath comes out in short pants, and I feel myself clench when he gets closer to where I want him. He teases, getting close to the apex of my thighs, only to glide back down.
“Lo,” he says, his voice thick and gravelly.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to sound normal, as if I’m not all hot and bothered from his touch alone.
“Where does Henry live?”
I do my best to give him directions while he continues his ministrations, but when he grazes my pussy, I freeze. I can’t form words. What are words? I don’t know anything other than I don’t want him to stop this time. I give up trying to act like I’m not affected, my head thrown back against the headrest, gripping the door handle for dear life.
At first, his touch is feather light, but as my breathing grows harsher and my leggings grow damper, he increases pressure until he’s rubbing firm circles against my clit. “Oh God,” I breathe, unable to keep quiet any longer. I feel my nipples harden against my bralette. Every part of me is hypersensitive, ready to combust.
My eyes are screwed shut, but I sense him slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road, never faltering in his assault between my thighs. Once we’re stopped, his hand is gone for half a second before he shifts and replaces it with his left hand.
“You’re so fucking wet I can feel it on my fingers,” he rasps, like he’s somehow as affected as I am. When I open my eyes, Dare’s closer than I expected, one arm propped on the center console as he stares at the hand moving between my legs. The sight of him watching what he’s doing to me turns me on even more, and a sound somewhere between a whine and a whimper slips free.
I pull his face to mine and lick the seam of his lips. This kiss is all tongues and teeth, rough and clumsy and desperate. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, and he groans when I tug on it with my teeth. His lips trail down to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw. Dare dips his hand under the waistband of my leggings as he sucks on my earlobe. His warm fingers slip through my lips, and my back bows off the seat. Oh, holy shit, why does this feel so good?
“God, I wish this was wrapped around my cock right now,” Dare says, pushing a finger inside me. The heel of his hand presses against my clit, and I gasp as he adds a second finger, tangling a fist in his T-shirt. “Are you going to come on my hand?”
I nod repeatedly, unable to find words.
“Come for me.”
I’m holding my breath, waiting for my orgasm to wash over me when his teeth dig into my neck, biting hard before sucking away the sting. That’s all it takes for me to contract around his fingers, over and over. It’s never-ending, completely uncontrollable. Dare continues to lick and nip at my neck, shoulder, and jaw as I come down, still pulsing and completely boneless.
“Holy shit,” I breathe when I can finally form words. Slowly, Dare pulls his fingers from me, then rubs me over my leggings—I assume to clean them off—but my hips shift forward, seeking more friction.
“You’re fucking killing me, Lo.”
I lazily turn my head to look at him when I realize we’re parked on Henry’s street. It takes a minute for my brain to catch up to the fact that I never ended up telling him where he lived.
“How did you know where to go?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Your employee file,” he says, without an ounce of shame. I want to ask him why he didn’t just say that in the first place, but I decide I don’t care enough to press.
Dare cuts the engine and hops out before coming over to open my door. I right my damp pants and tighten my ponytail that has become a tangled mess. Dare helps me down, and when my feet hit the pavement, my still-weak knees almost buckle, but I recover before he notices.
It’s so quiet and dark here. The complete opposite of where I’m from. This place doesn’t even have streetlights. The upside is you can actually see the stars out here. The downside is I can’t sleep with all this…silence. Ironic, right?
We walk toward the dark-brown battered cabin with the rotted, wooden steps. Henry’s truck isn’t out front, so he must be staying
in the room above his shop. I open the front door as quietly as I can. Jess is sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world. I expect Dare to follow, hoping to finish what we started, but he hesitates in the doorway.
“Coming?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, my double meaning clear. Dare runs a hand over his mouth, indecision warring on his face.
“Fuck it.” He moves past me, and I close the door behind him.
I put a finger to my lips and whisper, “Shh,” before taking his hand and wordlessly leading him to my temporary room. I should probably be embarrassed by my setup. Most girls would. But I’ve never cared much about material things.
I expect Dare to cringe or at the very least look uncomfortable when he sees where I’m staying, but when I flip on the lamp, he doesn’t even bat an eye. Eric wouldn’t have even made it this far. He would’ve taken one look at Henry’s house and turned up his nose, insisting we get a hotel room.
But I don’t want to think about Eric. I want more of the feeling Dare gave me in his truck, and earlier at Bad Intentions. When he’s making me feel good, I’m not thinking about Eric or Jess’ school, my mom…none of it.
Going for bold, I peel down my leggings, kicking them off along with my shoes. My shirt is next, as I push the buttons through each slit. Dare watches me intently. I lift the bralette over my head, feeling my nipples harden in the cold air. Dare’s nostrils flare, and he prowls toward me, curving a hand around my waist.
His thumb comes up to trace the sore spot on my neck as his fingers curl behind my head, his eyes lighting up in a way that tells me he likes that he put his stamp on me. And I like that he likes it.
“What are you doing, Lo?” Dare asks. “I thought this couldn’t happen again, but here you are, naked, fucking taunting me. And here I am, about to break your little rule again.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just know that I want you to touch me.”
Bad Intentions (Bad Love) Page 11