Why else would I fuck Meghan in a semi-public place, without a condom? Why would I enjoy dominating her and wrestling with her and holding her down? I want all of that again. I want her mouth on my cock and my fist in her hair. I want to do a lot of dirty things to her.
In some corner of my mind, I’m aware that being aggressive with her isn’t just a natural instinct. It’s a defense mechanism. If I’m tough and hard…well, I like that, and so does she. But maybe I’m afraid to be tender. I’m afraid to open up to her and show her how I feel. I can’t tell her the truth—that I love her, and I always have.
The only thing I can do is fuck her.
“Did you see Matthew?” I ask, trying to refocus.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll fire me?”
“For fighting? I didn’t tell him.”
He’ll know when I show my face at work tomorrow. Then I’ll have to cut out early to meet Omar. I can’t tell Matthew why I have to leave or where I’m going. Chances are good I won’t have a job at Fine Ink when the dust settles.
“Noah’s sorry he hit you.”
“Right,” I scoff, fingering the bandage on my eyebrow again. He’s sorry he didn’t knock my ass out.
“April was upset, and you know he’ll do anything for her.”
I can’t argue that. I admire him for it, actually. Back in the day I used to make fun of guys who got hung up on their girlfriends. I thought they were suckers, handing over their balls. Now I realize that I was the stupid one. There’s nothing unmanly about wanting to keep your woman happy. It’s a strength, not a weakness.
I wish I could have that kind of relationship with Meghan. I’d stare at her in public and not give a damn if I looked whipped. I’d make sure she was well satisfied and well protected. I’d never disrespect her in front of my friends.
And I wouldn’t hide the fact that I’m crazy in love with her.
She closes the distance between us, twining her arms around my neck. I like the way she fits against me. I can’t imagine why she wants to be here, but it feels good. It feels right. “There’s a bright side to you getting kicked out,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“We don’t have to sneak around anymore.”
I dip my head to nuzzle her ear, murmuring my agreement. She smells nice, like apple-scented shampoo.
“What are you going to do about your car?”
Damn. I thought we were done talking. I slide my hands underneath her skirt in an attempt to distract her. She’s wearing regular cotton panties. Good-girl panties. I inhale a sharp breath, struck by a fantasy I didn’t know I had.
“Is it finished?” she says, bracing her palms on my chest.
“Almost.”
“Can I see it?”
“Why, do you want me to fuck you on it?”
Her eyes flash with hurt. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Act so hard.”
I capture one of her hands and bring it to my fly. My flesh leaps at her touch, throbbing with heat and life. “I thought you liked me hard.”
She doesn’t pull away or gasp in outrage. She just nibbles on her lower lip and molds her fingers around me. “I like that. I won’t pretend I don’t.” Her other hand flattens over my heart. “But this is what I love.”
Damn her.
Now she’s playing dirty. I feel utterly defenseless, assaulted by emotions. And I’m still aroused, despite my trepidation. I’m pretty sure I can shut her up with a good fuck, maybe even a light spanking. My blood roars at the thought of pulling down her sweet little panties and punishing her a little. For challenging me. For seeing through my bullshit. For driving me crazy.
But instead of tossing her on the bed, I gather my self-control and move her hands away. She thinks she’s in love with me. I know I’m in love with her. Before I touch her again, I have to be honest about what she’s getting into.
“I can’t change who I am,” I say.
“I’m not asking you to.”
“You’ve always seen someone better. Someone special. That’s the person you expect me to be.”
She smooths the bandage on my brow, her face troubled. “I see you, Eric. Just you.”
I put distance between us, frustrated by my inability to explain. She doesn’t get it, because she hasn’t walked in my shoes. She hasn’t sold drugs to kids or lived in a prison cell. No one’s ever put a gun to her head. “You don’t see the worst in me. You see the artist, not the criminal.”
“Isn’t that who you want to be?”
“Yes, but it’s not a matter of choice. They’re both me. One doesn’t exist without the other.”
Her lips twist with emotion. “You can choose not to live in the past.”
“I have a felony record. If you think that’s never going to be an issue in the future, you’re kidding yourself.”
“I can’t be optimistic?”
“Just be realistic. I know what I can give you and what I can’t. If you’re looking for a hot time in bed, okay. If you’re looking for a steady boyfriend you can take home to Grover’s Corners—”
“Cedar Glen,” she corrects.
“Whatever. I’m not that guy. I can’t offer you stability or security or anything else. I’m never going to be someone your family approves of.”
“April and Jenny are my family, and they approve of you.”
“They’re biased.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“I’m telling it like it is!”
“Actually, you’re avoiding the fucking question. What are you going to do with the car? Can you sell it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I rub a hand over my mouth, deliberating. “I have another plan.”
She makes an impatient gesture. “Which is?”
“I can’t give you the details.”
“Because it’s illegal? Dangerous? Stupid?”
I shrug, noncommittal.
“Ugh,” she says, her fists clenched. “You’re so aggravating! We could just go to my brother and ask him for help.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I’d rather give up my Chevelle without a compromise than involve the cops. The number one rule on the street is to keep your mouth shut. Number two is to handle your own problems. “I have to do it my way.”
“Does that mean violence?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t want to fight anyone ever again. If I can’t make a deal, I’ll walk away.”
I’ll try to walk away.
“What about us?” she asks.
I’m afraid to jinx myself by getting my hopes up and imagining us together. She said she loved me three years ago, right before I went to prison and broke her heart. The noble thing to do now would be to set my feelings aside and leave her alone.
But I won’t do that, because I’m not noble. I’m nowhere near as good as she thinks I am. I can’t let her go without taking her again. I might not allow myself to accept her love, but everything else is mine. Her body is mine. Her mouth is mine. Everything I can touch, every part of her I can claim, every inch of her skin…mine.
“I told you what I could give you.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No?”
“You say you have two sides, so show me both. I want all of you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
Her request is confusing and arousing. I don’t know how to be an artist in bed. Although I’m not sure I can deliver, I can’t bring myself to turn her down, either. The thought of fucking her both ways appeals to me. Fast and rough, then slow and tender. Or maybe the reverse. Whatever. As long as I make her come, she won’t complain.
I lift my hand to her face, rubbing my thumb over her lips. She parts them sweetly, her eyes half-lidded. I smother a groan as she closes her mouth around me. I slide my thumb in and out, imagining it’s my cock. Then I remove it and trace the wet seam of her lips. When she moans, I bury my hand in her hair
and follow the same path with my tongue, giving her a shallow, open-mouthed kiss. I want to eat her pussy this way, in teasing tastes.
“Take off your panties,” I say, biting her lip.
Her gaze darkens at my order. But she reaches underneath her skirt to remove her demure white panties. Then I take her mouth again, cupping her naked ass. She kisses me back eagerly, on board with whatever I want to do to her.
Jesus.
The urge to unbutton my pants and rail her against the countertop is almost overwhelming, but I know I’ll come in two minutes, like last time. The feel of her slick heat around my bare cock undid me.
I have to slow down. Get her off first.
Breaking the kiss, I inch her dress up her thighs and pull it over her head. Then I fumble with her bra, which is black lace and doesn’t match those schoolgirl panties at all. I like that. The delicious mix of innocence and experience.
I also like her gorgeous tits, full and pink-tipped. I like the contrast of her nude form against my fully clothed one. It makes me feel powerful and in control. She’s bare and vulnerable. I’m the aggressor, ready to master her body.
This idea gives rise to another, even darker one. There’s a stretchy bit of elastic on the bed that was wrapped around the sleeping bag. I pick it up and secure her wrists together. Her eyes widen in shock and a pulse flutters at the base of her neck.
But she doesn’t say no.
I lift her onto the countertop, buck-naked, wrists bound. Then I raise her arms over her head and loop them over the knob on an upper cabinet. She stays in that position, her breasts quivering with anticipation.
Damn.
The sight of her restrained and at my mercy is a huge turn-on. Maybe I shouldn’t want to do something like this to her, but the illicit thrill is part of the draw. It’s another fantasy I didn’t know I had, another irresistible risk to take. She looks flushed and aroused, squirming with anticipation. I’m hard as a rock. My blood sings with adrenaline, as if I’m tagging her. I’m claiming this territory.
I take off my shirt because I’m getting hot. Like, really hot. Then I put my hands on her knees and part her thighs. She’s wet between them, glistening for me. I cup her pretty tits and pinch her nipples, making her gasp. I’m hungry for a taste of that sweet pussy, so I sink to my knees before her. I used to think going down on a girl wasn’t firme. As if real men only get head, they don’t give it.
Stupid.
I lick the inside of her thigh and she whimpers. Making her beg is firme. I kiss her pussy lips and suck on her swollen clit. Then I fuck her with my fingers. She’s slippery-hot, soaked with desire. I think she needs to come, really bad.
So do I.
I stand up and unbutton my pants, wiping my mouth. She stares at my cock as if it’s a delicious treat and she’s starving. Although I’m not huge or anything, I’m above average, and it’s obvious that she likes what I’ve got. She wants it. I stroke myself slowly while she watches, mesmerized.
“You like sucking my cock?”
Her eyes are smoky, sort of sex-glazed. “Yes.”
“Do you like it when I eat your pussy?”
She moans, arching her spine.
I fist my hand in her hair. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
I crush my mouth over hers, kissing her hotly. I was going to toy with her and get her off a few times before I put my cock in her, but I can’t wait. Reaching up to unsnag her wrists from the cabinet knob, I move her from the countertop to the bed. She lays there with her arms stretched over her head and her legs spread wide, thighs trembling.
Jesus.
My hands shake as I put on a condom. I won’t last two seconds inside her slick pussy without one. She bites down on her lower lip as I roll it over my aching shaft.
“Hurry,” she says, breathless.
I cover her mouth again as I thrust inside her. She cries out in pleasure and I feel a moment of panic. I’m too close, even with the damned condom on. She’s too fucking sexy. Instead of banging away at her, I straighten to my knees. She stays on her back, panting for me. I lick my thumb and place it over her clit. She digs her heels into the mattress, thrashing her head back and forth. I keep working her in slow circles, petting her slippery bead. Then she clenches her stomach and screams.
Her pussy grips me like a wet fist. So tight. Fuck.
Everything is a blur after that. I grip her hips and use her hard, driving deep, pounding her into the mattress. I’m worried that the bed will break and the trailer will come crashing down, unable to support us. Then I’m too far gone to worry.
I kiss her and love her and fuck her, fuck her. I thrust all the way to the hilt and shudder, exploding deep inside her.
When it’s over, I get rid of the condom and unwrap the elastic around her wrists. I don’t know if what I did to her was artistic or not, but I got pretty creative. I curl up next to her, drawing her into my arms. Now she smells like sex and vanilla. I nuzzle the back of her neck and cup her perfect breast.
I fall asleep, just like that, close to heaven.
Chapter 29
Meghan
I wake at dawn, in Eric’s arms.
His lips brush my bare shoulder, feather-light. Then he scoots away from me and rises from the bed. I stay in the cozy cocoon of the sleeping bag, admiring his tight butt as he pulls on a pair of jeans. They ride low on his hips, unbuttoned. Not bothering with a shirt or shoes, he leaves the trailer.
Although my bladder tells me it’s time to get up, I’m still tired from last night. I feel deliciously well used, and a little embarrassed by my lack of inhibitions. He said and did such dirty things to me—and I couldn’t get enough. Instead of shying away from him, I responded eagerly, begging for more.
My cheeks heat at the memory. I think he’ll continue to push my boundaries, if I let him. I’ll probably like it.
He returns to the trailer with his pants half-buttoned, his skin prickled from the cool morning air. I sit up in bed and the sleeping bag falls to my waist. His eyes darken at the sight of my bare breasts.
“I have to pee,” I say, ruining the mood.
He picks up my dress from the floor. “Scrappy should be here soon anyway.”
I guess that means I have to go. I crawl out of bed and put on my clothes before I duck into the bathroom. He brought in a bucket of water to fill up the toilet tank just so I could use it. When I come out, he’s wearing his shirt. I lean against the countertop and watch him lace up his work boots.
Last night I asked him to show me his true self and not hide behind those hard edges. He did that, to some extent, but playing out a sexual fantasy isn’t the same as opening up on an emotional level. He hasn’t told me how he feels about me or made any plans for the future. Nothing is settled between us.
We walk out of the trailer together, into the early morning light. When he tries to kiss me, I brace my palms on his chest and turn my head to the side. His brows draw together in confusion. Jenny makes the same expression. It’s adorable on her, too.
“What’s wrong?”
I glance across the deserted junkyard, unsure of myself. I’m worried that he’s going to break my heart again, mostly. I’m worried that he’s ruined me for other men. I’m worried that I’ll never get through to him, never build a lasting relationship with him, never find anyone else like him.
Maybe we’re doomed, like the couple from the volcano story.
“Will you show me your car?” I ask.
He can’t say no to such a simple request, so he takes me by the hand and leads me down the rows of cars. The junkyard looks sort of post-apocalyptic in the dawn light, scattered with the skeletons of abandoned vehicles. I search the area for the beat-up clunker he was so fond of, but I don’t see it.
Then he stops in front of a car that looks pretty decent, and I realize that it’s his Chevelle. “Oh my God,” I say, shocked by the transformation.
Back in the day, Eric’s car was his pride and joy. Even I thought it was coo
l, and I’m not into vintage muscle cars. It was classic and tough but not too fancy for daily driving. Now it’s road-ready again, in good shape.
“Is it finished?”
“Not quite,” he says, smoothing his palm along the hood. It’s newly painted, gray with two broad black stripes to match the original. He obviously put a ton of work into the rebuild. His blood, sweat, and tears, like he said. And when I study his face, I see more than pride. There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“I thought you weren’t going to give it up.”
“I’m not going to give it to Omar,” he says.
“Then who?”
He shrugs, avoiding my gaze.
It doesn’t matter that he’s being evasive because the answer hits me in a flash of intuition. “The girlfriend. You’re giving it to her.”
“She needs a car.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
My stomach drops to my toes and I stumble backward in dismay. “You went to see her again?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he says, grabbing my arm to steady me. “I haven’t slept with her since I first got out.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“I lied.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His gaze becomes shuttered and he releases me. “Believe whatever you want.”
“Why would you lie? Just to hurt me?”
“Of course not. I lied to keep you at a distance.”
I stare at him, my heart in my throat. He’s telling the truth now, and I hate him for it. “You dick,” I say, hitting his shoulder. “You made me cry that night! I imagined you with her, and it tore me up inside!”
“Would you rather I fucked her, or lied about fucking her?”
I can’t answer. I’m too wrecked by the idea of him giving his prized possession to another girl—when he can’t even be straight with me. Suddenly the car seems very sentimental indeed. I had my first orgasm in the front seat. I fell in love with him in this car. And here I am, right back in that vulnerable place.
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