by Megan Hart
“Everything,” Niall said.
I took his face in my hands until he looked into my eyes. “Listen to me, because I’m not going to repeat myself again. Four years ago I was crazy mad in love with a guy I loved too much. Three months ago, I was with a man I didn’t love enough. But you, Niall…you, I love just right. I love being with you. Not just fucking you, but being with you. When I’m with you, I feel complete. Now stop your arguing and fretting and accept the fact that me and you, baby, we’re like salt and pepper. Wherever we go, we’re gonna be together.”
“I do kind of like it when you talk to me like that,” he said with a grin and a waggle of his brows. “All stern, like a pissed-off librarian.”
I laughed. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Now make love to me,” I told him.
Niall grinned and nodded, heat flaring in his gaze, and as with everything else he’d ever given me, his answer was just right. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * * * *
AUTHOR SONG LIST
I could write without music, but I’m so glad I don’t have to. Below is a partial list of the songs I listened to while writing Vanilla. Please support the artists by buying their music.
“In My Veins” —Andrew Belle (featuring Erin McCarley)
“One Heart Missing” —Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
“Stars” —Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
“Wasting All These Tears” —Cassadee Pope
“Near to You” —A Fine Frenzy
“Use Somebody” —Laura Jansen
“Maybe” —Lily Kershaw
“Over You” —Ingrid Michaelson (featuring A Great Big World)
“Nicotine” —Panic! at the Disco
“1000 Times” —Sara Bareilles
“Silence & Scars” —Pop Evil
“Cry to Me” —Solomon Burke
“All of Me” —John Legend
“Maybe” —Ingrid Michaelson
If you enjoyed this story, don’t miss New York Times bestselling author Megan Hart’s Hold Me Close, available now. Keep reading for a sneak peek!
CHAPTER ONE
Smooth, smooth skin, warm beneath her fingertips. The scent of him surrounded her—cigarettes, fabric softener, the faint-est hint of cologne that smelled as though he’d splashed it on days ago. That familiar tang of sweat. He would taste of salt and liquor and something sweet and indescribable. She knew this man inside and out. There had been times over the years when she’d been certain she would never touch him again. She shouldn’t touch him now, but she did it anyway, because not touching Heath would’ve been worse than turning away.
He shivered when she drew a fingertip up the hardness of his belly muscles to circle one dark brown nipple. He always shook when she touched him like this. Trembled and moaned, that mouth open just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his teeth and tongue before he pressed his lips closed. Embar-rassed. He was always discomfited at his reactions, just as Effie was always aroused by them.
She murmured his name until he focused on her, his pupils so dilated that his pale green eyes had gone almost black. She pinched his nipple lightly, never looking away from his gaze. She pinched harder as his mouth opened on another moan. When she leaned to kiss him, Heath’s hand went to the back of her neck so his fingers tangled and tugged in her hair. She sucked his tongue gently, then more fiercely until he opened for her. Then she broke the kiss but didn’t withdraw. Their lips brushed as she whispered again, soft, low, filthy words of love.
She breathed his air. They didn’t move, not for some long moments, while beneath her now-f lattened palm, Heath’s heart thudded faster and faster. His fingers snarled deeper into the length of her hair, pulling it from the loose bun so it fell over her shoulders and halfway down her back.
“Say it,” Effie breathed.
Heath said nothing, but his grip tightened. It hurt. Effie couldn’t hold back a tiny gasp when he tugged her head back, but that pain, oh, yes, she wanted more. Her fingers curled over his heart, digging into his skin. Harder. Deeper.
“Say it,” Effie repeated. “Tell me you want to fuck my mouth, Heath. Tell me to get on my knees and take your cock down the back of my throat. I know you want it. Say it!”
His lips pressed closed, thinning. She pushed away from him, but he didn’t let go of his fist in her hair, and she gasped again. Louder this time. Her nipples had gone tight and aching; her cunt clenched at the stinging throb in her scalp.
She slapped his face. Once, hard. When she tried again, Heath caught her wrist. His strong fingers ground her small bones against one another. With one hand on her wrist and the other still locked in her hair, Heath held her in place as she struggled.
Effie snapped her teeth at him. “Say. It.”
“You want my cock.” Heath submitted, finally, in that low and rasping voice that had more than once been enough to send her hurtling over the edge into orgasm. “You want to get on your fucking knees for me and suck me dry? Is that what you want?”
Now she wouldn’t say it, would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that yes, yes, oh God yes, it was what she’d been thinking about all day. All this week and all the endless ones before it, too. Months. Every night and every morning without him, until she’d been unable to stop herself from calling him to come over.
He would have to take it from her, that admission. Slap it out of her. Fuck it out of her. That’s how it was with them, and she loved that as much as she hated it. Probably because she hated it so much.
Effie fought him, but Heath held her so tight she couldn’t even twist in his grip. Slowly, he drew her closer until his mouth grazed hers. She bit his lower lip, catching it between her teeth and pulling until he jerked her head back. She tasted blood, but she’d barely left a mark on him.
Breathing hard, Effie slowed her struggles at the sight of Heath’s face. His tongue crept out to swipe along the wound she’d left—maybe she couldn’t see the evidence of her teeth, but she was sure Heath could feel it. The thought that she’d hurt him sent a wave of gut-punching heat through her. Her hips rocked a little before she made herself go immobile again. Silent and challenging.
Without letting go of her wrist or her hair, Heath pushed her down, down, onto her knees, and Effie closed her eyes as she resisted. He was stronger than she was. Always had been. She went to her knees in front of him with her head tipped back and the pain arcing through her as hot and electric as pleasure, so little difference between the sensations that she could not have said which she was actually feeling. Everything was tangled up, knotted and twisted, one feeling useless without the other.
Heath kept his grip on her wrist but let go of her hair so he could tug open the button and zipper on his jeans. His fingers fumbled and faltered as he managed to get his cock out. Thick and long, glistening at the head with clear, sweet pre-come… Oh, God, how Effie loved his cock.
She closed her eyes and whispered the words once more. “Say it.”
“I want to fuck your mouth, Effie.”
She cried out, low and aching. Her head fell back again, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. Heath, her Heath. He stroked his length up and down, then held himself at the base and dragged his cock along her lips until she opened for him. She took him deep, all the way, letting her throat muscles go lax.
Nothing mattered but this. The taste of him. The feeling of his flesh against hers, her lips stretched wide to take him in, the clutch of both his hands on the sides of her head, forcing her to let him do exactly what she’d ordered him to say. To fuck her mouth, slow and deep, then faster until her teeth grazed him and he wrenched her head back again to stare down at her with that open mouth.
His open. Fucking. Mouth.
Heath’s mouth made her crazy with longing. She wanted him to kiss her. To eat her alive and spit her out. To say her name th
e way he said it now, full of warning and that softness more dangerous than any threat. The sound of his love for her.
It hurt worse than anything ever could, that sound. It made it impossible for her to pretend he was just another man. It made it unimaginable for her to remember that there had ever been anyone for her but Heath.
Effie opened her mouth, unvoiced, offering herself to him. She’d begged him in the past, more than once. She might do it again now, if demanding didn’t work.
Once more, Heath drew his cock along her mouth. Her lower lip. The upper. He eased the hot, thick flesh inside, then out before she could take more than the smallest taste, and at this denial, Effie moaned.
“You want it.” His voice, deep. Hard. And somehow, always, always with the tiniest hint of wonder, as though he couldn’t believe she was doing this.
That doubt made her hate him.
He must’ve seen it in her face, because his expression hardened. So did his grasp in her hair again. When she didn’t wince or cry out, Heath pulled harder.
“You want it,” he repeated.
“Yes. Fuck my mouth. Let me taste you. I want…” She lost her words. There was only that pleasure-pain. Only oblivion.
Heath pushed himself inside her mouth, then withdrew. He did it again. Effie lost herself in the leisurely rhythm of it. When he pulled her off his cock, she murmured a protest.
“I want you,” Heath said.
You have me, Effie thought but didn’t say aloud. You will always have me.
She got to her feet and turned as he pushed her dress up over her hips. Heath hooked her panties down over her ass and thighs, then off. He kicked her feet wide as he pushed her forward over the back of the couch, one strong hand at the nape of her neck. The other guided his cock inside her. She cried out again at the forbidden stroke of his bare heat inside her.
Heath was always risk and danger.
He was always her safe harbor.
“Tell me how much you love fucking me,” he said.
Effie stretched out her arms and pressed her cheek to the backs of the cushions. She gripped the couch. She tilted her ass to urge him to fuck deeper inside her, deep enough to hurt.
“I love you fucking me.”
Heath’s fingers dug into the scant flesh above her hips. He would leave marks she’d have to explain away. Or maybe not. Maybe Effie wouldn’t say a word; she’d simply let the bruises speak for themselves.
“Touch yourself.” Heath spoke on a grunt.
Her hand slid between her legs, fingers finding her clit and rubbing, rubbing as he moved inside her. She would come from this, or from his thrusts, or from nothing but the thought of fucking him. That had happened, too. The pressure and slickness of her fingertips pushed her closer to orgasm. Faster, too, matching Heath’s pace. The sound of his breathing and the quickness of his pace told her he was close. Effie stopped her circling touch.
Heath wasn’t having any of that. He slapped her ass, a sharp, stinging crack. “You’re going to come for me, Effie.”
She wanted to come. She might not, in fact, be able to stop herself from it. They both knew it, though she sometimes wondered if Heath doubted the inevitability of her orgasms the way he doubted her love. She kind of hated him for that, too, for being unsure that he was getting her off even as he got closer and closer to coming himself.
He slapped her ass again, harder this time. More bruises. The thought of dark purple and blue fading to green and yellow on her pale skin, that was what bucked her hips forward. Pushed her clit into her touch. That’s what, in the end, made her come with a harsh and rasping cry. She shook with the ecstasy, was made blind with it.
Heath pulled out. Wet heat slapped her buttocks and lower back. It would stain her dress. She didn’t care.
“Effie, Effie, Effie,” Heath cried. “I love you.”
That was the thing about love, though, wasn’t it? When you loved somebody, you wanted to give them everything you could. You wanted what was best for them, no matter what. You wanted them to move beyond what was awful and terrible, beyond anything that had ever hurt them. She would never be able to do that for him, nor he for her. They would forever and always be a reminder to each other of all the things Effie wanted them both to be able to forget.
So, although she knew he was waiting for her to say it back to him, Effie only listened.
Copyright © 2015 by Megan Hart
Hold Me Close—available now!
ISBN-13: 9780369705044
All the Things We Need
First published as Vanilla in 2015. This edition published in 2020.
Copyright © 2015 by Megan Hart
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