But the fact is, even though this house was a refuge to me as a child, it now means something else to me. Moving into this house meant accepting the loss of my dreams. Accepting that I’m broken. That my life has to be different because of that.
Maybe leaving everything just the way it was when Aunt Jeanne was alive has been a way to pretend that this is all temporary — that this isn’t my life. Maybe subconsciously, I’ve been keeping it this way so that I can make believe I’m just visiting, like I used to do as a kid. I can pretend that someday soon, it will be time to spread my wings and fly. Time to go start living the life I always assumed I would have. As Victoria Lowe, the world-traveling foreign correspondent. Not Tori Lowe, resident of Ironwood, Ohio. Writer of stories about small-town psychics, and aspiring cat lady, except without the cats.
Absently, I wander over to the big bay window. This space has always bugged me. Aunt Jeanne put two spindly chairs here, on either side of a tiny tea table. The chairs themselves look like they would hardly support the weight of a full-sized adult. I’ve never sat on them in my life. It seems a shame to have them over here, with such a nice view through the window to the outside.
I pick up one of the two spindly chairs and move it over against the far wall in the back of the room. Then I do the same to the other chair, and the table itself. Finally, I go over to the not-too-uncomfortable fainting couch that’s stationed at the opposite corner, and drag it, shuffling, until it’s where the table and chairs were.
The late afternoon sunlight glows dappled through the trees, onto the stripy, dark red fabric of the fainting couch.
There. A place for me to read in the sun.
I take a floor lamp from over by the fireplace and put it next to the fainting couch, for better light on non-sunny days. I do a critical sweep of the room with my eyes, and almost without meaning to start picking up knickknacks. Soon my hands are full, and I have to go to the kitchen pantry to find a cardboard box to put them in. I bring the box back into the living room and fill it up with things. My breathing reflexively starts to deepen, as though the action of decluttering gives me more space to inhale and exhale.
When the box is full, I put it in the hallway, just inside the front door.
The large overstuffed couch is next. It’s flush against the back wall, far away from the fireplace. It should be more in the center of the room, which would be so much cozier. I go over and slide the coffee table away, then pick up one end of the couch and try to lift it over the edge of the large area rug. The couch is heavier than I thought, though. Even using all my strength, I can barely lift it up more than a couple of inches. I shuffle-walk a foot or so, then practically drop the thing. I’m already breathing heavily, my heart beating a little faster from the effort.
“Need some help with that?”
I shriek and spin around to find Dante standing in the doorway. He raises a brow.
“Shit, you’re skittish,” he remarks.
“You just… startled me,” I choke out. “I kind of forgot you were here.” I clutch at my heart and focus on its erratic pounding for a few seconds, checking for signs that it’s slowing or speeding up even as I struggle to act normal in front of Dante.
“I heard thumping around up here.” He nods toward the couch. “Want me to move that for you?”
I open my mouth to refuse. But then think better of it. I don’t love asking for help from anyone, but the fact is that moving this couch is really a two-person job. “I’m trying to move it to the center of the room,” I say, pulling my hand away from my chest to point. “In front of the fireplace.”
He nods. “That’s a better place for it.”
I take a deep breath, noting that my heart is starting to slow. I should probably wait a little longer just to make sure, but I don’t want to tell Dante why, so I move over to the other side of the couch and prepare to lift up my end.
“Nah, I got it,” he says, waving me off. I start to protest, but he easily lifts the other end of the couch, pivots the whole thing so that end is where I want it, then comes to ‘my’ end and does the same thing. I may or may not spend the entire time watching his arm and back muscles ripple under his shirt.
In five seconds, the couch is exactly where I want it to be.
“You want the coffee table in front of it?” he asks, striding over to it and catching it up before I can reply. He puts it in place. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Dante comes over to where I’m standing. “Don’t mention it. Ask next time.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Dante stands in front of me, arms crossed, not talking. His eyes are locked on mine. He doesn’t say anything for so long, it starts to feel awkward.
“So…” I murmur, reddening. “It was nice to meet your brother the other day. Dominic?”
“Yeah,” he grunts. His brow furrows.
“Has he always been in transportation?”
Dante snorts. “No. He hasn’t.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s gonna try to make a go of it, though. I got him some business with the club, so at least he won’t starve while he’s getting on his feet.”
“The club needs refrigerated transport?” I ask, confused.
It’s an honest question, but for some reason it seems to bother Dante.
“You got anything else you want me to move?” he murmurs, changing the subject.
“No. That’s it.” My eyes leave his face and travel upward. “You have cobweb in your hair.”
Dante frowns, and runs a hand across the top of his head, but misses the cobweb.
“It’s right there,” I say, pointing to the side of my head.
He uses me like I’m his mirror, moving his hand and brushing at his hair, but missing it again.
“No,” I shake my head “Here, let me.”
I step closer, and reach up to brush it out myself. My fingers graze his as I sweep the web from his dark locks. I jolt a little at the contact of his skin with mine.
His hair is soft. The only soft thing about him, as far as I can tell.
I resist the urge to run my fingers through it.
I realize I’m closer to him than I thought. I had to step close to reach up for the cobweb, because he’s so tall. My eyes come up to his chin. I’m near enough to see the individual hairs of his short beard.
His lips are right there. One corner of his mouth is lifted just slightly, in the start to a smile or a smirk — I can’t tell which.
And I realize his hair isn’t the only thing that might feel soft.
“There,” I half-whisper. “All gone.”
I start to pull my hand back, but Dante reaches out and catches hold of my wrist.
“You need help with anything else?” he asks me. He sounds different. His voice is lower. Thicker. He’s close enough that it feels like it’s rumbling through my chest cavity.
“You already asked me that,” I say, hearing the hitch in my throat.
“No, I didn’t.” His voice shifts even lower. “I asked you if you wanted me to move anything else.”
I swallow.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I stammer.
“Then maybe we should stop talking,” he says, and his mouth finds mine.
His lips are soft, is the last coherent thought I have. His mouth is insistent, hungry, like he’s been waiting to do this for a while. And like he isn’t going to stop unless I tell him to.
I’m not going to tell him to.
His hand is in my hair. His other arm slips around my waist to draw me to him. He’s hard. Really hard. I moan before I even realize I’m doing it. His mouth and tongue are punishing mine, and it’s so delicious it feels like I’ve never been kissed before now, and I haven’t, not like this. This is something different. It’s like air, or food, or water, or all three at the same time. This is something I need. Dear God, whatever he’s doing to me right now, please don’t ever let him stop.
My heart is thumping now, pounding hard in my
chest, but not in the weird, erratic way it does when I start to have an episode. More like it’s trying to get my attention, jumping up and down to tell me, Wow, keep doing more of this! Which it doesn’t even have to do because, hello, for once my heart and I are in total agreement.
Dante presses me back against the wall. His kiss deepens as he pulls me closer, lifting me up, until I’m pressed against the hard length of him. Immediately, my body reacts, a fire beginning between my legs that threatens to consume me. My hands reach up and then they’re in his hair, fisting, pulling him closer, and we’re kissing each other like the world’s ending, like there’s nothing more for us except each other. I moan again, and in answer a deep, tortured groan rips from Dante’s throat.
Then, suddenly, his lips are gone.
He pulls away, breaking the kiss. My mind shouts, no! But I manage not to scream it out loud.
My chest is rising and falling rapidly. I’m confused, and dizzy, and every cell in my body just wants to go back to three seconds ago. I don’t know what’s happened to make him stop.
“You come in hot, don’t you?” I pant. I try to make it sound like a joke, but even I can hear the whine of need in my voice.
“I’ve tried not to. I swear to God I have.” His black eyes find mine. “I’ve been trying like hell to ignore you, Tori.”
“Why?” I gasp.
For a second, he says nothing. I hear his ragged breathing. His hand still tangled in my hair, he tilts my face up toward his. He looks almost angry.
“Because you’re more than I can handle.”
That’s the last thing I would have expected him to say.
“I’m more than… you… can handle?” I repeat dumbly.
“I’m not the relationship type. I’m not the ‘take me home to meet your parents’ type. Hell, I’m not even the ‘remember your name afterwards’ type,” he says hoarsely. “So I’ve been trying to stay away from you. Because you are definitely the ‘take her home to meet the family’ type.”
I’m confused. I don’t know if he’s saying he’s going to fuck me and ditch me, or that he’s not. But right now, I’m too desperate for him to let him go. All I want is right now. I want him to take me. Use me. Give me everything I’ve fantasized about him doing to me since the first day I met him.
“So what?” I challenge, my breath hitching.
“Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He blinks. Something flashes in his face that looks almost like agony.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
His hand leaves my hair. Both arms slide down to my ass. He pulls me hard against him, wrapping my legs around his waist. The steel of his erection presses against my core even harder, setting me ablaze. His fingers grip me roughly, painfully.
“Buckle up,” Dante growls against my throat, his beard rashing my skin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Tori. I’ve been holding myself back for too long now. You don’t know what you’ve just unleashed.”
16
Dante
I don’t even know how the fuck this started. One second, I was moving her damn couch, concentrating on keeping my cock from going to full-mast, like I usually do when I’m around Tori.
Next thing I know, my fist is in her hair and my tongue is halfway down her goddamn throat.
When I manage to pull away for a second, I know the only thing that’s going to slow this runaway train is her.
“Tell me to stop,” I demand.
Tell me to stop, Tori. Give me no choice, so I’ll have to let you go.
“No.” Her eyes flash, lust and defiance intertwined.
That’s when I know.
I’m fucking lost.
I back her up against the wall, then I grab her ass and pull her hard against my cock, stifling a groan at the contact. Jesus, I’ve been dreaming about this for so damn long. I’ve jacked off countless times by now, thinking about what she’d feel like — what it would be like to sink myself inside her. My dick is throbbing so hard I’m afraid I’m gonna lose control before I even start with her.
“Tori,” I murmur against her lips.
Hearing me say her name seems to unlock something inside her. Panting, she starts to roll her hips against my cock, grinding against me with a breathy moan as she slips her arms around my neck. She holds on tight, for dear life, and kisses me back eagerly, thirstily. God, her mouth tastes so sweet. I want to taste every inch of her skin, lick her, suck her, fuck her until there’s no part of her body my mouth hasn’t claimed.
Tori’s body takes control, her hips continuing to grind against me. I can feel the heat and wetness of her even through my jeans. It’s torture, the pressure and the movement of her, so good I’m pretty sure I could come just like this and be happy. But I’m a greedy son of a bitch and I want more. I don’t know if this is the only time Tori and I will fuck, but I want to taste and know every inch of her so I’m gonna act like it is.
I press her against the wall and grind right back, my cock pulsing with the pleasure of it. One hand leaves her ass and slides under her shirt to her bra, which thank Christ I manage to undo even though I barely have enough blood left in my brain to think straight. When I rub the pad of my thumb against one already hard nipple, the loud whimper she lets out in response is the sexiest fucking noise I’ve ever heard. Her back arches into my hand, wanting more. Jesus Christ, this woman. I want to be fucking her and licking her and kissing her all at the same time. She’s making me crazy. It’s goddamn painful. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Somehow, we’re on the floor. Our legs are tangled and she’s still writhing against my cock underneath me. I lift my face from hers just long enough to look at her for a second. Her head’s tilted back, the skin of her cheeks flushed. Her lips are swollen and plump, bruised from my assault. Her eyelids are fluttering even though they’re closed.
I see the pulse of her heartbeat at her neck. It’s racing as fast as my own. I kiss it.
My throat aches with something I can’t name as I reach down and pull the tank top she’s wearing up and off of her. Wordlessly, she opens her eyes and lifts her arms to help me.
I lower my face to her breasts, sucking one stiff pink nipple into my mouth. Tori gasps and threads her fingers into my hair, arching herself toward my mouth. Her hips roll and strain toward me, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. I lick and tease first one pink bud and then the other, loving the sound of her whimpers as they change to whines, and then to flat out desperate moans as I leave them. The hand that’s in my hair tries to keep me there, until she realizes I’m on my way downward. Her body freezes for a second, her moan turning to a gasp.
I wait for her to stop me when I reach to undo her jeans, but she doesn’t.
The fabric is soft and worn, and I consider ripping them right the fuck off her. But Tori lifts her hips to help me, so they come off easily enough. I tear my own shirt off and kick off my jeans, and then I’m between her thighs, my hands gripping her ass again as I pull her in toward my face.
The first lick makes her cry out and strain toward my mouth. She’s close. So close I have to work to make it last. Even though I want it all, right now. I lick again, sliding my tongue against her entrance and then around her clit. She’s incredibly wet, delicious and sweet. Her fingers tighten in my hair. Her legs fall further open, her hips thrusting toward my tongue. I slide two fingers inside her, her juices coating me as she clenches around them. My cock fucking aches to take their place.
Tori’s thighs are trembling around me, her muscles tensing with need. She’s ready, and I hesitate for a second whether to make her wait, but in the end I can’t fucking stand it anymore. I crook my fingers inside her, stroking to find what I’m looking for, and I’m rewarded when she freezes and lets out a guttural sound of surprise that tells me maybe she doesn’t know about this spot on her body yet. Her hips start to buck, and I stop holding back, licking her deeper, faster, sucking her clit between my lips, and then, just as I feel
her tighten and tense, I flick my tongue against her one final time and she explodes, screaming and shaking, her whole body jerking. I keep sucking and licking until her the tone of her cries shifts and I know to stop. Half-blind with lust, I pull myself up to my knees and grab at my jeans until I find the condom in my wallet. I get it on with shaking fingers and then grab her hips and pull her to me, sheathing myself inside her up to the hilt.
Holy fuck.
I’ve never felt anything half as good as Tori’s tight, hot pussy around my pulsing cock.
I hear myself growl something that doesn’t sound like words, and then I’m thrusting as hard and fast as I can. This train has left the station and there’s no brakes on the fucking thing. I lift my eyes to look at Tori — her fucking beautiful tits, her long neck, the flush of her skin, the cascade of thick, wavy honey hair. She’s watching me as I thrust, her eyes hooded and a darker blue than I’ve ever seen them, like the ocean. They flutter, almost close, then open again, refusing to leave mine. Her mouth moves, lips puffy and pink.
I reach down with one hand and slide one thumb against her swollen, wet clit. She gasps.
“Yes,” she whispers.
My balls tighten. I can feel the explosion coming. Tori’s head arches back. Her pussy clenches around me. A strangled cry escapes her throat as she starts to come a second time, and that’s all it takes for me. Two seconds later, I lose control, shooting so hard inside her and for so long I feel like I’m never going to stop.
We’re both gasping for breath when it’s over, sucking at the air like we can’t get it into our lungs fast enough. I’m still inside her, her legs still wrapped around my waist, and before I even know what I’m doing I bend over and press my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. We stay like that for a minute, both of us fighting for the same air, in the same ragged rhythm.
“Holy shit,” she manages to whisper.
I don’t say anything back, still sucking wind. I don’t open my eyes, just listen to the two of us breathing together.
I always knew sex would be explosive with Tori. I could just fucking tell. Knew it in my bones.
Iron Heart (Lords of Carnage Ironwood MC) Page 11