Dumpster Fire (Life Sucks Book 3)

by Elise Faber

Because a heavy arm and leg were draped over her, tucking her against a hard, hot male body. Pinning her to Rob.

  Yes. To Rob.

  She knew who it was before she opened her eyes. She knew who it was by the scent in her nose, by the way he held her—snug and close, but still with care. Even when the man was unconscious, he still held her gently.

  Soph didn’t want to move, didn’t want to slide out of that warm, cozy place.

  But her bladder was calling.

  Loudly.

  So, she began the process of wiggling out of his embrace. First nudging his leg off hers—or attempting to, anyway. Because the moment she shoved it off her thighs, he slid it right back over her, tucking her more firmly beneath him, his arms drawing tighter.

  Sighing, she started again, this time with his arms.

  But between both of his, the blanket and his leg wrapped around her, she might as well be fighting an octopus.

  And truthfully, she wasn’t struggling all that much, especially when it felt so nice to have him wrapped so tightly. In fact, if she didn’t have to use the restroom, she probably would have been shifting closer, rubbing against him like a cat demanding scratches.

  It was just . . . she had to pee.

  “Rob,” she said softly when his hand slid down her spine and cupped her cheek—and not the one on her face. He squeezed the globe of her ass, angled her hips against his, and all but took her breath away when he ground the hard length of his erection against her.

  God, that was good.

  Really good.

  In fact, it was almost enough to make her forget she had to pee.

  He rolled and she was suddenly beneath him, those tiger’s eyes hot as they bored into hers, still laced with sleep, his hair deliciously rumpled.

  “Morning,” he said, voice husky, like roughed-up velvet skating over her skin.

  “Morning,” she whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, kneading lightly into the hard planes of his muscles.

  His head dropped, lips finding her jaw, her throat. “Morning,” he said again, hot breath coating her skin and making her shiver,

  “Morning,” she whispered again, her hands coming up to his hair, tugging lightly.

  A nip to her neck, just where it met her shoulder. “I won’t say morning again,” he murmured, teeth tugging her T-shirt slightly to the side, tongue dipping beneath the fabric.

  “Mmm,” she said, arching up against him.

  He groaned, hips dropping to hers.

  “Oh fuck,” she whispered, her trip to the bathroom completely forgotten under the intensity of that gaze, the feel of his body against hers, that silken tongue darting against her skin.

  She jerked when his palm slipped under the fabric of the shirt, traced against her stomach.

  “No?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I mean yes,” she added when he started pulling his hand out, snagging his wrist to halt the retreat. “No, don’t stop,” she ordered.

  The ghost of a smile.

  His palm slid back, tracing lazy circles on her abdomen. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. “Or should we pause for toothbrushing and ablutions?”

  “Ablu—ah—tions?” she asked, sighing when his fingers made it to the bottom of her breast. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and— “Who uses that word nowadays?”

  “I do.”

  But she barely heard his response.

  Because his thumb had skimmed over her nipple.

  “Oh!” she gasped, pleasure shooting through her.

  “Too much?”

  She thanked God that this question of his was easier to answer. “No,” she said, her fingers clenching in his hair.

  “And kissing?” he asked, mouth temptingly close, that thumb still sending sparks of desire through her to coil heavy in her abdomen, to snake down between her thighs. “Yes or no?”

  Luckily, this one didn’t require a verbal answer. She simply tugged his head down and kissed him.

  It should have been gross—with their respective morning dragon breaths—but it wasn’t. Nothing about anything with this man was gross. The kiss was scorching and perfect and filled her with so much need that her hands were shaking, her thighs trembling as they clenched against him, as he let more of his weight fall against her, as she ground herself against his cock.

  And all the while his thumb continued with the light brushes, those back and forths, driving her absolutely mad as he teased one nipple and then the other.

  As though he had all the time in the world to keep coaxing her up the edge with those soft touches, as though he weren’t hard and insistent against her, as though he wasn’t driving her insane.

  “Still okay?” he murmured when he broke the kiss.

  She nodded, head thrown back on the pillow, hips jerking.

  He rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger and she cried out, his name on her lips. Those fingers continued working as he kissed his way down her throat, as he leaned back enough to slowly lift her shirt, pausing to make sure she was with him. And while the gesture was sweet and considerate, it also pricked her temper.

  “I won’t break, dammit,” she said, yanking the fabric up and attempting to get it over her head, fighting with the damned piece of cotton until he helped her get it off, exposing herself to his gaze.

  He was frozen for long moments, eyes scorching into hers then dropping down, his stare almost tangible as it alighted on her breasts. “You said you weren’t ready, Tempest.”

  She glared, knowing she was unreasonably annoyed because she had said that. “Well, I’m ready now.”

  His lips twitched. “Really?”

  “Really.” She crossed her arms, watched him study her almost naked form and swallow again.

  “Well . . .”

  Her brows pulled together. “Well, what?”

  Tiger’s eyes managing to make their way back up to hers, and she was surprised to see that the edge of reserve in them.

  Heart sinking, she clenched her abdomen.

  Was he not okay with this? Was it too soon?

  “Rob?” she asked gently. “What is it?”

  “I—” His cheeks went a little pink.

  Now her heart squeezed, along with her gut twisting itself into knots. “We don’t have to do this,” she said, reaching for her shirt. “We can wait until you’re ready.”

  He chuckled, and it rasped down her skin. “Oh, I’m ready. It’s just . . .”

  Oh, shit, what if it was her? What if he didn’t like something about her?

  “I’ve only done this with one other person,” he said, cheeks still slightly tinged with red, but his eyes on hers. “I might not be able to . . .” His gaze darted away then back to hers. “Promise me that you’ll tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

  That knot in her stomach unlaced.

  Her heart, however, it kept squeezing.

  Because this man . . . fuck, he was doing a hell of a job of stealing it.

  “I promise,” she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and lying back on the mattress, taking him with her. He didn’t hesitate, just brought all of that glorious muscled heat back on top of her. But other than moving with her, he didn’t resume his earlier ministrations, not until she said again, “I promise.”

  Then he moved.

  His mouth dropped to hers, tongue dipping inside, tempting her into a kiss that sent her pulse thundering and her pussy clenching. His hands returned to her breasts, cupping and molding them in those calloused palms, making her moan. He drank it down, answered with one of his own before tearing his lips from hers and dragging them along her throat, nipping across her collarbones.

  And then . . . glories of all gloriousness, he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth.

  She screamed, dug her nails into his shoulders.

  His stiffened.

  “Sorry,” she said, breaths coming in short puffs, immediately releasing him.

  “Don’t,” he told her, cove
ring one of her hands with his, a wolfish smile on his mouth. “I like it.”

  She nodded, smiling back.

  But the smile didn’t last long, not when the dangerous man returned his attention to her breasts, not when he went back to sucking her nipples deeply, using his tongue and teeth to send her desire skyrocketing. He lavished attention to her breasts for long minutes, only leaving after turning her into a ball of need, every nerve on fire, aching, needing this man.

  Then he began kissing his way down her torso, dragging his mouth across her rib cage, nipping at her hip bone on one side then the other, laving her belly button with his tongue.

  Then laving something else.

  Because he slid down, spread her thighs, and licked her pussy in one long, wet, hot stroke.

  Gasping, her fingers went tight on his shoulders again, her hips bucked, and she ground herself against his mouth when he found . . . just . . . the . . . right . . . spot. “Oh, God!”

  “Mmm.” He nuzzled closer, redoubled his efforts, tongue and thumb working in tandem, his hot eyes coming up to meet hers and holding hers captive. Stomach clenching in the best way from his intense stare, she tugged him closer, held him even more tautly. He paused in his attentions, a sexy smile on lips glistening with her damp heat, but it was the passion in his gaze that had her nerves tingling, that made her nipples tighten into beads and ache for his mouth. Then he did something with that thumb, with that tongue that had her head falling back, her eyes open and unseeing on the ceiling.

  “Yes?” he murmured against her.

  “Oh!” She bucked against him as her pleasure wound tighter. “Fuck.”

  “Yes?” he asked again, increasing the pressure and speed with his fingers, sending pleasure scorching through her. But she wanted his mouth on her again. She wanted him doing that thing with his tongue on her clit. “Tempest?” He waited until she looked at him. “Yes?”

  Her temper frayed, head jerking up to glare at him. “What part of my moans have confused you?” She gestured between her legs. “Get back to it already.”

  He grinned. “Get back to”—a flick of his tongue—“this?”

  She groaned. “Stop teasing.”

  “Why?” A stroke of his thumb. “I like teasing you.”

  “Because—ah—I—”

  “Only slightly less than I like seeing you lose that temper of yours.”

  She gasped—outraged—but that outrage quickly turned into pleasure when he dropped his mouth back down and, slow and steady, built her need to a cresting point as he circled her clit with his tongue, slid a finger inside, and—

  “Oh, God!”

  She exploded.

  That was the only way she could describe it. One second, she was herself, the next she was in pieces, scattered to the wind.

  But never fear, Rob gathered them all up, cradled them carefully, and pieced her back together.

  Then crawled up her body to cradle her closely.

  Warm arms wrapping around her, a strong body pressed to hers, gentle hands tracing patterns on her back . . . and an insistent cock pulsing against her abdomen. Pulsing, but its owner just holding her, calmly and steadily and not making any move to come atop her, to slide inside, to—

  Desire anew.

  Embers flaring, licking at the inside of her skin. She brought her hand to his chest, glided it down until her fingertips brushed the hard length of him.

  He groaned, thrust against her, but just as she gripped his cock, reveling in the feel of his velvet-covered steel, he brushed her hand away, capturing it and bringing it up to his mouth. “Not today, Tempest,” he murmured, kissing her palm.

  Her heart, fuck, but she could swear it had never actually beat until she’d met this man.

  And now, it absolutely pounded for him.

  Arching up, she pressed her mouth to his, wrapped her leg over his thigh, and pushed him onto his back.

  He broke away. “Soph.”

  She silenced him with a kiss. “I’m ready, if you are.” She ran her fingers over his jaw, his stubble bristling against the tips and making her shiver.

  “Sweetheart,” he began, eyes sliding closed when she began to kiss her way down his chest. “I want you, but just last night—”

  “I like you,” she blurted, and his lids flew open, gaze locking with hers. Like was a mere shadow of a description for what was in her heart, but it was too soon, too fast for her to examine what was beneath that too closely. For now, she just wanted . . . “I like you and I want you and I just want to stop living in my head or through my characters.” She pressed a kiss to the spot over his heart, felt it beating as rapidly as her own. “I want this . . . if you’re there with me.”

  His hands were resting on her hips, and they clenched when she said the last.

  Then she found herself on her back, him poised above her. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “I think I said that already,” she replied tartly.

  His grin was sexy as hell, making her clench in need, in remorse that she was beneath him but still wasn’t full of him.

  “I guess I’d better get my ass in gear.”

  She laughed, he reached into the nightstand and extracted a condom before shoving off the boxer briefs he wore.

  And suddenly, he was naked.

  Lucky her.

  Twenty-One

  Surviving the Storm

  Rob

  He was poised over her, harder than he’d ever been in his life and shaking, absolutely feeling like this was his first time all over again.

  Soph slipped the condom from his trembling fingers and rolled it down his cock, and Rob wouldn’t be lying if he said that even that slight touch had him threatening to explode.

  Just the sight of her beneath him—cheeks pinkened with desire, her flush spreading out along her chest, her breasts with their hardened nipples begging for his mouth. He was desperate to touch her everywhere, to lick and stroke every inch of her skin, but he was just as desperate to plunge inside, to thrust and thrust and pound her over the edge.

  He’d never been this close to losing control.

  He’d always approached lovemaking with determination and finesse, making sure Carmella was pleased before he tumbled over the edge.

  But he’d never been this close to losing himself.

  For the first time since his life had taken that sharp left turn a few weeks ago, he was terrified—of what he would gain, of what he might lose, of—

  A gentle touch on his cheek, hands drawing his head down to hers until their breaths mingled and her lips found his ear. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “This is just about us, about what we feel. Not the past or present or future. Just us.”

  The air left his lungs in a rapid exhale and he pulled back slightly, cupped her jaw, and nodded. “Just us.”

  Then she brought her lips to his, tongue dipping into his mouth, hands coming to his shoulders, nails pricking his skin.

  And he stopped worrying, stopped thinking.

  He just . . . felt.

  Soph’s curves beneath him, her mouth on his, her hands pulling him closer. He dragged his lips away from hers, nipped his way down her throat, sucked deeply on one nipple and then the other. His hand dipped between her thighs, using the rhythm and pressure he’d discovered she liked best to rouse her desire, to bring her as close to the edge as he felt—until her hips were jerking against his touch, her breaths coming in short gasps, moans tumbling out of her mouth one after another.

  Her eyes locked with his as she ordered, “Now.”

  He didn’t have any strength to resist this woman.

  Instead, he guided her leg around his hip, positioned himself, and . . . then thrust home.

  His forehead dropped to hers on a groan, the heat of her, the way she clenched so tightly around him, bringing him within mere millimeters of the edge, but he forced himself to not thrust again and again and again. He forced himself to pause and ask, “Okay?”

  Lids flying open, pale gray-blue e
yes the most accurate depiction of a tempest he’d ever seen, especially when they flashed—equal parts amusement and annoyance. But then her expression softened, the tempest cleared, and she arched her neck, tilting her head so her lips rested against his, their breaths mingling, and her next words were spoken directly into his mouth. “Better than okay, baby. Now, move.”

  He moved.

  Sliding out, pressing deep, trying different angles until her breath hitched, until her eyes closed, and her head pressed back into the pillows. Then he kept at that angle, continued the speed and pressure and her other thigh wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, hips meeting him stroke for stroke.

  It was incredible.

  It was perfect.

  It was . . . erasing any semblance of thought.

  Rob could only process how good she felt, tight and hot. He could only hear the blood pounding in his ears, her moans. He could only—

  “Fuck,” he hissed when she tightened around him, his orgasm coiling at the base of his spine. “Please, say you’re there.”

  “I—” Her head thrashed. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

  She broke off on a moan, hips jerking against his, her cheeks bright pink, lips parted, and . . . then she was over the edge, clenching around him, drawing him alongside her to plummet over that cliff as wave after wave of pleasure poured over him.

  Drowning in that tempest.

  Winds and waves, sea and storm yanking him beneath the surface of the water . . . and then the tempest cleared.

  Then he was opening his eyes and staring into those of a brilliant blue-gray.

  And he felt like a ship that had somehow survived a deadly gale, sails slightly battered, mast cracked as it glided its way into port.

  And finally arriving home, comfortable in the knowledge that all could be repaired.

  About two minutes after the most intense and fulfilling sexual experience of his life, Soph stiffened in his arms.

  Then jumped out of bed.

  “Soph?” He reached for her, missed.

  “I—” A shake of her head before she ran for the bathroom.

  That pleasant feeling faded, and he hurried to his feet, grabbing his underwear and stepping into them before moving to follow Sophie into the bathroom. Then he paused, realized he couldn’t just barge in like he might have with Carmella. He should knock.