Beg For You (Rocktown Ink #1)

by Sherilee Gray

  They saw the huge scarred exterior and thought they knew who he was. They didn’t. They had no idea what he hid beneath. Even I didn’t. But I knew what was there was oceans deep. You couldn’t paint the way he did and not have a storm raging inside you.

  We walked onto the street and Cal led me to his truck. I climbed up; he buckled me in then climbed in as well, and we headed off.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him, which meant I saw his when he glanced my way, the way they moved over me. “I like the way you look at me,” I said, or slurred. Whatever. I undid my seat belt, slid across the seat and plastered myself to his side. He was warm—no, hot—and solid. I loved how solid he was.

  “How do I look at you?” he rumbled, the vibrations moving through his chest to mine.

  I rested my head on his broad shoulder, my hand sliding over his abs. They tightened beneath my fingers and I sighed. “Like you’re mentally stripping me naked.”

  He shifted in his seat. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I look at you and I can’t think straight.”

  I lifted up, my face only an inch from his. “Really?”

  He glanced at me, gaze dropping for a split second to my mouth before moving back to the road ahead. “You doubt it?”

  “You haven’t had sex with me,” I said, and even though I was still extremely drunk, I felt my face get hot.

  His nostrils flared. “Is that what you want, Cassy? You want me to fuck you?”

  Heat fired through me at his words, the hot, rough way he said them. Between my thighs pulsed, hot and needy, and I squeezed them together to ease the ache. “Yes.”

  I’d never had sex with anyone, but I wanted my first time to be with Cal. If I ended up having to marry Spencer, there was no way in hell I wanted him to be the only man I’d been with. And thinking of Spencer was the last thing I wanted. Not when Cal was beside me. Not when he looked at me the way he did.

  The half hour to Rocktown sped by, and the next thing I knew Cal was pulling to a stop outside his shop. He turned off the engine and turned to me. His gaze moved over me, down to my knees then back up to my face.

  “Let’s go,” he said and shoved his door open. I slid across to his side. He took my hand again as soon as I was beside him and pulled me out after him.

  My head was still spinning, and it was dark. It felt like one minute we were standing outside Rocktown Ink, and the next we were standing in Cal’s apartment, surrounded by his stunning artwork.

  I sighed and looked around me.

  There were so many here that wouldn’t even make it onto the walls of my gallery. They’d be out the door as soon as my customers saw them.

  I turned, searching for Cal. He was by the window, butt resting against the windowsill, watching me.

  “You’re doing it again,” I said, moving toward him. I thought I might have had a bit of a sway going on, but I was pretty sure I hid it.

  “What?” he said.

  “Looking at me all sexy and dirty and…” I flung a hand out for emphasis. “It’s hot, is what I’m trying to say…you’re hot.” I walked right up to him, stepped between his spread thighs, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I studied his face. He had a great face. The scars didn’t detract from that. Strong features. Masculine. Ruggedly beautiful. “I like your mouth. Your lips are kind of full but firm. They’re nice to kiss. I think you should kiss me now.”

  “You do, huh?”

  I frowned. “You sound like you’re in pain?”

  His hands at my waist squeezed. “That’s because I am, Princess.”

  I wriggled against his hold and pressed closer. “Tell me where and I’ll kiss it better.”

  He growled. I loved it when he did that, but he didn’t answer.

  I pressed a kiss to his jaw, the stubble rough against my lips. “Tell me…”

  His fingers dug in deeper and he forced me back a step. “Cassy, you’re drunk. I’m not gonna touch you.”

  I frowned, a knot of panic getting tighter in my belly. “So you don’t…you don’t want me anymore?” I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go.

  He slid a hand up into my hair and lightly fisted it. “I fucking love the way you feel pressed up against me, and if it was any other night, I’d have you stripped bare and in my bed already, but right now you’re in no condition to make these kinds of decisions. If you still feel the same way in the morning, we’ll talk, but tonight I’m not gonna touch you.”

  “Oh,” I said, not sure what to say, and even more turned on by what he’d just said about stripping me bare in his bed. Then a thought popped into my fuzzy head. “Why did you come and get me tonight?”

  “Didn’t like the idea of you out like this. No way I’d sleep until I knew you got home okay.” He shrugged. Like that made perfect sense.

  Maybe it would if we were more than…I wasn’t sure what we were, but whatever we were didn’t include more than getting each other off. Well, that’s what I thought anyway.

  “Why were you out tonight getting drunk, Cass?” he said, head tilted to the side.

  I couldn’t look away from his eyes. It was like he’d mesmerized me. “You have nice eyes.”

  His lips twitched. That was sexy, too.

  “You gonna tell me why you went out drinking tonight?” he said.

  “I owed Ted for dragging him to this gala thing I had to go to the other night. I didn’t want to talk to my dad or Spencer, so I made him come as a buffer—”

  “You didn’t want to talk to your dad?”

  I screwed my face up. “We don’t really…I’m a big disappointment. I messed everything up and now he hates me…” I shook my head when I realized what I was talking about. I wasn’t thinking about him or the awful thing he wanted me to do, not tonight. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Cal’s brows were lowered. I pressed my hands to his forehead and tried to lift them back up.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “You’re frowning.”

  His lips twitched again.

  “What were we talking about again?”

  His eyes got warmer. “You were telling me why you were out tonight.”

  Such nice eyes. “Um…well, I left the gala early because of those who must not be named.”

  He frowned again. “Voldemort?”

  I laughed. I’d never heard him make a joke before. I liked it. “My dad and Spencer,” I said, still chuckling.

  His frown got even deeper. “Who’s Spencer?”

  “I’m not talking about him tonight either.”

  “Why aren’t you talking about them?” he asked.

  “Because if I thought about them and their messed-up plan, I’ll start to—” I stopped myself and shook my head. I was doing it again. “I’m not talking about them, remember?”

  “Right,” he said, but his frown hadn’t gone away. I didn’t want him to frown. “So carry on with your story.”

  “That’s right…Ted!” I shouted when I remembered on my own what I was saying. Cal’s lips twitched again, and I almost leaned in and kissed him. But I didn’t…just. “I left him at the gala, and he ended up going home with Becky the bartender.”

  His eyes were now not only warm but kind of glinting, like he was amused. Amused Cal might even be sexier than serious Cal.

  “And that’s a problem because?” he said.

  “Becky has a foot fetish and she stole all of Ted’s socks.”

  Cal muttered something under his breath, the lip twitch turning into more of a grin.

  “I think I’m going to swoon.”

  “What?”

  Had I said that out loud?

  “You grinned,” I said because apparently, I couldn’t shut the hell up. “It’s swoon-worthy.”

  “Thanks,” he said, fingers massaging my scalp in a way that made my head tingle and my limbs feel all warm and relaxed.

  “Ted’s an artist, like you. Only he mainly paints nudes.”

  “Yeah?” he said, still m
assaging.

  “I told him about the tattoos you’re doing for me.” During one of the slower songs we’d got talking. Ted knew about my scars and how self-conscious I was about them. He also saw how proud I was of the work Cal had done so far. “He wants to paint me while the ink is still half finished, showing my transformation. The beauty of your work transforming the ugliness of my scars…of what they represent to me.”

  Cal stilled. “And what do they represent to you, Princess?”

  “Failure,” I said, not even needing to think about it. “They remind me of how I failed my brother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Cal

  Cassy was asleep in my bed and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her white-blond hair was a soft wave spread across my pillow. One of her arms was flung over her head, the other down at her side. Her lips were slightly parted and her thick lashes, darker than her hair, were fanned against her cheeks.

  She looked like a porcelain doll. Precious, expensive, breakable. That last part was what had me up and pacing early this morning. I already knew how this would end. With Cassy getting hurt. Thinking I could come up with a way to shield her from what I wanted to do to Lyall was ignorant. Impossible. I’d been blinded by my own anger.

  And I realized last night that, Christ, she already was broken, and it had nothing to do with me.

  She’d let her guard down, had given me more than a glimpse of the woman I’d been willing to sacrifice for revenge. Fuck, I felt sick at even the idea of it now.

  I stopped pacing and looked at her again.

  How did I ever think I could go through with it? I’d been fooling myself. I could never hurt her like that.

  No, right now I wanted to wrap her up tight and keep her safe, protect her from anything and everything that might try to cause her harm.

  Except I was the thing that had the power to cause her the most damage. I was the biggest threat to her.

  Which left me with two options. Tell her who I was…

  Or let her go.

  Either way, I’d lose her. No doubt about that. I rubbed my hands over my face. I was fucked whatever I did. She was lost to me. I walked to the window and stared out to the street. Jesus, my head was a mess. I was having trouble thinking clearly, which meant my emotions were all over the place.

  Fuck.

  “Cal?”

  Cassy’s voice felt like a caress down my spine, slightly husky from sleep and so fucking sweet. I turned to her. She was up on her elbows, her hair a soft fall down her back. “You’re awake.”

  Jesus, if my voice was any deeper, any rougher, I’d sound just like the monster I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.

  She sat up, grabbing the sheet that started to slide down and tucked it under her arms to keep herself covered. Her cheeks grew pink when she looked down at herself.

  Knowing she was naked under that sheet was damn near killing me. “You remember what happened?”

  She smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Some of it.”

  “Do you remember…how you got naked?” I asked.

  She ignored the way I stumbled over my words, so I chose to as well.

  She blinked over at me. “Um…”

  Her cheeks were darker. I loved how she blushed so easy.

  “You told me how Ted was going to paint you but decided I should instead? You remember that?”

  Her eyes went wide, and she sat up straighter. “I what?”

  “Yeah.” I pointed to her clothes piled on the floor. “You stripped off right there, arranged yourself on my bed, and passed out.”

  Her hands flew up and she covered her face. “Oh my God.”

  “Even with the stumbling, and sliding off the bed once or twice, it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said and couldn’t hide the amusement in my voice. I was also hard as fuck. Just thinking about the way she looked spread out on my sheets, bare except for a pair of panties, skin damn near glowing, was testing my willpower.

  Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “You’re smiling.”

  “You said my smile was swoon-worthy.”

  She groaned and pulled the sheet over her head. “Don’t tell me what I said. It’s too humiliating.”

  I walked over and sat beside her, tugging the sheet back. “It was hot. Drunk Cassy makes my dick hard.”

  Her cheeks looked hot enough to start a fire. My dick throbbed behind my zipper.

  “What about sober Cassy?” she asked, voice soft. Fuck, I loved that sleepy little rasp she had going on.

  She’d let me call her Cassy, had called herself the same thing. It was nothing in the scheme of things, but somehow it felt big. Important. “Princess, there isn’t a version of you that doesn’t make me hard.”

  Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she suddenly looked stricken.

  This was wrong. I shouldn’t be sitting here imagining all the ways I wanted her or how right it felt having her in my bed, in my place. I should be breaking it off, telling her I couldn’t see her anymore.

  But I couldn’t make myself say it. Jesus, that look on her face. I wanted to pull her into my lap and hold her until it was gone. It was selfish dragging this thing between us on longer, but after her suggestion last night that I should paint her, I couldn’t think of anything else. I didn’t care if that made me a sick fucking asshole, wanting to have a painting of her like some messed up memento.

  It’s all you’ll have of her when she’s lost to you completely.

  All I knew was I needed to paint her like she was now. I needed it.

  “You want painkillers? How’s the head?”

  Her fingers curled into the covers. “I’m fine. I never get hangovers. I don’t know why. I’m just lucky, I guess.”

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head. “I should probably…” She started to wrap the sheet around herself to get up.

  “I want to paint you,” I blurted, terrified if I let her walk out that door I’d never get my chance again, because one way or another I had to let her go.

  Her eyes shot up to mine and she stilled. “What?”

  I cupped her silky-smooth cheek. “I want you to pose for me, Princess. Just like this, how you are now.”

  She blinked several times then looked down at herself. “But I’m—”

  “Beautiful.”

  I could see the conflict in her eyes. She wanted to, but something was holding her back.

  “I’ve seen nearly every part of you, Cassy. And there’s not one thing about you that I don’t find fucking gorgeous.” Inside and out.

  “You don’t know me, Cal. I have shadows, scars, ugliness that you haven’t seen,” she said, like she was reading my mind.

  The irony of her words wasn’t lost on me. She’d just described me.

  I gripped the sheet between her breasts where she was holding it to her and applied gentle pressure. “Show me.”

  Her eyes were locked on mine. There was so much going on behind them, so damn much. I wanted to know all her secrets, the parts she thought were ugly. I wanted to prove her wrong, because there was nothing in this woman that was anything but beautiful. I knew it deep down to my bones.

  Those big blue eyes never left mine as she slowly, ever so slowly, loosened her fingers and let go of the sheet. Now it was just me holding it up, covering her. Still with it in my hands, I trailed my fingers along her collarbone.

  “You sure?” I asked. I wanted this with an intensity that didn’t make sense, but I wouldn’t force her.

  She nodded, her breathing coming faster.

  I dropped the sheet and heard her sharp inhale. I lowered my gaze to her tits. They were full, soft, perfect. Her waist was small, flaring out to slightly rounded hips. Shit, even her belly button was exquisite. I wanted to lean down and kiss it, kiss every inch of her. But that wasn’t what this was about.

  Y
eah, I’d seen her without her shirt, but this felt different, intimate in a way it hadn’t been between us before.

  I stood and took a step back before I touched her and made everything a whole lot worse. “Lie on your right side for me, baby, back to me.” This wasn’t making shit worse at all, right? Fuck, I’d lost my mind. I knew that, and it didn’t stop me from pushing on. “Put the arm under you over your head, your cheek against your bicep. Your other arm along your side, your hand resting on your thigh.”

  She did what I asked, so damned trusting. Jesus, she looked gorgeous. I swallowed hard and strode forward to shift her hair back from her shoulder so none of the ink or her scars were concealed. I leaned in, kissing her delicate shoulder. I couldn’t help myself. She sucked in another sharp breath.

  I fucked around with the sheet until it was how I wanted it, low on her hips, showing the top of her ass, her panties, then pushed back so I could see her long bare legs, and headed to my work area. I grabbed an easel, my paints, and a fresh canvas, and set myself up.

  And what do you know, the sun was just coming up, causing the light to hit her just right through the big windows at the front of my apartment. Cassy looked like an angel from heaven lying on my bed.

  “Now, just relax.”

  She made a little noise of agreement, and I got started. I thought she might drift off, but then her soft voice filled the room. She told me about her horses, her plans for them, about the breeding program she was developing. I loved listening to her, the passion in her voice, the joy.

  A while later, Cassy had gone quiet, and the painting was starting to take shape. I had no idea how long I’d been working, maybe an hour or so, but even while I’d been in the zone there’d been an awareness moving through me, like an electrical current, and it hadn’t let up the entire time. I wanted her, and the place inside myself that I went when I painted—with no guards or walls or barriers—meant the emotions raging through me fucking owned me and left no room for anything else.

  I was hot and hard, fucking high, drunk off the woman lying in my bed. Sweat slid down between my shoulder blades and I dropped my brush, tugging my shirt off over my head. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive against the fabric.