The Forbidden

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “We do,” I confirm through my pleasure, letting him thread his fingers with mine above my head, his lips kissing their way across my cheek and into my neck.

  “Tell me to stop,” he demands weakly and with zero conviction, sucking and biting at my flesh.

  “Oh God!” I breathe, slamming my head against the glass behind me, my thighs tightening around his waist again. “Jack, you need to stop.”

  “I will. You want me to?”

  “No!”

  He swivels his hips and enters me on a ragged shout of satisfaction, his teeth clamped lightly around the flesh of my neck. My whole world explodes into a haze of powerful pleasure as I scream to the ceiling, a long, despairing, satisfied scream. He’s still now, but breathing erratically, his long, thick length fully inside of me. The fullness twists my mind, warmth fills my veins and boils my bloodstream, and the rightness prevents me from fighting him off. His grip on my hands above my head is now solid and my legs are wrapped around him like ivy.

  “My heart is hammering,” he confesses, his hips shaking with the strain to keep still. “It’s beating so fucking hard, and it feels so fucking good. Where did you come from, Annie?”

  I’d ask him the same question if it wasn’t for my inability to talk. So I push my face into his instead, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of our bodies connected so completely.

  Strangers.

  Two complete strangers. It defies reason that our joining could be this intoxicating. This whole situation defies me. Taking my chin to my shoulder, I look behind me, out of the window. The city below is alive with lights, people going about their business. And I’m up high above them all, pinned against this window with a stranger’s cock buried inside me.

  “Are you okay?” His soft question prompts me to ask myself the very same thing, because I think the mind I’ve lost has gone forever.

  And I’m totally okay with it.

  I grind down in answer, making him jerk on a whimper. So I go again, building up the friction as much as I can without Jack moving.

  “Jesus,” he mumbles, dragging his face from my neck.

  His gray eyes land on me. Sparks erupt. More desire floods me. My world starts to spin out of control. He watches me as he draws back, slow, sure, and carefully, and when he pauses, only the tip of his cock inside me, I pull in breath and hold it, bracing myself.

  He pounds forward, and I cry out. Jack grunts and the momentum is set—no more waiting, no more conscience, no more doubts. He thrusts hard, hitting me again and again, adding the odd deep grind here and there so as to never let me guess what’s coming next. My cries of pleasure are on loop, our sweat is mingling, and his hands around mine are locked tightly, keeping my arms ramrod straight above my head. It’s insane. It’s crazy, raw, carnal fucking, and it’s making me wonder amid the intoxicating feelings if one night of this passion and these feelings will be enough. I’m vehemently holding back, not wanting this to end just yet. I can only hope Jack feels the same.

  “Fuck!” he shouts, releasing my hands and cupping my arse, peeling me away from the window and turning. He carries me across the room and holds me with one arm under my bum as he swipes the contents of the desk from the surface, then lowers me onto the hard wood, coming down with me so not to break our connection. I yelp, squirming across the polished wood as he jacks me forward and rises to standing, taking hold of my thighs. My hands go above my head and grip the edge of the desk.

  His teeth clench as he withdraws, his head dropping back but his eyes remaining on mine. He yanks me up and down the desk, our sweaty skins slapping, our shouts and cries of pleasure loud and chaotic.

  Yet I still hold back on letting the looming orgasm claim me.

  The desk is creaking under the force, and just when I think it might give under the strain, his arm slides under my back and pulls me up. The front of my body crashes with his, and my shout is loud. I cling to him as he takes reverse steps and then falls to his back on the bed with me straddling him. “Fuck me, Annie,” he demands, his voice like gravel, full of hunger and sex. “Fuck me hard.”

  I don’t delay. I’ve had my order. My hips kick in and I rock back and forth, my palms braced into the hardness of his chest. His fingers claw into my thighs, his face strained. “Oh shit,” he groans, his hips now flexing up and meeting my rhythm.

  The sight of him, the effect I’m having on him, is addictive. I’m spent but energized, my body doing things without thought. Then I’m moving again. His stomach muscles tense and he sits up, edging us to the side of the bed with me on his lap. He guides my legs behind his back so I’m wrapped around him, and his hands find my hips, lifting and then pulling me back down precisely on an exhale of shaky breath.

  I yelp, the new position sending him so deep. My head goes limp, but I refuse to lose his gaze as he guides me ferociously, slamming me down onto his lap repeatedly. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fight off my release. He’s challenging me on so many levels. “Jack,” I gasp, my head falling forward, our foreheads meeting.

  He senses my struggle and flips me around, taking me to my back and re-entering quickly. I scream. He roars. I’m in pieces, almost frightened by the potential of the orgasm that’s going to strike me. It’s going to be powerful. He comes down to his forearms, my thighs clamp around his waist, and he takes us on that final stretch toward explosion.

  He nods, and I nod right back. He looks in pain as he takes the last few strokes, his face twisting, as I’m sure mine is. The veins in his neck bulge, his cock swells, and I’m shoved over the edge, screaming as the nerves in my clitoris explode.

  My world goes blank, my body lax, and Jack collapses on top of me, pinning me to the mattress as we both splutter and gasp for breath. And, as if it’s instinctive, my arms come up around his back and hold him to me, pulling his heavy body closer while we ride the waves of pleasure ripping through our bodies. His chest is rolling atop mine and his skin’s wet under my hands on his back.

  Opening my eyes, I look up to the ceiling of the hotel room, my hearing fuzzy with the sounds of our breathlessness. Jack is breathtaking in more ways than one.

  The silence is comfortable; neither of us is in a rush to break it, and I begin to wonder if he’s doing what I’m doing right now. Is he trying to fathom what just happened? Is he quietly trying to wrap his mind around the extreme madness of the incredible moment we just shared? My thoughts begin to race as I absentmindedly trace small circles across his back.

  I’m interrupted when he chuckles softly, squirming above me. Despite myself, I smile. “You ticklish?”

  He lifts his torso on a shudder and looks down at me. His eyes. God, his eyes are sparkling madly. “Not usually. But your touch seems to do things to me.”

  I hold back from telling him that the feeling is mutual, though I sense he sees it in my eyes when he reaches up to my face and draws a perfect line down my cheek to my chin, smiling as he does. He looks thoughtful, and I’m desperate to know what his thoughts are. “Architect Annie,” he murmurs, casting his gaze to mine. “I’m glad I didn’t carry on walking home.” He dips and pushes a sweet kiss onto my lips, stealing my breath once again. “You’ve been a welcome distraction from real life.”

  I fall into the pace of his kiss, and gladly let him distract me from life as I know it, too.

  Just for tonight.

  Chapter 4

  The texture of the sheets beneath me is unfamiliar. So is the smell of the cotton. I feel my muscles pull as I go to roll over, and I moan, aching everywhere as I blink my eyes open sleepily. I frown, then quickly wince as I move again, trying to sit up. Where the hell am I?

  A deep, sleepy inhale penetrates my confusion, and I glance down, seeing the full, naked length of a man’s body. I study the expanse of his lean muscles, working my way up to his stunning face.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. Such a gorgeous face, rough with scruff, his lashes long. His lips are slightly parted, and one perfect, thick arm extends above
his head, draped across the white pillow.

  Jack.

  Flashbacks.

  So many flashbacks. Against the window, on the desk, sitting on the edge of the bed, me straddling him, Jack above me. Him gazing down at me. His light chuckles as I stroked his back. His words. His kisses. And then the explosive sex all over again—in the shower, against the bathroom door, back in this bed. I reach up and feel my damp hair, then clench my thighs, wincing at the soreness.

  No condom.

  What the hell have I done? He’s a stranger. A complete stranger. The fact that Jack seemed like anything but a stranger the whole time we were exploring each other is forgotten now. The connection is lost amid a sea of regret.

  A quick glimpse at the bedside clock tells me it’s 4:15. The sun is on its way up.

  I shuffle as quietly as a mouse to the edge of the bed and search the floor in the dim light for my dress, finding it by the window. I tiptoe across the carpet, tense from top to toe, which isn’t helping my achy muscles. Jesus, I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking bus. I make quick work of wriggling into my dress, slipping my feet into my heels and swiping up my underwear and bag.

  Then, like I might be struck down by lightning if I make even the tiniest of sounds, I slip out of the room—the room Jack paid for so we could fuck—cringing as I ease the door closed. I run down the corridor to the lift like a madwoman and hit the call button, and when the doors to the lift open, I’m hit with more flashbacks. I’m pressed against the back wall, he’s kissing me with a crazy passion, and my face is pure ecstasy.

  I slam a lid on those thoughts and dive into the lift.

  I fucked a fucking stranger.

  * * *

  I let myself into my flat and put myself straight in the shower. The hot water cleaning away the evidence of my careless encounter is only a mild comfort. I can’t wash my mind of the reminders. Doubt I ever will. My muscles protest my every move as I soap my body over and over, letting the water pound down harshly, hotter than I’d usually tolerate it.

  Against the window. His huge, hard body touching me everywhere.

  I shake my head and soap harder, concentrating on my obsessive need to scrub myself until I bleed. I feel dirty. Ashamed of myself for being so careless. But worse, I feel overcome by the connection we shared, the feelings still lingering, like he could be standing here in the shower with me now.

  On the desk. The look in his gray eyes.

  I bunch the sponge in my fist and grit my teeth, throwing it to the shower floor before grabbing the shampoo and squirting some in my hand. My fingers go into my hair and lather, hard, fast, and furiously.

  Hard, fast, and furiously. The feel of him taking me so powerfully.

  I shout and let my back fall against the wall, my hurt muscles folding and taking me down to the shower floor. I just sit there and relive every single crazy, intense second I had with Jack as I stare up at the showerhead pouring water down on me. I can only hope that once I’ve lived the whole scene from beginning to end, my mind will relent and be fulfilled enough to let me forget about Jack. Forget about the man who momentarily steered me off course from real life.

  * * *

  I recognize these sheets. The feel, the smell. I roll over, hissing as I go. The aches just seem to be getting worse. My phone tells me it’s 9:30. After torturing myself in my shower with hot water and memories, I clambered into bed and drifted off to sleep, though my dreams gave me no respite. I saw his gray eyes, heard his velvet voice, felt his soft lips and that body made for sinful things. Just a one-night stand. It was just a one-night stand.

  A loud crash sounds from the kitchen, and I bolt upright.

  “Hello?” I jump out of bed and throw on a T-shirt.

  “Damn!” Micky’s curse calms me a little, but it also makes me wonder. What’s he doing here this early on a Sunday? I make tracks to the kitchen and find him kneeling on the floor, sweeping up coffee grounds. In his boxers.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, stepping over the mess to grab him the dustpan.

  “This is why I do Starbucks,” he grumbles, looking up at me. His man-bun is no more, his shoulder-length blond hair a messy mop. He narrows a suspicious eye on me from his crouched position, humming to himself. “What time did you get in, you dirty stopout?”

  I start to back away, stray coffee crunching under my feet as I go. “Um…” I gulp and look over my shoulder, feeling and looking all kinds of guilty. “Who’s that on the couch?” I blurt incredulously, seeing movement coming from under a pile of blankets in the lounge. I swing around to find Micky now looking as guilty as I expect I was a moment ago.

  “Ah…well…you see…” He stands and points the dustpan brush at me, thinking hard.

  “I gave you a spare key for emergencies!” I snap, annoyed. “Getting your leg over isn’t an emergency!”

  “I came here to make sure you got home safely!” he fires back, puffy-chested. “So what time did you get in?”

  I do a quick calculation in my head. I piled them all in a taxi at 12:30. It would have taken half an hour to get here. Micky and Lizzy were so drunk; I can’t imagine they were at it for…

  My thoughts halt right there. “Lizzy!” I screech, swinging around. Her head pops up from beneath the blankets, her hair a crazy mess, her eyes squinting.

  “Hey,” she croaks, before quickly diving back under the covers to hide.

  I grit my teeth and slowly turn back toward my slag of a friend, scowling real hard at him. He looks sheepish. He should. “You arsehole.”

  “You didn’t care so much last night!” he protests, throwing his half-naked body back to the kitchen floor and sweeping up some more granules. “Because you were too busy being bent over a bar!” He tosses me a disgusted look and I wilt on the spot, evading his accusing eyes. “Are you gonna tell me what time you got in or what?”

  “Two,” I lie, stomping over to the cupboard and yanking it open, pulling down a mug—the biggest I can find.

  “I was awake at two.”

  “Three, then. I can’t remember. And I don’t think you’re in any position to pass judgment,” I point out huffily, flicking the kettle on.

  “I’m a bloke, Annie. I can take care of myself. You didn’t have a clue who he was.”

  “I’m back in one piece, aren’t I? And I didn’t see you rushing to stop me. Oh no! Because you were too intent on getting your end away with Lizzy. Bloody Lizzy!”

  “Yes?” Her head appears from beneath the blankets, her eyes blinking back the sleep.

  “Nothing!” we both shout, making her slink back under, her tail between her legs.

  “She’s just split up with Jason! A flirt, yes, but—”

  “We were pissed.” Micky levels an annoyed look on me. I match it as I pass him and shut the kitchen door, my hand curled tightly around the handle of my empty coffee mug. I’m shaking and, now that I’ve stopped shouting, I’m hurting again. Everywhere. Aching like a bitch.

  Micky’s annoyed look becomes concerned as his gaze skates up and down my body. “Are you okay?”

  I fall apart. I slam the mug down on the counter and cover my face with my hands and blubber like a dramatic female. I never cry. Not ever. Not even when I know it would be appropriate for me to shed a tear, like at the end of the soppiest movies, or when my mum got all emotional when I left for university.

  I. Just. Do. Not. Cry.

  “Whoa!” Micky’s on me in a flash, his strong arms circling my shoulders and cuddling me. I don’t think he’s ever had to do this, except maybe once when we were fifteen and my rabbit died. “What’s happened, Annie? Tell me.”

  “Nothing,” I sob, shaking my head into him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is utterly ridiculous, but I can’t shake the flashbacks, nor can I forget the incredible feelings Jack evoked. It’s crazy, and it’s so fucking frustrating.

  Micky kisses my head a few times before pulling me out of his chest and looking down at my tear-stained cheeks. “Did he do
something to you?”

  “No,” I assure him. “It was just…” I pause, not sure how to word it. “Intense. I don’t know. Some stupid connection. Chemistry. Whatever you want to call it.” I brush my face off, sniff back my stupid, uncalled-for emotion, and laugh. “Jesus, we seriously packed some alcohol away last night, didn’t we?”

  Micky laughs quietly and thumbs over his shoulder to the kitchen door, where Lizzy is beyond. “We definitely did.”

  I roll my eyes. I know that face. That’s his why-the-fuck-did-I-do-that? face. I only hope Lizzy is as regretful as Micky and there’s no awkwardness between us all. “I need coffee,” I sigh, holding up my mug. “Please make me coffee.”

  “I’ll make you coffee,” he agrees, taking the mug and patting my arse as I turn to open the door.

  I head for the couch and my hidden friend, landing on the edge and squishing her feet, though she doesn’t murmur a sound or move a muscle. “You know, you’ll still be on my couch in my apartment with Micky in the kitchen, no matter how long you hide under there.”