Never Say I Love You

by Pennza, Amy

  Until last night.

  She gnawed her lip for a second, then turned on her heel and headed for her room. She had to talk to Pia, now. Smith’s words echoed through her mind as she hurried down the darkened hallway. “Maybe it’s part of my plan to keep you here.” Did he really have a plan? Or had he meant to tease her? She reached her room just as lightning flashed outside. A few seconds later, thunder shook the house. Her cell phone sat on the charger next to the bed. Smith had brought the phone home two days ago. She’d resisted at first, but she gave in after he said he worried about her going back and forth between the houses. Besides, he liked talking while he was on shift. She’d taken to working on projects at Grandma Winnie’s during the day, and it was a pain to drag the corded phone to the porch. With the cell, she could put Smith on speaker and chat while she worked.

  She had her finger over the screen, ready to tap Pia’s number, when the security system beeped and Smith hollered from downstairs. “Ash? You up there?” His work boots clomped across the hardwood and up the stairs. Deuce’s lighter, scrambling steps followed.

  “In the bedroom!” she called. She hit the phone’s home button and checked the time. It was only four thirty. What was he doing home so early?

  “What the hell is this?” Smith’s muffled shout echoed down the hall.

  She left the phone on the nightstand and followed his voice to his bedroom. He stood in front of the bed, a horrified look on his face as he surveyed the mountain of clothes. Wet splotches dotted his shoulders and back, turning his blue uniform shirt black in places. He must have gotten caught in the rain. Her mouth watered as she let her gaze slide down his body. His duty belt cinched a narrow waist and emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. She’d never been a woman to swoon over a man in uniform. Of course, that had been before she’d met Smith.

  “Hey,” she said from the doorway. “I thought you were on until eight tonight.” Deuce trotted to her and nudged his head under her hand.

  Smith turned. “What is all this?”

  She rubbed Deuce’s head. He closed his eyes and pressed against her leg. She crooned to him. “Hey, buddy.”

  “Ashley?” Smith pointed to the clothes. “What’s this mess?”

  She tilted her head to the side. Maybe she hadn’t heard him right because she could swear he’d said mess. “I did laundry. I was folding—”

  “None of this is folded.”

  “Well, no. Not right now. I started to fold, then I got distracted.”

  “You started to fold.” His voice was skeptical.

  “Yes. A couple things.”

  “What did you fold? Show me.”

  Desire streaked through her, and her sex clenched. How could two little words cause such a reaction? It was like he’d conditioned her to respond to a command. She dragged in a breath. “Undershirt drawer.”

  He went to the dresser and opened the sausage roll drawer. His shoulders tensed, then he plucked the shirt she’d folded from the top. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he gave her a scandalized look. “This is not folded.”

  She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. She couldn’t help it. The sight of a six-foot-plus man in full police gear expressing dismay over the state of his undershirt drawer was too amusing. She leaned against the doorway and folded her arms. Thunder crashed outside, and rain lashed the window. “Maybe not your way.”

  “Oh yeah?” He looked at the shirt, which he still held like a hair he’d found in his food. “Which way is this, exactly?”

  “The normal way people fold clothes, Smith.”

  “You mean the way you fold clothes.” He shook his head and tossed the shirt on top of the dresser. “I’ve seen what that looks like, and there’s nothing normal about it.”

  Her amusement vanished. She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He must have picked up the current of anger in her voice because he put up his hands, all male surrender. “It’s not a big deal. You’re just…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She straightened, and Deuce perked up his ears. Outside, lightning flashed. For a second, the room blazed with light. “I’m just what? What were you going to say?”

  “It’s nothing, Ashley.”

  “Clearly not, Smith.”

  He shoved a hand through his wet hair. “Dammit, I don’t want to fight! I came home to see you.”

  She gritted her teeth. “What were you going to say?”

  “You’re messy! Okay?” He pointed toward the hallway. “Your room is a mess.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I am not messy.”

  “Oh yes, you are.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are!”

  “I’m not!”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Deuce’s head turn back and forth between them as their voices rose.

  Smith’s eyes glinted. “Yes, you are. You leave towels all over the bathroom floor.”

  “You don’t even use my bathroom!”

  “Because I don’t like wet towels!”

  Was he serious? She flung her arms to her sides. “They get wet because I use them to dry myself, you ass!”

  “You left paint cans all over the driveway.”

  “So what?”

  “They’re blocking the garage.”

  “What are you, the driveway police? You’re certainly dressed for it!”

  He gave her a triumphant look. “I bet your bed’s not even made.”

  “It—” She drew herself up. “I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

  “Ah!” he shouted. “I rest my case.”

  She clenched her fists. “You’re being a real jerk, you know that?”

  He matched her volume. “Pointing out the obvious does not make me a jerk.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I did your fucking laundry!”

  “Trust me, so am I!”

  Something inside her snapped. She stomped to the dresser, yanked a handful of sausage shirts from the open drawer, and threw them on the floor.

  “Pick those up!” His voice thundered over the sound of the rain lashing the window.

  She grabbed another handful and tossed it at his feet. “Fuck you!”

  He sucked in a breath. For a minute, they faced off across the open drawer. When he spoke, his voice was calm and deliberate. “Pick up the shirts, Ashley.”

  “No!”

  “Pick. Them. Up.”

  She grabbed another handful and held it threateningly in the air. One sausage roll unfurled and dangled toward the ground. Rain pounded hard against the roof.

  “Don’t you dare,” he said in a low voice.

  They stared at each other. Lightning flashed outside. The smell of ozone rose in the air. As if someone had lit a match, the tension between them flared…then shifted to something else.

  He leaned down and slid the drawer shut. Now there was nothing between them. “You have quite the potty mouth,” he said.

  She lowered her arm and took a step back. Something predatory flashed in his gaze. “Smith…”

  “I should turn you over my knee for talking to me like that.”

  Her mouth dropped open. At the same time, a wave of desire almost buckled her knees. Still, she couldn’t let him threaten her! She lifted her chin. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His nostrils flared. With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuckled his duty belt and slid it from his waist. Leather creaked, and the buckle clinked against the handcuffs that peeped from a case on the side.

  Her throat went dry. Gaze on the belt, she took another step back. It was about ten steps to the door, five if she ran. She dropped the t-shirts. “Smith—”

  “Shh. I’m thinking.” He checked the safety on his gun, then folded the belt around it and set the whole thing on top of the dresser.

  Relief pounded through her—until he faced her and she got a look at his expression. His gaze was hot…and filled with promise. He flicked a look at the door, as if he’d
read her mind.

  As if he wanted her to try it.

  She edged backward. “Thinking about what?”

  He advanced on her. “How wet you are right now.”

  She stumbled, caught herself, and recovered. “I’m not.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” She was almost to the door.

  He stopped. “Let’s make a deal, then. Take off all your clothes and let me check. If you’re not wet, I let you walk out that door.”

  Every part of her knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t stop herself. “And if you win?”

  His smile was raw, unfiltered sex. “You get that spanking I promised you.”

  She spun and sprinted for the hallway. He caught her at the door. In one movement, he whipped her around, backed her to the wall, and brought his mouth down to hers. One hand cupped her jaw, the other slid under the hem of her shorts and found her clit.

  She moaned into his mouth.

  “Jesus,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “No.” She panted. He rubbed moisture over her folds, and she shuddered.

  His breaths were just as labored. “Not that I’m complaining, but why not?”

  She licked her lips, tasting him on her mouth. “I couldn’t find any clean ones.”

  His chuckle pushed warm air over her face. “Lucky for me you’re so messy.”

  Thunder crashed over the house. The lights flickered. Behind them, Deuce whined.

  Smith put his forehead against hers and sighed. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He turned and clicked his tongue at Deuce. “Come on, boy. Downstairs.”

  Deuce shot out the door with the single-minded determination of a dog in need of the potty.

  As soon as they were gone, Ashley slumped against the wall. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy. She glanced down. Her nipples were like two hard pebbles against the thin cotton of her tank top. Thinking she’d be alone in the house all day, she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

  Smith’s footsteps rang out on the stairs. A second later, he burst through the doorway, one hand already unbuttoning his shirt. “Good,” he said, breathless. “You stayed put.”

  “Were you worried I’d run away?” She gazed at his chest.

  “Well, I did promise you a spanking.”

  “I’m not letting you spank me.” Dammit, she’d meant that to sound forceful. It was just hard to concentrate with him taking his clothes off. Sex-stupid.

  “Why not? You might enjoy it.” He took his shirt off, then pulled the Velcro tabs of his body armor vest. He lifted it over his head, dropped it on the floor, and removed his undershirt. Bare-chested, in nothing but his police pants and work boots, he looked like a stripper.

  Lord, give me strength. She pushed away from the wall and drifted toward him. It was like her body had a mind of its own. Without conscious thought, she smoothed her palms over his pecs and down the bumps of his abs. When her fingers reached his waistband, he put his palms on her shoulders and pushed her down.

  She sank to her knees. His cock was a long, thick bulge down the inside of his leg.

  He held her gaze as he unbuttoned his pants and lowered his fly. His cock sprang forth, heavy and engorged. Lightning flashed over them, catching the glistening moisture at the tip of his erection.

  She leaned forward and licked the pearly bead from the narrow slit on the head.

  He hissed. “God, nena.” His hips thrust forward, and his cock brushed her cheek. He let it bob against her face, the dense weight of it nudging against her chin, her mouth, her temple.

  Starting at the base, she dragged her tongue down his length and then took him in her mouth—or as much of him as she could. Even with her jaw stretched as wide as it would go, she could only accommodate half his length.

  He didn’t seem to mind. Gaze on hers, he cupped either side of her head, holding her still while he thrust in and out gently. His cock nudged the back of her throat. The muscles in his chest bunched as he worked her mouth. After a minute, he pumped harder. Every few thrusts, his balls bumped the underside of her chin.

  She pulled back, letting him slide out almost to the tip, then gripped his cock at the base and flicked her tongue around the head. With her other hand, she cupped his sac, the skin delicate and smooth in her palm.

  His hands tightened around her head. When she looked up, he’d gritted his teeth. “Uhn…” He dragged in a breath. “Jesus, you know what you’re doing.”

  Between her legs, her clit throbbed so hard it bordered on pain. Dimly, she wondered if she could get off just by watching his face as he came. She shifted so her clit rubbed along the seam of her shorts. Oh God. Waves of pleasure rocked over her sex.

  The lights dimmed, then brightened as more lightning flashed outside. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. “I want you to share this with me,” he said, his eyes fierce. He grabbed her hand and took her to the bed.

  “But the clothes—”

  With one sweep of his hand, he shoved them to the floor.

  Well, then.

  As if to demonstrate his newfound disregard for neatness, he ditched his boots and pants in record time. Standing before her totally nude, his erection jutting proudly from his hips while lightning from the window flashed over his body, he was like some kind of pagan warrior.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  She pulled her tank top over her head. His gaze rested on her tits for a long moment before lifting to her face. “I must have done something good in a previous life because I am the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.”

  The appreciation in his eyes warmed her from head to toe. Never in her life had a man looked at her like this. It filled her with a blossoming confidence that seemed to extend to every pore, every nerve ending. She unbuttoned her shorts and let them drop to the floor.

  He was on her before she could take a breath. One hand gripped her ass and pulled her hips into his. He used his other hand to hold her jaw while he plundered her mouth. The kiss seemed to go on forever. As his tongue slid against hers, he kneaded her ass cheek with strong fingers. Her nipples, already so sensitive, raked across his chest with every breath. He sucked on her lower lip, then slid his mouth to her ear. “On the bed, on your hands and knees.”

  Her sex clenched. She turned on shaky legs and crawled onto his sleek gray comforter. A few pieces of laundry he’d missed still lay scattered around the surface. The mattress dipped as he positioned himself behind her, his big body radiating heat. Instead of sliding inside her, he rubbed his palms over her ass.

  “Arch your back,” he said. The command in his voice was unmistakable.

  She complied, and heat rippled through her as she realized the position thrust her sex toward him. Without warning, he cracked his open palm against her ass. She jumped and looked over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  He smiled, not an ounce of contrition in the expression. “I did promise you a spanking.” When she might have argued, he gave the other cheek two quick slaps.

  She yelped, but then he pressed his fingers hard against her clit. Sparks fired across her sex as he worked her. Somehow, the sting from his slaps heightened the sensation. She bit her lip and moaned.

  “It’s just as I thought,” he said, still fondling her sex. “You like spankings.” He slapped the first cheek again. Again, sparks shot across her sex, and she cried out. “That’s good,” he said. Whack. “Because I like giving them.” Whack.

  Nothing had ever felt so good. Uncaring what she looked like, she widened her knees and arched harder—anything to give him more access to her sex. Anything to keep his wicked fingers where she needed them. It wasn’t enough, so she dropped to her forearms and thrust her hips back.

  He cursed low in Spanish, then moved his hand from her sex to her hip, his fingers wet on her hot skin. His cock nudged her entrance, and he circled the head around her opening. Soft, wet smacking sounds reached her.

  “Okay, baby?” he
asked, and her heart swelled. He always asked. No matter how intense their lovemaking got, he always maintained a level of control that boggled her mind. He could be in the throes of an orgasm and still stop on a dime if she gave the slightest whimper of discomfort.

  There was no discomfort now. “Yes,” she said, the first waves of release gathering. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, yes.”

  Holding her steady, he seated himself in one hard thrust that made her suck in her breath. His fingers at her hip bit into her skin. He slipped his other hand around her waist and found her clit. She was so primed for him; it took just a few quick rubs to set her off. He was right there with her, setting a frantic pace that shook the bed. Lightning flashed over them, and thunder boomed over the house. As the storm raged outside, he raged inside her, his thighs smacking against the backs of hers as he thrust in and out, his fingers grinding against her clit.

  The gathering waves burst all at once, rushing over her in a torrent that forced the air from her lungs. He was all over and everywhere, filling her up until her mind blanked and nothing mattered except this—this man at this moment in this place. Just this, this, this. Tears pricked behind her eyelids. She burst into a million pieces, reformed, and flew apart again. Above her, he let out a hoarse cry and jerked one last time. Heat filled her core. Her arms trembled.

  When she might have collapsed, he tucked her against him and rolled them to the side, his body spooning hers. His heart pounded against her back. His breaths teased the sweaty hair at her temple.

  Thunder rumbled, and she couldn’t tell if it was the storm or the wall she’d built around her heart crumbling.

  * * *

  Ashley woke to the sound of Smith snoring quietly in her ear. At first, she didn’t realize why that was significant. Then it dawned on her.

  He’d slept beside her.

  Not only that, they’d fallen asleep in his bed. His arm lay heavy over her midsection, and he’d slid one of his legs between hers. The house was silent. Outside, the sky through the uncovered window was pitch-black. Light from the street cast long shadows over the floor.

  Smith stirred. “Did we fall asleep?”