They both reared back like they’d been slapped. Andrew never knocked off early or failed to close on his scheduled nights. Nonetheless, Rory nodded, dazedly, and Andrew wasted no time escaping their concerned stares by ducking under the hatch. He collected his keys and cell phone from the back office—and went out to get shit faced.
*
Andrew had forgotten that alcohol brought on the nightmare.
Numbing his brain should have staved off the echoes from the past, but the whiskey he’d consumed by himself in some random dive bar that night had the opposite effect. Andrew might have been drunk, but he was lucid enough to know what was coming. The dream was always the same, after all.
He walked in through the front door of his house, brushing rain off the shoulders of his leather jacket. It was only ten o’clock and his mother was usually still up, so he’d been surprised to find the house dark. But it only remained that way until a lightning strike brought everything into focus and snapped like a camera flash. What? No. He’d seen that wrong.
Andrew only let himself believe that for a split second.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d witnessed his father looming over his mother with a fist raised. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard her screaming for help. For mercy.
His hand trembled as he smacked on the light.
No lights. Power out.
Lightning struck once again and this time he watched his father connect. Heard the thud, the crunch, the gasp of pain. She wasn’t fighting back. She usually fought with a vengeance until one of her sons arrived to intervene. This was bad. She was really hurt.
Anger rocked Andrew so hard, his ears started to ring. He tasted blood from biting down on his own tongue. He’d experienced this level of rage before, mostly when his mother was hurt by their father’s hand, but Andrew’s refusal to share his father’s most prominent trait was usually enough to rein in Andrew’s temper. To stop it dead.
Nothing would stop it now. He was already running into the living room.
This wasn’t happening again.
He wasn’t letting this happen to her again.
Rory broke up their fights often, but he’d come back from prison with a finer edge of violence and Andrew had no doubt that next time? He’d kill the son of a bitch they called father. Andrew couldn’t let that happen. It had to be him. Or this would never end. She was too scared to leave him—and rightly so. Their father was a mean, vengeful bastard and he wouldn’t let her be happy. Wouldn’t give her a moment of peace.
None of them would have peace.
How many times had Andrew been belted across the mouth or had his ribs blackened? And for what? Spilling water? Not closing the door fast enough? Existing?
It ended tonight.
It ended now.
He didn’t pause in his stride as he scooped up his mother’s favorite brass rocking horse figurine and swung it. Once. That was all it took.
His father dropped and Andrew just knew. He just knew without double checking that he’d ended it. And he was shocked at himself and terrified of what was to come, but most of all, he was worried what kind of shape he’d find his mother—
When he looked down, though, it wasn’t his mother lying unconscious.
It was Jiya.
NO. Oh Jesus, please, no. Don’t let this be happening. Not Jiya. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she’d been injured by his own flesh and blood. Couldn’t stand the possibility of living in a world without her. A miserable wail left him. She looked so small.
Why wouldn’t she move?
Wake up, sweetheart. Please.
“Andrew.”
Her voice. How could he hear her voice when her mouth wasn’t moving? He ran futile hands over her still form, shouting at her to wake up. “Jiya!”
Cold hands gripped his shoulders, but when he looked down, nothing was there but his leather jacket and blood—
Andrew jolted awake in a cold sweat, his heart racing fast enough to make him dizzy. It took him several heaved breaths to figure out where he was, what was happening. Nightmare. Just a nightmare. Jiya was fine and it was all a nightmare. He knew that because she was sitting on his bed, shaking him. Relief like he’d never known blanketed him and he reached for her, dragging her across the bed, up against his chest. Squeezing her. She’s okay. She’s okay.
He didn’t realize he was speaking aloud until Jiya said, “Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine.” She straddled him, rubbing circles onto his bare, sweaty back. “You were just having a bad dream. I heard you through the window.”
Looking over her shoulder at his bedroom, Andrew saw he must have opened the window before passing out, probably hoping Jiya would come out and talk to him. Her window, too, was open in the distance, lamplight glowing from within her bedroom. “Did you climb in here?” he croaked. “You could have hurt yourself.”
“Shhh.” She played with the ends of his hair. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”
“No,” he said on a shudder, inhaling her neck, inhaling any part of her he could reach. “Thank you for coming over.”
Such a formal thing to say when his open mouth was practically molesting her neck. He needed to stop. Now. Now, Andrew. Lift her off your lap and make her go home. But even if he hadn’t drunk a pint of whiskey tonight, the dream would have been enough to snap his control. Enough to make him laugh in the face of what was right. He needed this girl in the most basic, vital, urgent way. Needed to know in his bones that she was alive, living, breathing, and God help him, was he going to ruin everything right here, right now? Just burn it down?
He looked down at the pressed bodies and saw she wore nothing but a cotton ruffle nightgown. It ended at her hips, displaying a sweet pair of lavender panties. Andrew groaned, his hips lifting of their own volition to make her gasp.
“If you stay in my bed, sweetheart,” he said raggedly. “I’m going to fuck you.”
There was something in the way she looked at him then. Like she’d labeled all his innermost thoughts by name. Knew the parts of him he tried to hide. Her hand caressed the side of his face and he leaned into the touch greedily.
“I’m going to stay, Andrew,” she whispered, bringing their mouths a hair apart. “Because I want to. Because I need you now, in this moment, too much to fight it. Okay? And it’s the same for you. It’s the same.”
His heart skipped and twisted. Could he let this happen? If they made love, it would be so much more than physical release. It would be something he’d fantasized about since hitting puberty. Over and over and over until he was raw and gut sick and starved for her. It would be something he thought about every day for the rest of his life. Still, he couldn’t make himself break contact and stop. Couldn’t have done it to save the world. He’d lost her in real life, lost her in his dreams, but he could have her in this moment and Christ, he needed so badly.
He could no more stop himself from lunging forward and throwing Jiya down on her back than he could stop time.
“Need you?” He hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties and slowly, slowly dragged them down her gorgeous, brown legs. “No, Jiya. I fucking require you.”
He thought he heard Jiya make a small sound, but he was distracted from that possibility when she drew her nightgown off, tossing it aside. She trailed her fingertips down the inside of her slightly parted thighs and murmured, “I don’t like waiting, Andrew.”
Andrew’s balls cinched up, tight and fast, and he fell forward, catching himself before he could crush her, panting. Panting. Of course she remembered what he’d revealed on the beach. Of course she would give it to him. He couldn’t remember at which age his fantasies had taken on this particular edge, but the tone of his daydreams had changed. Quickly. He’d gone from thinking about Jiya’s tits to kneeling on the ground in front of Jiya and being ordered to suck them. Being denied pleasure until he’d sucked them long and good.
“I won’t keep you waiting,” he groaned, sliding back on the bed and shoving hi
s face between her thighs. Yes, shoving. He rubbed his cheeks, chin and mouth all over her pussy, stopping only to worship it with a kiss. Fuck. She was warm, wet heaven. Even better than he’d dreamed and in his dreams, she’d tasted like drizzled honey. Her thighs hugged his ears now, squeezing and releasing as he continued to French kiss her wet, little gash, writhing his tongue in her hole and dragging it up to her clit. Flicking. Teasing.
“Andrew. What are you…ohhh, that’s…” Her usually faint accent was more pronounced now and it made him hot. Knowing he’d gotten to her already.
He scooped up her butt cheeks in his hands and lifted her, wanting, needing her to watch. Wanting her to see him slather her clit in wetness. Needing her to watch as he sank a couple inches of his tongue into her hot entrance, sliding it in and out. In and out, before kissing his way back to her clit and closing his groaning mouth over it. Hitting her with suction, tongue flicks, suction, and then just going for broke licking that swelling bud. Thoroughly, hungrily.
Mine mine mine mine mine.
Jiya’s head thrashed above him, her hands twisting in the sheets. “Oh, oh…don’t stop doing that. Don’t stop. Please please don’t stop. Andrew!”
“Oh fuck,” he moaned in between licks of her orgasming pussy. “Oh fuck, your pussy tastes so good, sweetheart. Tastes so good. So good.”
When her tremors started, he moved up her body like a thirsty man in the desert crawling toward an oasis. With her black hair spread out on his white sheets and her eyes dazed, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. A light dew shined in the hollow of her neck and he lapped at it with his tongue as he positioned his cock between her thighs. A shudder wracked him when he slipped the head through her soaked folds and found her entrance, felt her legs tense around his hips, watched her teeth sink into her full lower lip, her eyes squeeze shut. Bracing.
Bracing?
That should have been a warning to Andrew, but he was drowning in lust, no surface in sight, and he wanted to be connected to Jiya so badly, his heart was butting up against his jugular. Wanting to absorb every tiny pulse of her body, every reaction, he gave her all his weight, locked their mouths together tight and thrust his cock home—
Her shocked cry and brutal tightness told Andrew instantly she was a virgin. That she’d been with no men while away at college or afterward—and he’d agonized and acted like a fool for no reason. But he wouldn’t smite his fortune now by dwelling on who they had or hadn’t been with before. Not when he’d been given the gift of making love to this woman. This fucking goddess. She was the only one who would ever matter. And he would have revered Jiya no matter who she’d been with, but he was thankful as hell he’d touched no one for a decade. There was nothing to mar the perfection of being with her. As far as Andrew was concerned, she was his first time. Jiya Dalal. His first, last and forever, whether they could be together or not.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sex was nothing like she’d imagined.
It was better—and Andrew hadn’t even moved yet.
Why wasn’t he moving?
His weight on top of her was a revelation. So glorious and safe and visceral, her hands went to his hard, perspiring back automatically and pulled him closer. Dropped to his thick buttocks and yanked that closer, too, and oh—oh the deep groan passing through him made goosebumps break out on every inch of her skin. How had they been near each other so many times and not fit their corresponding parts together? That was madness.
He was full and pulsing inside of her, his body so heavy. Man. Andrew. His scent had an added texture that was primal, sexual. They were still engaged in the same kiss he’d initiated before entering her, but he was breathing heavily now. Faster, faster. And while she wanted him to move, to make love to her, she also wanted to savor every second. This moment, the next, the one after.
The thundering of her heart drowned out common sense or any fear of what would transpire after tonight. After they’d let their needs rule, damn the consequences. If they couldn’t have anything else, she wanted him to look back and remember they had something special. Real. If it couldn’t be forever, at least they’d remember tonight twice as long, right?
The air in the room was still, expectant, like time had paused in honor of what they were doing and her own body thrummed in the same manner. Waiting to be taken.
“Andrew?”
“You’re a virgin,” he grated into the side of her neck. “Fuck. I thought…I didn’t know…”
“Is that a bad or good thing?”
He lifted his head and looked down at her, lust, affection and denial warred in his expression. “A whole lot of both, sweetheart.” His mouth grazed hers once, twice, his gaze searching hers. “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you. Please.”
“You didn’t. I love the way you feel.”
His relieved exhale bathed her face. “Goddamn me for drinking whiskey tonight. If I forget a single second of this…”
“You won’t,” she whispered. “We won’t.”
“Yeah, I’m a little afraid of that, too.” Andrew planted a hand beside her head and levered up slightly to look down to where their bodies joined. They both watched him draw his shaft out slowly and slide it back inside her, Jiya’s nipples getting harder with every added inch. When he was close to occupying her fully, he rocked his hips hard and they both gasped. “Son of a bitch,” Andrew rasped, squeezing her hip hard. “How am I going to make this good when I just want to lay the fuck into you?”
Her sex clenched at the raw, animal hunger in his tone. “If that’s what you want, it’s what I want,” she managed.
He circled his hips and ground down until her thighs started to shake. “I can’t fuck a virgin the way I want to fuck you,” he growled. “Jiya, do you have any idea what it would do to me if I hurt you? I’ll go insane.”
“I know.” She pulled his face down for a kiss and he pillaged her mouth. There was no other way to describe the way he shoved her lips wide with his own. The way he angled his head and lapped at the inside of her mouth with his tongue, before twisting and muddling her brain from a different angle. And as their mouths tangled, his lower body started to roll. To rock. Every time Andrew entered her, seating himself fully with a triumphant grunt, a cog turned low in her belly, tightening, tightening. She didn’t know whether to spread her thighs open or press them to Andrew’s pumping hips. It felt good both ways. Too good. So good, she couldn’t rest, couldn’t stay still, her body writhing beneath his bigger one.
The sounds of flesh slapping filled the air and she felt the desperation in Andrew. Felt it. He gritted an apology and pinned her down with his hips, pounding into her—one, two, three—before stopping with a curse, his breathing shallow. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m trying to go slow.” He eased out and in slowly, his eyes rolling back in his head. “You’re just so tight, sweetheart. Fit me like a dream. Knew you would, you beautiful fucking woman.”
Jiya loved his words, loved his admission of weakness over her, loved the way he talked about her body like it had been designed for his individual pleasure. Maybe it had.
You know it has.
She ignored the whispered words in her head because they made her chest twist. Instead, she focused on now. This moment. And in this moment, she wanted that pounding again. Wanted his body driving into her in that frenzy she’d experienced too briefly. She wanted inside, under his skin. Wanted to stand in the rubble of the walls she’d knocked down. Wanted every single facet of him.
She knew just how to get it, too.
Jiya reached up and twisted her fingers in the strands of his hair.
Dropped open her thighs.
“How tight is it, Andrew?”
As if her purring tone made his body react on reflex, he reared back and drove deep. “Ah, Jesus. Tight enough to ruin me forever. So tight my fist probably won’t get me off ever again.”
With her fingers tangled in his hair, she yanked his face down to hers and spoke against his lips. “What do you wa
nt to do to it?”
“Please it,” he responded hoarsely. “Please you.”
His answer made her intimate muscles spasm around his flesh. “It’ll please me when you work yourself up into a sweat for me.” One set of fingers disengaged from his hair and trailed down his back, settling on his backside. Lightly grazing him there with her fingernails, making his erection swell inside her. “It’ll please me to see you too out of control to stop.”
He panted against her temple. “Hate to tell you I’m already there.”
She dug her nails into the flesh of his ass. Hard. “Are you?”
“Ahhhh fuck,” he gritted out. “Fuck. Yes.”
“If you’re out of control, show me.”
Jiya could sense his tether fraying, could see it with her own eyes when he draped her legs over his shoulders and folded her in half, bearing down on her with his upper body and entering her in a way that was pornographic. His hips bounced his shaft in and out of her, his lips were peeled back from his teeth, his eyes lustful. Filthy. Smacks of flesh filled the room, growing louder, faster in sequence. And still she knew he was holding back. Trying not to hurt her. Too bad she wanted to be hurt, marked, owned, so she could walk around bearing the scar of Andrew Prince for the rest of her life.
“Harder,” she said in a husky voice. “Faster.”
There. His thickness went justthatmuch deeper and the base of him rubbed against her clit with every savage thrust, every claiming of her body. Her orgasm loomed close, but she didn’t want it to suck her into the void yet. She wanted more. She wanted what he’d threatened. His soul. After all, he already had hers.
“Harder.”
He surged forward and snarled against her mouth. “We didn’t wear a condom, Jiya. If I fuck you any harder, no way I’ll be able to pull out.”
“You will. Harder.”
“Jiya.”
She yanked hard on two fistfuls of his hair and watched bliss rain down on his features. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Again.” Jiya complied and felt his manhood pulsate with renewed intensity inside of her. In hurried, frantic movements, he dropped her legs from his shoulders, pinned them open wide and fell on to her, wrestling her down hard and fucking her.
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