Rough Love

by Landish, Lauren

  “Nuh-uh, you don’t have to be quiet out here. It’s just us. Nobody around for miles. Let the night hear what I’m doing to you, how good it feels. Let me hear you.” She whimpers but lets her hand fall. “Good girl.”

  I lick along her sternum, teasing the sensitive skin between her tits as our hands explore each other. Her nails score along my skin, and I want her to mark me, show me how far gone she is.

  “Stand up,” I tell her, helping her to stand on the egg crate cushion beneath us. I reach up and slide the pretty blue panties down her legs as she lifts one foot, then the other to help me. Once she’s nude, I guide her to step closer to me as I scoot down, leaning back against the cab of the truck. “Come here.”

  I look up at her, making sure she’s still with me. Her mouth is open, small pants of need passing her lips as she presses her hips forward. So slowly, I lick along her lips, right then left, before flattening my tongue and tasting the honey coating her slit.

  “Mmm, so fucking delicious,” I moan as her juices coat my tongue.

  “Oh, my God,” Allyson gasps, her fingers diving into my hair to encourage me. “Yes.”

  Her cry is music to my ears. I devour her, slipping my hands through her spread legs to grip her ass, serving her pussy to my hungry mouth. I lick her clit, swirling and sucking the nub into my mouth as her cries fill the night around us. She bucks against me, riding my tongue.

  It’s driving me wild with desire even as my heart fills with pride at her using me for her pleasure. I keep a tight grip on her ass with one hand but let the other wander, teasing her with a finger.

  “More,” she demands breathlessly.

  “This what you want, baby? You want me to slide my fingers in your pussy even though you know what you really want is my cock?” My words are murmurs against her skin as I rest my cheek on her hip, enjoying the tease as much as she is.

  Her whine spurs me on, and I press forward with one thick finger, filling her. “Damn, Al. You’re so tight, I don’t know if you’re gonna be able to take me anymore. Relax and let me in, baby.”

  She shudders, and I finger-fuck her slowly, stretching her. I’m not just dirty talking her. She really is fucking tight, and I can’t wait to feel her slick satin walls choking my cock, but I don’t want to hurt her. But she’s so wet that after a few seconds, I can add a second finger and she turns molten.

  “Yes . . . oh, God . . . Bruce . . . please.” She’s basically chanting as she pleads with me to get her there. She’s walking that edge so close, stunningly beautiful as she holds on.

  “Come for me, Al. Fly for me,” I growl, then suck hard on her clit, driving my fingers in deep with short, hard thrusts.

  And she does. Her orgasm is loud and messy, a revelation in release as every bit of tension leaves her body at once. She spasms, and I hold on tight, making sure she doesn’t collapse. After a moment, her pants slow and she looks down at me. I wish the moonlight would let me see the truth of her reaction, but it’s too dark to read her eyes.

  Her words are crystal clear, though. “More.”

  She steps back, bending at the waist to kiss me as her hands work at my belt. I growl and push her hands out of the way to make quicker work of it, shoving my jeans and underwear down my thighs. My cock springs up, slapping against my belly, hard and throbbing. I take myself in hand, meeting her eyes.

  “Allyson?”

  One more chance. To stop herself. To stop me. To stop this freight train that’s not running off the tracks but rather is getting back on track. Right the fuck here and now.

  She drops to her knees, aligning herself as I use a thumb to hold myself at the right angle. She kisses me wantonly and drops onto my cock, impaling herself and wrapping me in a slick velvet vice.

  Her anguished cry scares me at first, but it quickly turns into a sound of pleasure as her body makes way for me. “Fuck, Al. So damn tight. Are you okay?”

  I force myself to stay still, letting her adjust to me as I fight my orgasm off. I just got back inside her. I’m sure as hell not gonna come like some two-pump chump, no matter how good she feels.

  She moves first, fucking me, and I let her take what she needs as I brush my thumb across her clit. But after a few thrusts, I can’t hold back anymore and my hands find her hips. We slam into each other, powerful and rough, violently coming together like we can blot away the past years apart if we just go hard at each other. She said she didn’t want me to treat her as though she’s fragile, but that’s the last thing she feels like right now. She feels fierce and wild, like my Allyson always has been.

  Once, weeks ago, I’d had a passing thought that I could hate-fuck her out of my heart. Now, I want to fuck myself into hers—harder, deeper, brutally claiming her as she tattoos herself on my heart too.

  “You feel too good,” I manage to grunt out through my clenched teeth. “I can’t stop.”

  “Don’t stop, Bruce. Please. Fill me.” Her beg is stilted as I thrust into her, but on the same page, we explode together.

  The sky might be full of stars, but all I see are the flashes behind my eyelids as I come, filling her with my seed at the same time she spasms around me, milking me for more. Both of us cry out to the dark, mine deep and grunted and hers high-pitched and hitched, in a shared moment of absolute frozen bliss, and then we sag, spent and gasping for breath.

  We stay tangled in each other. I feel like warm, fizzy champagne is buzzing through my veins, making my edges blurry, like I can’t tell where I end and Allyson begins. She’s languid against me, almost purring with an occasional hum in her throat.

  There’s no awkwardness now, something I didn’t even realize I was nervous about. We just roll right back into talking, relaxed and easy like we used to, as I trace swirling lines along her back. The stars twinkle, the night chills, and we just curl up into each other.

  Bobby writes songs about moments like this, I realize. This sense of hopefulness, of the start of something greater, of love.

  But I bite back any words about that, not wanting to scare her. She asked me to fuck her. She didn’t ask me to love her. I do, but she’s not ready. Two steps forward, though, I’ll take.

  Chapter 22

  Allyson

  “I feel like when we were kids and I’d drop you off after a date, praying that your parents didn’t answer the door. I knew if they saw my shit-eating grin, they’d know exactly what I’d been doing with their sweet little girl.”

  The nostalgia turns into something sexier as he does a slow perusal, hot and hungry, down my body before smirking like he can see right through to what’s underneath.

  “But now, instead of getting caught by your folks, I’m checking the windows to see if Cooper’s looking out.” Bruce chuckles but leans forward to look through the windshield, scanning every window. “No movement in the blinds. Looks like we’re in the clear.”

  Tonight has been amazing. More than amazing, I correct myself. I knew I was going to go out with Bruce and we’d end up fighting or fucking. We definitely fucked, but it was something bigger than a cheap thrill and we both know that.

  He patiently let me unpack one of my boxes of demons, listening thoughtfully and without judgement, and that meant more to me than he’ll ever know. He made me feel not just okay, but . . . worthy. And letting me set the pace was something I hadn’t even known I needed, but he did.

  He’s still watching me for the clues. He’s been nothing but transparent about what he wants, but still, he lets me lead. To me, that shows just how strong and good Bruce is, all the way to his core, and how much faith he has in me to know my own heart and find my own way. I know he hopes I find my way back to him, but I think he’d understand if I truly wanted to go a different way. It’d hurt him, no doubt about that, but I think he was being brutally honest when he said he just wants me to be happy.

  I want that too.

  “Cooper’s not home tonight. Michelle said he could sleep over at her house just in case . . . you know.” I blush even though th
ere’s no reason to. I’m a grown woman who wants to have sex with a man who wants me. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not sure if I’m telling myself or society at large that single mothers can be sexual creatures with wants, needs, and desires beyond their kids, and that it’s not only okay, it’s damn healthy. My old therapist and my currently throbbing pussy say so.

  I don’t examine my words, just let them come freely and wildly. “Want to come in?”

  “Fuck yes,” Bruce rumbles before getting out of the truck and damn near high-stepping to get around to my side. Instead of helping me down, he turns and gives me his back. “Get on.”

  I laugh, thinking he’s kidding. “I am almost thirty years old and a mother. I do not do piggyback rides unless I’m the one giving them, and Cooper’s been too big for that for years now. I’m also too big for you to carry me like that.” I try to hop down from his stupidly jacked-up truck, but his broad back is blocking me.

  He looks over his shoulder. “You ain’t got your sandals on, and I could carry you one-armed. We can do that instead, if you’d rather? Want me to throw you over my shoulder, smack your ass on the way to the house? Might be harder to unlock the door if you’re hanging upside down, though.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care because he’s winning this battle of wills either way.

  He paints a rather specific and sexy image. And while I might be all on-board with dating as a single parent, having Bruce carry me caveman style might be a little beyond the pale. I can only guess at the gossip if word got out about that.

  Reading my face in the light coming from the porch, he grins like he won. “Piggyback it is. Hop on.” Guess he is winning, because damned if I don’t do it.

  I push the truck door closed, and somehow, he beeps the alarm without my feeling wobbly at all. He’s got me secure, his strong hands locked under my thighs, which are spread around his waist. I’ve got my heels in one hand and my key in the other, both arms resting over his shoulders.

  It feels silly and childish but also fun. Something I think I forgot how to do unless it was related to Cooper.

  You’ve been having a lot of fun with Bruce.

  I can hear the voice in my head teasing, but it’s right. I have had fun more fun in the last few weeks than in ages. Playing football, even though I suck at it, flirting, and just talking with him have all brought back this light inside me I hadn’t even realized was dim, barely flickering and on the verge of being snuffed out.

  At the door, he bends forward so I can unlock it, and then he kicks it shut behind us. The house is quiet, the living room lamp on so the house doesn’t look deserted. Being alone behind a closed door suddenly feels full of possibility.

  My sandals and the keys fall to the floor with a clunk, and I squeeze him tight between my thighs, wishing I were on his front instead of his back. I lean forward, my arms crossing over his chest, and whisper in his ear, “Down the hall.”

  He angles his head, looking at me carefully. I can’t see myself, but I know my eyes are clear and bright. I’m sure. Of myself, of him, of this.

  I point Bruce to the last door on the left, and he stops when he enters. I watch as his eyes scan my bedroom, and I wonder what he’s gleaning about me that he didn’t already know. I try to see it through his eyes—fluffy white comforter and enough pillows on the bed to give away my addiction to all things smooshy, a headboard I refinished myself with chalk paint and wax before deciding DIY was something I was never doing again, a white dresser with candles and knick-knacks I thought were pretty, and a cozy chair where I sit and read, usually for work but occasionally for fun.

  “Pretty. Comfortable.” It’s just two words, but it’s my aesthetic to a T. It’s stupid, but I like that he gets it.

  “You like it?” I ask, but my fingers are tracing the line of his trimmed beard along his neck.

  “Love it. My room’s basically a place to crash. So I’m probably not the guy to ask for decorating advice.” He’s answering me, but at the same time, he’s tilting his head, giving me access to kiss his neck as his hands knead my thighs.

  It strikes me as sad that he lives so casually. Nothing about Bruce has ever been casual. He’s always been full-throttle and had a plan—football, wife, farm, kids. Somewhere along the way, he got stuck too. I won’t be so narcissistic as to think it was because of me. He’s had enough other family drama going on, but we both petered out along the way, losing steam and settling into a rut neither of us saw coming.

  Maybe he’s right? Could we somehow put right what went wrong all those years ago? That sounds crazy, but it doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Stranger things have happened, right?

  He spins, dropping me onto the bed unexpectedly, and I bounce, laughing. He turns back, leaning over me and caging me between his arms as his fists dent the fluffy bedding. I feel pinned beneath his gaze, his heat, his intentions. But there’s not a bit of anxiety in my body. Instead, I feel safe . . . and needy.

  “Cooper’s gone all night?” His voice is pure grit and sex.

  I nod, on autopilot as my body simply yearns for his. Every cell inside me wants him, wants to be marked by him, wants to be possessed by him. That should be scary as fuck, but with Bruce, it’s not. Not at all.

  Even that plan he always had, his expectations of what his life would be like, what our life would be like, should terrify me because that’s exactly where things started to go wrong with Jeremy. But deep inside, I know it’s different. Jeremy and Bruce are as different as night and day.

  If you saw them side by side, you’d think big, rough Bruce would be the night, with its scary darkness, and Jeremy, with his pretty looks, would be the bright promise of each new day.

  You’d be wrong. So very wrong.

  Bruce is the light-bringer, the one who helped me grow up, reach higher for dreams I thought might be beyond my grasp. Jeremy is the one who put me into hibernation, a dormancy that shunted my progress as he savored my fading glow.

  But the sun is back, and he’s looking at me with fiery need, daring me to reach for him again.

  “Allyson, we’ve got all night, and as crazy as it sounds after everything we’ve been through, it’s our first time in a bed. Do you know how many dreams and fantasies I had of this? Let me worship you, let me love you. Please.” His voice is low and slow, so transparently hungry for me.

  I can feel a hot burn stinging my eyes that he even recognizes this or feels like it’s important. God, the people who look at him and only see the brutal monster he once was in football are missing the very best parts of this man. But I’m not. I see every bit of goodness, kindness, and gentleness in his heart.

  “Probably as many dreams and fantasies as I had about it,” I confess. It’s the truth. So many of my teen imaginings were of this very thing. An entire night to revel in each other, to fall asleep in each other’s arms, and to wake in the morning to a sleepy-soft Bruce was something I wanted desperately.

  He falls over me, pressing me to the bed as his mouth covers mine. Softly, he kisses me, stoking the fire between us, not with lighter fluid and a quick flash of ignition but with a slow burn, taking time to build the flames, caring for the embers until we both need more.

  We strip bare, and Bruce hauls me up, laying my back against the pile of pillows as he kneels between my spread legs. “Goddamn, you look better than I ever imagined. So beautiful.” His eyes slide over me, a palpable caress, and though some small part of me is nervous about my body not being the younger version of myself he used to stare at hungrily, that inner wanton woman he brings out preens proudly as he groans in appreciation. It helps that his hand is stroking his hard, proud cock slowly as he looks at me, like he could get off just seeing me laid out like a feast for his eyes.

  My eyes are drawn to that up and down movement, but I trace his entire thick body with my eyes too, appreciating the broadness of his shoulders, the V lines of his waist, the bumps of his abs, and every dip and bulge of muscle. I study not only the tattoo on his arm but the black linew
ork on his chest, including a small, script MT. My heart breaks that he lost his mother and that I wasn’t here to love him through that, but I’m here now.

  “Bruce —” I say, but he interrupts me.

  “I’m going to take my time tonight.” His voice is deep and dark with promise as he makes that vow. One I know he’ll keep, one I want him to. I want to fall into this . . . whatever this is . . . with him.

  It’s too fast, too crazy, too stupid, but damned if I don’t jump off the cliff anyway, trusting that he’ll catch me before I crash-land. But first, I want to enjoy the freefall, the flight with the wind through my hair and the air rushing up to buoy me like I’m floating. That’s what tonight is. The rest I can figure out later.

  I’m going to luxuriate in him, let him indulge in me, bring that dream we both once had to reality because I think it’ll be better than we ever thought possible.

  The night outside fades away until it’s only the two of us in existence—his lips on my skin, our fingers mapping each other’s body, and him filling a void inside me I didn’t even realize existed.

  As we collapse, exhaustion overtakes us and one other piece of those younger dreams comes true as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  It’s even better than I’d imagined.

  * * *

  I stir the eggs, adding a bit of pepper as they scramble. Bruce grabs two plates out of the cabinet, setting them next to me at the ready. The bacon’s crisped and the bread’s toasted golden brown, so I start making plates with those as Bruce grabs juice.

  He’s half in the fridge when the front door opens and Cooper comes running in. “Mom, guess what I got! Mom!”

  Time stops, freezing in an instant.

  Distantly, I’m glad I’m not naked. Bruce and I had put on the barest stiches of clothing to cook when he pointed out that bacon grease is a known boner killer. I’d laughed and let him slip his shirt over my shoulders, and he’d pulled on his boxer briefs. Now, I’m so ridiculously grateful for the risk of splattering hot oil because otherwise, I’d be naked when my son comes in.