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When he peels off his shirt I see two things I did not expect. A tattoo of a cross over his heart—unlike the tattoo on his penis, this one is roughly inked as if it is homemade—and a chain made of beautifully cut red crystal beads around his neck. It is a woman’s accessory, but strangely it does not look odd or feminine on a man who is so seriously ripped and tanned. If anything he seems more mysterious and masculine for it.
I touch the smooth, glittering facets.
‘Why are you wearing this?’ I ask, my voice a whisper of wonder.
‘Because I like it,’ he says simply.
In his eyes I am suddenly startled to see something that makes him different and more special than any other man who has undressed me or pressed his body into mine. This man has done bad things, but he alone has decided that I am his and only his. That I will always be his. He will willingly give up his life for me.
He rips my top off in one vicious tug and flings it into one corner of the room. My skirt sticks to my thighs. The air thuds in my lungs.
The sex is furious. Relentless. Glittering. We fuck hard and fast and dirty, sweat running down his curving muscles and dripping on my bare skin.
TEN
That night I dream of Luke. He is standing on a bridge in a foreign country, perhaps China or Japan, and his back is turned to me.
‘Come to me,’ I call to him.
Although he turns and looks at me he doesn’t move, so I put my foot on the bridge to go to him, but instantly his face changes to one of terror. He starts to shake his head. In my dream I ignore his warning and put my other foot on the bridge and to my shock he starts to disintegrate the way a statue would. Bits fall off him. His hands drop off. I take another step and his hips crumple and he crashes to the ground on the stump of his waist. The closer I get to him the more he disintegrates, but even though I am horrified by his destruction I am unable to stop moving toward him.
Tears start pouring down my face, but still my feet move forward. His head falls on his chest. His face turns to dust and starts flying off. And still I cannot stop walking toward him. Finally I reach him and he is a handful of dust.
I take the handful of dust and eat it.
I wake up naked and flushed and stuck to Jake’s skin. I can still smell the heady scent of our raw, primal pillow-biting fuck. I suddenly remember that time when I ran on pure rage. Rage against the world that had taken Luke away. For a few seconds I do nothing. Simply lie listening to the thud of my heart and feel the sweat pouring out of my skin.
The window is open and a soft breeze is blowing in.
Slowly I turn my face and look at Jake. Sleeping the sleep of the innocent. I touch the sheet and it slides off his massive shoulder, baring the crudely inked cross on his chest. Very gently I turn around and, going close to his face, smell his fragrant throat.
Desire radiates off me like the heat of a sultry summer night. My breasts begin to ache. I never thought I would ever feel this sweet ache for any man, let alone Jake Eden, the criminal. I let my nipples gently slide over his chest. They are so hard even that hurts. I watch the sensuous, relaxed curve of his mouth. He is delicious. I bend my head toward the sleeping man and viciously bite his lower lip.
His reaction is shockingly precise and immediate. Like a trained special ops force under attack his hands fly up, fit around my neck and tighten like bands of steel. My mouth opens in a startled gasp and his lip falls out from between my teeth. We stare at each other, breathing hard. There is no condemnation, only desire glowing in his eyes. His thumb caresses my throat in a silky, sexual fashion. Excitement hums between us.
No rules. No guilt. Here. There. Then gone.
We move toward each other at the same instant. His two fingers thrust deep into my throbbing sex. I look at his hand disappearing into my pussy and widen my thighs shamelessly.
‘I’m gonna make this even better for you,’ he says as his thumb begins to swirl around my clit and I moan with the pleasure that flowers. I curl my fingers and dig them into the mattress, as if I am getting ready to fight my ground. In fact, I am holding on. It feels as if I am about to fall from a great height.
His thumb presses down on my clit and my sex clenches with need. Suddenly, he starts jamming into me. So incredibly fast my entire body vibrates like a jackhammer. I climax without warning, my body convulsing.
He lifts me by the waist and holds me over his erect cock and pushes me down hard, stretching my swollen pussy over his blunt thickness.
‘Ride me,’ he commands.
Impaled on his thick, full cock I place my hands on the taut muscles of his stomach, the skin under my palms burning, and slam myself on him. He grabs my ass and spreads the cheeks so I am even more open when he plunges upward into me.
It is the thrust of pure possession. He is claiming me as his and erasing away the memory of every other man who has been inside me. I allow him to fuck me harder and harder, flattening my thighs and pushing my sex into him until it is too much to bear. Our struggle is raw and wild and age old. This soaking wet cunt belongs to me, his body tells me, and I’ll fuck it any way I want.
I twist and struggle, but he is so much stronger there is simply no contest. His pubic bone keeps on hitting my clit and I feel myself begin to break open. My drop down on him is no longer slow but frenzied. My breasts bounce wildly.
The climax comes while I am wide open and taking every inch of that massive cock of his. As he unleashes his hot cum deep inside me I clench wildly around his flesh. We are both panting. I rest my forehead against his chest. Slowly, he lifts my body so I am looking into his eyes.
We gaze at each other.
‘Lily, why are you so scared?’ His voice is soft, curious.
‘I’m not scared.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ I lightly graze my fingernail on the red crystals. He catches my fingers. They look so tiny inside his big hand.
‘I’m just reckless,’ I tell him.
‘Hmm… That’s what I would be if I was not what I am.’
‘What are you?’
‘Lucky. I’m very lucky, Lily,’ he says drowsily.
His eyelids flutter down and I watch him fall asleep while he is still inside me. I lift away from his body gently, but with a sucking sound that does not wake him. I lie beside him—not so our skins touch, but so I can still feel the heat that comes in waves from his body. I cannot comprehend the connection I have with this man. I cannot understand the way we fuck, like wild animals. I have never been like that with anyone. And I simply cannot comprehend the deep way I feel about him.
I stare at the window until it lightens.
Then I get up very carefully, my body sore and my sex swollen and puffy between my legs, and I go into the bathroom. When I use the toilet it burns like crazy. He must have torn me last night. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the cool tiles. He did not use protection. And I did not ask him to. I have never done that with anyone. Not even when I was a teenager. I have always been so careful. So cautious.
I splash water on my face and go back into the bedroom. It reeks of sex. Very quietly I collect my clothes off the floor. My top is ripped beyond repair and my skirt is torn and the hook missing, but still usable. I borrow his shirt. Of course, it is too big, but I roll the sleeves and it will have to do.
For some minutes I stand over him and watch him sleep. He is deliciously manly and the desire to wake him and have sex is so strong I have to force myself to turn away. I tiptoe down the stairs and let myself out of the front door.
Outside the air is cool. There is no one about. I look at my mobile phone. It is five thirty a.m. I start walking down streets blindly. This is the good part of London and there are no tramps. In fact I meet no one for a good ten minutes. Then a man on a bicycle passes me by. He does not spare me a glance. I look at the time. Nearly six.
Finally I see a red telephone box. I go and lift the receiver to check that it is working. It is. I go back outside and find a little corner s
hop where I buy a bar of chocolate and get some change. I go back to the telephone box and check the time again—six fifteen a.m. She should be awake by now. I go into the box, drop some coins into the slot and dial.
A woman answers, and I release the breath I am holding. Her voice is dear and familiar. I feel tears rushing into my eyes. I blink them away.
‘Hello,’ she says again.
‘Hey, Mom,’ I say. My voice sounds small and broken. I shouldn’t have denied her existence. No matter what, I shouldn’t have done it.
