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“Damn, yeah...” One last lick that makes me whimper, and then he’s poised over me, on his elbows, a hand cradling my face as he kisses me. My taste on his tongue is always a shock, and I wonder why he likes going down on me—but it’s pretty obvious he does from the massive hard-on poking me in the hip as he moves over me.
Then his hand leaves my face so he can grab his cock and guide it into me. I moan his name when he enters me, the blunt head stretching my pussy so wide I panic that it won’t fit, even if he’s been inside me before. His kiss turns savage, brutal, his tongue lashing mine, taking my mind off the intrusion—and then he’s slipping inside, the discomfort turning into such pleasure that I cry out in his mouth, lifting my hips to take more of him in.
He thrusts, knocking the breath out of me, then again, until I’m moaning his name.
“You like this,” he grunts. “My cock inside you, fucking you like this, making you come so hard you don’t know how to hide from the fucking pleasure.”
“Yeah, I...”
“You like me... Say it, Luna.”
“I...” I hesitate, even through the haze of pleasure, or maybe because of it, my mind all tangled up in confusion. “I don’t know...”
What you want from me.
If you’re teasing or if you’re about to do
something nasty.
What all this means.
He groans, and manages to stop after another thrust. “Fuck. What’s the matter?”
I shrug. Look down. Try not to look at him, but fail.
He’s buried deep inside me, throbbing, but his face is still. He’s watching me, those pale eyes narrowed, and after a while he sighs. “Dammit.”
“Ross...”
“Save it.” He pulls out of me, making me gasp, and climbs off the bed to go stand at the window.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t sweat it, pretty girl,” he mutters, his back to me. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, let alone like me. Nobody could. I’m not worth the effort. I know this isn’t love.”
And he just breaks my heart into tiny jagged pieces. I keep expecting him to revert to his former bully ways, but he was only being playful, and I hurt him. It feels awful.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but it’s probably too late now. “I do like you.”
He harrumphs, clearly unconvinced.
He deserves honesty. He deserves to be loved.
When did I start to think that way about him? When did my crush turn into something different, deeper, stronger?
Admiration. When the hell did I find admiration for him in my heart?
Probably after gathering the clues of his past, how he grew up, how his stints in prison affected him, how his dad’s final act of betrayal almost finished him off. A grudging admiration for Ross still standing, still living, for trying to be a better man than his father.
For being sorry for hurting me in the past. For saving my ass time and again, helping me with the groceries, telling me I’m pretty, talking of matters that seem to open up old wounds inside.
I realize I’ve been collecting all the little clues that seem to say that Ross has a heart, after all, and it’s a good heart, too.
In his shoes, I really don’t know if I’d have managed to keep my heart intact. To stay kind. He says I’m the bravest person he knows, but all he needs is a mirror to see what I am seeing.
“Hey...” I struggle to gather my thoughts, my words as I get up and go join him. “Penny for your thoughts?”
