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“But you do,” he coaxed her. “You got through it. And you’re OK, because you’re tough. And strong. And so gorgeous, it’s killing me. I won’t look away from you for a second. I can’t. Give me this. Please.”
It took a long time for her to overcome her inner resistance. The waiting almost killed him. He stared at her, hypnotized by the contrast of his darker hands against her luminous skin. Her tits overflowed his hands, so full and soft. He nibbled her neck, smooching at that sweet spot on her nape that never failed to send a melting shudder down her back. His fingers traced patterns on the luscious underswell of her tits. He sucked in hungry gasps of her scent. His cock bobbed between her thighs, purple and bursting with readiness.
A vague realization was coming to him as he waited, teeth gritted. He had to grasp for it, since most of his brain was occupied with the desperate desire to fuck her. No space left for complex reasoning.
He’d always hidden the dark stuff from the women he’d been with. Deadly violence and its inevitable aftermath. Things he’d been forced to see, things he’d been forced to do. No woman had ever been stuck in that place with him. No woman he’d ever been with could have understood what it meant. What that level of stress did to a person. How it could wear you down, cave you in. Make you empty inside.
He’d have done anything to keep her from knowing it, but she did know it. And that changed things. It erased a barrier between them.
He couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. He was guessing bad.
But God, she felt so good. His hands moved over that smooth skin, and slowly, she leaned forward, caught herself with her hands. Arched her slender, graceful back, parting her thighs.
Presenting her perfect ass, her gorgeous pussy to him, with perfect trust. Her eyes blinked into his, wet and dazzled. Her lips were parted with excitement.
It shocked a sting of tears into his eyes, which horrified him. He had to break eye contact and press his face against her slender back. Amazed that she would give him so much.
She deserved so much more than he ever could give her in return.
It made him angry. Frustrated as hell.Control.He nudged his cock into her. It was never an easy glide, even as wet and slick as she was. She was as tight and snug as a leather glove. He had to work it in slow and steady, nudging and coaxing, but she shoved back, accepting him.
He raised his head, forced his eyes open. He’d promised to look at her. His face in the mirror was a grimace of self-control, but his eyes held raw emotion.
So did hers. Once they’d locked, a mechanism engaged that he had no control over. He couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it. He tried to listen with his body as he stirred her around with his cock, feeling for the angles, the strokes that made her shiver and moan, but he lost control, he was sucked into the vortex. He had to give in to his body’s demands and hope to God that it worked for her, too, because he couldn’t stop, couldn’t…stop. Not at all.
She gasped with each hard lunge, jerked her hips back eagerly for more, and then he felt the energy inside her, gathering for a leap—
And she went off, with that wonderful pulsing clutch at his cock, and he thundered down to join her, when some dim part of his brain remembered—
He jerked his cock out of her just in time and spurted hot jets of pearly white come all over her ass, her back.
Her arms sagged. She collapsed onto her belly. He followed her down, braced on his elbows so she could still breathe. Glued to her with come. Pressing his face against the delicate bumps of her spine. Let his own tangled hair absorb his tears. Struggling to breathe into lungs that hitched and caught.
She wound her fingers around his wrists, and hung on, a fine tremor in her fingers. She knew what was coming. She was no fool.
He was the foolish one. For giving in to it. Not once, but twice.
He felt desolate, hollowed out. Washed up on the barren beach of reality again, like he hadn’t gotten a clue the first time. He never learned. He had to get out of here, once and for all. Before he tried to comfort himself again, with her body, and made the same goddamn mistake. Over and over. Worse each time.
He was as much of an addict as his daddy, with the juice. He just hadn’t found his drug of choice till now.
And fuck, was he humbled.
He pried his fingers away from hers and dragged himself up. Back turned, jeans half-fastened. Into the bathroom, to splash come off his belly. He couldn’t risk another shower. Getting naked and wet only led one place with Becca.
He was careful not to look at her as he rummaged on the floor in search of the rest of his clothes.
“So this is routine for you, after sex?” she said, her low voice drifting in from the bedroom, “Acting like an ice cube, not looking at me, not speaking to me?”
He opened his mouth to reply. Stopped himself, closed it tight. Anything he said could be used against him in a female court of law.
“What did I do to deserve this?” she asked quietly.
He found his shirt, yanked it on, and grabbed his boots as he went back into her bedroom to put them on. He owed her that much. “Sweetheart, whatever you think you want from me, you’re better off without it.”
“Would you just look at me, goddamnit?”
Her whip-crack tone startled him into doing just that. He focused on the swirly fall of her dark hair rather than her big, hurt eyes. “The hair has got to go,” he said, distractedly. “Cut it off today, Becca. Get some colored contacts, too. Dark brown. Definitely.”
