by Taryn Quinn
She cocked her head. Justin definitely had his demons, and she wanted to be there for him. Together they could try to heal each other. With sex, laughter, and friendship…and maybe even love, if she could relax long enough to let it happen.
Not that she’d convinced herself it was a good idea, considering their pasts and the shitty timing. She was just so tired of fighting with everything—including herself. Perhaps she was overanalyzing.
That made her grin as she snuggled into his side. Perhaps? Yeah, right.
They fell asleep in a tangle on the couch midafternoon. Neither of them had mentioned scrounging up a Thanksgiving feast, and since it was still snowing out, the idea of trying to dig the Jeep from its snowbank held little appeal.
But sleeping in the middle of the day encircling each other like kittens? Pure freaking heaven. Even the lingering soreness in her bruised body couldn’t compete with the sheer comfort he provided.
If she hadn’t gotten hungry again, the perfection of the day wouldn’t have been tainted. Leave it to her ravenous appetites to screw shit up.
“There she is,” he murmured sleepily, stretching his hand over her belly. “That monster I’m so driven to feed.”
She giggled and stretched, hating to have to disturb the comforting warmth they’d created. “Why do you think I do so much Pilates?”
“I think it’s cute. Much preferred to those chicks who only poke at lettuce leaves and claim they can’t eat another bite.” Speaking of biting, he was currently nibbling on her shoulder. Not that her eager pussy knew the difference. She’d gone as hot and damp as if that ball stud in his tongue was zeroing in on her clit. “What should our Thanksgiving feast consist of?”
“Pizza?”
“If only any place delivered on Thanksgiving.”
“We could make one. You have most of the stuff. I poked around earlier.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though seriously, stock pepperoni for me. What am I supposed to nosh on when I get late-night cravings?” She heard herself belatedly and bit her lip. “I mean—”
“If stocking pepperoni will get you to come over late at night, consider me your processed-meat pusher.” He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes glinting. “Pizza for Thanksgiving, huh?”
“Why not? You even have a can of mushrooms. And I think I saw a smooshed red onion at the back of the fridge.” Yawning, she popped to her feet and pointed out the window. “Look, it finally stopped snowing.”
Snow glittered from every branch and blanketed the ground, shimmering like crushed diamonds. The pink-and-blue-streaked sky only emphasized the stark whiteness of their surroundings. If she stepped outside, she knew it would be eerily silent, the world set on mute.
As much as she loved snow—as a lifetime upstate New Yorker, she’d learned early on that not enjoying it meant she’d be perpetually miserable—she hated the silence. She could fight her pervasive, bone-deep loneliness when there was noise and activity around her, but the roar of nothing filled her ears, beating in her chest like a hollow heartbeat. Even the idea of Justin leaving her alone in his house while he dug out his vehicle made her skin chill.
Silly. She wasn’t ten, and a little quiet never hurt anyone.
He stood up behind her and linked his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “So it has. Guess that means I have to shovel us out, huh?”
“You don’t have to yet.” Strangely deflated at the idea they wouldn’t have to be sequestered in their winter oasis any longer, she reached down to stroke his hands where he’d laced them together. “I’m fine with staying here forever.”
“Me too.” She felt his smile against her cheek, along with the brush of stubble since he hadn’t shaved. “But if you’re really not too keen on pizza, we can go check out the Super K, see if it’s still open.”
She turned over his wrist and looked at his watch. “At four p.m. on Thanksgiving? Doubtful. Unless you want to make a pepperoni run…” Grinning over her shoulder, she wiggled her butt against his groin. “Though I think we have plenty of meat right here.”
“God, you are so bad. Good thing it’s not Christmas, or else I’d be carting your fine butt to church.”
“Too late there.” She kissed the smirk off his face and gestured toward the kitchen. “Now go on, go do your manly thing. I have a pizza to make. And if we don’t have a needed ingredient, prepare to trek your ass out to hunt and gather.”
He winked. “We’re probably in luck. I made pizza this summer.”
“Is that your way of saying your yeast is probably expired?” She laughed and pushed on his chest. “Go on, get out of here. I gotta cook.”
At the front door, he glanced back. “Will you wear an apron?”
She glanced down at her clothes from yesterday. She was really tired of her jeans and top, but wearing his clothes felt a little too intimate. And a little too nice. “If it cranks your engine, sure.”
“Just an apron?”
His blatantly lascivious look made her grin. “For you, anything.”
“I’ll remember that.” He grabbed his coat and scarf off the hall tree. “Now get in there and cook for me.”
Something about the growled playful command caused her nipples to pebble. Maybe he was loosening up a little when it came to their power exchanges. Cooking pizza wasn’t exactly the same thing as getting him to feel comfortable enough to spank her, but it was a start.
She’d take it.
She cast her eyes down and then looked up through her lashes. His subtly altered stance told her she’d shot and scored. “Yes, sir,” she purred.
His knuckles whitened on the knob as she reached for the hem of her top. He groaned and shook his head. “I’ll be back soon. Very soon.”
She laughed. “I’ll keep your apron warm.”
He stayed outside a good long time, longer than he needed to.
Kylie seemed to delight in reminding him of urges he wasn’t certain he could control, and he had to step back before he went over the line. She might like playing with fire, but he knew better.
Shoveling snow was the kind of backbreaking work that served as a perfect distraction. He cleared the walks and the driveway, then shoveled a path between his house and his neighbor’s. The Shalers had built a snowman at the edge of their lawn, and he added to it, shaping and patting snow until his fingers grew numb in his thin gloves.
When twilight began to descend and he couldn’t stall anymore, he stuck his shovel into a snowbank at the base of the steps and went inside, stomping his boots on the way.
There was something so homey about seeing the glow from the light above the stove down the hall, especially considering he hadn’t turned it on. He could put on every light in the house, and it wouldn’t have the same effect on him as knowing Kylie was bustling around his kitchen as if it were hers.
He unwound his scarf and shed his dripping coat, hanging both over the register in the front hall. His snowy boots and holey socks came off next. He wrung out the hem of his shirt as he walked down the hall to her, his nose already perking up at the smell of fresh, hot coffee.
She stood at the stove, shaping dough in a round pan. He watched while she ladled on tomato sauce, using her fingers to smooth it in. Next came the cheese she’d grated from the block he was reasonably sure he’d had since the beginning of time.
“Like what you see?”
She wiggled her heart-shaped butt, drawing his attention to the fact that his apron parted over her bare ass. The sides of her breasts swelled out beyond the edges of the front panel, and her nipples pressed against the stiff fabric.
Taunting him. Prodding him to act.
She was right there, everything he’d wanted and dreamed of. And he wasn’t even taking her the way she said she needed because he was afraid of losing her, when she wasn’t even his to begin with.
The breath he’d drawn in to answer her question stalled out, and he stared, fisting his hands at his sides.
Her questioning smile faltered. “Ju
stin?”
He stepped forward and took hold of her wrist. Cheese clung to her fingertips, and he brought them to his mouth, nibbling off the cheddar and tasting the leftover spices and tomato from the sauce. “You’re a miracle worker. That tastes like real sauce.”
“I found a jar.” Blushing, she leaned back against him. “Your pantry still has some unexpired stuff in it, thank God. Though I’d really expect more from a master chef like you.”
“Who am I supposed to cook for? Usually it’s just me.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of those hot, young teachers at school who’d be happy to sample your creations.” She said it lightly, but he heard the undercurrent in her tone.
It matched the undercurrents rolling through him, growing in strength and intensity with every passing moment.
He gripped her hips, pressing his thumbs into her soft skin. Not too hard, just enough to clue her in to the direction of his thoughts. She was probably still sore, and he knew it was too soon, too fast. But the part of him that sensed the hourglass draining minute by minute didn’t care.
If he made a mistake, at least he’d made it.
“I’m not looking for a hot, young teacher. That’s not what—who—I want.”
She looked back at him, her hair falling low over her eyes. “Sometimes you settle for the best option out of what’s available,” she said quietly.
Rather than toss back a retort heavier than the moment warranted, he drew her closer and pressed his lips against her ear. “I’m not settling when I have what I want in my sights.” He bit down, softly but firmly, on her earlobe, her small hoop clinking against his teeth. “And maybe I need to claim her the way we both need.”
If she’d given him any indication she wasn’t ready, that he was pushing her too hard, he would’ve backed off. She didn’t.
A quaver went through her as she reached up to stroke his jaw. “Let me put the pizza in. Then we’ll…discuss.”
He stepped back, waiting while she fiddled with dials and pulled down the oven door. Bent as she was, the tie of his apron dangled over her ass, bringing his focus to the soft pink slit beneath. As she pushed the pan across the grill rack, he knelt and pushed his tongue inside her, wrapping his hands around her thighs to hold her still. She let out a relieved moan and grabbed the stove, holding it as he surged into her without pause, dragging the bead over her damp flesh.
“God, your mouth and your cheeks are so cold…” She reached back and framed his face in her hands, keeping him right where he was.
Leaning in, he nipped her clit, rasping his piercing over it while he parted her wet folds. He traced her opening with his thumb, giving her just a little of it to clench.
Even in the faint light over the stove he could see the glistening moisture he couldn’t lick fast enough. More and more slid over his tongue, so he fucked her with it again, striking that spot inside her that swelled so readily and warned of her impending orgasm. He felt it building in her tensed thighs, heard it in her agonized breaths.
He palmed one swell of her ass, releasing a groan of his own at how perfectly it fit in his hand. He did the same with the other, spreading her pussy wide for him. Instead of diving back down, he rimmed the pucker between her cheeks with the tip of his tongue, smiling at her ragged whimper.
He’d take her there too, after he pinked that beautiful bottom until her arousal dripped down her inner thighs.
“You get so wet for me.” He rolled the bead over her ass. “Do you want my cock?”
She shifted her hands into his hair, yanking hard. “I want it. I want you. But first…” A gasping giggle escaped her. “I want to shut the oven door before my pussy incinerates.”
Laughing, he pulled back and rose, following the line of her spine with his tongue while she shut the door. He grasped her breasts under the apron, pinching the tight tips, making them tighter.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before heading down the hall to quickly take care of business.
And to gulp down about a gallon of cold water. He had a feeling he’d need the hydration.
As soon as he returned to the kitchen, he whirled her toward the center island, hooking a hand under her leg and lifting it onto the lower bar meant for wine. As soon as she was open to him once again, he sought her clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. She braced her elbows on the island, jutting out her ass, and he didn’t think.
All he could hear were her pleas. All he could see was that taut flesh, just waiting for his hand.
He smacked her softly, testing them both. Then harder and harder, switching sides. He could smell her now, her need subtly tingeing air already full of the scents of rising dough and spicy sauce. She widened her stance, rocking into his hand, begging for it even as pale pink marks rose on her skin. The bruises from her fall were already beginning to fade, the mosaic of mottled colors blurring as he made her his the only way that would last longer than the sound of his words.
For the next day, every time she sat, she’d think of him. Maybe then she’d experience a fraction of what he’d gone through every night he’d laid in bed and tried to scrub her image from his brain. She’d remember him alternating his sharp slaps with the slide of his fingers along her sopping pussy and the press of his thumb over her pulsing bundle of nerves. The questing finger he worked into her tight ass, easing past the ring of muscle to help spread the warmth from his hand into her core.
Pressing his face into her hair, he slid into her pussy, plunging into her without hesitation. He alternated his thrusts with smacks on her ass, and she tilted her hips into his sensual blows.
Perspiration blurred his vision, but he blinked his eyes clear, desperate to see her arch her back and grind into his groin as if she couldn’t get enough. He rubbed her bottom, shocked by how warm it was, then let out a groan once he let himself look. Her inflamed skin had passed pink into red, and his fingers had imprinted her skin just the way he’d envisioned.
She squeezed his cock where it was embedded inside her, trying to clasp him deep. He pulled out and rammed home again, losing the thread of anything but the blind need to keep pumping into her. She arched, acceding to his unrepentant thrusts.
“So…fucking…wet.” She coated him from root to tip, and he could feel her wetness trickling over his balls. It still wasn’t enough. Farther and farther he drove home, shocked to feel her softening to take more of him, as if his body only had to make the demand and she responded.
Her cries rose, a sterling invitation for him to band his arm around her waist and haul her back into his strokes. Her nails scraped over the countertop from his endless onslaught, but he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Her tits bounced against his arm, and her pussy squeezed him so tight his lungs burned. He whisked his thumb over her swollen clit, and she went off, saturating his cock with an orgasm that doubled her over and seemed to have no end.
He groaned and lurched into her, grinding deep, extending her contractions. His balls crawled toward his spine, aching for a respite. But there was only her sweet body yielding to him, her pretty, dirty mouth begging for his dick to fill her up.
The tension inside him snapped, and he shouted, lost to her even as he spent himself inside her depths. He didn’t stop thrusting even through his climax, using his hold on her ass to drive her up and down. She whimpered softly, brokenly. And he continued on, consumed with his own release and what she’d given him.
Then she let out a sob, and he went still.
He stared at her, shocked immobile. His gaze drifted to the handprints on her ass and the bruises that suddenly stood out in sharp relief on her back. They were fading, yes, and what he’d done to her had been about pleasure, not pain. But the two could mix.
Even knowing that, he’d pushed her into doing what he commanded. Some of the time he definitely hadn’t been in full possession of his faculties. What if he’d hurt her?
If she’d said no, would he have been able to stop?
Coils of panic twisted in his gut, and he jerked back. He wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, to tell her he was sorry if he’d gone too far, but his throat muscles wouldn’t work.
As she straightened and turned, letting out a trembling breath, he gazed down at his hands. Dear God, had he become his stepfather after all?
When he chanced another glance at her, he had to swallow hard. Tear tracks wended their way down her pale face, and she wiped them away, laughing weakly. “I get like this sometimes,” she began, falling silent at his expression.
Or at least that was what he assumed stopped her cold. If his current mental state was obvious to her, he could only imagine what he looked like.
His shoulders ached from the effort it took not to cradle her against him. He needed to talk her through this. Talk them through it. He’d obviously pushed her over the line, and he had to ensure she was all right. The last thing he’d wanted to do was to hurt her, and he’d done exactly that.
Haze of passion or not, he’d known better. They hadn’t set firm limits, and he’d just blasted clear through his own anyway.
Why couldn’t he fucking speak?
She pursed her lips and drew herself up to her full height. She was so petite, so delicate, and he’d deeply reddened her flesh. He’d hurt her. Sensual pain was still pain, wasn’t it?
For a few blissed-out moments he’d forgotten anything other than her acceptance. Than her longing for the same thing he craved. Together they’d shoved past their own limits.
Except it was too soon. She’d been injured a couple of days ago. Occasionally he still saw her limping. And she’d just left a long-term relationship. Neither of them were in the place for something so intense right out of the damn gate.
God, if he could be so rough with someone he cared about as much as he did Kylie, what might he do to someone he didn’t?
Like her ex?
“Justin?” she whispered.
