Dancing with the Devil

by James, Marie

  “Other than pissing blood for a couple of days and nursing some fractured ribs?”

  An urge to bite her throat hits me when she swallows roughly.

  “Nothing.” My shoulder hitches in a half-assed shrug. “Unless he hurts her.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “I don’t normally put much faith in people,” I confess. “But Briar is the most loyal man I’ve ever met.”

  “But you were willing to kill him?”

  “My sister is off-limits. He knew that going in.” Unfamiliar calmness washes over me, and I know it has everything to do with just sitting here talking to her. No expectations. No disappointment in unmet needs. I close my knife and toss it onto her bedside table. “The cost of betrayal is death. That’s how it works in the club.”

  “Yet, he’s still alive.” I don’t respond. It’s her exact conclusion that may also compromise our club. “Are you regretting it?”

  “Regretting what?” My eyes find hers again.

  “Letting him live.”

  “Not yet.” Her body sags, the tension she’s had since I arrived finally leaving her body. “But it hasn’t been twenty-four hours, and the day is young."

  “The sun is setting,” she counters. “How long are you going to stay?”

  Her voice is heavy and sleep-filled, and when she yawns my jaw tightens with the effort not to mirror her.

  “It’s a mistake to think I’ll ever leave.”

  Unbidden, my jaw unhinges and a small yawn escapes. She smiles, eyes focused on my mouth long enough that my cock begins to thicken, but too soon she looks away. Her eyes flutter, lids heavy.

  “Lock the door when you go.”

  Her mumbled words fade away at the end. I don’t know if she has grown comfortable enough with me here to fall asleep, or if her injuries have exhausted her to the point that she couldn’t stay awake even if she tried.

  If she’s smart, it would be the latter, but it doesn’t stop me from hoping it’s the former.

  Her breathing is calm at first, but quickly grows more ragged, so I shove the blankets away and help her lie down. With her head flat and chin no longer tucked into her chest, she breathes easier. Comfortable or not, falling asleep while I’m still here is dangerous, and I realize just how true that is when it takes a long moment of staring at her naked legs before I’m able to pull the blanket back over her body.

  She snuggles deeper when the warmth of her covers surrounds her, and I watch as her hand slides across the mattress. If I were some romantic asshole with hearts and fucking flowers dancing around in my head, I’d let myself wonder if she’s reaching for me.

  I’m not. All it makes me want to do is prick the tip of her finger with my knife to see if she draws back into her body or if she’ll press it harder against the blade.

  Although I know I should walk out and let her sleep, I busy myself with putting the soup back in its original container and popping it in the fridge so she can have it later. The sun has set, and that means things will be livening up back at the clubhouse. The liquor will be flowing, and club whores will be walking around with their tits and asses out; every hole they have ready to be fucked.

  The girls back at the clubhouse have been a staple in my life since I was thirteen, an avenue to visit when I need a release and nothing more, yet the prospect of doing that tonight doesn’t even make my dick twitch. The promise of warm lips wrapped around my cock, or Legs’s blood dripping from my knife doesn’t stir a damn thing. I’ve never even envisioned what it would be like going home and not carrying a bottle of whiskey and woman to fuck back to my bed, but that’s been exactly what I’ve done much too often recently.

  It has to be her fault. Consequently, it makes me want to wake Kaci up and shake her for ruining whores for me. I’m only ever reminded I even have a cock these days when she’s near, or I’m alone imagining the silky canvas of her unmarred, virgin skin and the tip of my knife running across it.

  Now I’m hard.

  “Fuck,” I hiss and run heavy, unforgiving hands over my face and the top of my head.

  Leaving now isn’t an option. Convincing myself she’s going to wake up in an hour or so in pain and will need more Aleve, I settle beside her, closer than I was before and stare at the muted TV.

  I’m lying to myself again when she reaches for me, and her hand settles on my thigh. Something funny happens on the TV, I reason with myself. That’s the only reason my lips turn up in a grin.

  ***

  I don’t realize I’m asleep until a pained groan makes my eyes jolt open.

  “Kaci?”

  The TV turned off automatically at some point, and the only light filtering inside her apartment is from the curtain less window.

  “Are you hurting?”

  “Yeah.” Her fingers flex against my stomach, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.

  I grip her wrist with my right hand, preventing her from moving it as I reach to the bedside table for medication and the bottle of water. I can’t hold her forever, and it becomes clear when I shift to hand her the items, and she has to sit halfway up to swallow.

  “You’re not scared of me anymore?” I ask when she hands over the bottle of water and settles her cheek on my chest.

  She doesn’t answer, and I assume she’s asleep again when my eyes start to close. It’s the middle of the damn night and way too late to get on my bike for the hour drive back to the clubhouse.

  “I’m more afraid of you being nice to me than the pain I know you’re capable of.” She swallows loud enough for me to hear. “But I'm tired, so maybe wait until the morning to hurt me.”

  Her slender leg slides between mine, and my fingers tease the soft skin of her outer thigh. This girl drives me absolutely insane, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now.

  “It’s only because I’m so tired,” I mumble as I let myself drift to sleep with perfection in my arms.

  Chapter 17

  Kaci

  “You’re making this a habit,” I grumble, not bothering to look up from my phone when TJ lets himself into my apartment.

  His only response is a quick grin as he shrugs off his jacket and leather vest.

  He’s empty-handed, which makes me frown. He’s been bringing food because I haven’t left my place in over a week. The last time I walked out of my front door I had to be carried back in after my run-in with the asshole at TJ’s clubhouse.

  “You have nothing better to do than drive an hour just to sit in my apartment?”

  “I enjoy the scenery.” His eyes roam from my socked feet to the top of my messy head, and I know he isn’t talking about the curving roads and fields on his way over. “And I haven’t been here every day. I didn’t come yesterday.”

  I don’t admit to him that I waited with my eyes on the door almost the entire day hoping he’d show up as I flip my cover over to hide my legs. He’d sent a pizza to my door instead. It wasn’t much of a consolation prize after the all the consecutive days of spending time with him. I’ll also never confess that I tossed and turned last night because his warmth wasn’t heating my side as I fell asleep. The luxury of that comfort shouldn’t be wasted on me.

  He’s always gone by morning, but I’ve grown accustomed to resting my head on his chest and dozing off to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the cadence of his breathing against my cheek.

  “Did you miss me?”

  My brow creases when I look up at him. “What?”

  “Did you miss me when I didn’t show up.”

  “No,” I answer too quickly, and it’s reflected in the blue of his eyes. “It was nice to watch what I want on TV for a change.”

  “I missed you.”

  His simple words do more to me than I want to admit, so I opt to change the topic instead.

  “How did it go?”

  Before he’d fallen asleep in my bed Wednesday, he’d talked about the way his sister was treating him differently since his meeting, as he calls it, with her lover Br
iar.

  “Lynch set the club straight, but I can tell it’s going to take a lot more than our blessing to make her trust us again.”

  “Trust is hard to build once it’s broken,” I whisper, and immediately clamp my mouth closed. Talking out of turn and saying more than I should, has become a problem recently. He’s invaded my life like he has a right to be here, and I’ve just let it happen. I’ve clung to his affection and presence like a lifeline, and I think I’m losing my sanity because of it.

  “Kaci?” I pull my eyes from my phone and look up at him. “Are you going to answer me?”

  He frowns and crosses the room in my direction when I don’t answer. How can I? I’m so stuck in my own damn head, I didn’t hear him talking.

  “I said I’m hungry.”

  I swallow thickly when his lids fall and only the tiniest slit of his irises can be seen. He has to be talking about food, right? He hasn’t made any other move on me in the last week. Sure his hand grazed my thigh more than once when we were lying in bed watching TV, but he didn’t let his fingers linger.

  “Umm.” I swallow again, but it does nothing to rid the ball of lust forming in my throat. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

  He’s at the side of my bed now, forcing me to angle my head to look up at him.

  “I’m not hungry for pizza.” His voice is almost a growl, and the only way I can respond is by nodding and licking my lips.

  He doesn’t reach for me though. He doesn’t yank the comforter that’s hiding my bare legs away. He doesn’t crush his mouth to mine and tell me all the dirty things he wants to do to me.

  Instead, he turns away, crosses the room again, and pulls on his jacket minus his leather cut.

  “Let’s go grab something to eat.”

  I ignore him, keeping my eyes low as my fingers press into one of the yellowing bruises on my arm.

  “I’m not hungry,” I mumble when the silence grows too big around us, and I feel forced to speak.

  “Come on,” he urges, his hand appearing in front of my face. “The fresh air will do you some good.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “I can’t stay trapped in here with you tonight.”

  I ignore the desperation in his voice. I have to. Otherwise I’ll mistake it for something else like I did just moments ago. He doesn’t want me. He just has a fucked-up sense of obligation to me for some reason.

  “Then go back to your clubhouse. I’m sure the things going on there are more entertaining and better suited for your needs.”

  “There’s nothing at the clubhouse I want.” His fingers curl, insistence in the long digits as he flexes them for me to take.

  “No.” I slap his hand away and avoid looking back up at him. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, and I’m tired of the damn sympathy.”

  “Kaci.” My name from his perfect lips is a warning.

  With my spine so straight it makes my hips ache, I look up at him and point to my face, indicating the bruises that are beginning to heal, but are far from gone. “I’m not going to leave and do something stupid. The party guys don’t really go for the visibly damaged. They are more into a blank canvas they can fuck up themselves.”

  His jaw ticks as he clamps his teeth together. It only makes looking at him that much more difficult. He’s fucking gorgeous, and if I lean in, I bet I could smell his cologne and the late spring air clinging to his clothes from the ride over. Just the scent of him is addiction inducing.

  “We’re going to get something to eat.” His lips barely move with his words, and I’m wondering if I’ve finally pissed him off enough, finally managed to break through his ungodly level of patience.

  The blanket is snatched back, revealing my bare legs, and by the further hardening of his jaw, I can tell he sees the tiny slit of fabric between my legs, exposed from sitting Indian style.

  “Get dressed,” he hisses before turning away and walking to my fridge.

  Like a petulant child being forced to go to early Sunday morning church with her parents, I stand from my bed and rip my tank over my head. My nipples furl the second the cool air hits them, but I don’t bother to cover my chest, and I definitely don’t miss his eyes widening as I slowly walk to my single dresser to grab clothes.

  “Fuck you,” he spits angrily as he glares at me and reaches for his leather vest. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  I jolt, standing in place when my door slams closed. It feels like an eternity passes, but my need to see him, to apologize for whatever the hell he thinks I’ve done motivates me to grab some clothes. Like a fool, I carry them into the bathroom, and realize once I see myself in the mirror why he was in such a rush to get away from me.

  Blemishes, contusions, and discolored skin greets me. I press a soft finger to the boot mark on my side. My eyes scrunch and my lips form a flat line, but it doesn’t stop me. I press three fingers into the injury as a reminder. Every man that walks the face of the earth is a piece of shit, and TJ isn’t excluded from that. If anything, he’s even more fucked up than the rest, nurturing me, trying to get me to trust him, all part of his game until he tears me apart.

  Knowing this, I dress in a rush, ignoring the scream from my ribs as I tug a long-sleeved shirt over my head. I don’t bother with makeup to cover the fading bruises on my face. I want people around me when they see us together to be disgusted, to think that he beats me and I’m the idiot who has stuck by his side. I do run a brush through my hair and braid it down my back so it doesn’t get tangled on our ride on his motorcycle, though.

  I take one final look in the mirror, assessing my overall appearance. The smile that spreads across my face isn’t a surprise. Agony and being hurt is what I live for. It’s what gets me out of bed each day, and I just know that TJ is going to be the one to give me everything I need.

  Right before he puts an end to all my pain.

  Except, when I pull my apartment door open to join him, he’s already gone.

  Chapter 18

  TJ

  Leaving her apartment last week was the only recourse I could come up with. My plan at the time didn’t include staying away for a week solid, but that’s what it took for me to get my head on straight.

  But as I stand in front of her apartment and look up to her single window, I realize a week wasn’t even close to long enough. My thighs burn to run inside and punish her for what she’s doing to me, for what she’s been doing to herself. With determination in my stride, I climb the stairs and unlock her door with the key I made weeks ago.

  Soft music hits my ears the second her body comes into view.

  She’s dancing.

  In the middle of her apartment, she’s swaying her hips to the music, letting her hands roam down her body in soft sensual caresses as Chris Isaak crones about wicked games from her cell phone. I hated this song when my dad played it growing up, but suddenly it’s become my favorite.

  Her blonde hair sways unrestrained down her back. With her eyes closed, teeth biting into her plush lower lip, I watch, entranced and mesmerized by her bare legs and the soft swell of her ass as she turns away from me. I want nothing more than to sink my teeth into the delicate flesh.

  It isn’t until she faces me again, her sultry, but dilated, green eyes focusing on me, that I fully understand what’s going on. She urges me to step closer, holding both hands out, but my eyes search the room instead.

  The rolled-up bill and powder residue on her kitchen counter are all I need to see to comprehend why she’s so playful, and why she’s reaching for me now when she never has before.

  A week ago she wanted me gone, wanted nothing to do with me, only saw me as caregiver, and nothing more. She wasn’t thankful or appreciative of the amount of time I spent with her, of the times I saved her from herself, but I can’t pin all my anger on her.

  I gave her too much space, too much time to think, and all that shit stops now.

  I go to her, watching her mouth fall open on a breathless sigh as
I press my body against hers. Her fingers find my hair when I grip her naked hips with punishing hands.

  “Hi,” she whispers against my lips.

  Alcohol taints her breath, the relaxing agents of whiskey fighting with the coke she has snorted.

  “I missed you.”

  Her words cut me to my soul. I grip her harder because I know those words would never leave her lips if she weren’t high as a fucking kite. The tiny whimper escaping her throat lands in my balls, drawing them up tight to my body as my cock thickens and pounds against the zipper of my jeans.

  “Kaci,” I pant against her lips, needing her and unable to do what really needs to be done.

  Never drunk and never high. It’s what I told myself every time I wanted to take her. She has to be aware, has to make that cognizant choice herself. I won’t be like the assholes she seeks out for punishment at the parties. I won’t take advantage. I won’t even touch her delicate skin without her sober and begging for it.

  All of it lies.

  My mind wars with my body as her hips continue to sway to the music. The brush of her body against mine slowly melts my resolve.

  This wasn’t my intent. Wanting to hold her like this, needing to push my dick against her belly were the reasons I stayed away. I’d needed to find control, something I lost the second I stepped inside this room.

  She arches against my chest when my tongue snakes out and brushes her lip.

  She whimpers, relaxing into my hold for only a second before her body stiffens and her palms, no longer tugging at the hair at my nape, run down and push against my chest.

  “No.” A single word without fire behind it at all.

  Standing in her own apartment, she’s pulling the same shit she did at the bar, the exact same act I don’t doubt she’s pulled each and every damn time she’s been at one of those parties searching for someone to hurt her.

  When I pull her harder against my chest, I wonder how long the other guys took to lose their cool. I want to be better, to last longer, but she’s testing my limits, and the glint in her eyes means she knows it.