Desire

by Mia Madison

  A couple days pass in a dream and not a good one. A shattered one if I’m honest. The possibility of building something with Caila destroyed right under my nose. I don’t hear from Caila at all, so I know she’s heard my story and is ghosting me.

  The loss of her scratches at my skin lining like nails down a chalkboard.

  I throw myself into the only thing I have now. Work.

  Friday afternoon and the rain hasn’t let up for days. I’m frazzled on so many levels and planning on working late. I’ll probably keep going right through the weekend and not think about what pleasures could have been. No feeling sorry for myself and sooner or later, preferably sooner, I’m going to find Caila and explain myself. I can’t live with the knowledge that she thinks I’m a lying user that took advantage of her. Facing her anger is my only plan for the weekend.

  I’m on my back on the ground, finishing up on the Eagle, when I hear steps approaching. My heart actually tears at my chest with the thought it could be her.

  But it’s not the unforgettable slow dainty step of her red boots coming toward me. I turn my head to the side and see long feet clad in brown deck shoes. I kick out to roll from underneath and am still prone on my back when Boone’s foot comes down on my chest to halt me. In a flash I break the back of his knees and overturn him so he face plants to the ground.

  He gets up and steels himself. He’s doing everything possible to bulk himself up like the big man, trying to throw some intimidation all over me. Fuck that. He can bring it on because although I’m not that beast that fights just to let off some steam, if he wants to get into it he’s gonna regret it. I don’t back down. Not when it comes to whats important to me and Caila is that.

  He’s looking at me smugly despite being taken out just now. Maybe he expects me to leap up to my feet to take him down again. Like the little Rug Brat is that important to me. I stretch my legs wide and casually remain seated on the creeper.

  He loses momentum then and reaches into his pocket. For a second I think he’s got a handgun but of course it’s his smartphone. He stands in my garage and sends a fucking text. Then he stares me down, the hard man again. We sit it out like that a full minute before two guys come running into the garage looking this way and that, see our stare-down and come up like wingmen either side of the Boone Brat.

  “Are we waiting for daddy as well,” I ask. I’m still sitting calmly, wondering what these kids think they’re doing.

  I can take all three of them if I have to. Did it often enough in the joint and with guys much bigger and harder than these three pasty schoolboy brats.

  “I see the fucking way you look at her you filthy asshole,” Boone snarls. “Don’t you know you’re way too old and too dirty for Caila?”

  “Nope.”

  “You could have asked permission,” He hisses like some kind of cuckold husband.

  “I did – she was in complete agreement. Don’t you know she doesn’t want you?”

  “Even if that's true it doesn't mean she’s gonna settle for a filthy monkey like you. She’s way out of your league, jailbird fucking rat.”

  So he does know. Any slim glimmer of hope I had that my secret was safe is extinguished. I thought I was here for a new start but he knows. Which means the entire town knows. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of but people will try to impose that anyways if you let them.

  “Stay away from Caila,” Boone shouts. This brat really does like screaming. “She’ll come back to me soon enough. We’re meant for each other. Our families want it. I want it.”

  “I doubt that. With or without me, Caila can see you for what you are and she wants a real man.”

  “She will come back to me,” his tone flies up an octave. “You just stay here in your grease cave where you belong and she’ll soon get over this thing she has for you.”

  Thing?

  Caila has a thing. For me? Enough of a thing that she told this dickwad about it?

  “But I still owe you for that sock on the jaw,” Boone says. He moves toward me and his sidekicks shift with him.

  I have to laugh as the three of them advance on me like comedy gangsters. Three runts I could take out if I was one-armed Jack – it’s almost slapstick.

  They each pull tire irons out of their pants leg. Oh are those the toys the kids wanna play with? Fair enough.

  I pick my wrench up off the floor. Absentmindedly I slap the head into my hard palm, holding Boone’s slitted glare in my own, willing him to bring it on.

  Slap slap.

  I don’t miss a beat. Or lose my relaxed grin.

  I leap up to my feet without use of my hands to push me off and they jerk back in surprise at the size of me, my swift movement. Slap slap. I learned in the house that you walk toward your foes, not away from them. Even when you’re outnumbered you act like you’re ready to take them all on. It’s fake it ‘til you make it environment.

  When I’m within two feet, Boone charges at me and the other two pile in. I jab one guy with my elbow and he goes down. Then I rag doll bratty Boone into the shaggy-haired third guy, so he flies back on his butt. Boone gets my fist in his face and drops then I take the other down as they come at me again. Between the three of them they don’t even get one strike. They’re getting to their feet, a couple of bloody noses when Caila comes running into the garage.

  “Get out, Andrew and you, Glenn.”

  She storms to each guy in turn pushing at their chests with all her might. She keeps shoving them until they go stumbling ass-backwards to the door then take off running. This girl is a little demon when she wants, tough enough to take on any thug. “Boone, you too, just leave me and my friends alone.” She pushes him out of the garage and turns to me with her hands on her hips.

  “Thanks, but I don’t need your assistance in defending myself,” I say, trying not to grin.

  She must be used to being the tough guy in that old relationship. Well, she knows what a real man is now.

  “Hmm, maybe,” she replies. “But seems like you do need it in being honest with me.”

  Busted.

  Chapter 12

  Caila

  He gazes at me like he’s seen a ghost, or an apparition – someone he’s never seen before. He’s confused and wry and sad and something feral. That part sets my skin prickling. He’s dangerous, I’m told. And he does look it, his muscles exploding with hard power, his jaw gritting. But he also looks like a wounded animal I want to put my arms around and hold.

  I have tried to stay away.

  I promised my father I wouldn’t see him.

  That was in the agony of the moment right after he told me about Rand and I was a little devastated. It’s just not the kind of thing you expect to hear about the man that had just probed his tongue inside your body. That he killed a woman.

  With each day that went past, the pain of not seeing him was worse than that of knowing what he’d done. And that he lied about it. Or at least hid it, which to me is the same thing.

  “Are you wet?” he husks.

  Despite my trepidation, I feel my eyes pop open in surprise. My clit aches a little but I have to not let my body take over here. Rand jolts out of his gawping at me when he realizes what he just said.

  “I mean, you’re wet,” he dissembles, his voice cracking. “It’s raining, I guess. Your tee shirt, it’s wet. I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “Oh,” I murmur.

  I glance down and see the rain does seem to have fallen solely on the shelf of my breasts, maybe a little across my shoulders. But my nipples are protruding so hard through the damp spots on the material, I should be hung in a frat boy’s locker. Maybe this is one day I should have remembered to put on a bra.

  Rand is making a pointed effort not to look at my tits and I love him for that. And for thinking of my health. What kind of killer does that?

  “You could have told me,” I say.

  “I did try but that doesn’t matter now,” he grits out. His eyes unhood as he meets my gaze solid
ly. He’s trying to be the hard man, I see that clearly no matter how he attempts to cover his soft side.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I say and am rewarded with a small grin and he nods, almost to himself.

  God, he must think I’m such a ballbuster.

  “That was what I wanted to tell you the other night, but we- I - got waylaid with the stuff that feels so fucking good. With you, Caila.”

  My heart is pounding so hard it could bust through my chest wall like a demolition crew. It’s all I can do not to run at him and climb up his solid body, wrapping my legs around him, crushing my girl parts into his hardness.

  “Then after, when you asked,” he continues, “I didn’t want to spoil the mood of that moment.”

  He stops. I can tell he doesn’t like explaining after the fact, as though he’s worming his way out for not doing what he should have. I love how he’s so manly, willing to own his errors. I always feel safe with him. I know he’d never hurt me.

  “Then my ex brat showed up,” I prompt.

  “Yah,” he grunts, his fist clenches. “I wasn’t about to go all victimy, making excuses because he outed me.”

  He goes to the tool bench and sets down the wrench he’s holding. I can see the emotion roiling around his body coming through every one of his solid back muscles.

  I walk closer to him, put my hand on his broad shoulder. The muscle flexes back at my hand so close to the skin the heat is warming.

  “Can we go for a drive?” I whisper.

  “It’s raining,” he husks. His hands on the bench are two tight fists, his spine curved over like he’s in pain.

  It’s not torrential rain although the forecast does call for that on the weekend. So I guess that means he doesn’t want to be alone with me. Maybe he’s in torment because he can’t tell me straight to my face that it’s done between us. I was a quickie.

  No, didn’t he just say I was the best ever?

  So maybe he feels betrayed by me not calling, or answering his good night text. For going cold on him.

  “It was in the rain,” he mutters. He takes a long hard inhale like he’s steeling himself. “I killed someone in the rain.”

  I stay very still, my hand still on his huge deltoid muscle. Feeling the tense agony held there as he forces himself to tell me what happened.

  “I was driving and it was pouring, pitch black night,” he husks.

  I wait again. The air in the garage feels like it too is holding its breath.

  “She came running out of nowhere. A woman getting away from two guys chasing her. Fuck….”

  Rand bends over and his forehead crashes into his palm, supported by his elbow in the bench as though the memory weighs more than his head can tolerate.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. I slide around him and worm my way under his chest somehow.

  My arms go around him in a friendly hug. I’m trying to be supportive and not let the lust coursing through my body overwhelm me. It’s all true then, what Boone and my father told me. This guy killed someone – a woman. I really ought to get out of here. He releases me, enough to stand up straighter and look at me. He still holds me in his arms and my hands rest on his hips. I can feel he’s commando beneath his overalls and that makes my pussy clench tighter. My panties are soaked and that seems so wrong at this moment.

  Suddenly he yanks me to him fiercely. My heart jaggers through my chest as he hauls me into his, my untrammeled tits mashing into his muscle. I must be sick, the way my body reaches at him, trying to meld into him. Even as he tells me something this serious, all I can think about is having him deep inside me, his cock pressing me open.

  I gasp as he squeezes me tightly, my breath coming in small airless pants. My breasts crushed into his chest are filling with the pressure of desire. Hungry need that demands feeding. I need his hard fingers tweaking my nipple, pinching out the lust filling the point. My breath is so ragged, Rand must think I’m crying. He lifts his head from its burial in my neck and searches my face. His eyes huge with yearning.

  Then we’re on each other, hands scrabbling, tearing, tugging. He yanks my tee shirt up so hard my tits tumble free. He arrests their bouncing in the clamp of his palms, squeezing the flesh, wringing it through his fingers until I gasp. He rolls a nipple hard in his thumb and finger as I rip at his coverall. The snaps open up like a knife slash, revealing his spectacular ab muscles, chest and that gorgeous cock standing up hard as a stone pillar.

  I drop to my knees, rolling my breasts down his rippled torso and over his prick so he groans. Then I wrap my small hands around the velvety hot skin, sliding down to cup his balls as my mouth takes him in. Rand’s hands slam back on the workbench, his head tipped back as he lets out a wolfish growl. My wet mouth and the aggressive laps of my tongue along his underside are making him lose all control. His head leaks a salty drop then another, that I lap up, swirling my tongue around the springy head.

  He pulls me up off my knees and spins me around. My hands grip the edge of the workbench as I lean forward. He’s behind me, his hardness pressing into my skin as he squeezes both my tits in one huge hand and unzips my jeans with the other.

  They’re so skintight, it’s going to take forever to drag them down my legs. My boots need to come off too.

  “I can’t wait,” I whine, arching my back so my bare ass lifts up. “Arhhh.” My squeal echoes around the garage.

  Then Rand claps his hand down a second time on my bare cheek so the slap reverberates louder than my squeak of surprise. The pain burns hot on my skin then diffuses through me making me even wetter. Rand’s fingers slide into my chasm and around to my pussy where he swirls in my flowing juices with a groan.

  “You’re so fucking wet, Caila.”

  “I want you. Now,” I demand.

  Another stinging slap comes down on my butt so shards of bright light fly through me.

  “You’ll get me in good time.”

  I love how he wrenches back control from me. Apparently Rand isn’t going to bother with taking my clothes off. I’m going to stand here bent over his workbench with my tee shirt dragged up around my neck. My jeans dripping panties bunched on my boot tops. Anyone could come in while he’s spanking me and they’d get the full view of me spread open. I don’t give a shit. The heat pouring through my body is intolerable and only Rand can ease it.

  Every hard pinch of my nipple, every slap on my butt cheek has me moaning and begging him to fuck me.

  Which only incites him more, into letting me know he’s still in charge. He palms my cheeks and pulls them apart, then I realize he’s, oh my god, he’s dropping to his knees.

  And he’s gazing on my spread rear hole and open pussy. I’ve never felt more exposed. The sliver of embarrassment shatters as I undulate my hips slightly, inviting him in with a whole new confidence in my body.

  I can’t believe how wanton Rand makes me but I love how free I feel. And how secure.

  “Ohhh,” I moan as his tongue hooks over my engorged clit. “Myyyy gahhhd.” He licks along the length of my slit. A long drag with the flat of it laving over my clit, my open pussy and finally my other hole.

  I’m clawing into the workbench so deep there'll be nail scratches when I’m done writhing. He’s completely undoing me. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I am in another realm, somewhere else. A realm of desire and pleasure. Being pleasured is my entire world.

  Rand flips me around again. He sweeps the tools from his workbench and lifts me to set me down.

  “I can’t,” I begin – I don’t get to finish up with ‘open my legs’.

  With the jeans constricting me, Rand throws my legs up, up, so I tip back and grab behind for support. I want to touch him but he’s having none of it. He’s totally masterful and in charge. He threads his head under my jeans and panties, popping up between my legs with my ankles hooked around his ears.

  His eyes take all of me in, feasting on my bobbing breasts and dripping pinkness.

  “I could
look at this all fucking day,” he rasps as he thumbs either side of my folds to pull them apart. The cool air makes me quiver but not as much as being exposed to him so totally. “Fucking perfect. Gorgeous.”

  He’s muttering a litany of words about my beauty as he positions his head in my entrance and with a hard thrust rides all the way inside me.

  My head tips back and he groans out at the intensity of our connection. My entire pussy is tingling hotly with lusty satisfaction at how he fills me. I’m unraveling, coming apart at edges I no longer have.

  Rand’s brought me to the precipice already and I’m going over. His cock is too much. I can’t hold back. I...ohhhh.

  My orgasm flies up my body and detonates through my skin. As I’m bucking on his hard shaft he’s watching me twitch and contract, his lidded eyes fixed on where he’s consumed by my pussy. I come hard but I’m disappointed it’s over already. I want to be this close to Rand longer. Much longer.

  Chapter 13

  Rand

  If Caila thinks I’m done with her she can think again. I’m a man that likes to fuck for hours. With Caila, make that days. I could live inside her pussy, her tight clench bringing me to the brink of eruption over and over. But I hold back. She’s nowhere near done even though she’s moaning she can’t go on.

  “You don’t have to do anything baby. Just take your pleasuring.”

  I pick her up and walk around the garage with her impaled on my dick. Just so she feels how deep I can go inside her. How close we can be.

  I lean her back into the door of my truck, compressing her between the metal and my solid chest crushing her. I wait while she comes again on my shaft and her juices coat me. Then I yank the door open and slide out of her long enough to set her down on her knees on the front seat. She’s at the perfect height. I slide into her again from behind, my palms pulling her cheeks apart to watch every trembling shudder she goes through. When I’ve claimed her thoroughly, so totally that she’s ruined for any other man, I release my seed inside her with a long groan.