Stolen Lust

by Charmaine Pauls

  Just to be clear, I say, “I’m clean,” and then I sink into her.

  The mewling sound that tears from her chest is my reward. I pull her up and drape her legs over my thighs. In this position, I can watch her breasts and face. I can slip my hand between our bodies and give us both the advantage of the view as I play with the button that will trigger her release.

  It doesn’t take us long. I let her come before I let go, filling a rubber instead of her body. A notion of loss settles in my chest at the thought, but when she sags against me and lets me hold her close, warmth fills me, living right alongside the loss. In the back of my mind, the clock is ticking, but I push away the reality, exchanging the dark realization for the euphoria of the moment.

  “Come swim with me,” I say on impulse, needing to fill the hollowness with action—distraction.

  She pulls away to look at my face. “Now?”

  I grin. “Why not?”

  “The pools close at seven.”

  I cock a brow.

  She laughs.

  Yeah, I’m no virgin to trespassing.

  Gripping her ass, I move us to the edge of the bed and stand with her in my arms. She doesn’t waste words on idle excuses like not having a bathing suit or that we may get caught. She lets me carry her to the shower where I rinse us both quickly before dressing her in the robe while I pull on my jeans, going commando.

  It’s not holiday season, and it’s the middle of the week. The place is empty. We don’t run into anyone as I take her hand and pull her behind me along the paved path to the main pool.

  I’m still pulling the jeans from my legs when she walks to the deep end and drops the robe. I pause. In the moonlight, she looks like a fantasy creature with her silver hair and pale complexion. The darker strip between her legs makes me hard. She extends her arms and dives gracefully. I finally manage to free the constraining clothing and go after her with everything I’ve got.

  When I catch her around the waist in the middle of a lap, she gasps and swallows water. I don’t put her on her feet. I drag her legs around me and drive home. My cock parts her too fast, too deep.

  “I-Ian.”

  Fuck, yes. That’s what I want to hear. Her body takes me, softening to let me in.

  “I can’t get enough,” I grit out. It’s part an apology, part a warning, because when I start to move, it’s with a harsh rhythm.

  We’re not quiet or discreet. We grab at each other, our hands, hair, teeth, and tongues getting tangled as I devour her. Goddamn, she gives it right back, punishing me with the same urgency that drives me insane. Almost too late, I remember I didn’t bring a condom. Of course not. It wasn’t my plan to jump her in the water. It’s just what she does to me.

  “Cas.” Groaning, I pull out. “I didn’t bring anything.”

  “Finish me,” she says.

  The authoritative tone has my ears ringing with want, but when she takes my hand and places it between her legs, I almost blow.

  “Like this?” I ask, teasing that swollen little pleasure button with the tip of a finger.

  Her answer is to cup my hand, overlaying our fingers, and slip our middle fingers inside her tight heat. Mother of… Holy fuck. Letting her use my finger, I watch as she pleases herself. I’ve never done anything hotter. She leans back to drift on the water, and I catch her nape to support her weight.

  “I’m close,” she says, holding my eyes.

  My voice is so gruff it sounds as if I haven’t used my vocal cords in weeks. “Go for it.”

  She gives a small smile. “It’s been a while for me too.”

  Yeah. I love the sound of that. If I had my way, I’d never let her touch another. She’s mine, but tomorrow, I’ll be gone. I can’t expect her to turn into a nun just because I’m a wanted man. On second thought, “Your orgasms belong to me. Say it.”

  She breaks.

  She comes with a gasp.

  Yes, she says it perfectly like that. When she stops stroking that spot inside that makes her clench her legs around my hips, I start pumping.

  She cries out, gripping my wrist. I’m overstimulating her, but I’m not stopping until she understands.

  “No other man but me, baby doll.”

  “What are you going to do?” she challenges. “Stalk me?”

  The impossible notion stabs into my chest. The impracticality makes me not see red, but green. Jealous green. Fuck impossible and impractical. I like the idea way too much. She must see the resolution and desperation on my face, because she doesn’t push me. She gives up, floating in the water and taking my fingers. This time, it’s my hand alone that draws her pleasure, and three fingers that drag another short but intense climax from her body.

  Her pussy is slick, her arousal coating my fingers when I’m finally calm enough to pull them out. I drag them down her thigh, making her feel that slickness so she understands who does this to her.

  Me, and me alone.

  “Finish me,” I say, dragging her to me with my hand around her nape and kissing the taste of chlorine from her lips. I’m using her earlier words like a weapon against her, but she holds all the ammunition.

  With her condition, I’m not going to make her hold her breath under the water. I swim us to the shallow end and sit on the top step, spreading my legs. She looks at my cock, not as if she’s making up her mind about doing it, but rather about how she’s going to do it. I turn harder.

  Wiping the wet strands of hair from her face, I twist the long locks over her shoulder so that her hair isn’t in the way. She goes down on her knees at the bottom of the steps. The water covers her almost up to her breasts. When she leans down, the water laps at her nipples. Such a pretty sight. She braces her hands on my thighs. I lean back and take it all in. The water is cool and dark. The footlights on the path don’t reach the deep end of the pool. From where I’m sitting, the water and sky bleeds black into one. With the moon reflecting on the water, we have our own galaxy, our own world right here in the water.

  She makes a perfect picture, kneeling in front of me in the black pool of infinity. The croak of a frog pierces the chirp of the crickets. I like the sound. It’s a far cry from trains and traffic and everything I hate about cities. This, here, is paradise.

  Then she closes her mouth around me.

  My concept of paradise flies to the moon. This, she, is everything.

  The water makes a sloshing sound as her movement creates small waves. I clench my fingers around the edge of the step for the fear of not being able to control my strength if I touch her now. There was a boy in our class who hugged his puppy so hard he almost strangled it. That’s how I feel, like I’ll strangle her with lust. I let her do the dirty work, lifting my hips to prevent her from swallowing water.

  Her lips are magic. Her tongue spins the most wicked of spells. I tighten my fingers on the step. The pull in my shoulder makes the wound ache. I shouldn’t have gotten it wet in the water, but I don’t give a fuck, because she’s dragging her nails over my skin, and I come.

  Fuck.

  She swallows.

  I could’ve pulled out, but I didn’t want to. I wanted her to take it. I want her to take all of me. She’s kissing and licking me clean, sucking me even after she’s blown me.

  “Cas.” Everything I feel sounds in the way I say her name.

  She makes me dizzy. I’m lightheaded with joy and heavy with regret because the clock is ticking. Maybe I should just take her with me. No. It’s not safe. I can’t risk her life like that. That would be exactly what I vowed not to do—fuck with her safety.

  “Cas,” I say through clenched teeth. If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to hurt her with the intensity of my lust.

  Finally, she lifts her head to look at me. “What?”

  Diversion. “Why are you a vegetarian?”

  She floats away from me. “Are you judging me?”

  I grip her wrist and drag her back. “Just wondering. It doesn’t make sense for someone who grew up on a cattle farm.�
�

  She shrugs. “When you’ve raised a calf on a bottle, it becomes like a pet.”

  I understand. My father once bought these two, fluffy chicks. We thought they were pets, until they grew up and didn’t lay the eggs they were supposed to. We had roasted chicken that Sunday. To this day, Leon doesn’t put his mouth on chicken.

  “You could’ve had a steak, you know,” she says, splashing water at me.

  I wipe the drops from my eyes with my free hand, still holding her wrist in the other. “The curry wasn’t so bad.”

  She splashes some more. “Would you have turned vegetarian for me?”

  In a different life? Anything.

  I let the silence settle. She’s just floating there, locked to me by the soft grip of my fingers around her wrist. It’s comforting. There’s space between us, but it’s filled with that buzz you get from a sex high.

  Somewhere to the right, the bushes rustle. I go rigid. There’s no breeze. The afterglow of my climax vanishes. I draw her closer and tug her behind me, covering her nakedness with my body. It’s too dark to make out anything that far away behind the trees. It could be a hedgehog or a cat. Or not.

  It’s quiet now, but I hone in on our surroundings with all my senses. We’re open targets. I shouldn’t have ventured outside, not without a weapon. She makes me lose my head and lower my guard. I’m not thinking straight around her.

  “Come.” I get up and draw her under my arm. “The water is getting cold. Let’s get you inside.”

  I grab the robe from where she’s dropped it and help her pull it on. I don’t bother dressing. Snatching up my jeans, I walk naked back to the cabin with her hand in mine. I keep vigilant, but nothing stirs.

  “Go have a shower to get warm,” I say when we’re inside, slapping her ass.

  She gives me an annoyed look from over her shoulder but does as she’s told.

  When the water comes on, I go outside, get my gun from the truck, and do a round of the grounds around the cabin. Like earlier, everything is quiet. I go back inside and lock the door before joining Cas in the shower.

  I’m hard for her again.

  Chapter 13

  Cas

  In a tangle of sheets, I wake up to the smell of pancakes and coffee. It’s too early to be awake. The sun isn’t even up. Grabbing Ian’s T-shirt from the foot-end of the bed, I pull it over my head. It smells like him—a delicious mixture of shower gel, man, and leather.

  Every muscle protests at my actions. I’m as sore inside as outside. We’ve had sex so many times, I stopped counting. I’ve finally met my match. Toward the end, I begged him to stop.

  I follow the delicious smell to the living area and lean in the door. Ian is standing in front of the stove, flipping pancakes. He’s shirtless and barefoot, dressed in his jeans. A dishcloth is thrown over his shoulder. The wound sports a fresh bandage. My nails left red ridges on his back, but he loved it. I trace the deep grooves of his muscles and the narrow line of his waist with my gaze.

  “Sit,” he says, still facing in front of him.

  I push off the frame. “How did you know I was here?”

  A smile sounds in his tone. “Eyes in the back of my head.”

  “Right.” I pad to the table and take a chair.

  Last night I’d been so frightened when I’d taken this seat. I still am, but it’s a different fear. It’s not fearing for my life but rather fearing the unknown. What happens now?

  “Eat,” he says, putting a plate of pancakes in front of me.

  I stare up at his handsome face. Stubble darkens his jaw. His hair is sex-messy. The asymmetrical cut looks good on him. It’s hot and rebellious. Suppressing the urge to run my fingers through his hair and drag my palms over his stubble, I reach for the strawberries instead.

  He joins me at the table with another serving of pancakes for himself. That he made the effort to cater for my vegetarian diet is sweet. It’s even sweeter that he joins me. I prefer a man who makes me breakfast to a man who sends flowers as a task to tick on his to-do list.

  He drags a bowl of cream closer and drops a dollop on my plate. My pills are laid out next to a glass of orange juice.

  “Thank you,” I say before swallowing the pills with the juice.

  He gives me a heated look. “You need the energy.”

  Our gazes lock. What passed in the dark lingers between us in daylight. He offers me a private smile, a gesture exclusively for me. It excludes everyone and everything else. Our secret. Only we know. Returning his smile is an unspoken promise to keep that secret. He waits, and I smile. Despite our secrets, he won’t let betrayal go unpunished.

  Cutting into a pancake, he says, “I programmed my number on your phone.”

  I make a mental note to put a password on the phone.

  “I want you to call me if you ever need anything or if you’re in trouble,” he continues.

  The offer takes me by surprise.

  He leans over the table and grips my chin. “Understand?”

  “Yes,” I whisper as the finality of his statement hits me.

  If ever means he’s leaving for good.

  “Whatever you do,” he says in a low voice, dropping his hand but holding my gaze, “I’ll always know.”

  The warning is clear. He’ll be watching me. Somehow, he’ll keep tabs on me. The realization sinks in. Even if he leaves, I’ll never be free of him. The consequences of crossing his path will stay with me for the rest of my life. They’re already a part of my life, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I grow scared again. Ian is a stallion in bed, but except for the stories I’ve read online, I know nothing about him. I don’t know how far he’s willing to go or the things he’s willing to do to keep his promise. Maybe he’s bluffing to keep me in line. But no. That’s an idle wish. A man like him doesn’t bluff.

  “Eat,” he says again, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he bites into a strawberry and offers me the other half.

  My lips fold around his finger as I obediently take the offering. In a second flat, the atmosphere changes. The air becomes charged. All warnings and smiles fly through the window as he pushes back his chair. Intent, dark and ravenous, clouds the space as he rounds the table. Gripping my hair in a fist, he gently pulls back my head. His gaze homes in on my lips, and then he mashes our mouths together. He tastes of strawberries and honey. He smells of pancakes and frying oil. The hard contours of his muscles feel delicious under my palms.

  His need is darker than last night. More desperate. Sensing his urgency, I don’t take. I give. I let him lick the strawberry juice from my lips and part them when he commands the submission with his tongue. I don’t stop kissing him when he unfastens his jeans with feverish haste and pushes them over his hips. I don’t stop touching him when he rolls on a condom. I go onto all fours for him right there on the floor and let him pound into me from behind until my arms give out and we both go down. He turns us over for me to straddle him, protecting me from the hardness and coldness of the floor. When he tells me to touch myself, I do. I give him everything he wants, my pleasure and my orgasm, taking the exhilarating and terrifying secrets he offers.

  When we’re done, he pulls me down onto his chest while we catch our breaths.

  “Your shoulder,” I say, splaying my fingers over the hard disk of his nipple.

  He rubs a hand over my back. “I’m fine.”

  His tone is strained, contradicting his words. Resting my chin on his chest, I study his face with a frown.

  “Worried about me?” he asks with a chuckle.

  Actually, “Yes.”

  He sits up, lifting me with him, and kisses my nose. “That’s sweet.”

  Like last night, he taps my ass. “Shower.”

  The cryptic command tightens my chest. I should be happy that he’ll soon be setting me free again, but secrets tie people together. Secrets make the strongest bonds.

  Standing, he helps me to my feet. He removes the condom and drops it carelessly on
the floor. He doesn’t break eye contact when he pulls the jeans over his hips and zips himself up. We stare at each other while something heavy passes through his eyes. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s wrestling with it.

  Just when I think he’s going to either tell me what’s on his mind or grab me again, he asks, “What did the police say?”

  It takes me a moment to disconnect from the wild sex we’ve just shared. I gather myself to pull out of the present and go back in time. “They wanted to know if I could identify you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “What you told me to, that I was stressed and the lights were in my eyes, and then you blindfolded me.”

  He takes my hand, rubbing a thumb over my knuckles. “Did they believe you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He nods. “What else?”

  “They asked where you took me. I said a house, but I’d lost track for how long we’d been driving. They asked if there was anyone else.”

  He lifts a brow and waits.

  “I said no.” Come to think of it, the two beds in the bedroom should’ve told me Ian wasn’t alone. If there were three of them, they probably took shifts sleeping while one of them stood guard.

  He squeezes my fingers. “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He lifts my hand to his lips, the hand he’d told me to rub myself with so I could come with him, and inhales deeply. “Stick to the story, no matter how many times they ask the same questions.”

  I tense. “Do you think they’ll question me again?”

  “It’s probable.” He rubs my fingers over his lips, looking apologetic. “They may pester you for a while.”

  I shake a little thinking about that. “Lying doesn’t come easily for me.”

  “I know.” He lowers my hands and kisses my nose. The act is tender. His words are quiet, but their meaning harsh. “Don’t think for a moment I won’t come after you if you change your tune.”

  Taking a shaky breath, I pull my hand from his.