Hellion

by Shannon McKenna

  But it wasn’t real, she reminded herself savagely. It was a pipe dream. She barely knew the guy. She had no idea if he kept his promises. If she’d hold his interest for long.

  One thing was certain. She was drunk on sex and not thinking clearly. So chill.

  As soon as the path was wide enough for two, he stopped and waited for her, taking her hand. His clasp felt good. Firm, warm. Not hot or clammy or clutching.

  The contact sent a fresh flash of sensual energy up her arm that tightened her nipples and touched off a hot, yearning, melting ache between her legs. Of course.

  It was almost dark when they reached the car. He opened the passenger side door for her, then got in the driver’s side and just sat there. Not moving or speaking.

  She waited until she couldn’t stand the suspense. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Just scared.”

  That gave her pause. “Scared? Of what?”

  “Being this happy,” he said roughly. “It feels dangerous. Like flying too close to the sun.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. “I know what you mean,” she admitted. “I feel that way, too. Maybe we should, ah…you know. Cool it for a while.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I guess.” They stared at each other.

  He reached for her at the same moment that she reached for him and they came together hard, like they’d die if they didn’t kiss right now, touch right now. She wrapped her arms around him. He lifted her onto his lap. There was just enough light to see the expression in his eyes. Raw emotion. It reached inside her, squeezed her heart.

  Oh, to hell with it. She was not done with this guy tonight. Not by a long shot. She reached down, wrenching at the buttons of his jeans.

  “Hey!” he protested. “Demi, I don’t think we should—”

  “Shhh. Help me get these open.”

  She reached inside his underwear, gripping him. So thick and hard and hot. She rubbed him, squeezing her legs around the thrill of intense erotic desire he provoked.

  “Get those underwear down,” she told him.

  “Demi—”

  “I don’t feel like arguing,” she informed him.

  Eric laughed under his breath, and lifted his hips to shove down his jeans. His freed erection jutted up against his belly.

  She stroked it lovingly. “You are so beautiful,” she said.

  “That’s my line,” he told her. “You’re the gorgeous one.

  There were so many responses she could make to that, she abandoned them all in favor of body language, simple and direct. She leaned down and licked the head of his penis.

  Eric gasped, going rigid. “Oh, fuck. Demi.”

  “Relax,” she whispered. “It’s my turn. You owe me that.”

  “If you say so…oh God...”

  He writhed, shaking as she gripped his rod firmly right under the head of his penis and gave him a lavish tongue-lashing. Twisting her hands on his shaft, swirling her tongue, cupping his balls. Flicking away each silky, salty drop of pre-come as it came out of the slit in his glans with her tongue. Savoring his flavor. He was delicious.

  She loved that shuddering vibration. Like he was a volcano about to explode.

  Taking him all the way into her mouth was quite a feat, but she was highly motivated. She wanted to destroy him with pleasure. Make him as desperate for her touch as she was for his. She sucked him deeper, sliding her hands along his whole length.

  Eric slid his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck and tugged gently.

  “Can I come in your mouth?” he asked.

  She slid her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft while she thought about it. Tough one. She wanted to say yes. Absolutely. She also wanted him inside her.

  She wanted it bad. Wanted it now. “Where did you put the condoms?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Uh, are you sure you want to—”

  “Do I look unsure to you?”

  He laughed under his breath and twisted back, stretching out his arm to rummage in the pocket of the bag in the back seat. He came forward with the box.

  Demi ripped one open and pulled it out, rolling it over him. Stroking, squeezing, bold strokes that made Eric arch right up off the seat. “Holy fuck, Demi.”

  “Scoot over toward me,” she said, dragging off her cut-offs and underwear.

  Eric shifted over to the middle of the Monster’s big, tattered bench seat, and she had barely enough room to swing her leg over his and straddle him.

  Eric slid his hand up her inner thigh, stroking and petting. “You’re so wet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Hold yourself up for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Smart-ass,” she said breathlessly, until she felt his thick tip nudging inside her, right where she needed him.

  She sank down, taking him in. All the way.

  So deep. So wonderful. They both made the same shocked sound. Their eyes met, locked. Demi leaned her hot, damp forehead against his.

  “You feel amazing,” he whispered.

  “Likewise.” She rose up, and sank back down again with a sigh of delight. “You make me crazy.”

  “You’re telling me.” Eric pushed up her shirt, all the way over her breasts, and pressed his face against them.

  They stopped talking, just clutching each other, as if they were fighting to get closer. His mouth moved all over her breasts, and his big hands clasped her ass cheeks, surging upward to thrust inside her. A slow, luscious pumping rhythm that made her helpless with need.

  She melted around him. Each deep caressing stroke got sweeter, hotter, more frenzied than the one before. That uncontrollable energy swelled, lifting them—

  They cried out as the blinding flash of pleasure fused them into one.

  She lifted her head afterward, feeling his hands on her face, cupping it. Stroking.

  “I love you,” he told her.

  She stared back, her fingernails digging into his back.

  She loved him, too. She ached to say it. But she held it back. That phrase was a point of no return. Too soon. She was risking her heart as it was. Walking a knife’s edge.

  Eric hid his face against her hair. He thrummed with energy. Demi lifted herself, and Eric let her go, hissing with reluctance as he dragged his dick slowly out of her.

  “I love being inside you,” he said. “I hate leaving.”

  The next few minutes were a scramble in the dark, trying to find her cutoffs and underwear in there, since the Monster had no functioning interior light. She finally had to dig out her phone and switch on the torch function to locate her stuff.

  They wrestled their clothing back on in utter silence.

  “So much for playing it cool,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Like trying to put out a fire with kerosene.”

  They could no longer see each other’s faces in the darkness, but they kept trying.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  “For what?”

  “You know. Coming on so strong. Saying what I said. I know it’s too soon. I mean, it’s not too soon for me. I meant what I said one hundred percent. But I know it’s too soon for you.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  He slid his hands under her shirt, cupping her breasts. “All I ask is for you to make space in your mind for the idea of us.” His voice was low and velvety soft. “Just picture us together. Imagine it. That’s all.”

  She almost laughed. Like she could imagine anything else. He filled her whole mind.

  “You don’t have to say yes,” he said. “Just picture us together. It would be good.”

  She nodded. Her throat had frozen tight. She couldn’t talk.

  The Monster roared to reluctant, sputtering life. Eric maneuvered it out onto the rough road and took her hand, letting go of it only to change gears.

  When they got to her house, Eric pulled over in the shadow of the trees, well out of sight. The porch light was on
and her father was visible in the upstairs window of his studies. Looking out at the street. Lying in wait.

  “Shall I let you out here?” His voice was carefully neutral.

  “There’s no point,” she said. “They know who I’ve been with all afternoon. Pull up right in front.”

  He gave her a searching look. “You sure? You’re not using me to punish them, or anything twisted like that, right?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Absolutely not. We’ve left that kind of thing behind us.”

  He revved the motor. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.” He pulled up in front of the house and killed the engine. “Shall I walk you up to the door and introduce myself?”

  “I don’t know if we’re quite there yet,” she said quickly. “I don’t want him to be rude to you.”

  “I have a thick skin,” he assured her.

  “Not tonight. My skin is thin tonight. This is enough for now. Baby steps.”

  “Whatever. One thing, though. Just because it’s bugging me.”

  He got out of the car. She hurried to follow, feeling almost panicky, but he made no move to go toward the house. He headed over to the mailbox, still tilted over.

  Eric then proceeded to hoist the mailbox upright, and kick gravel back into place around it, scooping first with his foot and then with his hands.

  “There,” he said, brushing off his hands. “That’s better. Until the next time your lush of a neighbor goes off on a tear.”

  “Uh…thank you,” Demi said, bemused.

  Eric cupped her head and pulled her close for a swift, possessive kiss before getting back into the Monster. “I have my usual two hours between my shifts tomorrow. Every free second of it is yours, if you want it.”

  “Sign me up for that,” she said. “I lay claim to all of it.”

  He waited as she walked to the front door, then flickered his headlights in farewell.

  Demi lifted up her chin and marched into the house, bracing herself.

  Any lingering uncertainty in Benedict Vaughan’s mind vanished at Eric Trask’s brazen display of insolence and disrespect. Parking that hideous wreck of a machine right in front of the house. Putting his hands on Benedict’s property. Tongue-kissing his daughter in plain sight. Staking his claim, like an animal marking his territory.

  Disgusting. But he expected no different from the Prophet’s spawn.

  The randy, arrogant bastard deserved whatever he got. Benedict was almost tempted to do the honors himself, but it was always better to consult a professional.

  He had just the man, lined up and waiting. Benedict tested the door lock for the fourth time as it rang, just to be sure. He didn’t want to be unpleasantly startled by Elaine. Not during this call.

  The phone rang, and the line clicked open. “Yeah,” said a sharp, nasal voice.

  “It’s on,” Benedict said in a hushed voice. “Tomorrow. Could be night, could be morning. As soon as I know he’s been moved into place, I’ll call you.”

  “That’s too big a time window,” the voice complained. “I don’t like sitting around waiting for a call. Kick in another five K for the wasted time.”

  “We already negotiated the fee. You said—”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Find someone else if you don’t like it.”

  “I’ll pay it,” Benedict snapped.

  “Leave it at the drop point tonight. No more calls. Not until it’s time to mobilize. I’m tired of your voice. You talk too much.”

  The line went dead. Benedict slid the phone into his pocket. His stomach heaved.

  “Ben?” Elaine’s plaintive voice was right outside the door. “Demi’s home. Why don’t you come on down? We can discuss the thing we talked about over dinner.”

  Benedict unlocked the door and opened it. Elaine had that sugary-sweet look on her face that made him want to bang his head against a wall. Or better yet, hers.

  He forced a smile for her benefit. “Hey, honey.”

  “You saw Demi arrive?”

  “With Trask. Yes, I saw that. I imagine all the neighbors saw it, too.”

  “We’re taking it easy, remember?” she said anxiously. “You won’t attack her, right? We have to keep those lines of communication open. Even if you think she’s being provocative, just ease off. Some things she’ll just have to learn for herself the hard way and that boy is probably one of them.”

  “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “I won’t come down on her. I promise.”

  Elaine looked cautiously relieved. “Good, then. Come on downstairs, and we’ll talk. Demi?” she sang out. “Sweetheart? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, Mom.” Demi appeared at the foot of the stairs.

  “I would’ve appreciated a call to let me know you were going to be late. Your father and I have already had dinner, but there’s a plate for you to microwave.”

  “Okay, sorry about that. Thanks, Mom. Maybe I’ll have it in a bit.”

  Demi was stalled at the foot of the stairs, looking up at them. Her damp shirt clung to her body, and her hair still swung around her in wild, water-tangled locks.

  “I see you went swimming again?” Elaine’s voice had a fake-cheerful tone.

  “Yes. Eric showed me a beautiful place he knows up Kettle River Canyon.”

  “That’s very nice. So, ah, sweetheart. Your father and I are taking a trip.”

  Demi stopped climbing the stairs, raising startled eyes. “A trip? When? Where?”

  “This weekend,” Elaine announced. “Tomorrow. It was your father’s idea, actually. We both need a little R&R. Too much stress lately.”

  “It’s almost our anniversary,” Benedict said. “We should do something special.”

  “It’s a lovely idea,” Elaine chimed in. “Cooper’s Corner has a dinner theater. I found a nice bed and breakfast. We’ll make a weekend of it. We can go up the ski lift to the viewing point, have lunch in the chalet café, some shopping in Cooper’s Corner, and attend the dinner theater in the evening. A musical, I think. We’ll leave tomorrow at noon.”

  “Ah, wow,” Demi said. “That’s great. Good for you. Go for it.”

  “You’ll be all right here on your own, won’t you, honey?”

  Demi rolled her eyes. “I’ve been living by myself for years, remember?”

  “Well, fine. In any case, your father asked Granddad to come over and check on you before he goes down to the Flats tomorrow morning. He’ll be here at seven-thirty, so make sure you have some coffee and pastries ready for him.”

  Demi rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t necessary, Mom.”

  The hell it wasn’t. Benedict put on a benevolent smile by sheer force of will.

  He was no longer the least bit conflicted about what he’d arranged. His stupid daughter had done this to herself with her own hands.

  Besides, he was doing it for her, ultimately. Demi couldn’t see how she was limiting her own future with this damaged, stunted, possibly even violent young man.

  Eric Trask would stifle her, embarrass her, burden her. He would hold her back in every way.

  This line of reasoning made him feel much better as he watched Demi disappear into her bedroom.

  These desperate measures were all for Demi’s sake.

  His conscience was clear.

  10

  Home was uncomfortable, what with Otis’s icy disapproval and the relentless shit he got from his brothers, so Eric packed it in early and retreated to his attic. He was exhausted, but something like a combat buzz wouldn’t let him come down for a landing.

  Dick-tingling images of Demi’s body, mostly. The erotic flashbacks were intense, in perfect, full-sensory detail. Everything about her turned him on. He could meditate all night on the drops of water caught in her tangled eyelashes, and that was just for starters. The pale, back-lit jade green of her eyes, ringed with a band of darker gray. Clear, far-seeing. Honest. Blazing with desire.

  Their connection was so strong. The taste of her sweet pussy folds against his tongue, and the feeling when sh
e came right against his face. So damn good.

  He wished he could text her. No cell coverage here. He was tempted to hike up onto the ridge where he could sometimes catch a wave. There might be enough moonlight to light his way up there. Keep him from tumbling over a cliff.

  Except that it was the middle of the night. He’d be overdoing it again. Cool it.

  Oh man. This was hell. Eric groaned under his breath, shifting around on the bed. His aching erection was trapped inside his sweatpants. The night was so damn long. He stared at the moonlight through the trees. Watched the hour hand crawling around the luminescent clock-face.

  Around four he gave up the fight. The only advantage to insomnia was that he might actually make it out of there without any more shit from his family.

  He couldn’t take any more. He was a fucking raw nerve.

  He burned to make a declaration to Demi, but he’d skated up very close to that today and succeeded only in scaring her half to death.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be fully prepared for the right moment when it finally arrived. Demi deserved for that moment to be absolutely perfect.

  Eric threw on his clothes and dug into the lock-box under his bed where he kept his stash of earnings. He counted it out and shoved the lot into his jeans pocket. If he did this, he’d be setting back his professional plans by months.

  Fuck it. Life was a series of sacrifices. That was one of old Jeremiah’s truisms. Some of the stuff that Jeremiah had hammered into his head was paranoid bullshit. Some of it was spot-on.

  For Demi, any sacrifice was worth it.

  He coaxed the Monster into life and drove into town. Too early for work. Soon he found himself in Demi’s neighborhood, driving up and down her street. Watching her house as the sun came up. It was stalkerish, but he wished he could pull a full-on Romeo. Throw a pebble at her window. Spout poetry at her.

  Better yet, he’d climb up into her window and drive her wild with pleasure in her own bed. He was a lot better with his body than he was with words.

  But he didn’t know which room was hers. He’d probably wake up Ben Vaughan and get shot in the face, and he’d deserve it for being such an idiot. Even texting her at this hour of the morning would come across as desperate and unhinged.