by Sweet, Izzy
Is he into little kids?
The more and more I think about it, the angrier and angrier I get. There’s no way I’m leaving Charlie’s side. I promised I’d keep him safe and I fucking meant it. If Johnathan has good intentions, he shouldn’t care which rooms we sleep in.
Johnathan and I have a stare-off. I’m so not backing down from this.
“Fine,” Johnathan finally snaps and runs his fingers angrily through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters softer.
He steps away from the doorway, shakes his head almost sadly, and then gives me a hard look. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” he rumbles, and then the floor is vibrating as he stomps away.
Charlie and I both turn, watching as he disappears down the steps, taking all the tension with him.
“Are you tired?” I ask Charlie.
Charlie looks up at me and shakes his head.
“Me either,” I sigh. “But we should try to get some rest.”
* * *
Despite his claim of not being tired, Charlie falls asleep almost instantly once I get him tucked comfortably in bed.
I left the door to the room open, for his benefit.
For my benefit.
After what I’ve been through, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to close a door again.
Staring down at Charlie’s sweet face, I’m filled with the strongest need to protect him. Asleep, he looks even more precious, more innocent.
Entirely too vulnerable.
I brush a lock of his brown hair out of his face.
How could anyone hurt him?
Anger begins to boil in the pit of my stomach. Anger for what Charlie has gone through. Anger for what they did to me. To Sophia and Amanda.
Anger that they killed Lindsey, killed her like she was nothing. Killed her like they had the right.
Feed them to the pigs.
A tear of pain rolls down my cheek and it sets off a chain reaction. As my body begins to shudder, I roll away from Charlie, afraid I might wake him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I bend over and wrap my arms around myself.
Trying my best not to lose my shit.
I’ve been in survival mode for so long, now that we’re here, in a perfectly normal house, in a perfectly normal room, I don’t know how to process it. I want to feel safe, I want to be safe, yet I know we’re not out of danger yet.
As if he’s conjured from my thoughts, a shadow appears in the hallway. Looming tall in the darkness.
Tipping my head back, I peer up at Johnathan.
Is he an angel or a devil?
Did he save me or does he have some other nefarious plan?
“Beth,” he says softly, almost tenderly, but there’s a strange edge to it.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I take a deep breath. I feel myself standing, some invisible cord drawing me to him.
His jacket is gone and so is his tie. The collar of his white shirt is open, his shirt-sleeves are rolled up. Tattoos twist and spiral up his forearms.
He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and as I walk up to him, the way he watches me, I feel like a fucking lamb.
Stopping in front of him, I resist the urge to cover myself. Resist the urge to shiver. He’s radiating so much tension, so much heat, I suddenly feel cold.
“Did you… did your… people find Amanda and Sophia?” I ask softly.
The need to know that they’re okay, that they’re safe, is the only thing that matters to me at this moment.
He nods his head.
Relief flows through me and it’s so strong, so overwhelming, I nearly crumble from it.
“Are they okay?” I ask, my voice cracking with emotion.
He nods his head again and takes a step toward me.
Thank god. Thank fucking god. Now that I know that they’re both safe, I’ll finally be able to rest.
“Thank you,” I whisper so softly the words sound like a wispy breath.
I owe so much to him.
His eyes slide over my head, towards the little boy sleeping on the bed, then slide back again.
There’s so much tension in the air, so much restraint, that the air is fairly crackling with it.
The way he’s looking at me now, I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me or if he wants to break my neck.
Self-preservation causes me to take a step back. Nervously, I lick my lips before I ask my next question.
How do I ask him if he’s a good guy or a bad guy without pissing him off?
Something dark flashes in his eyes and without speaking he extends his arm and holds out his hand.
I stare down at the hand, at his offering.
Somehow I know if I accept it, if I place my hand in his, there’s no going back.
I hesitate, not yet willing to take the next step that closes the distance between us.
I’m safe here in this room. At least, I think I am…
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask quietly, not realizing the danger I’m in.
Before I can escape, his hand is closing over mine and yanking me back. With a startled cry, he pulls me into the dark hallway.
“Johnathan,” I gasp, my senses reeling as he pushes me up against the wall.
His mouth smashes against my mouth, not giving me a chance to protest. His beard scrapes against my chin, against my cheeks.
His leg wedges its way between my legs and I feel his knee pressing against my sex.
His entire being overwhelms me. His size, his scent, his touch. Everything about him wraps around me, flooding my senses.
His lips push against mine. Hungry. Urging. Desperate.
I want to give in, I do, but there’s something still holding me back.
Grabbing me by the face, his lips push and push, demanding that I open for him.
Fear wars with the desire coiling in my belly. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know how to do this.
Everything is happening so fast.
I start to fight him. My hands push at his chest, my head tries to twist and turn away. I just need a minute, but his grip tightens.
“Beth,” he growls in frustration, the vibrations tickling my lips. “Open for me.”
“Why?” I ask, the word going around and around in my head.
Why did he buy me? Why did he bring me here, to his house? Why is he doing this?
“Because we still got something to work out,” he groans, and then resumes his assault on my lips.
His mouth slants over mine, over and over again. He’s not going to give up. No, if anything, my resistance only seems to make him that more demanding. That more persistent.
He pushes and pulls, and with each suck, with each growl, I feel like something inside me is about to snap.
Just when I feel like I can stand no more, just when I’m about to give in, his teeth sink into my bottom lip.
I gasp in pain and my lips part just enough for his tongue to find entrance.
He invades my mouth. His taste overtakes me, and his groan of pleasure slides down my throat.
His tongue touches mine and I feel this horrible, wonderful zing behind my ribs. With each stroke, with each glide, I start to weaken.
“Beth,” he groans into my mouth and presses closer.
His chest crushes against my breasts, and his knee moves only to be replaced by something just as hard. Something that begins to grind rhythmically against my sex.
I find myself picking up the rhythm, picking up his desperation. Our hips roll in tandem as I chase the pleasure building in my core.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he rasps against my lips.
This is nothing like the first time we kissed in his bar. There, we were just two strangers caving into our drunken lust.
Here, I feel like there’s more to it. There’s too much need, too much desperation on his part for this to be just a simple moment of lust.
And I don’t want it to stop. No, something inside me needs this. Needs him.
I want t
o let go. I want to get lost in him.
I melt into his body as his hands grip me, squeezing me, trapping me in his tight hold. He continues to push into me, continues to kiss me like he’s trying to pour his very soul into me.
He feels so good, so warm. So fucking big and strong.
I rock my hips forward, my clit pulsing and aching, while moaning into his mouth.
Suddenly he breaks the kiss, pulling away, and I cry out at the loss of him. I pant, staring at him in confusion.
Why the fuck did he just stop?
Leaning back, his eyes gleam triumphantly in the dim light, and then he sweeps me up into his arms.
“I’ve gone through a lot of trouble to have you,” he growls huskily into my ear before carrying me down the hall.
11
Beth
Johnathan carries me through the open doorway at the end of the hall and uses his foot to shut the door.
My breathing quickens and my heart flutters with panic. I twist and try to escape his arms as he carries me over to the bed and lowers me down.
“Wait,” I gasp as he grabs the bottom of my paper-thin gown. I wanted this, I did, but now that it’s about to happen I’m scared shitless. Maybe if he knows the truth it will change his mind. “I’ve never been with a man before.”
The corners of his lips curl up as he grins, “I know.”
The pleasure from earlier is nearly forgotten, nearly overwhelmed by my fear.
He’s really going to do this… He’s really going to be my first.
My gown is yanked up, over my head, and I’m left with nothing covering my body. Nothing shielding me from his hungry eyes.
Nothing shielding me from him.
He stares at me long and hard, his eyes drinking me in. Frantically glancing side to side, I grab a pillow and use it to cover myself.
He rips it out of my hands.
“Johnathan, please,” I plead. “I’m scared.”
The pillow goes flying and he grabs me by the ankles, dragging me closer to him.
“Don’t worry,” he rumbles almost soothingly as his knee drops to the bed. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
That’s easy for you to say, I think. He’s done this before. I bet he’s had hundreds of women… and probably in this bed.
I stare up at him, my breasts rising and falling with my panting.
His head dips down and his mouth comes down on my breast. As he pulls back a gentle suckle, all other thoughts go flying out of my head.
God, that feels so good.
His tongue swirls around and around, and the coarse hair of his beard tickles my skin. My nipple tightens in his mouth, becoming as small and hard as a diamond.
Teeth scrape across the tip and something inside of me clenches. He pulls back another suckle, this one harder than before, and I squirm.
Inside me, pleasure and fear continue to war, and I’m not sure which will win. I want to push him away. Yet, I also want to pull him closer.
As his mouth works me over, laving and worshipping one breast before moving on to the other, I can’t help but wonder what comes next. What can he do to me? What can he make me feel?
My skin warms and tingles in anticipation.
“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he breathes out, his head coming up for air. “I’ve been waiting three fucking days to do this.”
With a growl, he grabs my breasts and squeezes them in his big hands. For the first time, I realize he has callouses. Callouses that scrape and dig into my flesh.
He squeezes and squeezes, molding my globes in his rough hands.
I feel myself arching up, feel myself pushing myself into his grip. I shouldn’t want this, I shouldn’t, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t like it.
Maybe it’s because I was so close to death, but right now, in his hands, for the first time in three days, I finally feel alive.
“Fuck… these tits. I want to fuck these tits,” he grunts, and it’s so dirty to me, so scandalous, I don’t know how to respond to it.
No man has ever talked to me like this before. No man has ever handled me like this before.
I’m more than a little floored by it.
His hips rock forward, and I feel the hard bulge in his pants prodding at my sex.
“Three fucking days,” he growls, and his grip on me suddenly tightens. “Three fucking long days I’ve had to wait to get you in my bed.”
I cry out as his hardness rubs against my clit.
“Three days I’ve been thinking about fucking you, Beth,” he rumbles with another roll of his hips. “Thinking about how I’m going to take you, how I’m going to fucking claim you.”
He gives my breasts one last squeeze and then he begins to slide down. His lips and beard drag down my tummy, and his eyes remain locked on mine, full of dark intent.
I start to panic as he nears my belly button.
“What are you doing?” I gasp and start to sit up.
His hands come down on my breasts and he pushes me back down to the bed.
“Enjoying what I bought,” he grins and looks down.
I squirm beneath his appraisal, never before feeling so revealed, so vulnerable. And just when I think it can’t get any worse, that I can’t feel anymore humiliated, his hands come down to my thighs and he spreads me wide open.
“Beautiful,” he growls.
“Oh, god,” I groan and try to arch away from him.
Hands locked around my thighs, he holds me in place as his head dips down. I feel the tickle of his beard before I feel his tongue dragging through my folds.
“So fucking innocent,” he rumbles, and I reach down, trying to push his head away.
He growls and resists my push.
The tip of his tongue flicks against my clit. The jolt of sensation that courses through me is so strong, so intense, I jerk.
“So fucking sweet,” he says appreciatively, and drags his tongue through my folds again.
He laps at me and suckles my clit into his hot mouth until I’m coming undone, my reservations forgotten.
I don’t even realize when his hand moves. I’m so caught up in the pleasure and new sensations, I’m spreading my legs eagerly for him.
My head thrashes from side to side and all these little throaty moans keep pouring from my lips.
When I touched myself alone in my room at night, it never felt like this.
Hands now gripping at his hair, tugging, I try to pull him closer in encouragement.
His tongue presses hard against my clit, swirling around and around, and then something hard is probing at my entrance.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, his warm breath washing over all the wetness he left.
There’s a slight pinch, and then that hard thing slides through my wetness, spreading me open.
I whimper and try to close my legs, locking my thighs around his head. It doesn’t stop him. No, if anything, it makes his mouth that more ravenous.
The pain is uncomfortable at first, but then, strangely, it seems to amplify all the pleasurable sensations I’m experiencing.
“Fuck,” he rasps as I feel myself clenching around him, trying to pull him in. He’s almost there. So close to where I need it. “You like that, baby?”
The hard thing works in and out of me, gliding along with my wetness. This incredible pressure begins to build inside me, filling me with warmth and neediness.
I begin to rock my hips, chasing… something. I don’t know what. An explosion. The end?
I’m so swollen, so tender, I can feel my pulse throbbing in my clit.
Then I feel fuller, stretching wider. It’s another finger, I realize.
His fingers are inside me.
Before I can adjust to the new fullness, his fingers curl inside me and I’m crying out, twitching and jerking as he rubs against a spot that’s extremely sensitive.
It’s more than I can take at the moment.
“Relax,” he growls as I tighten around him.
/>
But I can’t. The sensation too much, too strong.
“Johnathan, please, it’s too much,” I gasp. I don’t want him to stop, but what he’s doing is too overwhelming.
“You’re still too fucking tight,” he grits out like his teeth are clenched, but his fingers uncurl. “I’ll split you in half.”
I know I should be afraid but somehow I’m not. Just the thought of having him inside me, stretching me, breaking me, has me clenching my thighs around his head in anticipation.
The fear is gone, replaced by something more primal, something more basic.
The need to get off.
In and out he pumps his slick digits, and the pressure inside me expands and expands.
My hips rock up and I find myself grinding myself shamelessly into his face as his mouth comes back down on my clit.
He sucks and sucks, pulling me hard into his mouth. Then his teeth bite down giving me a light pinch.
The explosion begins in my center and ripples out. I cry out, squeezing around his fingers as my limbs twitch and jerk.
Johnathan grunts and makes these throaty noises of approval as he licks me up like he just can’t get enough.
Waves of pleasure roll through me, sweeping over me, until I feel weak and rung out. I don’t know how long it goes on for but the entire time he’s growling and devouring me with his mouth.
As the last little spasm fades away, I release my death grip on his hair and collapse against the bed, almost ready to pass out.
Johnathan gives my clit one last playful lick, and I’m so sensitive, I can’t help but squeak before his head pops up.
He hovers above me, staring down at me with a glistening beard and eyes full of hunger and want.
What I just experienced, what I felt, I’ve never felt anything like it before. It was amazing, but at the same time it’s absolutely terrifying. This man, this stranger, has the ability to strip away all my resistance and make me like it with just his touch.
Staring into his eyes, a little pang of fear spikes in my chest, but then he slowly withdraws his fingers, deliberately drawing the sensation out.
I squirm and writhe against the bed, unsure if I want his fingers to leave me or if I want them slamming back into my core.
