Crave

by Jennifer Dawson

  My breath hitches. To do what he’s wants, I’ll have to work myself along his length, with no help from my hands, or his.

  It’s hard, what he’s asking. It requires a certain amount of desperate wantonness.

  I meet his gaze and his hazel eyes burn with an almost feral desire. He wants me. Wants this. My muscles tense and he gives a small thrust. The head of his erection nudges my clit. “You’re so wet, sugar. Let me see how much you want it.”

  I groan, my fingers tightening reflexively on his knees. My attention never leaving his, I lick my lips, and circle my hips.

  He lets out a hiss.

  His response increases my confidence and I repeat my actions.

  His jaw tightens, muscles flexing as he grips the chair.

  And I feel it—it rushes over me in a great wave—power.

  The power I’d believed I’d buried along with John. It’s different, but no less compelling and addictive. I thought I’d lost it forever. It washes over me, cleansing my grief and making me pure instead of twisted.

  I look into Michael’s eyes, hot with lust, and a smile breaks across my lips.

  His cheekbones become even more prominent, and the full weight of his control is unleashed. “Get a move on, sugar.”

  I slowly, deliberately, drag along his cock. First up. Then down.

  A muscle in his jaw jumps.

  With the excitement of the game I’d thought I’d never play again, I grow bold. Daring. “I think I can break you.”

  A cruel smile sends my heart into overdrive. “You won’t, but you’re welcome to try. You’re so primed you won’t last long.”

  I circle my hips. I’m so wet I glide effortlessly along his erection without the least bit of resistance. “And you’re not?”

  His gaze flicks casually down my body. “As much as I want to bury myself inside you, and fuck us both into oblivion, you’re not going to win. You’re far too needy.”

  Of course he’s right. I can already feel the desperation clawing away inside me, but I don’t care, I don’t really want to win. As he well knows.

  But I want him to suffer with me. I want him to fight for it. Fight for me. I shrug. “I’m not too worried.”

  He laughs. “I’ve never met a woman who angled so hard for a spanking.”

  In answer, I give him my best sassy smile, and rub along the length of his shaft.

  One dark brow cocks, seemingly unimpressed. “Put your money where your mouth is, girl.”

  And I do.

  I start slow. Driving myself near mad as I work my way up and down his cock. Reveling in the feel of him. The rush of power that enflames me. The thrill of the game. The competition.

  And the inevitable consequence of where this will end.

  My head falls back as I ride him. I’m so slick, so slippery, the glide of my clit over the hard press of his cock is the most exquisite sensation I have ever felt in my life. My hair brushes over my hands as I arch my body, circling and grinding my way along his length. A fine sheen of sweat glistens on my skin. My breath is a hard pant. All rational thought drifts away and I lose myself in his control.

  I give him quite a show as the girl I thought I’d lost forever breaks free.

  His own breath turns labored, urging me on, propelling me further.

  I tease the head of his cock with my clit.

  I jerk, moaning, as need spirals tight in my belly.

  The climax swells hot and insistent, and I stop moving, willing my body to calm.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice a harsh, menacing rasp that sends tingles down my skin.

  I raise my head, blinking at him.

  His expression is hard, determined. He shakes his head. “There’s no recovery time in this game. No cooling off. Move.”

  I swallow hard and work my hips. Immediately, the orgasm threatens to overtake me. I’m out of practice, if I can’t stop, I won’t be able to stave off the inevitable. The only chance I have is to let go, lose control, and hope he follows. I begin to move in earnest. Never breaking eye contact, I grind up and down his shaft in a hard, frantic rhythm.

  I’m so damn hot.

  His eyes burn into me.

  So damn ready.

  His jaw clenches.

  The orgasm grows.

  Tightens.

  His temples bead with sweat.

  The climax swells.

  I clutch his knees as I work my clit along him.

  “Michael.” His name a desperate plea. I’ll think about the permission I’m asking for later, but now I just need it.

  He nods.

  And I break, my head falling back, as the orgasm rips through me, shattering me into a thousand different pieces. I moan, my fingers digging into the fabric of his pants, as I writhe on top of him, lost in the first real climax I’ve had since John died.

  “Fucking hell,” Michael says, and lifts me with the tremors still shuddering through me.

  He throws me on the bed, rips off his shirt, makes quick work of a condom, and drives inside me. The shock of his entry sets off another wave of contractions and he growls, a feral sound.

  His hand clamps around my throat and his mouth covers mine. Consuming me as he slams inside me. His thrusts powerful. Driving me to a fit of passion unlike anything I’ve ever known. His kiss takes everything from me as his fingers tighten around my throat and his big body covers mine. Relentless, he pounds into me, and even though I came hard, lust consumes me.

  I rise to meet him. My nails raking down his back as I fight to get closer.

  Animalistic in his determination, he takes me ruthlessly.

  And my starving body drinks it all in.

  The bed rocks hard into the wall, the loud noise, the groan of the mattress in rhythm to our matching pants, only heightens our out-of-control passion.

  He tears his mouth away, and pounding into me, he growls low in my ear. “Mine.”

  Yes. As the word tears through my mind, an orgasm assaults me, near blinding in its force.

  He’s claims me as I need to be claimed. By him.

  My vision dims as the pleasure crashes through me. I cry out, shaking as the contractions storm through me.

  A second later, he roars loud enough to shake the rafters and shudders, following me into oblivion.

  I don’t know how much time passes before I finally drift back into reality, but when my eyes flutter open I find him watching me. He smiles, and pushes my hair back from my face before brushing his lips over mine. He’s moved to the side so he wouldn’t crush me, but he still covers me, and I feel warm and safe.

  Happy. It’s been so long since I felt happy I want to sink into it and stay here forever. I snuggle in deeper, glad he’d insisted on me staying, because I couldn’t pry myself out of this bed with a crowbar.

  His fingers brush over my jaw. “That was, by far, the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I flush, remembering my wildness there at the end. I turn into him, burying my face in his neck.

  He laughs, stroking my hair. “Are you embarrassed?”

  I nod.

  He crooks a finger under my chin and tilts my face, forcing me to look at him. When I meet his eyes he says, “Would it make you feel better if you knew how close I was?”

  I blink up at him, heating with pleasure this time. “You were?”

  His eyes blaze. “The only reason I didn’t break the chair was because the legs are iron.”

  A wide smile spreads over my lips.

  He wipes a thumb over the swollen flesh. “Laugh now, sugar, but remember payback is a bitch.”

  A giggle escapes me, a real honest to goodness giggle, and he squeezes my ribs, making me jump and squeal with laughter.

  “That’s it,” he said, rolling me over and throwing his leg across mine. He tickles me, until I’m squirming and laughing so hard tears stream down my face as I beg him to stop.

  He shakes his head. “Nope you’re a very bad girl and have to pay the price.”r />
  He’s deliciously relentless. Slowly, the tickling turns into soft caresses. A thumb circling my nipple. His tongue licking across my skin. The laughter dies away, replaced by soft moans and cries of ecstasy that last for hours, wrapping me up in a hazy cloud of exquisite pleasure I never want to end.

  Empty lifeless eyes stare up at me.

  I brush John’s hair back from his forehead as best I can with my bound hands.

  The slow trickle of blood over concrete.

  A cry shakes my body and I wake with a start. Terror crests over me like a wave before I startle to reality.

  It’s a dream. Just a dream.

  I slow my breathing as I try and orientate myself to my surroundings.

  It’s dark. Unfamiliar. There’s a heavy arm under my ribs. The night with Michael comes rushing back to me.

  I’m in his bed. I’ve slept naked in his arms. How had that happened? The last I remember, I said something about going home.

  I barely move, listening to the sound of his heavy, rhythmic breath, thankful he’s still asleep. At least I didn’t wake up screaming with tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Restless, I fight the urge to fidget under him. I should leave, but somehow I don’t think that would go over too well. Michael is not the kind of man you sneak out on in the middle of the night.

  But I need to get up. Breathe and watch mindless TV so I can shake off the nightmare. As quietly as I can, I move, slipping out from under him and rolling out of the bed where I’d experienced so much pleasure. The room is dark, and I feel around, finally touching a T-shirt of Michael’s he’d abandoned on a chair in the corner. I throw it on and sneak out.

  I wander into the living room, flick on the light and scream, my hand flying to my chest.

  There’s a dog sprawled on the couch.

  The big mangy mutt’s ears perk, she lifts her head and then bounds off the couch.

  “Belle, no,” Michael says from behind me, and I let out another yelp in surprise. His arm encircles my waist as the dog dances excitedly around me.

  I remember the picture I saw in the coffee shop. My heart rate slows. I hold out my hand and the dog sniffs and slobbers all over it. “Where’d she come from?”

  “Sometimes my neighbor watches her for me when I’m going to be gone for a long time, I picked her up after you fell asleep.”

  The dog jumps up, planting her big paws on my chest.

  Michael lets me go and barks out, “Down, Belle.”

  The dog completely ignores him and licks my face. I laugh and scratch up and down her back as she whines happily.

  “She’s the worst trained dog in the world.” Michael pulls her down before straightening. His hair is a mess, his chest bare and beautiful. “I’m sorry she scared you.”

  “It’s okay.” I walk over and sit down on the couch. With an excited wave of her tail, Belle jumps up next to me, and nuzzles her head on my lap, gazing up at me adoringly. I pat her head, and she burrows closer, making me laugh with her greedy bid for attention. My fingers smooth over her soft, shaggy fur and my heart melts.

  She squirms and twists in her attempts to get closer, and I smile at her cute antics, letting her climb all over me. I hug her as she licks my face.

  “She likes you,” Michael says, he’s thrown on a pair of workout shorts that hang low on his hips.

  Belle, halfway in my lap, rolls over and sticks her legs straight up in the air. I giggle, and give her belly a rubdown. She’s better than therapy. “I’m in love, can I keep her?”

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry. If you want to see her, you’ll have to come here.”

  I put on a mock pout. “Pretty please?”

  His gaze drops to my lips. “You know I’d do anything for that mouth, but you can’t have my dog. I need her.”

  I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t give her up either. Hugging the dog, I close my eyes, laughing again when Belle gives me a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  “That’s a good sound, sugar,” Michael says, his voice husky. He walks over to the couch, affixes a stern gaze on Belle, and points to the empty end of the couch. “Move.”

  Belle’s tongue lolls to the side and she stays right where she is.

  I repress a smile.

  Michael scowls and points again. “Belle, off.”

  Belle ignores him and puts one paw on my chest. I don’t know where it comes from, but I say in my most serious voice, “It must be quite hard for you to live with a female that doesn’t snap to your every command.”

  He sighs and sits in the empty spot. “The irony is not lost on me.”

  A bubble of laughter escapes my throat.

  “Layla,” Michael says, his tone warning, but amused.

  I can’t help it, and I burst out into giggles. Belle wags her tail, catching my happiness. “Come on, you have to know how funny it is.”

  He grins, shrugging. “If her blatant disregard for any order I give her puts that smile on your face, it’s worth it.”

  I have a sudden urge to lean over and kiss him, full on the mouth, then crawl on top of him. Instead, I stay right where I am and say, “She’s wonderful.”

  “Did you have a nightmare?” he asks, changing the subject.

  I think about avoiding but dismiss the idea. I’m so tired of hiding all my cracks. I nod. “I’m sorry I woke you. I tried not to.”

  “How do you feel now?” His expression is intent on mine.

  “Pretty good, actually.” I play with Belle’s soft, floppy ears.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I shake my head and say softly, “I don’t want to ruin the night.”

  He crooks his finger. “Come here.”

  I don’t even think of refusing, because he’s the only place I want to be. I extricate myself from Belle, stand up and walk around the dog before standing in front of him. He puts his hands on my hips and squeezes. “I like you in my shirt.”

  He pulls me down and I tumble into his lap. When I settle into a spot, Belle turns around and puts her head on Michael’s knee. He sighs. “She’s an attention hog.”

  “She is, but she’s so cute, it’s hard to mind.” I put my head on his shoulder, and it suddenly strikes me how domestic this is. How right it feels to be cuddled up in his lap, with his dog by my side.

  I tense. The familiar betrayal slicing through me.

  He trails his palm over my bare thigh. “What?”

  “Did anyone tell you how annoying that is? Picking up every nuance?”

  “Occupational hazard. Comes with the package of dating a cop.”

  At the mention of us doing something as normal as dating, I pause; worried the idea no longer terrifies me. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

  “Yes.” His tone doesn’t invite debate.

  The guilt, however, still comes. This was supposed to be reserved for John. I’m not supposed to feel this way about anyone. I clear my tight throat. “I never intended to date anyone. Let alone a cop.”

  He tilts my chin, and gazes deeply into my eyes. “You loved your fiancé very much.”

  “I did.” Frightened that I used the past tense, I instantly correct myself. “I do.”

  He nods. “Then ask yourself, if the situation is reversed, is this what you’d want for him? To spend his whole life mourning you?”

  Muscles rigid, I clench my hands in my lap. “No, of course not. It’s just…” I trail off, unsure how to explain. I owe it to John. It’s the only way I can make it up to him.

  Belle nudges my fingers with her nose and I smile, automatically releasing my death grip to stroke her soft head.

  I take a deep breath and try again. “I don’t want to forget him. I’m afraid if I move on, I will. I have to remember. His death has to mean something.”

  Nobody understands this part, but it’s crystal clear to me.

  He tucks me under his chin and squeezes tight. “Dying right along with him isn’t the way to make sure it means something, suga
r.”

  A spike of anger, like a hot poker, has me straightening, pulling back from him. “You don’t think I know that? Everyone always says that like it’s so easy, but it’s not. You haven’t walked in my shoes, you don’t understand.”

  He makes soothing sounds, but it doesn’t calm my frustrated rage. I glare at him. “It’s not that easy. And the heart doesn’t listen to logic.”

  He doesn’t look impressed; instead he nods, matter of fact. “I’m not saying it’s easy, Layla. I’m saying you have to start somewhere.”

  I scramble from his lap and Belle lets out a little whine. I put a hand over my chest and yell, “You don’t think I’m doing that? Every instinct I have tells me to stay away from you. I’ve broken every single rule I have, because of you. Do you understand how hard that is for me? Even worse, you did it effortlessly. You didn’t even have to try. I’ve done all the hard work here, not you. Me. And then you act like I’m not even making an effort?”

  He shifts on the couch and plants bare feet on the floor before placing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers. “Don’t twist my words to suit your argument.”

  “I’m not. I’ve taken a huge step. I’m sleeping in your bed.” I lower my head and stare at the hardwood floor. The rich, dark brown blurring through the tears welling in my eyes. My anger abates and sadness takes hold. “I fucked plenty of men after he died but you’re still the first.”

  “I know.” His voice is soft.

  I blink away the wetness. “I didn’t even think of him.”

  “I know,” he says again. He pauses for a few beats before continuing, “I’m not sorry. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but I can’t be sorry.”

  I nod, at a loss for what to say.

  He continues in a soft, soothing voice. “I’m not saying it’s easy. Now, come back here. I don’t want to talk with you so far away.”

  So tired of standing alone, I brush the tears away and return to him. I can’t deny the relief and safety I experience when his arms hug me close.

  He brushes his lips over the crown of my head. “I understand this is a big deal. I know you’re scared. I’m merely suggesting you think about what he would want for you the next time you feel guilty for being alive. You survived, Layla, and I know sometimes that’s worse, but don’t let that be for nothing.”