by R. J. Lewis
“Was that Reid?” Conor asked, but he must have known.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t answer.”
I rubbed my eyes. “He is my boyfriend. I like him, Conor, a lot. He’s been there for me this year, and I can’t be here.”
It occurred to me I was talking more to myself than him. I was trying to convince myself what the right path was, and Thames just watched me, smirking knowingly. He was like the devil on your shoulder, whispering sins in your ear. And I was clutching desperately for the good voice inside me. The voice that recited the verses I needed to get me through it.
Conor isn’t Reid.
You like Reid.
You don’t like Conor.
Conor is just candy.
Candy is bad for you.
While common sense drilled its noise inside me, my feelings were detached to the words. Instead, fire was born inside me, and it burned hotter every time we looked at each other.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, his voice dropped lower as he studied me in the darkness.
I stared into his eyes, lost in their depths.
There was something…something about him that pulled me in. Something that made me want to throw everything to the wind and live in that moment, in those precious seconds, drowned in his attention.
“Can I show you something?” he then asked, his blinks slowing as the mood around us shifted.
I nodded because words required effort and my mouth was too busy sucking in air.
I liked the way his lips pulled up to one corner, like he was happy at my response. I liked how he thoughtfully creased his forehead as he looked down. He set his arm down between us and opened his hand wide.
“Touch me,” he urged softly.
My breaths went shallow. I looked at his hand for a few long moments. My mind was mute. I wasn’t debating it. I let my body react of its own volition. With hesitation, I rested my hand into his. He intertwined his fingers around mine, holding it securely while staring at me deeply. My heart raced as I blinked up at him.
“You feel that, Charlotte?” he asked, breathing heavier. “You feel the charge?”
Yes, I felt it. It raced through my body quicker than my blood. It put me in an immediate high. His skin was hot, his grip powerful; our hands fit perfectly together, and it felt…right.
“That’s why time doesn’t matter,” he whispered.
I watched his chest rise and fall while mine barely moved. Rigid, tight and hot as ever, I was swamped with emotions I’d never felt before. It was passion and desperate desire. It was all the things I was aware existed but never known.
It was an instant connection.
In that moment, he could have done what he wanted. He could have leaned into me and kissed me. He could have asked me to sit in his lap and I would have done it. This was his powerful weapon; he had a way with women, a way with getting what he wanted. Reid’s warning made sense. He has a way with people.
As if sensing my indecision, he squeezed my hand once and let it go. My body almost retaliated at the loss of his touch. He put his hand down on his thigh and looked out the window. He was letting me take control of the situation, but he also looked unsteady, like he wasn’t entirely in control of himself.
My eyes kept jumping to his hand, re-imagining his touch, wanting so desperately to take it into my own again and just feel. The urge was so strong, I was scared of myself, because I too would lose control if I let go.
I thought of his hands gripping me. How his touch would sear into me. He would fuck me hard. I knew that already. He was that kind of guy. The kind you felt everywhere when he was inside you.
“We need to go,” I hastily said, avoiding his eye. If I looked at him, he’d draw me in again and what might happen next? I couldn’t risk it.
“Sure thing, dove.”
He didn’t fight it. Just let it happen. Let the moment go.
That was the weird thing about him. He was a complete asshole to everyone else, but he treated me differently. He respected what I said and listened. I didn’t know that then. At the time, I thought he was finally realizing I wasn’t worth the effort. It kind of made my heart nosedive in my chest.
The car pulled out and we were going back where we came from. I didn’t know if his silence meant he was shitty. The longer I avoided looking at him, the tougher it was doing it. And when I finally did, he seemed perfectly fine. No frown or shitty expression. He seemed thoughtful, reserved. It was a relief because any other man in my life would have given me a hard time. I quietly gave him directions to my house, and he even made small chat along the way.
“You’re close to the police station,” he remarked, shooting me a heart stopping smile. “I’ll smile at you from my window cell.”
I laughed. “Or don’t get into trouble.”
“Nah.” He shook his head, disagreeing. “It isn’t like that with me, dove. It isn’t so simple.”
“Why?” I wondered, watching him.
Jesus, fuck, oh my god, he was now the hottest man I had ever seen. How did he do that?
“Because fighting is in my blood,” he answered, and I knew that even though his tone was light, he was dead-serious.
I twirled my alpaca curl, unable to stop looking him over. His strong hands on the wheel, his glorious profile, his plump fucking lips. Was I a fool for passing this man up?
You did the right thing.
You did the right thing.
I chanted that line over and over again, even though part of me was bitter Reid hadn’t asked to drop me off at his place. He fucking knew I hated Devil. He knew what going home was going to do to me. I put on a brave face, though, and kept myself distracted by this fucking sexy as sin man.
“You do anything other than hurt people and wind up in prison?” I wondered, keeping it light.
He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, actually. I love working on cars.”
“Are you a mechanic?”
“No. I had a chop shop before I went away. I made a fortune.”
“A chop shop?”
His brows went up. “Never heard of it, dove?”
“No.”
“Thought you were a city baby.”
“I spent my life in a library, or babysitting Angela next door. I also home-schooled myself. When I went to St Helen’s, I passed the entrance exam with flying colours and they offered to pay my tuition.”
“Otherwise?”
“I would still be finishing my credits from home.”
He hummed in thought, impressed. “Sexy and smart. I like you, Charlotte.”
I blushed. I was so typical, warmed by the compliments. “What’s a chop shop?”
“It’s a place where I take apart stolen cars, re-badge them and sell them for a profit to an elite car salesman.”
I didn’t speak. I stared at him hard, wondering if he was being serious. When he noticed my silence, he glanced at me and grinned. He had dimples too. Fuck.
“You’re joking,” I stated, gauging his expression.
“No.”
“Why did you just tell me that?”
“Because I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. Eventually.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re so sure I want you.”
“Everyone wants me.”
“That ego will be your downfall.”
“This ego is like sex to your ears.”
Yes, it was. I felt hot between my legs. I wanted to touch myself just to relieve the pressure. I even entertained the thought for several minutes, only I envisioned his hand reaching over and throwing my skirt up. I imagined his fingers, not mine, running along my slit, bombing me with sweet fireworks of pleasure. I’d groan against him, maybe rock against his fingers.
Fuck.
I pounded my head back against the headrest.
We had arrived. My neighbourhood may not have been suburban paradise, but it was a family street and quiet. People cared about their lawns, about what car they drove. There was a lot of pride here.
<
br /> Until you came to my house.
Then it was plain old humiliation. The sore thumb on the block. The kind that probably devalued the neighbour homes. No amount of warnings to make the home look presentable were heard. It wasn’t illegal, my mom would argue. Once I’d offered to clean, and she literally spat on my feet and told me I couldn’t clean shit before I cleaned myself. Whatever that meant. Wonderful woman.
My stepdad’s run-down speedboat was in the middle of the yard. The grass grew around it, at least a foot tall. His black, rust filled truck was parked sideways in the parking lot. The small white house was marked with dirt and mould. You couldn’t see it from the street, but the roof was sagging and needed to be re-done. As for the inside, there were no words to describe it. It was a hoarder’s dream.
I usually never had someone drop me off directly in front of the house. For one, this shit was embarrassing as fuck and I didn’t want the pitying eyes of whomever I was with. The last time Reid took me home was four months ago, and he gripped my hand tighter like he felt sorry for me. I didn’t need him to be sorry for me. I needed to be rescued, and not from the house, but from him. The devil inside the home.
I didn’t pay attention to Thames. It didn’t mind me that I’d let him take me to the house. On some level, I already knew he wasn’t the pitying type.
The lights were still on, the house seemed dead still, but I knew the truth. My skin broke out with goosebumps, and I shook a little. It was a response I couldn’t control. If they’d been asleep, at least I would have been able to slip inside. Past him.
I glanced around, wondering if there was a bush or a tree I could hide under for a couple more hours. He usually crashed around two in the morning. I could survive a couple more hours. The leaves would stop me from getting totally saturated.
He could be up too. He could be waiting.
I felt the walls closing in on me. What if I was trapped again? What if there was no way out? I was going to hyperventilate any second now. I needed to leave the car and find refuge.
“I hate to be a cunt,” Thames suddenly said, breaking the deep silence, “but I’m not done with our time together, dove.”
I looked away from the house – my living nightmare – and locked eyes with Thames. I didn’t say anything, my mouth was parted, my chest rising slowly as I forced myself to breathe.
“I’m taking you to my place,” he said in a hard tone that brooked no argument. “And I don’t want to hear you mention my beta as fuck cousin one more time, because I simply don’t give a fuck. You understand?”
It was such a change in tone from before. It should have startled me, frightened me, had me running for the hills, but I felt…thankful. I nodded once and he immediately drove off.
He knew.
It was one of the reasons why I fell in love with him.
Chapter Three
Charlotte
He parked in front of an apartment building and turned the engine off. He didn’t move for a few moments, staring out with distant eyes. The tension was creeping back in again. The entire ride had been silent and filled with anticipation. My fear had dissipated and was replaced with a deep yearning.
“Thames?” I whispered in question, watching him intently.
He blinked away and met my eye. With the most solemn look, he said, “You know what’s going to happen when I take you inside, right?”
Nerves replaced my confusion. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know,” I responded, unsteadily. “I knew from the start.”
Thames nodded, allowing me a few minutes to ready myself. The perfect gentleman, or a predator enjoying the quiet before he struck; it made no difference.
“You like the rain, Charlotte?” he asked, curiously.
I stared out, trying to follow his line of sight. We were surrounded by cars and lamp posts. There was not a soul lurking by. It felt like we were insulated in our own little world, and our world sounded like the heavy patter of raindrops and quick breaths.
“I’ve always loved the rain,” I answered softly. “It makes me think.”
His lips curved up in the softest smile. “I read a quote once, a long time ago. The words stuck to me. For some reason, I think about it a lot.”
“Tell me,” I urged, waiting as I watched him ponder.
His blue eyes flashed to mine. “When the time is right.”
“Then why bring that up just now?”
He let out a soft chuckle. “Because I’m a chicken shit.”
I could hardly smile in return, too enamoured by the boyish look that adorned his face. I was so fucked. This guy was more than just a jerk, wasn’t he? Layered with cockiness on one level and this boyish charm on another.
“I don’t believe that,” I said, doubtful.
“You don’t think a guy like me can be afraid, Charlotte?”
“Not of saying what’s on his mind.”
He looked reflective, his lips twisting into half a smile. “What happens when a man can’t confront his own mind? What if he hides in the shadows instead?”
“Why would he do that?”
“So he doesn’t face what he feels.”
I considered his words, and my heart ached to understand.
“Do you promise to tell me when you’re ready, Thames?”
“Conor,” he corrected, dizzying me with his stare. “And I promise. Now say my name.”
“Conor,” I repeated back to him, adjusting to it.
He nodded slowly, a dark look overcoming him. “I want you to moan it in my ear, Charlotte. I want you to fuck my name with your lips.”
Nerves clashed with exhilaration. I swallowed so hard, I felt my throat bob. I forced myself to nod, but it was so small, I wasn’t sure he noticed.
Relaxed, he gestured to the door. “Let’s go, shall we?”
“Okay.”
He unlocked the doors and stepped out before I did, rounding the car and waiting by my door patiently. Again, giving me time, allowing me the tiny moments to quiet my inner voice. I stepped out, and when he looked at me this time, I saw the intensity of his desire. He knew he had me now, and he looked fucking smitten.
We got soaked trying to get into the apartment building. Conor took a while with the key, acted like it wasn’t fitting in right, but when he smirked at my soaking state, I knew it’d been intentional. He wanted me wet. I stood there, trying not to smile back as I folded my arms to my chest and shook from the cold.
It seemed like everywhere we went, the storm followed us. It was the perfect metaphor to describe him. I wasn’t the poetic type, but that was the first time I’d thought of him as not just a storm, but my storm.
Once inside, I followed him across the sleek foyer and to the elevator. The building was new-ish and very well maintained. In other words, it was expensive. If he hadn’t told me about what he did, I would have seen the signs in front of me. I would have wondered how he could afford this place when he’d been in prison. I was too busy staring at his soaked back, at his broad shoulders, at his glorious profile as he pressed the button up and turned to look at me with his playful blue eyes.
At the time, I was a hormonal teenager that was too swept up in the moment to really care. I should have. God, I really should have.
“After you, dove,” he said when the elevator doors opened.
“Suddenly a gentleman?” I challenged, moving past him with mock surprise.
“Only when it counts.”
In the elevator, Conor stared at me with this raw look of hunger. I kept my distance, standing on the opposite side, back against the wall. He chuckled to himself, respectfully keeping the distance, a hand in each pocket.
I looked around quickly, anything to distract myself from meeting his eye. I caught a camera in the top corner of the elevator. I wondered if someone was looking back and what they thought of our body language. I was trying to be as far away from Conor as possible, my back practically becoming one with the wall, and he was like a lazy lion, knowing even
while relaxed he could have me any way he wanted.
“Calm down, dove,” he quipped as the doors to the seventh floor opened. “I’m not lunging just yet.”
He grinned as he walked past me, twisting around the keys in his hand. It was a short walk to his door, but it felt long to me. Nerves twisted my insides apart, but there was a comfortable ease in this too. There was none of that awkward tension you get with a stranger. Conor was intense, but he made me feel like I knew him my whole life.
He opened the door quicker than he’d opened the building entrance.
“Glad you didn’t fumble with this lock,” I remarked, my brow arched.
He swung the door open. “Why stall when I already got you wet?”
Cocky bastard.
I followed him inside the apartment. It was all darkness. Not a single light was on. If his sister lived here, she was either asleep or out. Conor tossed the keys on the kitchen counter to our right. Then he surprised me by taking me by the hand again. God, yes. His skin was warm, his touch gentle. Just the skin contact gave me tingles between my legs. I gripped his hand tight without thinking and let him lead me to the end of a long corridor. I’d long shut off at this point. Since he’d driven away from my house, I’d let my defences down. I’d stopped answering to logic. You reach a point where it doesn’t matter anymore. I’d been fucked the minute I left Reid behind. Hell, I’d been fucked the second Conor demanded I sit on the couch with him.
This didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to. I was damned and I didn’t care. Chalk it up to teenage recklessness, or a desperate need to be acquainted with the likes of my own. Isn’t this what I’d been told I was my whole life? A demon child born to ruin. A result of a one-night stand, and suddenly a forced burden on the woman that scornfully gave birth to me.
It didn’t matter, did it?
All of it. Trivial, so trivial, and unimportant in this very moment.
Conor opened the last door and took me in. I let out a nervous breath as I entered. It was a huge bedroom. The master bedroom. The bed was massive, easily a king. There were huge windows, the blinds were open, and the moonlight shone in, casting shadows everywhere. There was soft plush carpet beneath my feet, and I stopped walking in, suddenly conscious I’d come into his apartment with my flats on. It drove an immediate response in me. I instantly kicked them off, feeling my heartbeat in my ears. Trepidation gnawed inside me. The last time I’d entered a home with shoes on, I’d gotten the hair pulling of my life.
