He bent and sucked a nipple hard.
She made a noise he felt draw up his balls and ground her pussy into his rock-solid cock.
She still had on her panties and they were drenched.
Saturated.
Jesus.
Totally fucking getting off on this.
And her doing that ramped him past reason.
He switched nipples and she dry humped him (or wet humped him, as the case was) until he couldn’t take it anymore.
He gripped her hair, forced her mouth to his, drove his tongue inside, then her lower body jerked and she gasped sweet and hot into his mouth when he tore her panties at the side.
Beck broke the kiss and shoved them out of the way so they were hanging useless on her thigh, looked into her dazed eyes and demanded, “Inside.”
Panting against his lips, Janna grasped his cock. He felt the head slide through her soak, gritting his teeth as it went, that felt so goddamned good.
He caught, and she bore down.
Both of their heads went back, his hitting wall, and he felt hers fly, his hand still in her hair.
He kept her head back as he righted his neck and watched as she rode him, her big, pretty tits bouncing in his face.
He latched on her nipple as best he could with his mouth through her movements and drew as deep as possible.
She whimpered, holding his head to her, riding him wild, slamming into him.
“Beck,” she whispered.
He let her tit go. “Yeah.”
“Beck,” she gasped.
He brought her face to his, trying to catch her eyes, but they were unfocused.
Fucking hot.
“Yeah, baby.”
She rode him rough.
“Beck,” she cried out.
He twisted her to her back and took over the ride, pounding into her as she came, sliding his hand between them and going at her clit.
“Too . . . too . . . can’t,” she forced out.
“Keep coming,” he demanded.
Her body bucked under him, legs wrapping around his thighs, nails dragging deep up his back and he bowed away from a pain that felt fucking good and went at her harder.
“Beck!” she yelped, jolting now, nails digging into his scalp, “Yes. Yes, honey. Don’t stop,” she panted, still coming.
He kept at her and he kept at her, and he kept doing it until the straining arch of her pressing into his torso felt desperate, her head was so far back, all he had was her throat, and he’d lost her noises.
Only then did he stop at her clit, bury himself inside and sink his teeth into the flesh at the side of her tit, exploding, coming apart, shooting deep into Janna.
Christ, unbelievable.
Fucking amazing.
But yeah.
Unbelievable.
Her fingers were sifting through his hair when he came down.
He licked at his mark before he moved up.
Her pretty face was satisfied, triumphant as she stroked his cheek and along his jaw with the backs of her fingers.
He disregarded the triumphant.
And the satisfied.
And focused on something else.
“Think you got something to share,” he remarked, his voice lower, rougher, his balls drained, his cock spent, and that was magnificent.
This shit still wasn’t right.
“What?” she purred.
The woman, his woman, his bashful, prissy Janna who’d ignored his balls and put on pajamas, got timid and wouldn’t meet his eyes even after he’d eaten her out straight to an orgasm while fucking her ass with a finger . . . purred.
“Seems you’ve had some practice, and not on me.”
She blinked.
“Think you might wanna share how all of a sudden you give really great head?” he asked.
How he did wasn’t nice.
But it was honest.
“I-I’m,” she stammered in apparent disbelief, “I’m not stepping out on you, Beck.”
“We fuck ungloved. You are,” he did a one-shouldered shrug, “we’re not exclusive. I still gotta know.”
“We’re not exclusive?”
“You’re the only woman I go at. But not sure with what just happened that I got that comin’ back to me. You said you had to work today. Make up for a day of lost production. You at work today, Janna?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He stared at her, still semi-hard inside her, trying to deny the way he was feeling.
Torn up.
Raw inside.
A woman did not give mildly enjoyable head one day and become an expert the next.
He handled her so carefully, he hadn’t even offered training.
And it went without saying, his last woman not only informed on his club right under his nose but fell in love with another guy. He’d pushed her to that, it still happened.
And maybe he pushed Janna to the same kind of thing.
So yeah.
This shit was not right.
“Not bein’ a dick, but I think we both know suckin’ me off was not your strong suit.”
Her eyes slid away.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Her eyes slid back, and she said swiftly, “I talked with Dryden.”
Say what?
“Who the fuck is Dryden?”
“He’s our lead in the movie we’re doing. He . . . he and Shaughnessy, she’s the female lead,” she explained. “Well, everyone is buzzing about it on the set. They’re so getting together. They have like, crazy good chemistry. It’s like, when they’re in a scene, whatever that scene is, unless Re . . . that is, Tally calls cut or something, it’s just them.”
Beck stared at her and said nothing.
“So today was a . . . Tally’s on leave and Meryl’s directing and she’s not as good as Tally, but now it doesn’t matter because Shaughnessy and Dryden are in a groove and they filmed, uh . . . today they filmed an, um . . . blowjob scene.”
Well, shit.
Beck relaxed into her.
“I watched,” she whispered.
“Right,” he whispered back.
“I don’t normally watch,” she told him something he could have guessed.
“Right,” he repeated.
“And then I . . . well, it was awkward, but after, I asked Dryden what, I mean, what worked for him.”
“My guess, he was pretty thorough,” Beck remarked.
“Well . . . yeah. But he said the most important thing is that Shaughnessy doesn’t get into her head. It’s just them. Not on a set or anything. Just them. She doesn’t want it to be good for him, even though she does. She doesn’t want it to be good on camera, even though it is. She gets into what they’re doing . . . together. What they both get out of it. Shaughnessy just likes sucking, uh . . . cock. That is, his, uh . . . cock. And he gets the good out of it, but she also gets the good out of it, so that makes it better.”
She swallowed, looking pained, before she finished.
“I just had to get out of my head and be about you and me and just feel what was happening. Oh, and not rush it. Dryden said to draw it out. He said the, well . . . climax is better that way.”
She had that chat with this guy.
For him.
She put herself out there.
Just so she could give him a better blowjob.
It was time to do this.
“You went pretty far out of your comfort zone to make sure you give a good blowjob, Janna,” he stated impassively.
“I . . . yeah,” she muttered miserably.
“Why are you with me?”
Her focus grew acute on him.
But she didn’t answer him.
“Why are you with me?” he pushed.
“I told you. You’re a gentle man and you make me happy and—”
A gentle man.
Yes.
It was time to do this.
“There were conditions to me getting out of jail after me and my
club beat the shit out of my last old lady. I’m not meeting those conditions, so I’ll probably have to go back in,” he told her.
Her eyes got big. “Wh-what?”
“So probably good for both of us to know, since you’re so all in with this, go that extra mile, why the fuck you’re with me.”
“We’re the same, Beck.”
“We’re not the same, Janna.”
“Yes. We are. We’re both misfits.”
Beck stilled.
Janna kept talking.
“We both found ourselves in places we weren’t meant to be, with people we weren’t meant to be with, doing things we weren’t meant to be doing.”
He stared at her.
“You are not what you did to Rosalie,” she told him. “And I’m not makeup, hair and costume for the porn industry. But we are.”
After she said that, she paused.
Beck remained silent.
She kept going.
“You . . . well, I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who would get me.”
“What would I get?” he asked.
“I don’t want to be in the porn industry,” she whispered. “I wanna be a stylist.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “So how’d you get there?”
She shook her head but said, “My mom kicked me out when I was seventeen.”
Jesus.
“She . . . I did bad,” she went on.
Beck did not have a good feeling about those words and how she put them together.
“What’d you do that was bad?” he asked, with those words and how she put them together, taking his tone to gentle.
“I, well, I had a boyfriend and I wasn’t allowed.”
Yeah.
This was not good.
“You weren’t allowed to have a boyfriend at seventeen?”
She shook her head. “Mom was kind of religious.”
The panties. The shyness. The prissiness. The inability to come right out with the word “cock.”
“God communicated through her . . . and her, well . . . wooden spoon,” she shared carefully, watching him just as carefully.
But not careful enough.
Beck grew solid and it felt like something was burning in his throat.
“What?” he asked low.
“If I did wrong . . . if I, you know, didn’t fill the dishwasher right, or something like that, God wanted children to mind. He wanted them to listen. So I’d fill it right with her hitting me with her wooden spoon.”
Beck lay on top of her, Janna wrapped around, his dick having slid out, his cock resting against her through his cum and her juices, and he breathed very, very deep.
“When she found me with my boyfriend, it didn’t go well,” she whispered.
His words were guttural. “She beat you?”
She nodded, and it didn’t register she was holding Beck tighter than she had been.
He just knew something was holding him together because he managed to hold his shit.
“And she threw me out, just . . . after.”
“At seventeen.”
“At seventeen,” she confirmed.
His Janna, alone, at seventeen.
“What’d you do?”
“Anything. Hostessing at a restaurant. I got a paper route. So their parents wouldn’t turn me into Social Services or something, my friends would sneak me in their bedrooms and I’d sleep on their floors, get up early to steal a shower and get out.” She slid her hand to his neck and said quietly, “I managed to finish school. Save some money. Get into a studio apartment. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was mine and I could take showers as long as I wanted. It was hard and it wasn’t fun, but I like to think about it, making my own way, you know, since she never let me come back, though I tried. My dad was scared of her too, so he wouldn’t go against her. So I like to think about it because in the end, regardless of her, I made it, Beck.”
He thought of her gray couches and silver sponge things.
Thrown out at seventeen.
And now she was twenty-seven.
Yeah, she made it.
“But I don’t have my cosmetology license,” she admitted. “It’s phony. No way I could pay to go to school. I just wanted to do what I do. I’d always been good at hair and makeup, even though in the beginning I had to do it in the girls’ bathroom at school, hide it from Mom. So I was able to fake it. And I make good money with what I’m doing. I’ve never made this kind of money. And it was experience. Experience in what I really wanna do. So I lied to get my job. They didn’t look too close and I’m not stupid. I know that other director, Rodrigo, wanted me around because he thought he could groom me for, uh . . . other things. But I used that to my advantage. And thank God, Re . . . I mean, Tally came. It’s better on her sets.”
Beck rolled so he was on his back and she was on him.
And for a second, when her hair fell down around them, closing them both in, he felt nothing.
Nothing but her soft body on his, her face in his, her searching eyes, the smell of her perfume and their fucking, the feel of them gliding out of her onto him, the realness of her in his arms.
Then suddenly he felt like he could do anything. Like he had power he did not have. Strength that was not his. Wisdom he hadn’t learned.
But then she lifted a hand and caught back her hair and all that was gone.
He moved his gaze beyond her to stare at the ceiling.
“Beck,” she whispered, stroking his neck.
“My brother died in Afghanistan.”
The hair came back down as both her hands came to cup his face and all he felt came slamming right back.
He looked at her.
And when he did he knew he could do this.
Because he could see her pain.
She’d known for a second about a dead man she’d never meet, and she looked like she’d had years for that pain to etch in deep.
For him.
All of that, for him.
“Honey,” she whispered.
“I never told anyone that.”
“Beck, oh honey, oh baby,” she crooned, pressing into him.
“I got issues with my mom,” he told her.
“I know all about that.”
“She didn’t beat me. She just thought I was a piece of shit.”
Tears filled her eyes.
She closed them, and one fell and hit his jaw while she moved in, touching her lips to his.
God.
Christ.
Fuck.
She moved away but not far.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “And you’re not a piece of crap. She was very wrong.”
His girl.
She couldn’t even say “shit.”
How’d he earn this beauty?
“I don’t sleep, what I did to Rosalie.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“My brother knew, I’d be dead to him.”
She moved her thumbs across his cheeks, staring in his eyes, getting hold on the wet in hers so she could be there for him.
So she could be there for him.
No one had ever been there for him.
No one, but his brother.
“He’s lookin’ down on me, baby, and he’s seein’ the piece of shit my mom knew me to be.”
“No, he’s not,” she said intensely. “He’s seeing his brother lost his way, made mistakes, but is getting back on track.”
“I was a follower.”
“That happens when you’re lost, you don’t know which way to go, and you think you found someone you can depend on to show you the way.”
“You make it sound like it’s not on me, when it’s all on me,” he pointed out.
“It is. And it’s terrible what you did, Beck. Awful.”
He stared up at her, feeling that burn inside again, but it was bigger, threatening to consume him.
“And your penance is that you’ll never forgive yourself,” she continued. “You’ll never fo
rget what you did. You’ll have to live with it forever. But you still have to move on. Use that to become a better person. Find ways to right that wrong even if it can’t ever be righted. Just do good.” She pressed into him. “And I believe you have that in you.”
Turning his eyes to the ceiling, he drew breath in through his nose, a lot of it, so much, Janna raised up on his chest as he did it.
“You need to apologize to her, honey,” she advised.
“I already did.”
“You did?”
He looked at her again. “Yeah.”
“Then that’s all you can do. I don’t think it’d be good you push that. Or at least not for her.”
Yeah.
The best thing he could do for Rosie was disappear from her life.
But right then, with Janna . . . this was happening.
They were doing this, whatever this became and however long it lasted.
She had to have it all.
“I choked her, kicked her and spit on her.”
Janna winced, he felt it pierce his heart, the pain was excruciating, stealing his breath, then she cleared her expression and pressed even closer.
The woman pressed even closer.
“Be a better man,” she whispered.
It was that easy for her.
Because she saw in him not who he was, but who he wanted to be.
So . . .
Right.
That was what she wanted?
That was what he’d do.
Starting now.
“Tell me about your dream.”
She shut down, completely, to the point she tried to shove off him.
So he rolled them again, trapping her under him.
A better man would do this.
A better man would take this from her so she didn’t have to live with it, whatever it was.
And he’d do that even if she didn’t want to give it.
“Janna,” he warned.
“Beck, I—”
“Talk,” he ordered.
She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
He got in her face. “Tell me.”
She stared in his eyes.
Then she said fast, “Okay, you can’t be mad.”
Oh fuck.
“What?”
“And you can’t . . . do anything about it.”
Fuck.
“What?” he clipped.
“Okay, right well . . .”
She trailed off and said nothing.
“Janna,” he growled.
“Okay,” she breathed, got it together and began. “I had a friend. A girl. A girlfriend. She was sweet,” she said swiftly. “She was messed up, but she was sweet. I knew it. I . . . she was like you. Like me. She was somewhere she didn’t belong doing things she shouldn’t be doing. A misfit.”
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