by Dee Palmer
God, those eyes, searing right through me and liquefying my resolve. I just know I’m going to be leaving my very own Regan trail on his super shiny kitchen worktop.
“I can smell you, Regan,” he adds, as if he needs any more ammunition. His voice sounds like gravel, and the urgent need in his tone matches my rocketing desire. I’m already a goner. “I just have to taste you.” It really wasn’t a question. He pushes my legs wide, and I feel the cool breeze at my scorching centre, and since I hate myself to the max right now, my resolve just pitches the towel high in the air with a resounding, ‘What the hell…I want that too’. My wanton hips roll of their own volition, and he drops his chin and looks at me through impossibly long lashes, dragging his tongue so slowly across his plump bottom lip that I can almost feel that sweet pressure right there. His large hands push at the top of my thighs, making me as open wide as I’ve ever been, and he slides his hands under my ass, gripping and pulling me to the edge.
“Tell me to stop.” His eyes darken, and his jaw is still ticking, only now I know it’s with sexual tension. It’s like a palpable force between us, and when his lips curl in a knowing smile, I give him the answer he wants.
I remember this game.
“Stop.”
“No.” He grins, nefarious and determined, dropping to his knees and pulling me flush against his perfect mouth, and my eyes roll to the heavens at the first swipe of his wickedly talented tongue. I sink back in ecstasy, as if my bones have lost the ability to do the simplest task. His fingers massage the round flesh in his grip, and when I try to inch away from the rapidly building onslaught of unbearable pleasure, he tightens his hold. I know I’m going to have ten fingerprint bruises all over my bottom in the morning. I cry out when his teeth graze my clit, and he releases a toe-curling deep grumble against my sensitive core. I can feel the first tingle explode and ignite deep inside me, and I brace for the inevitable and unstoppable tidal wave of erotic pleasure that is rising rapidly. My poor desperate body is poised on the precipice. All I need is one carefully placed…
Oh, my god!
Make that three and one carefully placed finger. Joel slides three fingers deep inside me, and one he pushes just inside my ass. The tight ring of muscles contracts and fights the intrusion, but my body detonates. As the climax tears through me, my back curls high into a spine stretching arc; my knees fiercely clamp his around his neck like a big game trap, and my hands fist his thick dirty blond hair with enough strength to scalp him if he dares to move. The only part of him that moves in this perfect orgasmic moment is that delicious tongue of his, which just circles and laps at my convulsing centre until my utterly spent body floats back down to earth.
My legs fall lifelessly from his shoulders, and if I had any strength at all, I would raise my head and thank him, maybe even a round of applause would be in order.
My gratitude is fleeting, and this time, it’s not immediately replaced with regret, although I know that is only waiting on the sidelines to be tagged back in. No, right now, I have the feeling I’m being watched.
“Joel, really?” The woman’s voice is thick with disgust, and I only catch a glimpse of her half-naked form before the door on the far side of the living area slams shut.
Wait, didn’t he just come out of that room…Isn’t that his fucking bedroom? Is she his…
“Fuck!” He says the word before I get the chance. As speechless as I feel, I do manage to speak.
“Utter asshole.”
“So it would seem.” He pulls back and unceremoniously wipes me from his face, dragging his mouth over the skin high on the inside of my thigh before he stands and walks away.
I drop my head back on the counter with a thud, hoping the hit might knock some sense into me. What the hell was I thinking?
I slink off the countertop and grab my scrubs from the floor, cursing every weak-willed, horny bone in my body. I don’t look up when I hear footsteps approach. I’m hoping the ground will swallow me up before I actually have to look up.
No such luck.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Joel’s tone is sharp and shocked.
“Really, that’s a question?” I scoff. “I’m getting my arse out of here so you and Slutty McLonglegs can finish what I so stupidly allowed to start.”
“Take that back.” He growls, low and sexy, with a hint of menace that makes me shiver. His eyes are narrow, piercing, and he looms over me, at the same time offering up his hand to help me from the floor. I take the hand but step out of his all-too-tempting personal space.
“Which bit? The calling myself stupid because we both know all evidence to the contrary is right on your kitchen counter?” I briskly sweep my hand over the kitchen top, as if pointing to exhibit A in my own poor defence. “Or the bit where I insult your next-in-line?”
“Both actually. Nothing about that was stupid.” He nods indicating the counter or crime scene, all the time closing the distance between us, and I allow it. My damn feet don’t seem to want to move. Where the hell is my ‘oh-so-important self-preservation’ when I need it, hmm? Oh, that’s right, she’s far too busy lighting up a much-needed cigarette and hoping for round two. His hands tuck under my armpits, and he lifts me high, plopping me back onto the counter, and again, I let him. “Stupid would be ignoring the fact that we have an incendiary chemistry when we fuck, and Slutty McLonglegs is my sister.”
“Your sister. Yeah, right.” I scoff, leaning back as he leans forward. My hand rests on his chest, and the light pressure prevents him fully laying me back flat on the counter. I shove hard to no avail. He’s exactly where he wants to be, and judging by the raging heat between my legs, regardless of the words spilling from my mouth, so am I. “That’s why she was in your bedroom.”
“My only bedroom, you mean, and yes, I let my sister sleep in there while I take the couch. I’m kinda nice like that, not that you ever give me the chance to be anything other than—”
“An arsehole?” I interrupt.
“Right, an asshole. Look, Regan, I know I’m not a saint, but we’ve done nothing wrong here. I made you feel good, and that makes me feel good, more than good, actually. So how about you unfold your arms and stop that knee from twitching, it looks poised to strike my best friend.” He palms his cock and drops a smile that would charm the pants off anyone with a pulse. “I even brought you a fresh pair of my scrubs. They’ll hang off you, but they’re not blood-stained or ripped.”
He holds up the shapeless blue pants, and I swipe them from his hand. Honestly, there is little point getting angry; this is Joel. He’s an upfront, honest, wouldn’t hurt a fly guy, and as long as you don’t let him anywhere near your heart, he’s the best of men. And whatever you do, don’t ever tell him you love him, because he won’t just hurt your heart… he’ll destroy it.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“You’re very welcome, now how about I stitch you up, and then I get you home. Don’t want you on Santa’s naughty list now, not when you’ve been such a good girl.” He drawls the last words but the sensual intent is wasted on me.
“Oh, god, Santa!” I burst into tears at Joel’s playful comment. I can’t help it. Poor Ruby, she’s got no presents to open, not one, and for a five-year-old child, she’s just going to think she’s been bad.
“Hey, hey, I was only joking.” His brow furrows with concern, and I check myself, not the place for a meltdown. One in front of Joel is one too many.
“I know, it’s not that…never mind. Not your problem.” I wipe the useless tears from my cheeks and suck in a deep, head-clearing breath, reminding myself there are worse situations. Not sure why, but genital warts and misspelt tattoos come to mind. “Fix me up, please, and I’ll call a cab. No need for you to take me home.”
“I doubt you’ll get a cab this late on Christmas Eve, Regan, so how about you let this asshole do one nice thing.” He tilts his head, awaiting a snarky response, but I’m all out. I give a resigned nod and feel a little mean when he
flashes a genuine smile, wide and filled with joy, as if he really does want to make me happy.
That ship sailed five years ago.
He places a small medicine box beside me and quickly washes his hands. He runs a bowl of steaming hot water and seems to take an inordinate amount of time cleaning around all of my cuts. I wonder for a moment if he considers me something precious, then quickly conclude that dealing with children all day has undoubtedly fashioned his medical techniques and made him that much more careful, almost tender.
“You know you don’t need to use kid gloves, Joel. I’m a big girl.” I tilt my head, and my playful tone is lightly teasing. His head is level with my knees, and when he peeks up through long, dark lashes, his gaze smoulders and sizzles.
“Oh, you’re not a girl, Regan. You’re every inch a woman.” He draws in a mortifyingly slow breath through his nose, and my body burns with embarrassment from my toes to my now rosy cheeks. He clears his throat, regarding me closely with a wry smile. “But trust me, I’m just doing my job. I don’t want you getting an infection.” He pats the area dry, however, one cut just won’t seem to stop bleeding. “This is going to need a staple or two,” he muses, and I follow his intense, appraising gaze. “Looks like we might have to go to the emergency room after all.” He prods carefully, applying firm pressure with several balls of cotton wool to no avail. Every piece of cotton is soaked with fresh blood.
“Why? I don’t have time.” I let out a frustrated sigh, my voice pleading.
“I’m sorry, Reggie, I do have a surgical stapler but I don’t have any local anaesthetic.” He purses his soft lips, which curl around my onetime nickname like he still owns it. I have to hold back the whimper ready to blurt from my chest and expose way too much, way, way too much. I shake my head at his apologetic smile and power through the riot of mixed messages bombarding me.
“Like I said, I’m a big girl, just close it.” I sit straight and rigid, my curt tone reflecting my steely resolve.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” My response is instant, only its followed by a longer pause filled with hesitation. “Um, maybe give me something to bite down on.” I’m only half joking.
“In your sweet mouth.” He lets out a deep, gravelly groan. “This is the one time I’m not going to volunteer my cock.”
“I said bite, not suck, so I think that’s wise.” I snort. “Come on, before I change my mind.”
“I’ll be quick, and it should only need three or four.”
I give a sharp nod, and he does the same. He holds the surgical stapler against my raw skin and applies pressure enough to gain purchase before he pulls the trigger and fires the first staple. His eyes meet mine, and I give him an encouraging smile, even if my teeth are gritted to the point of cracking with fearful anticipation.
What was I thinking? Hours in a hospital waiting room on Christmas Eve, that’s what I was thinking.
“Oh, fuck!” I drop my head back and howl out on a held breath.
“First things first, Regan.” He pulls the stapler free and carefully wipes the wound clean before taping a small piece of gauze over his handiwork. He chuckles at my expletive. “At least let me wash and put this away, don’t want mishaps.”
“One prick is more than enough for one evening, you mean,” I retort. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look up, too busy finishing a perfect job.
He covers most of the area with another larger patch of gauze and helps me into the scrubs he loaned me. I slide off the counter and right into his personal space. I was expecting him to step back, but he doesn’t, and now I’m just right there. His hands are on my hips, and I can feel him looking down, and me looking anywhere but up. I pat his arm awkwardly and try to step around him. He counters my move, blocking my escape.
“I forgot how much you enjoyed the pain.” His voice is so deep and husky, it rakes across my skin, firing up every hair on my neck like a pure shock of electricity.
“Some pain more than others.” I whisper back, desperately fighting the heat that’s building in my core with the hurt that’s always in the background when I’m around him.
I can’t go there, not again.
“It’s fucking hot, Regan, you know that, right? We were fucking hot.” He jerks my body to his, and I can feel just how hot, and just how hard he really is.
“I never said we weren’t.” I can hear the tremble in my voice and feel the way my body instinctively begins to mould to his, intuitive and compliant. He’s right; we were fucking hot together. We were…
“You’re special.” His soft words are a timely interruption to my drifting thoughts and are like an ice bucket of reality crashing over me.
“Now where have I heard that before?” I push hard against his solid chest, and when he doesn’t budge, I snap my arms down over his, severing his hold. My hands rest on my hips, and the stare I’m levelling at him has him rightly stepping back. His eyes widen with caution as I continue to speak. “Oh, yes, this evening, right before you led god knows who into the supply cupboard that probably still had your come in the floor from when you finished fucking me.” I clip out the accusation without drawing breath, letting out a flat, hollow laugh and tapping my temple when I finish speaking. “I’m special all right, in the head!”
“You can be a real mood killer sometimes, Regan.” He replies with an impassive tone, his expression is almost bored. My hackles might be on full alert, still, I’m impressed that I manage to keep my voice calm. Wailing like a banshee at my own stupidity I’ll save until I’m alone, when I can give myself a damn good talking to at the same time.
“Sorry, did my pointing out your shallow transparency upset your fragile ego?” Tilting my head, my sympathetic voice is perfect for the level of sarcasm in my tone. “I’m not special, Joel. I’m just horny and have low standards. You sure you still want to give me a lift?” I snark and watch him stiffen, his cool demeanour fracturing with the telltale ticking of his jaw muscle.
“I said I would.”
“And you’re a man of your word.” I don’t actually mean it to sound like a judgment, but I didn’t manage to drop the sarcasm from my voice. He roars forward, eyes wild, and rage making his hands shake. I’m shocked into silence but hold my ground, stretching my neck back to maintain eye contact as he towers over me.
“Fucking right I am!” he yells in my face. “I never lied to you, Regan. I may not have been ready to commit, but you walked away from me, remember?” He steps away, dragging his hand through his hair and cursing under his breath. I wait a moment, feeling the weight of this evening like a fucking millstone around my neck. I just want to go home.
“Yes, like it was yesterday. Now can you give me that lift, and we can both forget any of this happened?”
“Fine,” he replies. I gather my things and he does the same: keys, wallet, and a small sack. He steps close to me but not too close. His hand is outstretched, the sack dangling in front of me.
“It’s not much, but there are some presents for Ruby,” he mutters, and my jaw almost hits the floor.
“What? Why?” I take the sack and peek inside. There are maybe a dozen parcels inside, all wrapped beautifully, with ribbons and bows. I’m too stunned to speak, still the confusion on my face is as clear as day.
What the hell?
“They’re actually for my goddaughter, she’s five two, so I think they’ll work.” He shrugs lightly, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed. I shake my head in disbelief.
“You don’t have to—”
He interrupts, only his words aren’t angry or harsh; they seem softened by something I can’t fathom.
“If you know one thing about me, Regan, it’s that I don’t have to do anything.” He holds my gaze, and if I don’t look away, he’s going to hold much more than that. I sag with relief when he blinks and breaks the contact first. “Take the presents, Reggie, and say thank you.”
“Thank you.” I smile and feel an all too familiar warmth creep into my chest.
“What about your goddaughter?”
“I’m not seeing her until the New Year. I’ll get some more gifts by then.” He holds the door wide for me to slip out underneath his arm. I pause just under the arch and tell him one more time.
“Thank you, Joel.”
“You’re welcome.”
The streets and highways are pretty empty, and it takes no time at all to reach my part of the suburbs, a small part of the city that seems to be in its own time warp of 1950s charm and character. We drive past Pete’s diner, Milly’s cafe, the independent cinema, a pizzeria, and a Deidra’s Hair Salon and Nail Bar. Joel slows right down to cross the train track that runs right through the centre of the town, splitting the main street in two. The sleek low profile tyres rumble over the lines, rattling the loose change in my jacket pocket and spilling the open can of soda in Joel’s very new smelling Maserati Gran Turismo. I use the cuff of my sweater to mop up the mess and mouth my apology.
He rolls his eyes playfully and nods toward my side of the street. “This is a cute town.”
“I like it.”
“I assumed you still lived in your sister’s apartment?”
“I moved when I had Ruby. The schools are great here, and I didn’t want to raise her in a city.”
“That’s understandable. Still I’m surprised you could afford to buy out here, or is the daddy loaded, or did your sister come good in the end and leave you all her money?” He raises a brow as if his sarcastic tone wasn’t thick enough to labour the point. I sniff and let out a humourless laugh.
“I will always believe that everyone deserves a second chance. Raleigh had hers and a third for that matter. She may have been a cold-hearted gold digger, but she never quite got the payoff. What money she had was used to pay the massive debts she racked up pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”
