Part of her wanted to rip off their blindfolds, but mostly she was glad for the barriers. The intimacy of meeting his eyes would have been unbearable.
As the last of it left her, Uma sank, boneless, onto the pillows, unsure if he’d come or not.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said as he joined her high on the bed, voice all fast and frantic, wound up like his breathing. “I wanna fuck you, Uma.”
She moaned, stretching back out and tugging at him, ready to let him in. He could do anything he wanted with her. “Oh God. Hold on. Just hold on,” he said, placating, as he grasped her hip. “I want to fuck you,” he began, “but…”
She stilled. Uh-oh. Here it was. He’d caught sight of her skin, and she repulsed him. Or maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he’d been able to feel the tattoos somehow. Maybe he—
“I don’t have a condom.”
She paused. “You don’t—”
“I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”
“Don’t you ever—”
“They’re in my truck.”
“What about—”
“Never had a woman out here before.”
“Oh.” He climbed over her, one calf between her thighs, knee pressed against her wet core, and leaned his forehead into hers. His face smelled like sex, and she had a flash of what it would have been like with the beard. More. Better.
“Here, spread your legs a bit farther,” he said, pulling her down and framing her with his arms, sliding between her legs, thighs together.
“Ooh.” Uma was powerless to hold back the moan when he pressed his shaft tight against her. He slid easily along her lips. Up and down. She tilted her head as if to look, meeting his forehead with hers.
“You tryin’ to see it too?”
All she could do was grunt out a sound, as close to a laugh as she could get.
“Yeah. It’s frustratin’, but it’s also… Oh God. I can smell you. Us. I hear you too. It’s all so much more. And, Jesus, Uma, you feel so fuckin’ good.”
The smell was stronger here. Warm and musky in the space between their bodies. His voice was tight and urgent like she’d never heard it. And his body. Ah, she couldn’t get enough of it. The skin beneath her hands was scalding. And he was right. Everything was unbelievably intense. He was slippery sweat and musky lips, liquid pleasure and dark pain. Wetter, harder, saltier, sweeter. More.
His hard, hot cock pressed to her body forced a gasped, “Oh God!” from Uma. Jesus. She bit her lip at the idea of trying to fit that inside her.
Ivan shifted above her, and one large hand slid down her waist to her hips, anchoring them in place. Sure to leave five perfect round bruises on her skin. They were marks that would eventually fade and disappear, but they’d be hers. She owned those bruises, unlike every other mark on her body.
The bed lurched when Ivan moved again, this time straddling her thighs. His hand grabbed hers roughly, roughly, and wrapped it around his cock. It was stiff and insistent and soaking wet at the tip.
“Squeeze it and—” He rubbed her hand up and down over his shaft, clumsy and painfully tight. “Please.”
She followed his lead, not very good at it but excited to try and turned on by the gruff way he used her. Their roles had reversed again—but he seemed more desperate than she had—in charge, but only barely.
Ivan’s hand left hers to reach up and palm a breast. It was a selfish move, not about giving her pleasure but about taking his own. He wanted to touch her like that, and suddenly she had her own selfish desire to watch him come. With her free hand, she reached between her legs and swiped some of her moisture, brought it up to lubricate him. Another shift, and she pulled him down between her tightly clasped legs. With that move, it all got easier, more obscene. The sound of her hand sliding wetly along his length and his ragged grunts having her groaning in turn.
Joey had never lost it like this man did. He’d never shaken with wanting Uma. Nor had she ever wanted him like this, her body aching and unbearably empty, her skin nothing but a sheet of raw nerve endings. She wanted to bite and slap and scratch. She wanted to rut. Like an animal.
Ivan said, “Fuck me, Uma. Fuck me with your fist. Slide it on you. Get it wet. You’re so fucking wet.”
He pulled back, pushed, pulled, pushed, dragging her into a mind-numbing rhythm. The tight hold that should have scared Uma. Made her instead let go. It was a heady powerlessness and reminded her of this ever-shifting balance between them.
“Jesus, girl,” he muttered. “You always get this wet?”
She shook her head.
“Huh? Do you? You always beggin’ for it like this? Tell me. I can’t see you.”
“No.” In a moment of clarity, she understood what he was looking for. It was his turn to be the big, bad man. Only, unlike Joey, he didn’t need to hurt Uma in order to get his rocks off.
Beg me, Joey had said. Beg me, you stupid bitch.
Ivan, on the other hand, wanted his ego stroked. That she could do. “No, Ivan. Just for you.”
He groaned a shaky “ooh.”
“It’s true,” she said, realizing how powerful this man made her. “I’ve never wanted a cock the way I want yours.”
“You want me to fuck you. Say it.”
“I…I don’t know, Ivan. Your cock’s big. I think it may be too big for me.”
Oh, he liked that. He bucked against her. Hard.
“I’m gonna fuck you anyway, Uma. You’ll take it. Say it.”
“I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
“Me too, Uma. I’ll take whatever you want. Anything you give me.”
His rhythm faltered, and she could feel the control ebbing from him, flowing straight into her. She struggled until he released his hold slightly. Enough for her to line their bodies up. She reached a hand down to nudge him so the tip almost notched into her. Just an inch, a centimeter, not even that far, really, but enough for them both to stop, frozen. She had a moment of guilty desire. A tiny, reckless spark of do it, slide him in.
The beast took over, flipping them so she was on top, thrusting against her from below, exactly as she’d imagined. Rutting.
She pulled harder, interspersed with those risky slides against him for a couple more minutes, before he pushed her hand roughly aside, took hold of himself, and circled the head against her clit before jerking away.
Filthy, lewd images crowded her mind—a stranger’s fantasies. Again, she wanted him inside and imagined how it would feel to take his hot come, to feel it fill her and drip out afterward, like her own little secret. She was back, full circle, to the fantasy where she had children, only this time in a dirty way, in a get me pregnant, fuck me full of your come kind of way.
When he finally came, it was with a sound of such helpless shock that she wondered if maybe she’d said those words aloud. Had she?
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as this frightening, strong, beautiful man lost himself with her. She wrapped her hand over his impossibly tight fist as his shaft pumped three hot, thick spurts onto her thigh.
Mesmerized, she ran her finger through his come, blindly brought it to her mouth and tasted. Heedless of the stickiness between their bodies, Ivan bent and kissed her, long and hard.
* * *
They were quiet as they walked back to Ms. Lloyd’s. Uma couldn’t stop thinking of Ivan’s invitation. “Stay here,” he’d said after their…what? Make-out session? Lovemaking?
“I can’t,” she’d responded, wondering whether he’d meant tonight, for a while, or forever.
Ivan hadn’t argued.
The idea that he wanted her to stay seemed way too good to be true. Too easy after all the struggle.
As they approached the back door, Squeak ran up and dropped a stick at Ivan’s feet. He gave her a good scratch behind the ear and threw the stick, smiling. A couple of wee
ks ago, I couldn’t even imagine this man smiling, she thought. And now…
She kept her eyes on the dog, whose pleasure in the game was evident. This is what I want, she thought. I want this dog and this life. This man.
Dangerous thoughts for a woman busy running from her past. A woman with no intention of sticking around longer than it took to clear the writing from her skin. And then there was the danger. To Uma, to Ivan. If Joey found her here, he’d… For all she knew, he could already be on his way. And she’d let herself get sucked back in.
He’d asked her to spend the day with him tomorrow, and she wanted it. So badly it scared her. She couldn’t say no, but she also couldn’t ditch her boss, so she’d agreed to go see him that night instead. She shouldn’t, of course, but he’d kissed her and—
“I’m not planning on sticking around, you know,” she said, interrupting the silence. Someone had to put a stop to their madness.
“So you said.”
“I’ve got to leave Virginia eventually. Go far away. Maybe out west.”
“Hmm.” Somehow, he managed to invest a lot of skepticism in that sound.
“He’ll find me here, you know?” Uma hated how scared her voice came out. She met his eyes defiantly, expecting arguments. What she saw there instead made her itchy.
“Unless you stand up and fight. Let me take care of him, Uma.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“He works with the law, and he’s powerful. You don’t know him, Ivan. You don’t know who he is.”
“Well, he doesn’t know me either.”
She walked inside, leaving Ivan watching her—shivering at the thought—and made her way silently upstairs to the bathroom.
Things were different tonight as she turned out the light to undress and prepared to step into the shower. Strange how quickly things were changing in her life, in ways she never could have expected. For once, it wasn’t the state of her body that she regretted the most as she squeezed her eyes shut and let the water sluice over her skin. It was the scent of Ivan disappearing down the drain, the imprint of his kisses on her lips and his hands on her body. Ephemeral elements that she had no way to capture.
It was silly, she knew, since she’d see him again tomorrow, but still, while Joey’s marks were indelible, Ivan’s were too easily washed away.
Eyes still closed, she put her cheek to one naked shoulder and rubbed, the motion sensuous, lovely.
What if I showed him?
He’d be disgusted.
Pushing back the idea, she soaped herself up and got rid of all traces of what they’d done. Every last bit.
Somehow, as her hand ran over her breast and her nipple hardened at the contact, the hot water, the humidity, the way her body felt swollen and sultry and heavier than usual, all of it came together, and she remembered his voice. That fucking voice. I’ll take whatever you want. Anything you give me, he’d said, and she wondered, Would that include the truth?
The thought of—Oh God—of his eyes on her. Not covered, but open, aware, there…seeing her. This…this thing that she’d become. This—
Me. He’d see me.
Would he kick her out of his place? Run screaming? Turn away with disgust? Probably. Possibly?
Or maybe not.
Once she shut off the water, Uma stood dripping in the shower, out of breath, with her flesh pebbled with goose bumps, not from the cold, but at the very dim prospect that Ivan would like what he saw.
20
Preparing his home for a woman was a new experience for Ive. He’d bought wine and fresh condoms—house condoms, as opposed to the traveling truck condoms that came with a history he didn’t want anywhere near Uma. He washed his sheets and made up his bed, caught sight of the wine and realized he couldn’t possibly serve it in his nasty mugs.
Back at the store, he remembered to pick up a corkscrew. Fancy glasses wouldn’t do you a lick of good if you couldn’t open the damn bottles. After clearing off a table and setting it all up there, he’d decided he might need something other than venison, eggs, or pickled beets to offer her and had gone back out to get more civilized snacks. Three trips to the store in a single day, and he’d spent more than he generally did in a week, but it was worth it. She was worth it.
He was prepping for the evening as if it were some kind of messed up senior prom. Nervous and itchy and so fucking horny he could hardly contain himself. Like a virgin.
And it was only three in the afternoon. He’d seen Uma parked out front of Ms. Lloyd’s house, and every time he’d driven by, it was all he could do not to go up there and knock on the door. Just to see her face.
Later that afternoon, he went back out for the final purchase. It had come to him in a moment of inspiration. He ran the silky fabric through his fingers, a little bit hating how it caught on the rough edges of his skin. The women in the shop hadn’t even looked at him strangely when he’d bought them, so he figured men buying women gifts like this was probably something they were used to. Weird. He hadn’t gotten anything for a woman in years, and when he had, he’d basically been a kid.
A ring. That’s what he’d bought for Angela. As big a diamond as he could afford on his factory worker’s salary—which hadn’t been all that big—but she’d still loved it. He couldn’t remember ever getting her anything else. Of course, there was the house. He’d have given her that, if he’d had it then. He’d have given her the shirt off his back. But by the time he’d inherited the place from Uncle Gus, Angela had been long gone. She’d refused to visit him in prison, called him a psycho, told him she’d never speak to him again. Exactly like his mom, who’d screamed at him and baby Jessie, then taken off, leaving them with their grandmother.
Thinking about the frustration he’d felt with Angela and his mom, even Grandma, made him twitch with the need to hit something. Metal to metal always helped, but flesh on flesh was better.
He couldn’t explain the feeling, but he understood the need. It was rage, they’d told him inside, and it needed to be managed.
Manage, he thought with a nasty, dry little chuckle. What a stupid fucking word. Management made him think of bosses and suits. Offices. As if you could somehow organize your anger, tell it what to do. File it away.
Yeah, right. The only way he’d learned to deal with it had been when Steve, a cop, had started teaching classes at the prison. Ironic, wasn’t it, how learning how to fight properly had helped him to control—or rather, refocus—his anger. Fighting had gotten him into prison, and fighting got him out. After that, there’d been the ironwork, also learned when he’d been locked up.
He glanced at the clock. Shit, she’d be here soon. No time to pound it out. The thought of her had him breathing more evenly. He paced around, wondering what it looked like through her eyes. He glanced at the fabric draped over the back of the one wooden chair in the room, wondering if they’d use either one. He could bend her over the chair, tie her hands with the scarf, or…she could tie him up, use him however she liked. Oh, man, that got him going again.
A tiny part of him cringed at how turned-on he got when she bossed him around. And why the hell not? She hadn’t complained about him manhandling her every once in a while, and it clearly wasn’t easy for her. He just liked it both ways, apparently, and—
A knock. Ivan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and went to open it. “Down, girl.” He nudged Squeak aside and pulled the door open.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Her eyes widened as she looked him up and down, and her lips curled up into a gentle smile. “You look nice.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He ran his hand through hair that he’d actually brushed. He’d had to buy one of them too. “You too. C’mon in.”
“It’s a beautiful night outside. The sky’s insane. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.”
>
“Oh yeah? Maybe I’ll take you for a walk later.” Again, something he’d never done—walked with a woman. Angela would have rather gone straight to hell than spend time outside. “Go stargazing.”
“I’d like that.” She sounded like she meant it.
Uma squatted down to scratch Squeak behind the ear, and Ive had to stop himself from grabbing her. He had to give her time, not maul her as soon as she got inside. And seeing her down there, loving on his dog, was… He swallowed hard and turned away.
“The place looks amazing,” she said, still squatting, like maybe she wasn’t quite ready to come back up and get the evening started. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to standing, then led her to the table, feeling stupidly proud of his accomplishments.
“Oh, a tablecloth. Fancy! And wine? This is—” Her hand landed on the chair back, and the scarf scrunched between her slender, white fingers. “It’s amazing, Ivan.”
There it was again, his full name. He loved that. The way she wouldn’t short him a syllable. He loved the smile too, how she blushed when he paid attention to her.
She took it all in, the meatballs, the cut veggies, the shrimp kebabs, the cheese. Red wine, white wine. Sliders and mini sausages. She laughed and turned to him. “Meat, meat, meat, and…cheese?”
“Hey, I cut some celery.”
“You think we’ll drink two bottles of wine?”
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got ’em both.”
“You went way overboard.”
He sort of nodded, embarrassed at being called out but still a little proud that he’d managed to impress this sophisticated city girl. “Burgers are venison.”
“Did you hunt them yourself?”
“Them? No, I hunted it. They don’t come as burgers, you know, princess,” he teased.
“They don’t?” Her voice was flirty and light, just like that smile. Women didn’t flirt with him usually. No, usually he’d check a woman out in an obvious sort of way, and she’d either ignore him or let him know she was up for it. None of this sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. More like dirty words and illicit touches. Then uncomfortable truck sex.
Under Her Skin Page 20
