Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series)

by Salsbury, JB

  Her eyelids flutter, and her breathing’s shallow. “Oh my God.”

  “Mouse, I won’t do it unless you ask. The shit from your past rides you hard. I see that. But fuck, I’m dying here.” I fist my hands in her hair and tilt her head back. My lips hover over hers so that I’m drinking in her heated breath. “Tell me it’s okay.”

  “Yes.” Her mouth is so close, her lips brush against mine at her spoken word.

  “Yes what?” I slide my parted lips along hers. “What do you want?”

  “Please, Blake. Kiss me.”

  Sixteen

  Blake

  Thank God. I cover her mouth with mine. She moans against my tongue. A rumble of satisfaction rips from my throat. I suck her bottom lip, and the sweet taste floods my senses. Her wet mouth, combined with the velvety caress of her tongue, grips my gut.

  My abdominal muscles flex, and I press her deeper into the driver’s seat. She grips my shirt at my hips, holding on as I curve my body over hers. Everything about her seems small and delicate, but her kiss is fevered as she matches every stroke. She arches her back, pushing her breasts up so that they rub against my ribs. An intense yearning boils beneath my skin. To touch, taste, and experience every inch of her body, inside and out.

  I slide my hand from her hair to her neck, all the while plundering her delicious mouth. My palm itches to run along her peaked nipple. Moving my hand lower, I stop just above the swell of her breast, unwilling to go a step farther without her spoken permission. She squirms beneath me, her body begging for what I’m holding back. Fucking perfect.

  I rein in my frenzy and summon the strength to break the kiss. Her eyes seem almost black in the dark as they question mine. Impatient, I nip at her upper lip. “Ask.”

  She blinks, her gaze darting to where my fingertips rest against the slope of her collarbone. “Touch me.” Her simple request dissolves with a moan.

  I smile against her lips. “Good girl.”

  My mouth devours hers in a rewarding kiss. She hooks the waistband of my boxers, and her small fingers feel like fire as they run against my skin. The tempting fragrance of vanilla fills my nose and teases my hunger for more.

  I pull back a fraction to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes closed. As much as I want to shove my hands—shit, my head—up her shirt, I need to know that she’s okay. If things move too fast, I could lose her. “Look at me.”

  Molten lust colors her deep brown gaze.

  The heel of my hand runs along the swell of her breast. She sucks in a quick breath, but I only see longing in her eyes. I move farther down and feel the firm tip of her nipple against my palm. The thin layers of fabric between us do nothing to hide the heat of her aroused flesh. My abs flex with the uncontrollable need to bury myself inside her. It’s never been this hard to hold back, and never this important that I do.

  I study the depths of her eyes, hidden behind lust-heavy lids. My thumb circles gentle passes across her nipple, and she drops them closed.

  “Open,” I whisper.

  She bites her lip, and her eyes flare with passion. I can’t fight my smile. Doesn’t take orders, my ass.

  After a few light drags of my palm, I squeeze her breast gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers. Convinced that she’s okay, I move back in. Her mouth opens to me instantly. Famished, I tilt my head, delving in, exploring every contour of her mouth with an eager pull of my lips. Her tongue rolls against mine. So fucking sweet.

  Minutes or hours or years, time dissolves as we fall into each other’s kiss. My body is alive, vibrating with a wild need to claim her. I position my leg between hers and bite back a roar of satisfaction at the fire I feel against my thigh. Her hips roll against me, searching for the relief that I’d give her now if I could. But not here, not like this.

  I move to her neck and absorb her racing pulse against my tongue. “I want you.”

  “Mmm…” She tilts her head, allowing me full access to her throat.

  “Where’s Axelle?”

  “Home.”

  That’s not going to work. My place. “When’s your curfew?”

  “Eleven.”

  It’s pure torture, but I drag my hand away from her breast and reach for my phone to check the time. Nine forty-five. “I’ll have you home by then.” I motion to the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth, her expression tense.

  Shit. She’s spooked. This isn’t some one-night-stand that I picked up in a bar. She needs gentle, which means I’ve got to tame my shit. “Mouse.” I step back and give her some space. “Your choice. No hard feelings.”

  With her arms crossed over her stomach, she studies me through narrowed eyes. I hold my hands up and take one more step back. I know her past haunts her, makes her question my motives. The last thing I want to do is scare her away.

  Handling a woman this fragile is more difficult than I thought it’d be. But with her, it doesn’t feel like work. It’s like coaxing open the petals of a flower. What the fuck? I grimace and tell myself the next time a thought like that pops into my head, I’m begging Layla for another flying knee to the ’nads. Shit.

  “Sure.” She gives me a timid smile, but her arms are still locked protectively in place. “As long as I’m back by eleven.”

  I reach for her hand, and when she takes mine, I relax a little. A quick trip to the passenger side, and I open the door and watch her climb in. Her tempting body’s wrapped in tight jeans and a low-cut shirt that showcases her curves to perfection. Damn.

  On the drive to my house, I think of all the reasons I shouldn’t have sex with her. As obvious as the reasons seemed only minutes ago, they’re getting less and less relevant as we near my place. They fade to mere static as we push through my front door, and by the time, she’s sitting on my couch—why wouldn’t I sleep with her?

  “You want something to drink?” I say from the kitchen, grabbing myself a bottled water.

  “No, uh… no thanks.” She pulls all of her hair over one shoulder and twirls a long strand. Her eyes move around the room, but fail to land on me.

  I grab her a bottled water anyway and bring it to her. When I set it down on the glass coffee table, she jumps. Did she change her mind?

  Dropping down next to her, I prop my feet on the tabletop. “You want to talk about it?”

  She turns toward me, her eyes wide. “About what?”

  “This.” I motion between us. “I think it might help you relax.”

  “I don’t know. I’m…” She drops her eyes to her lap.

  “I’ll start. I dig you. You’ve most likely figured that out by now.”

  She peeks up from beneath her eyelashes.

  “Not gonna lie, I’d give anything to have you naked in my bed.”

  She blushes and bites her lip. At least she didn’t run screaming.

  “I don’t think you’re ready for that.” Elbow on the armrest, I lean my head in my hand. “Fuck, not sure I’m ready for that. But now you know my intentions. I like you. I don’t need it all right away. I want you to trust me, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes to earn it.”

  As the words pour from my lips, my mind struggles to keep up. That was some deep shit. And every bit of it I meant. It’s not what I’m used to telling women. I’m usually giving the speech about no-strings or expectations. This is new.

  She clears her throat and faces me on the couch. “I appreciate you taking your time, but I’m not as fragile as you think. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’d like to see where this goes.”

  I reach over and hold her hand, surprised when she interweaves our fingers in her lap.

  “That sounds like a good place to start.” I study our connection and smile at how big my hand looks wrapped around hers. The memory of what her perfect fingers felt like earlier tonight, sliding into my boxers, reignites my blood. “Come here, Mouse.”

  I reach over and pull her onto my lap. She moves her leg so that she’
s straddling my hips. For the first time ever, I’m nervous. My boundary lines aren’t clearly drawn, and I’m blind when it comes to her. But I need to get her home soon, and I plan on taking advantage of every minute.

  Starting at her knees, I run my hands up her thighs to her waist and push up under her shirt. The bare skin of her back against my fingertips makes me groan. Damn, if she feels this good here, how will it be when I get to touch her everywhere?

  Her small hands rest on my biceps then move up to lock behind my neck. “Blake, I’m not very experienced—”

  “No, not talking about the past. Not when we’re like this.” I run my hands up her ribs to her bra and back down. “Just me and you, Mouse. No one from the past. When we’re like this, it’s us. Only us.”

  She nods and leans forward, holding her lips just short of mine. “Kiss me.”

  And with those simple words, we’re back to where we left off. Our mouths move together as if no time has passed. I grip her waist, trying hard not to move her up to my rock-hard dick. She runs her fingers along my scalp, her nails dragging, and if I’m not careful, I might blow. I nip her lower lip, move down her chin to her neck, and suck at her tender flesh. She moans and rolls her hips, sliding forward so that her heat presses right where I need it most.

  “Fuck, I want to touch you.” I move my hands up her ribs and wait for my invitation.

  She arches her back and rolls against my dick. “Touch me.”

  I move my hand up over her breast, and pull the satin of her bra down to expose her bare nipple. The weight of her breast falls into the palm of my hand, like pure silk, warm and smooth. “Damn, sweetheart. You’re so soft.” I’m lost in sensations. Her tongue in my mouth, fingers biting into my arms, heat covering my lap as she rubs against me in invitation.

  “Touch me, Blake.” She moans, and her breath hitches when I knead her breast.

  “I’m touchin’ you, baby.”

  “No, Blake.” She grinds down against me, and I groan my approval. “Down here.”

  Oh, fuck yeah.

  Layla

  “Off.” Blake flips me to my back on the couch. His hands work quickly to pop the button of my jeans.

  My body’s on fire, burning from the inside out. Still, I’m desperate for more heat. I should be nervous or scared. Instead, I think if he doesn’t hurry, I’ll die. He tugs the denim down my legs, and I lift my hips to assist him. I’m hypersensitive, every fiber dragging against my skin rocketing my arousal. Relieved of my jeans, he pulls me back on his lap. I gaze down at my thighs spread open over his hips. The only thing covering me from the waist down is a thin strip of black satin.

  He caresses my thighs, and his gaze locks on mine. “You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now.”

  I run my fingertips across his mouth. He lazily parts his lips, his tongue wetting the lower one, and I’m mesmerized. The slick heat of his moistened lip sends shockwaves of pleasure between my legs. He sucks the tip of my middle finger, biting the pad before releasing it. Wanting to taste him on my skin, I put my finger into my mouth.

  “Fuck, that’s hot.” His fingers dig into my bare hips.

  I savor our mingled flavor as it launches another wave of arousal down low. “Put your hands on me, Blake.” Asking for what I want is strange for me, and I’m running on lust and instinct. With a deliberate roll of my hips, I tempt his hands to move.

  “Damn, Mouse. Talking like that, moving the way you do? You’re going to destroy me.” He growls and takes my mouth in a brutal kiss.

  And like every kiss before, my thoughts scramble. Every pass of his tongue and pull of his teeth has me giving myself over to his will. A servant to his masterful touch.

  His fingers run along the front of my panties, stoking the flames of my desire. I kiss him harder, tilting my head and taking him deep, asking without words. More. Still he teases, giving me only flutters of his touch. Building up within me, an earth-shattering wave is coaxed higher, but held back. The tension is maddening.

  I break the kiss on a groan. “I need your fingers, Snake. Please.”

  He pulls back, and there’s a fragility in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.

  “Call me that again.” His expression’s so tender it makes my chest cramp.

  I cup his face between my hands. “Snake.”

  “Fuck. Love the sound of you callin’ me that.” He dips two fingers beneath my panties and presses in deep.

  “Yes.” My head drops back, and I roll my hips.

  I’ve never felt anything like this. The freedom to ask for what I want. The safety to let go and enjoy the pleasure. The trust that he’ll take care of me and never ask for too much.

  And even if he did, the power to say no.

  My hips thrust in rhythm with his fingers. His hungry gaze locks on mine, and he watches, making no move to kiss me. Overpowered by sensation, by his fingers and the rasp of his jeans against my inner thighs, I steady my hands against his chest and bite my lip to stifle my cries of pleasure.

  His free hand glides from my hip, up over my breast, to cup my neck. “No holding back, Mouse.” He pulls at my chin to free the flesh from my teeth.

  My lip pops out on a gasp. He rewards me with more pressure, and even though I know he wants to hear me, I bite down. The embarrassment is too much, the shame too heavy. He doesn’t know what he’s asking.

  Come on, Laylay. Let me hear you.

  My building orgasm ebbs. No. I push back against the voice from my past. I won’t let his memory ruin this.

  His fingers slow and threaten to retreat. “You okay or—”

  “I’m okay.” I nod and relax my jaw. I don’t have to be that woman anymore. I’m in control of me.

  Faking the freedom I felt when we’d started, I skate my hand down his rippled abdomen to his crotch. His hard-on strains against his zipper. I grab him tight, and he lifts his hips into my hold. My belly tightens at the affect my touch has on him.

  Our hands work us into a sweat, and I lean in to feast on his mouth. He meets me halfway, attacking my lips and forcing me to hold his shoulder to stay upright. Frenzied and racing to release, we push harder. Together.

  He tugs at the low-V of my shirt to release my breasts. “Mouse.” The impatient sound of my nickname incites my ravished delirium.

  “Take ’em.” I pull down the satin cups, exposing my bare breasts.

  “Fuck yeah.” He locks his mouth around one nipple while his fingers toy with the other. His hum of approval vibrates against my sensitive skin.

  “Blake, I…” Overpowered by sensation, my body jerks hard. Desperate for release and terrified of falling apart in his arms, I hold back the tidal wave that threatens to destroy me.

  Come for me, bitch.

  “No…” I shake my head and drop it to his shoulder. The tendriled shadows of my past curl up my back and strangle me. “I’m scared.”

  He nuzzles my neck. “Let it happen, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He presses his fingers in tight. “Just let go.”

  You don’t want me, but your slutty little body can’t say no.

  The voice from my past smothers me, contrasting completely with the way my body feels. My belly tightens, threatening my release, but I slam it back again. He works harder, hitting the spots that make my breath hitch. But a dark veil falls between my body and my mind, cutting me off.

  On an instinct so powerful I can’t avoid it, I detach from the driving force that’s hell-bent on release. “I… I can’t.”

  Gently positioning me, he kisses a path down my throat. “Yes, you can.” He pulls my nipple into his mouth.

  The pinch of suction is too familiar and reminds my body of the past.

  I’ll never let anyone have you the way I do. Never.

  “Shut up!” I shove Blake’s chest and scurry from his lap.

  He throws his hands up but doesn’t stop me. “Shit, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” His gaze works the length of my body as he does a visual check of my well-bein
g, but he makes no move to touch me.

  I shake my head and tuck my breasts back into my shirt. My heart races, and I’m panting.

  “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

  I nod over and over, waiting for the fear to calm. Blake’s not a monster. He won’t hurt me. He’d never hurt me. Breathe.

  “Fuck, Layla, talk to me.” He moves to reach for me, but I recoil from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No… I’m good, I’m…” The shame and horror of what I’ve done settles on my shoulders. “I should go.” Searching the floor for my jeans, I wipe at my forehead, hot and humiliated by my outburst. I know better than to let myself hope that things might be different with someone else. Where are my jeans?

  “No, you’re not leaving. Not like this.” He snags my pants from the floor. “Talk to me.”

  My cheeks flame, and I break out in a sweat. “I’m fine.” Dammit, my voice cracked.

  “I won’t touch you. As much as I want to pull you in my arms, I’ll give you your space. But you gotta let me in. If I did something wrong…?”

  It’s so hot in here. I pull my hair back and tie it in a knot. I like Blake. He’s been so good about accepting me, invisible scars and all. Chances are that flare-up from my past has destroyed our newfound “more than friends” status. He knows the worst of it, but this—so humiliating. He’s asking, practically begging, for it. But can I trust him?

  His green eyes dance over my face, searching. Pleading.

  Exhaling a heavy breath, I drop to the couch next to him, my eyes to my lap. I’ve sacrificed my pride, what more do I have to lose? After all, it’s better to scare him off early before the real feelings start to develop. “I thought this time would be different.”

  “Explain different?” There’s the hint of a snarl that shadows his words.

  I concentrate on my breath and try not to hyperventilate. “He would…” Humiliation drowns my confession.