Blackmailing the Bad Girl (Cutting Loose)

by Nina Croft

  Glancing up, he found her gaze fixed on his cock. He wasn’t surprised; it was pretty impressive. Rock hard and ready to go.

  She bit her lip. Was she worried? He’d be gentle. And she was so wet, he’d slip inside her easily. He took a step closer and she hunkered up the bed, until she lay with her head on the pillow.

  At the last moment, he had to ask. “Are you okay with this?” As he said the words, he sent up an internal prayer that she wasn’t getting cold feet at the last minute. Her gaze flickered from his face to his cock and back again. She nodded, licked her lips, and his dick jerked at the thought of her pretty mouth….

  Another time. Because if her mouth came anywhere near him now, he’d explode.

  He reached down, picked up the condom, tore it open with his teeth, then rolled it down over his erection, all under her intense stare.

  Was he too big?

  He didn’t want to hurt her and wasn’t sure he could be gentle.

  “I guess it’s been a long time for you,” he said.

  She looked at him as if he were crazy. “I’ve been in prison for over two years, and contrary to what the daily papers might say, there’s not a lot of opportunity.” She scowled at him. “Are you trying to back out of this?”

  “Christ, no.” Horror ran through him. “Fuck no. It’s just you’re so small and I’m…not.”

  “I won’t break. I’m tougher than I look.” When he still didn’t move, she glared at him. “Don’t make me beg, Masterton.”

  He grinned at that. “Would you?”

  She sat up, reached out, trailed her hand down the line of hair on his stomach. His dick twitched and jerked. “I really don’t think I’m going to have to. Do you?”

  “Hell, no.” He came up over her, dropped a kiss on her breasts, and then splayed his hand on her chest and pushed her back, followed her down, then balanced his weight on his elbow. He’d squash her flat if he weren’t careful. With his other hand, he reached down between them, cupped her sex with his palm, slipping his fingers into her. She was tight, and her inner muscles spasmed around his finger.

  She pushed against him and he added another finger, stretching her. Finally, he withdrew. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he placed it at the entrance of her body and hesitated.

  She flexed her hips and pulled him inside. Once he was in, he couldn’t stop until he was lodged deep inside her, up to his balls. He gave her a minute, while every instinct screamed to let go, to plunge inside her, find his own release, but he held the urges under tight check.

  She bucked against him and he withdrew slowly, the sensation exquisite. Then her slender legs wrapped around him, pulling him back in. She was amazingly strong and determined for someone so small.

  He glanced up her body. Her teeth were clamped on her lower lip, her nostrils flared. She caught him watching her. “Please,” she said. “Make me forget.”

  So he did. He released the hold on his control. He pulled out, thrust back in, felt her with him all the way, her legs tightening around him, so they moved as one. He sensed his release so close, and he slid a hand between their bodies, found her clit with his fingertip, massaged the little nub until her back arched and she came for him, her head falling back to the pillow, perfect breasts thrust upward. Everything inside her tightened, and the next stroke spilled him over the edge, and he came hard.

  Finally, he collapsed on top of her.

  He made to move but she gripped him tight.

  In a moment.

  And he closed his eyes, his body at peace.

  Chapter Six

  Where am I?

  Summer lay on her back, some sort of weight holding her down. Her heart rate spiked as panic grabbed her insides and twisted them up tight. A sense of suffocation ratcheted the panic up a notch. Her breath was coming in short, sharp pants, and she forced herself to inhale, then exhale, slowly. She’d often suffered panic attacks in the early months in prison. Darcy had taught her how to cope.

  Don’t panic.

  She’d screwed up her eyes tight. Now she blinked them open. Clearly, it was still nighttime, but a muted light filtered in through the open curtains. Enough to show the high ceilings and spacious room. She was out of prison. No one was going to attack her here. There would be a perfectly good reason why she couldn’t move.

  It came to her slowly. And while not perfectly good, it was an explanation.

  She’d lost all sense of self-preservation and virtually begged the blackmailing monster on top of her to shag her brains out.

  Holy moly, what have I done?

  But it had been so good. Sex for her in the past had always been…fun. But never passionate. That’s what happened when you went to bed with your best friend. She and Danny had never been able to cross the barrier from friends to lovers. However much they both wanted to, it had just never worked, and in the end, they’d stopped trying. She decided not to read any significance into the fact that the moment they’d stopped trying had coincided with the time she had first met the man now sprawled on top of her.

  She was on her back, with his arm slung over her shoulder and his leg covering her hips, anchoring her to the bed. As if he sensed that if he didn’t hold her down, she would vanish.

  But this was her apartment.

  Any vanishing would be done by him.

  She picked up the hand on her shoulder and dropped it at his side, then inched out from under the leg. Luckily, he slept like the dead.

  Sitting up, she let her eyes adjust to the low light. She was naked. What a surprise. A scrap of purple silk stuck out from under the duvet, and she gave it a tug. After wrapping herself in the robe, she tied the belt, tight. Her seduction outfit. Though she’d not had a lot of choice. It had been this or a towel, and she hadn’t wanted to seem too obvious. And there was no denying it had worked.

  She’d been avoiding looking at him, but now her gaze was drawn to the man sprawled across the mattress, diagonally because he was almost too long to fit lengthways. He lay on his side, the duvet draped strategically over his hips. She let him keep it, though her fingers twitched.

  He was quite the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. All hard masculine lines, tousled blond hair reaching to his shoulders—she remembered holding his head, her fingers gripping the silky strands of his hair while he…

  Don’t go there, Summer.

  This was a one-off, never-to-be-repeated experience. She couldn’t risk lowering her guard while she had no clue what his endgame was.

  She slipped off the bed and stood for a moment, her legs a little unsteady. She’d had rather a lot to drink last night. Then tiptoed across to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she pulled out the second bottle of champagne. She tore off the foil and tugged out the cork. The wine frothed up, and she brought the bottle to her mouth and took a gulp. It was icy cold and delicious, the bubbles fizzing in her empty stomach. She found a tumbler and filled it, drank it down, and poured another.

  Her eyes lit on the chocolate cake, untouched on the counter. She found a fork and pulled herself up to sit next to it, legs dangling. It had “Welcome Home Summer” in white frosting on the chocolate icing.

  She took a mouthful and chewed slowly.

  When she was younger, before her mother’s accident, she’d always binged when she’d been sad, or happy, or anything at all. Her mother had encouraged her. Summer had come to see that it had been her mother’s subconscious way of ensuring that her daughter wouldn’t make the same mistakes she had. She’d be so unattractive, no one would want her. But Summer would worry about binge eating tomorrow. She’d add it to her things-not-to-do list, right under sleeping with blackmailing bastards.

  She washed the cake down with a mouthful of champagne. Took another bite.

  She was halfway through the huge cake when she sensed someone watching her. No guesses needed.

  She stopped, a forkful halfway to her mouth. He leaned in the doorway. How long had he been there? He’d wrapped a purple towel around his hips, so a
t least he wasn’t naked. He looked too good, and her muscles tightened, her insides melting at the memory of what they’d done together.

  It was still nighttime. Time enough to be sensible tomorrow. She held out the fork to him.

  His face was free of expression, as if he was holding everything in. Maybe he was worried she was going to have a breakdown or something.

  He walked toward her slowly, reached out, wrapped his fingers around hers, and brought the fork to his mouth. He held her gaze as he chewed. Then he swallowed, leaned in toward her, and kissed her lips.

  He tasted of chocolate, just about her favorite taste in the whole world. She pushed her tongue into his mouth as the fork clattered to the floor, and he was kissing her back, his hands sliding under the robe. He cupped her ass, lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her through to the living room, lowering her to the bed without breaking the kiss.

  This time they made love slowly, each movement intense, measured, the pleasure building inside her, swelling until it burst and she was floating.

  Where am I?

  At the thought, she had a feeling of déjà vu.

  Her head pounded and her stomach churned. Hot acid flooded her mouth, and she sat up abruptly.

  Oh, God, I’m going to throw up.

  Kicking the leg that anchored her to the bed out of the way, she lurched to her feet. Her vision swam. She blinked, steadying herself, then made a dash for the bathroom.

  She made it just in time, throwing up the contents of her stomach. Oh, God, she didn’t want to think about her stomach, all that chocolate cake, and champagne… Ugh.

  She threw up again, then sank to her knees and waited until she was sure she could move without vomiting. After dragging herself up with a hand on the sink, she stared into the mirror.

  More ugh.

  She turned on the cold tap and gulped down mouthfuls of cold water. Stubble rash dotted her breasts, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her thighs.

  Don’t go there.

  Some things were best forgotten.

  Which might be hard when she was going to see him most days.

  She felt sticky, and her mouth tasted horrible, and she didn’t want to go back into the living room. If she hid in here long enough, would he get the message and disappear? As if she’d conjured him up with the thought, a bang sounded on the door.

  “Summer?” She thought about ignoring him, but the bang came again. “Are you all right?”

  “No. Go away.”

  Wrong answer. She should have lied and told him she was fine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed, glaring at the door. For a blackmailing bastard, he was way too concerned about how she was. “Nothing. I’m just going to shower. Why don’t you let yourself out?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Christ, he was nothing if not predictable.

  She did her best to ignore him, showering quickly in case he decided to break the door down to make sure she wasn’t drowning. She’d washed her panties and T-shirt out in the bath last night and they were almost dry, but she hated dressing in yesterday’s clothes. They reminded her too much of yesterday. She’d collect her stuff today, but until then, it was this or nothing. And she wanted to be fully dressed when she faced Nik.

  Last night was going to be firmly relegated to the past. However good the sex.

  Never again.

  When she opened the door, he was nowhere to be seen. But she could hear sounds from the kitchen.

  She stood in the doorway and watched. He was cleaning up, rinsing glasses, his back to her.

  Why?

  Why couldn’t he leave? Or be horrible and do some rotten rich-guy stuff? She wasn’t sure of the etiquette involved in one-night stands. But wasn’t the polite thing just to go?

  And why wasn’t he dressed? He’d pulled on his jeans, but as far as she could tell, nothing else. His feet were bare; his back was bare. All broad shoulders and golden skin.

  She was feeling queasy again.

  At least she hoped that was queasiness churning in her stomach.

  Why couldn’t he be fat and ugly and bald? Instead of so beautiful, he made her chest ache. For something she could never have.

  He turned and gave her a view of his ridged belly and smooth chest. You didn’t get muscles like that sitting at a desk all day. He must really make use of that gym.

  “You want some chocolate cake for breakfast?” She glared at him and he grinned. “No? I’ll throw it out then.” He studied her for a moment. “Maybe all that champagne wasn’t such a good idea after so long.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You need to take it slowly.” He picked up the cake, slid it into a plastic bag he’d found somewhere. “There’s no coffee.”

  She took a deep breath. “Perhaps you can pick some up on your way out.”

  “I could phone for some.”

  Her head hurt, her brain throbbing painfully against her skull. She had no clue what was going on. She wanted order in her world. Was that too much to ask?

  “Please go,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything, and she stared at his feet. He had long toes.

  She tried again. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been looking after myself for a long time. I do not need anyone—especially you—to take care of me. I don’t know what you want from me. And I feel like crap.” Her voice was rising, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. “I just want to be alone.” Finally, she raised her gaze to his face. “Please.”

  His brows were drawn together in a frown; it looked like he was just as confused as she was. He opened his mouth, then closed it again and ran a hand through his hair. He acted nothing like he was supposed to, and he was knocking her off balance.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he brushed past her, heading into the living room. She turned to watch as he searched the floor, found his T-shirt, socks, boots, then sat on the bed to put them on. Fully dressed, he stood up.

  “Are you okay for money? Do you need an advance?”

  Something inside her snapped. “Stop it! I’m not some sort of sad charity case. I can look after myself.” She waved a hand toward the front door. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  “I—”

  “But right now, I don’t care. I just want to be alone. Go.” She pointed in the direction of the front door. And finally, at long last, he went.

  He hesitated at the door.

  Agh!

  “Last night—”

  “Last night was a one-off. You understand that? As in—never going to happen again.”

  “You enjoyed it.”

  “I also enjoyed the chocolate cake and the champagne. But you know what? Ultimately, they made me feel like crap. So they’re also going on the never-again list. Just like you.”

  His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t happy. But he gave a brief nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  And he was gone.

  She sank down onto the bed, lay back, and stared at the ceiling.

  How the hell was she ever going to get through the next few weeks, or however long it took for him to get tired of tormenting her? Or whatever it was he was doing.

  One day at a time.

  And no kissing.

  Chapter Seven

  Summer stepped off the bus and walked the short distance to the house. She hesitated at the gate. The garden was a riot of color with a yellow rambling rose climbing over the small porch and sky-blue door.

  As a child, her mother had often told her stories of the home they would have lived in if life had been fair and not a load of crap, if her father had done the right thing and married her mother. It would be cozy, with a pretty garden and a blue front door. Blue had been her mother’s favorite color. Summer had kept all those long-ago stories in her mind while she was searching for the perfect house for her mom.

  They hadn’t seen each other for more than two years, since before she’d been arrested. She hadn’t had the money for bail. And t
he only person who might have put up bail for her was Danny, and she hadn’t wanted to involve him, in case the police started to look for other connections, and then both their lives would unravel. She hadn’t wanted to take Danny down with her.

  She and her mother had written to each other over the years, but never saying anything important. But then, her mother had never asked where the money had come from to buy this house. Or to pay for the live-in housekeeper and other help she needed. And Summer had been happy about that. The less her mother knew, the better.

  She’d wanted to give her something. To make her happy.

  After she’d finally gotten rid of Nik that morning, she’d made a trip to the nearest supermarket, stocking up on a few essentials, painkillers and toothpaste being on top of the list. A slice of toast for breakfast had settled her stomach, and she’d felt almost ready to face the day.

  Now her stomach was churning again.

  Was her mother happy?

  She’d never been a particularly happy woman, and after the accident when Summer was fourteen, she’d retreated into herself. They’d been separated then. Her mother had been unable to care for her, and Summer had been put into the foster system, despite trying to explain that she could look after them both. She’d visited every chance she could get, but her mother had been closed off, distant, bitter.

  In the months before her arrest, Summer had thought her mother was opening up at last, making the best of her situation. But then Summer had gone into prison, and despite the letters, she had no clue how her mom was really feeling.

  She forced her finger to the bell and pressed. Footsteps sounded from inside, drawing closer. The door opened and the woman she paid to look after her mother opened the door. She wasn’t your typical housekeeper.

  Ginny was around thirty, with spiky red hair and a ring through her left eyebrow. She wore jeans and a T-shirt. Summer had been incredibly lucky to find her. In fact, she was another friend of Danny’s. He’d known Summer was looking for someone and recommended her. She had a ten-year-old daughter who lived with them as well.