by Louisa Trent
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Around eight o'clock that night, remembering he hadn't set the timer on the garage coffeemaker for the next morning, Steve stepped into a pair of jeans and hotfooted it for the garage. As he measured out the deep roasted beans-his mechanic's favorite blend--he tried to stay optimistic about Emily actually showing up to have a cup.
It didn't work. Feeling down in the dumps about the whole Emily thing, he heard the water running upstairs in the shower. It wasn't the first time a vagrant had wandered up from the dunes and decided to make himself at home in the loft.
Steve pocketed a pen flashlight and dragged his weary ass up the stairs; he would let the beach bum finish his shower, slip him a few bucks, and then tell him adios.
At the threshold to the bathroom, a near-naked lady launched herself at him.
Emily. He knew the scent of her shampoo, the soft give to her body, the shallow way she sometimes breathed. He just knew her. Even in the dark. What was she doing in his loft at this hour of the night? And what was with her desperation to get away from him?
As she pushed her way past, running for the door, he knew he would do anything, everything in his power to make her stay, including shoving her rolled up sleeping bag under her feet to trip her.
She fell. He did too, holding her back as she fought him. As soon as he had the chance to speak, Emily's escape mode changed to a lovemaking frame of mind. What the hell was up with her?
He didn't know, but he was committed to do whatever it took to keep her from leaving.
He would've petted and soothed and stroked Emily again, until she climaxed under his hand, but gentle wasn't what the lady wanted, what she needed. Her body vibrated with unspent tension. Petting and gentling wouldn't do it for her, not this time.
Steve unsnapped, yanked the fly, pushed the jeans down over his ass. Nothing civilized about it, nothing refined, nothing genteel. Emily was scared about something, and that something wasn't him, not the way her bottom courted his cock, not the way she invited the thick head of his cock to slip inside.
"Fuck me, Steve," she panted. "Fuck me hard."
Nope. Definitely wasn't him she feared.
But having already pinky-investigated that little hole, he knew this was not the time for anal, not with Emily's tensed muscles.
"Not that way. Cunt fucking," he said, keeping things honest if not exactly romantic.
"Okay, okay. Just do it. Please do it."
"I'm putting it to you now," he told her in the dark loft, hoping to allay her fears.
He started easing into the slit, his throat arching and working, swallowing hard, as the tight warmth of Emily's pussy enveloped him.
"Yes, yes, yes," she screamed, clawing at the floor.
It had taken him years to make a return to this sweet female place, and he wanted to absorb the sensation slowly, luxuriate in the moist silky passage like a weary traveler might, take his time relearning the mysteries, instead of rushing to know everything at once.
But levering her hips, Emily forced the issue. "P-l-e-a-s-e, Steve. Please. Hard!"
He drove forward, and started pumping.
He owned a big house, a huge cushy bed, and they were doing it on the floor of the unfinished loft above his garage. What they hell were they doing here?
"Forget about taking off," he growled, rearing back and giving it to her hard like she asked. "If you run, I'll hunt you down until I find you."
"Please, Steve, please," she moaned. "M-o-r-e!"
"You want more? Act like you want more!"
Her bottom went up in the air, her spine slid low, and holding onto her like a vice, his arms clamped around her hips, he jack-hammered her fast, the strokes straight up and in, no compromising, no allowance made for her tightness. Her interior muscles clenched around him as he strained, plummeting her silky soft folds, time and time again, until he felt her tension crack, then break, then shatter, then drain, and she screamed his name into the darkness.
He didn't come. Withholding his stamina for the next go-round that was sure to follow, he waited, strung-out, his balls begging for release. He had a strong feeling Emily wasn't done with his cock yet. In her frenzy, she seemed unaware that there was even a flesh and blood man attached to the hard rod inside her. And that was okay. He understood. This bout of coupling wasn't about lovemaking; it was about getting the knot of tension inside Emily to let go. Yeah, she was using him, but he could handle the use as long as he didn't get sentimental, kept the sex emotionless; they were just two starved bodies going at it on the floor.
His cock-her tool-was still painfully engorged when he started to withdraw.
She cried out. "Don't."
Tightening his hold on her hips, he shoved himself back in. "I won't, not until you've taken all you can take," he promised, and began driving again.
"Deeper," she wailed, moving fretfully, spastically.
"Get up!"
"What? No!"
He pulled her up, until she was on her knees before him. With his arms clamped around her waist, he rammed her from the back, his dick pinning her so she couldn't move, his balls smashed to her ass, a sex wall she couldn't escape even if she wanted to.
When she convulsed a second time, he still didn't stop. He kept at her, doing her hard, the way she wanted, the way she needed, until she screamed again, then again, then again, until finally, her voice hoarsened to a whimper, and her body went limp in his arms.
And he came and came and couldn't stop coming.
Only after pulling out his deflated wet cock did he realize there was nothing to dispose of; he wasn't wearing a condom.
Gallagher men did not have unprotected sex, unless it took place in the marital bed. How many times had his old man preached that at him? Along with, 'You make a girl pregnant, you make that girl your wife.' There were early babies born into the Gallagher clan, but there were no babies that didn't have a married mom and dad leaving the hospital together.
With a sigh for his irresponsibility, Steve folded Emily into his arms, and let her cry it out. While heaving sobs wracked her body, he rubbed his big palm over her back and bottom. "There's nothing you can't tell me, Angel. Nothing you can say that will make me blush. Nothing you can ask me for sexually that I won't give you."
And for his heartfelt declaration all he got from her was: "Gotta go."
"You're not going anywhere," he shouted when she pulled away, ready to leave.
He yanked the thing she had on over her head.
Naked, she couldn't take off on him. "You're staying here with me. You're letting me take care of you. We made an agreement and you're living up to your end of it."
He pushed her onto her back, spread her legs wide, and mounted her. "You don't know who you're dealing with. If you make a deal with me, you keep it."
She slapped at him. "No, Steve..."
Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her hands over her head.
She whimpered, struggled. This was a make or break moment; this is when he either threw his hands up in the air and let her have her way or instilled in her a respect for his abilities as a man. She had to learn that he could keep her safe ... despite herself. This was when things got dirty, when the sex stood for something else, when she understood that she could depend on his dominance for her survival, that she could trust him to keep her safe-except from him. But by insisting on sex that she didn't want, that she was clearly saying no to, he would cross that line a man should never, ever cross.
This was rape. He couldn't clean it up and make it something pretty. Bigger and harder and tougher than she was, he had chosen to overpower her resistance to get what he wanted.
Not sex. That wasn't what he wanted now. What he strove for was her submission to his authority.
Emily was still wet with his ejaculated semen, so the entry was easy. "I own your cunt for the summer, Angel," he told her, hiking up her knees, holding her open, getting his dick all the way into her as she fought like a tigress to keep him out. "As long
as you do everything I say, you'll be safe. Disobey me, and you'll pay the price. Now hold still."
He started driving hard, pushing them both to the limit, keeping his cock up inside her, no matter that her body tried to shut him out.
When the fight went out of her, he let go her wrists and gentled the rape. Not a lot. Just enough so she wouldn't dry out during what he knew would be a long sexual siege.
He lost count of how many times Emily came, how many times she begged him to end it.
He didn't end it, not when his cock felt like it had a match lit to it, not when she started to cry.
"Once more," he soothed, kissing her tears away. "And I'll stop, let you rest for a while."
After her climax, he put his hurting cock away, pulled his jeans up over his ass, every muscle protesting the hard floor and the unaccustomed violence of the sex. "You okay?"
"I gotta go."
"Give it up, Angel. You're not running. I'll tie you up if I need to..."
"Steve, you misunderstand. I gotta go pee. I'll wet my pants if you don't let me."
She wasn't wearing pants, but this was not the time to argue the fine details. Feeling like a complete ass, he helped her up.
Just in case Emily was fibbing, and she really had escape in mind, he followed her into the bathroom.
"It's dark," she squeaked.
He took the forgotten flash out of his pocket, switched it on, and set it on the sink.
She didn't ask for privacy. Just as well, he wasn't giving her any. Standing guard, he watched while Emily perched herself atop the toilet and tinkled. Afterwards, she darted for the tub.
He intercepted her. "No shower." His palm cradled her pussy. "Leave it sticky."
New experience, a woman wearing his semen. Because of his concerns for Jen's health, even though they both wanted a family, with his wife he had always worn a condom.
He liked his cum on Emily. Liked it a lot. In fact, the sight of her covered with his cum drove him wild.
She opened her legs, her chin dropping.
"Do you need it again?" he whispered.
Emily gave a meek nod.
"My cock? Or will finger-fucking do it for you?"
"Your cock." She spoke low, ashamed of the need.
Against the pink tile bathroom wall, she spread herself, her splayed body flashlight lit. "Please?" she pleaded. "Could you do me ... deep?"
He swallowed. The deepest fit was rear entry. But selfishly, he wanted to see her face in the light from the flash as she came.
"Over there," he told her, motioning to the sink.
He helped position her how he wanted, hands braced on the rim of the basin, facing the mirror so he could see her face when it happened for her.
He unzipped, got it out. "Bend over," he said tersely.
She rounded.
"More," he commanded, and when she did, made the connection, pushing in with both hands encircling her waist, making the deepest fit.
"Look up into the mirror," he ordered, after some deep strokes, when her taut body told him she was almost at the point where she would start to crest.
Slack-jawed, she looked back at him in the glass, her gray eyes no longer distant as they met his.
"You're beautiful with your face washed clean. Beautiful naked," he grunted, pushed up higher still. "Beautiful with my cock inside you."
She licked her lower lip, her lids heavy, her small tits bouncing as he pulled back and jammed her.
Her back arched. "Mmm."
"Feel good?"
"So good," she murmured, her bottom tilting, wiggling against his mat of pubic hair.
He knew what she needed. "If you want, I can give you a finger in there."
At her shy nod, he slipped a hand to her buttock. "You like it all the way in, or just to the knuckle?"
Her tongue wet her lip again. "All the way."
He figured as much; Emily was not a lady of half measures.
He used his middle finger, finding the hole and pushing it up and in.
She groaned. "Oh, yes-Steve-oh, yes."
He moved his finger and his cock at the same time.
She grabbed her tit, pressed the heel of her palm against the small mound.
"Let me do it," he said, pushing her hand aside.
Using the thumb and finger of his free hand, he pinched the nipple.
"Ever been clamped?" he asked, driving in another stroke, his finger and cock working her in unison, pinching her nipple at the same time.
"Un-un." Her head fell back against his shoulder.
He nodded. He thought as much. When it came to sexual pleasure, his angel was just a baby.
And then, lost to her body, he started hammering her from behind, his balls slapping her buttocks, his eyes never leaving her face as he brought her to fulfillment, once again keeping his own climax in reserve should she need an erect cock inside her again. "So beautiful."
After her scream, Steve picked Emily up in his arms and carried her back to the sleeping bag. After unrolling it, he placed her on top of the quilted cover, collapsing on the hard plywood floor beside her, one arm flung over her, not to keep her warm but to ensure she didn't leave him.
"Sleep now," he rasped.
Exhausted, Steve waited for Emily's steady breathing, then surrendered to oblivion for the first time in weeks.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Through one open eye, Emily saw Steve standing at the loft window, looking out. He looked so tough, so male, so able-bodied. She knew firsthand his appearance didn't lie, and for the first time in her whole miserable life, she felt safe. He made her feel safe. His confidence. Self-assurance. Arrogance. All those authoritative personality traits contributed to her impression of well-being. Her lover also had a sense of humor. Compassion. And the uncanny ability of making her feel like she were the only one, as though she had his full, undivided attention, one hundred percent of the time. That was quite a knack considering how many naked women he entertained in his swimming pool.
Take a number, Emily, and get in line at the diving board...
She now belonged to Steve Gallagher's synchronized swim team. That membership filled her with disappointment. She had tried so hard to stand on her own two feet, to forego sex in favor of independence. And now look at what she had done! Steve was paying for the use of her body. Where was the self-respect in that?
Despite her rocky past, she still believed in exclusivity, in monogamy, in marriage ... in children raised in a two-parent home. Maybe Steve had once believed in those things too, before he lost his wife, but she didn't think he believed in them any more. And that was neither here nor there. In the here and now, they fulfilled one another's needs. Fulfilling mutual needs was what a business deal was all about. As long as each individual got what they wanted, both the payer and the payee, then everyone was happy and the deal ran smoothly. Only when one person's expectations went unsatisfied did the deal run amuck.
Steve wanted a good time with no emotional strings; she needed money and someplace safe to hide out. As long as they met their contractual obligations, their business deal would succeed. Time for her to hold up her end of the arrangement.
Emily stretched on top of the sleeping bag. "Hi there," she called.
Steve turned to face her, his eyes lowering to the juncture of her body. "Hi yourself."
My, but Steve was a remarkable man. In his snug-fitting jeans, there was no hiding that prominent bulge. With an erection that size, no wonder it took a pool of naked bathing beauties to satisfy him. The responsibility for that satisfaction now fell to her. Rather a daunting challenge when a girl's pussy is sore, she thought, eyes widening over the length and breadth of his cock. The man was positively huge, and ready to go again.
"Yeah, I know," he said, following the direction of her gaze. "I'm at full throttle. I'm not usually this starved for it."
She sat up, not bothering to hug the unzipped sleeping bag to her bare breasts, though the unfiltered light pouring in the window
made her feel even more naked. "I don't mind. It's all covered under the warranty. Shall I go to you? Or are you coming back to the sleeping bag?"
When Steve threw back his head and laughed, saying, "How 'bout breakfast first?" Emily realized all over again how easily she could fall in love with this man, and what a terrible mistake it would be if she did.
Eyes still crinkled, Steve said, "Besides, I think we need to talk."
Uh-oh.
She tilted her chin. A wrench had just been thrown in the works and she needed to pull it back out. "Steve, I have a condition to make before we can continue."
"I'm listening."
"Don't try to find out any more about me than what I've already told you. If you do, I'll have to leave."
His eyes narrowed. Steve was angry. Very, very angry. He was not the easy-going, laid back guy he would have others believe. Her temporary lover was intense, compelling, and she knew she had yet to experience the full dominance of his personality. Or, feel the full force of his lovemaking. There had been one occasion last night when he had held her hands above her head and forced her to take him-he'd given her a taste of that dominance then. Strangely, rather than frighten her, his male power had calmed her. She didn't understand why, but it did.
"Agreed," he said finally.
Despite the calm control of his tone, she knew he had just made her a huge concession. "Thank you," she said, and going for broke pushed. "And Steve, about my moving in with you-I know you want me to, but I would prefer to stay here in this loft. I like it here. The garage makes me feel safe."
He left the window and stalked to her. "Being in my bed will make you feel safe..."
"Please Steve. I'll do everything else you tell me to do, everything you say, but I want to stay here. I promise I won't run."
Now that she was certain Steve hadn't had anything to do with murder and art theft, she didn't want to drag him further into her troubles. Bad enough she was deceiving him; she didn't want to put him in jeopardy too. Her near miss with a hit-and-run driver may not have been an accident. The guy with the camera she saw yesterday in town may very well have been the gunman from Mr. Fritz's library. Her nerves were on edge, and she just didn't know anymore.
