Monster (Impossible #1)

by Julia Sykes

  “No,” Sean said, fury bleeding into his tone. “Get out, Bradley,” he ordered again. “Now.” That aura of power surrounded him again, rolling off of him in forbidding waves.

  Bradley paused, glaring at his friend. “Fuck you, Sean,” he spat. But mercifully he shoved the cuffs back into his pocket and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him before locking it with a sound of finality.

  I let out the breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. “Thank you,” I said, my voice small.

  Sean didn’t answer me. “Ass,” he muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and drawing in a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were clear of that furious light that had filled them moments before. His cocky mask was back in place, and he shot me that sexy, roguish smile.

  I felt an odd twinge of pity for him; my presence here was clearly destroying his relationship with his best friend. Part of me hated the thought of having caused him pain. But on the other hand, it was his own fault. If he would just let me go, he and Bradley wouldn’t be fighting all the time.

  But his grin remained firmly in place as he made a visible effort to shove back his consternation. He did a good job of hiding it, but I could see the turmoil in his eyes.

  Nevertheless, he moved nonchalantly as he reached out for the bookshelf, taking down A Storm of Swords and handing it to me.

  “We’ll make a nerd of you yet,” he grinned. I couldn’t hold back an answering smile.

  “Don’t count on it,” I retorted lightly.

  But as I took the book from him, my fingers brushed against his. A little jolt shot up my arm, my fingertips tingling like I had just received a shock of static electricity. Our eyes met, and the darkness that I saw in his let me know that he had felt it too.

  I drew away from him quickly. “Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

  Recognizing the dismissal, he pulled away as well, allowing me my personal space. Still, as he settled down beside me with his copy of the Mistborn series, I couldn’t help but long for more of that delicious contact. After our steamy kiss last night, I knew just how good his touch could feel.

  I stared at the pages of my book, but none of the words were sinking in. Instead, I was driven to distraction by thoughts of our brief moment of passion in the bathroom, flashes of decidedly discomfiting memories flitting across my mind. I found myself shifting my position often, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I fought to ignore the insistent tingling between my thighs.

  I could sense Sean watching me occasionally, could practically feel his lopsided smirk as his eyes flitted over me. But ignored him resolutely; I didn’t want to invite more flirtatious behavior. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. With a few words and the lightest of touches, he would pull me back under his spell, exerting that power over me that I couldn’t seem to resist succumbing to.

  Unbearably long, uncomfortable hours passed as I mechanically turned the pages of my book. When the late afternoon sunlight began slanting through the window, I finally broke; I couldn’t handle the tense silence any longer.

  With a heavy sigh, I allowed my eyes to focus on Sean, as they had been longing to do all day. He met my gaze immediately, his smile holding an edge of triumph at my capitulation, as though he had just won some small battle between us. And damn it if he hadn’t.

  “So,” he began. “What do you want to talk about?”

  Not last night, that’s for sure.

  “Not the weather,” I said instead, allowing a small smile to play around my lips.

  “Okay,” he said easily. “How about you tell me more about you.” It was a statement, not a question. My stomach dropped slightly; I wasn’t really one for sharing. He had let me get away with the abbreviated version of my life when we had spoken before. I didn’t know how much I was ready to reveal to him now.

  “Okay,” I assented, somewhat reluctantly.

  “How is it that you don’t have a husband or boyfriend?” He asked bluntly. “You’re intelligent, successful, beautiful; How come some dashing, wealthy businessman hasn’t snapped you up by now?”

  I fought back a frown. We were already treading into painful territory. But a part of my mind was amazed at his assessment of me. “Intelligent, successful, beautiful”? He didn’t think me a cold fish who was basically man repellent?

  “I just haven’t had the time to date,” I hedged.

  “Ah,” he said. “The classic workaholic excuse.” He speared me with a look that penetrated more than skin-deep. “What’s the real reason, Claudia?” He asked softly.

  I glared at him, not ready to divulge the real reason: my carefully-guarded pain that had hardened my heart in the years since my parents had died.

  His expression softened. “Okay,” he moved on, allowing me my secret. “When was the last time you did go on a date?”

  Great. We had gone from painful to embarrassing. But the silence between us was driving me crazy, so I was desperate for a distracting conversation. That was what made me crack.

  I sighed, capitulating. “Seven years,” I admitted, unable to meet his eye as I said it.

  He let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he said, a touch of incredulity coloring his tone. “So that was what, during college?”

  “Yeah,” I said. Well, now that I had started, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give him this whole story. It wasn’t like there was much to tell anyway. “He was a junior, I was a sophomore. He said he loved me, and I believed him. But it wasn’t much more than a fling. It was over before the end of Spring semester.”

  “Ouch,” Sean said. “Sounds like a real douchebag.”

  “Pretty much,” I agreed. After my trust had been betrayed by the first man I had ever been with, I had given up on the whole idea of dating. I had told myself that my career was more important. But ever since I had been taken by Bradley, I had been forced to realize how unfulfilled my life truly was. Sean had been right; I might as well have been a robot, devoid of human emotion.

  But now he was getting under my skin, slowly chipping away at my walls. And I couldn’t decide if I was grateful or resentful.

  “Have you had sex since then?”

  I gasped. Wow. Had he actually just asked me that? I glared at him again. That was far too personal. And definitely not something that I wanted to admit to him, not when he clearly had a lot of experience under his belt.

  He chuckled at my forbidding expression. “Alright, alright,” he said, placating. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” But his dancing eyes told me he knew my answer full well.

  “New topic,” he continued on. “Why did you choose to become a pediatrician instead of a surgeon like your dad?”

  God, was a there a single question he could ask me that didn’t hit a nerve?

  “I told you,” I said. “I like helping kids.”

  “Why?” He pressed.

  I was quiet for a moment. But something in me wanted to share this part of me, craved the release of talking about it, as though it would draw the pain out of my soul like poison from a wound.

  “Because they need someone watching out for them.” I took a deep breath. “Like no one watched out for me.” My voice was barely audible.

  His hand covered mine, the warmth of it seeping into me, comforting me in a way that I hadn’t known since my parents had died. I looked up at him through suddenly damp lashes, dreading to see the pity that would fill his eyes. But there was nothing there but compassion, empathy even.

  He knew; he understood. I remembered the way that his expression had tightened when he had admitted that his mother was dead, how he had reluctantly accepted my silent comfort as I held his hand under the dinner table. I realized in that moment that it was more than simply lust that pulled me to him; I had only seen flashes of his pain, but I could tell that deep down he was just as broken as I was.

  My fingers entwined with his, trusting him to see my vulnerability. Without thinking, I found myself leani
ng into him. He held perfectly still, his breathing turning shallow as I slowly, tentatively pressed my lips to his.

  There was a moment of hesitation, as though he didn’t want to spook me. Then his hot mouth gently shaped itself around mine. His hand was around the nape of my neck, not tugging at my hair as he had done the night before, but firmly holding me in place for him nonetheless. I shuddered at the sensation of the dominance of even this light touch, and I felt myself melting for him, giving myself over to him.

  His tongue traced the line of my lips, and I opened for him. He stroked into my mouth, shallow forays as his tongue teased the tip of mine. A low, husky moan that I hardly recognized as my own escaped me as my body voiced my craving for more. He responded instantly, no longer holding back.

  His hand shifted to the front of my throat, applying pressure so that I was forced down onto the pillows. The act awoke something primal within me, the recognition of his utter dominance making me go limp beneath him as I demonstrated my submission to the alpha male. And all the while his tongue never left my mouth. It was now delving into me deeply, making me think of other places where he might penetrate me…

  I could feel my nipples hardening and my pussy contracting.

  Pussy. I had never thought of my sex in such lewd terms before. But the raw nature of the word felt right when Sean was taking me like this, claiming my body.

  He suddenly tore his mouth from mine, and I whined at the loss. But his lips were instantly on me again, brushing against the sensitive skin at the hollow beneath my ear. My flesh warmed as he kissed it, tracing little figure-of-eight patterns across the sensitive area with his hot tongue. Then he drew back, pursing his lips and blowing cool air across my enflamed skin. I shivered, all of my nerve endings jumping to life at the sharply contrasting temperatures.

  His low, rumbling chuckle seemed to vibrate through me, letting me know that he knew exactly what he was doing to me. It was a sound of purely masculine satisfaction; he was relishing toying with me, teasing me.

  His hands suddenly fisted in the thin material of my nightshirt. He paused a beat, grinning down at me predatorily as I watched him with bated breath. With a sharp jerk of his powerful arms, the fabric parted for him easily.

  The sudden cool air on my hyper-sensitive breasts, the pure eroticism of the act, made me arch up into him, silently begging for his touch. But his hand was on my sternum, shoving me back into the mattress roughly.

  “I didn’t say you could move,” he growled.

  I moaned, and I wasn’t sure if it was from frustration or arousal at his words. My clit was pulsing madly, throbbing in need. And he was so close to my burning nipples. If only he would touch them…

  He obliged me immediately, and I only remembered just in time to keep still beneath him. It took every ounce of my willpower to do so as his tongue flicked across the hardened peak, sending a jolt of electricity straight from my breast to my sex, making it clench around nothing. I whimpered beneath him, needing more. I could feel his smile against my flesh as he slowly kissed around my areola, teasing me, torturing me.

  Then his teeth closed around my nipple, biting hard. I cried out at the shock of it, amazed to find that the spike of sharp pain only made my pussy burn hotter. I writhed beneath him, no longer able to resist disobeying his order. I could feel his hard cock against my hip, and I craved for him to fill me with it.

  “Please,” I groaned. “Sean, please.” I pressed my hips up into him, grinding against him.

  In a move faster than I could comprehend, his mouth left me. There was a loud crack as his hand came down on my soft flesh. A burning, stinging sensation bloomed on my breast. I gasped in shock at the pain.

  “I told you to stay still.”

  I stared up at him, wide-eyed. His expression was hard, forbidding. I trembled beneath him, torn between fear and intense arousal at his treatment of my body.

  “I… I’m sorry,” I forced out through heaving breaths.

  His expression twisted upward into a satisfied smile, one with a slight edge of cruelty to it. He reached out for me, and I braced myself for further retribution. But he cupped my face in his large, calloused hand, tracing his thumb lightly across my lips. My tongue darted out, licking at him tentatively. He applied pressure, easing his thumb into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around it, sucking gently.

  His green eyes filled with unmistakable lust. And a hint of wonder. “Fuck, Claudia,” he breathed. His cock twitched against me as he hardened impossibly further. He pulled his thumb from my mouth and leaned into me. My lips parted for him, ready to accept his kiss.

  But he stopped suddenly, his eyes clouding over. His brows drew together, and his lips tightened to a thin line. Abruptly, he rolled off of me, quickly putting as much distance between us as possible.

  I propped myself up on my elbows, hurt and confusion flooding my chest. “Sean?” I asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

  He rounded on me angrily, his eyes burning. “What’s wrong?” He asked, half-shouting. “Everything about this is wrong, Claudia!” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You were right: I’m really fucked up. This is really fucked up.”

  “But I-” I began, but he cut across me.

  “I’m taking advantage of you, Claudia. And you’re letting me.” He was furious, and I couldn’t tell if his ire was directed at me or at himself.

  All of the lust I had felt went flooding out of me. My cheeks flamed as I drew my ripped shirt together, covering myself.

  “And you’re letting me.”

  God, I was acting like such a slut. Was I really so desperate for my freedom that I was willing to whore myself out to win Sean’s trust?

  No, a small voice insisted. It’s more than that.

  Wasn’t it?

  But Sean was right: no matter how I tried to rationalize it, this was totally fucked up.

  I blinked hard against the stinging at the corners of my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Sean’s fists clenched. “You’re sorry,” he said, his voice hollow. He wasn’t looking at me any longer. “Maybe it’s better if you aren’t in here with me.”

  No. Would he really leave me at Bradley’s mercy?

  “Please,” I begged. “Don’t.”

  He pushed himself up off the bed, moving carefully. “Don’t worry,” he said, but his voice was cold and detached rather than comforting. “I’m going to stay on the couch.”

  I didn’t dare speak lest he change his mind. So I watched in silence as he left the room, locking the door behind him.

  I suddenly felt cold, utterly alone. I hugged my knees to my chest as I fought to swallow back the hard lump in my throat. I refused to cry over Sean.

  Chapter 8

  The next day, I was thoroughly bored. I was too wound up to focus on my book, too distracted by memories of my erotic encounters with Sean. Never before in my life had I experienced anything like it. Well, it wasn’t exactly like I had had a plethora of sexual partners, but I was fairly certain that this kind of sexual chemistry wasn’t easy to come by.

  I knew that I should feel guilty, even disgusted, but what I had let him do to me. But when I searched my soul, all I found was a sense of feminine satisfaction. And disappointment that he had pulled away from me, leaving me wanting. Not to mention hurt. He had seemed so angry with me, as though it was all my fault that he had ended up atop me, fucking my mouth with his tongue.

  Despite my resentment, I shivered at the memory.

  But what occupied my thoughts most was my visceral reaction to the way he had dominated me, my answering pleasure when he had bitten my nipple and slapped my breast. I wasn’t completely ignorant of varying proclivities; I knew that some people achieved sexual gratification from being beaten. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I would be one of them.

  The rational, analytical part of my brain told me that I probably liked it because it finally gave me some sense of release from my usually guarded, carefully-controlled man
ner. And if I was honest with myself, the constant effort of keeping my walls up weighed on me more heavily than I had ever realized.

  I wanted more, more of the dark submission that Sean brought out in me. Even though the thought of being so vulnerable with anyone still terrified me, I had come to the realization that my captivity had forced me to renew human contact for the first time in years. I knew that I wasn’t ready to share my past, my pain, with Sean, but surely I could keep my secrets while only opening up to him sexually?

  I wondered idly if I truly was falling prey to Stockholm Syndrome. While it was a distinct possibility, a deeper part of me knew that the connection I shared with Sean was more than that. I hoped.

  By midday, I found myself pacing around the room, trying to release some of my pent-up energy. I hadn’t been this inactive in all my life, and it was starting to grate on me. And, looking around the small room, I realized that it was sadly lacking in potential activities. Sure, there were plenty of books to keep me company, but I was too distracted to read.

  Then my eyes fell on the chest of drawers, the only other piece of furniture in the room. My gaze was drawn to the bottom drawer, the one that Sean kept locked.

  I wonder what he’s hiding in there…

  My curiosity piqued, I knelt down and tugged at the brass handle. The drawer didn’t budge. Yep. Definitely locked.

  I debated for a moment. It really wasn’t right to invade his privacy in this way…

  Boredom and burning curiosity won out over respecting Sean’s secrets. He had already pried a few of my secrets out of me; it was only fair that he do some sharing of his own. Even if he didn’t realize that he was doing so.

  Pulling two pins from my hair, I made quick work of the simple lock, smirking to myself as it clicked open. I hesitated a moment longer before opening the drawer, wavering in my decision.

  What the hell, I decided.

  With a decisive tug, the drawer slid open. My jaw dropped as my mind struggled to process what was inside. I had never seen anything like this in my life.