by C. J. Pinard
The reality show I’d been watching had barely just started when my doorbell rang. I stiffened up in nervousness and took a deep breath, turning the TV off and getting up to answer the door.
Oh, God.
My knees went weak and I almost crumpled to the floor at the sight of him. Ellis stood there grinning, his dark hair was a little messy, and he had some stubble on his chin. His black leather jacket was slung over the shoulder of his white T-shirt, and resting against the thigh of his jeans he held his sunglasses.
Placing a cool smile on my face, I opened the door wider and indicated for him to come in.
He immediately dropped the helmet and jacket on my couch and turned around and looked at me. Stalking toward me hungrily, he wrapped his arms around my hips and lifted me up, pressing me flush against his hard body. His lips covered mine and I sighed into his mouth as he began really kissing me. Hungry, desperate, passionate.
I wrapped my legs around his waist as he placed both hands under each of my ass cheeks possessively, walking us joined together into the bedroom, his mouth still devouring mine.
He playfully tossed me on the bed. I landed on my back with a giggle, watching his all-too serious face as he placed one knee on the bed and reached up with both hands, yanking my yoga pants off in one pull.
No, I wasn’t wearing panties. I mean, why bother?
He reached one hand over his shoulder to his back, yanking off the plain white tee over his head and then he tossed it to the floor. With a wicked grin, he climbed all the way onto the bed. When both his hands slid up my bare stomach to push the tank top up and over my head, I giggled like a schoolgirl. The only light on in my bedroom came from the adjoining bathroom light, which was enough to illuminate the room a little. I now lay there bare, raw, exposed, and not giving one single care at my nakedness.
His eyes raked over my body in greedy appreciation. “So damn beautiful.”
I was glad he couldn’t see the red stain creep up my cheeks as the compliment rushed straight from my ears to my heart. I had never been told I was beautiful or even pretty very much in my life, and every time he said it, it never got old.
His hard body was now pressing against mine. He leaned down and licked my collarbone, switching to kisses until he reached the sensitive spot under my jawline. The sensation was driving me insane with desire.
Ellis kissed me once—hard and desperate—on the mouth. He pulled off me, grabbing one ankle and flipping me over on my stomach. Once I felt his weight press the bed down, I knew what was coming next. He’d wedge a knee against one of mine and force my legs open and make love to me deliciously hard. Not that he had to do that much work, I was already open and ready for him.
To my happy surprise, instead of his cock pressing against me, his soft, warm tongue started working at the very top of my sex and then slowly lathed down to the bottom. Except he was on his knees, both hands gripping my ass as his tongue did things that made me whimper with desire. When he had made one full lap up, he worked back down, the rough but soft texture of his mouth causing me to cry out.
Putting a finger into me, he bent it slightly, rubbing perfectly against my G-spot, the pad of his thumb simultaneously pushing erotically at my clit in small circles. I held my breath and tried not to let loose so quickly. I was so turned on, so swollen and ready, but my stubborn side didn’t want him to know how badly. I breathed through the sensations of what he was doing, his hard, warm body pressed up against me. I could feel and hear him breathing close behind me, and when he said, “Damn, baby, you’re so wet,” it only took a few of his well-placed strokes and I was screaming at the top of my lungs. The orgasm ripped through me, my whole body shaking while Ellis’s fingers continued to rub every magic spot I had.
My body and mind then began to have a tug-of-war. My body wanted to collapse into a boneless heap onto the bed, but the promise of what his cock could do to me began to overtake my sex-clouded mind. With my whole body still trembling, I began to pull myself up when I felt rough and talented hands grip both my hipbones, pulling my backside up until my ass was in the air. I heard him suck in a breath at the sight. Then I felt his palm smoothly rub over the sensitive skin of my right ass cheek, massaging it gently, moaning in appreciation. He smacked it lightly, and then I heard him stand and remove his jeans, then the distinct sound of a foil wrapper being opened as he put the condom on. Then the sharp sting of another slap on my ass reverberated throughout the room, and I gasped at the pleasurable pain it induced. Before I’d had a chance to take another breath and admit to myself that I was nowhere near done, he was suddenly slamming inside of me with a deep, guttural moan synchronized with his forceful thrust.
My eyes rolled back as I cried out at the delicious intrusion. I involuntarily arched my spine so my backside was farther up, allowing him to push in even deeper. One of his hands remained gripped around my hipbone while the other reached around to touch my most sensitive spot gently. His fingertips brushed both himself and me while he continued his forceful, aggressive strokes in and out.
My head was jerked back, face upturned at the ceiling at the feeling of what he was doing with those fingers. Pleasure began to build inside me again like a tidal wave. I felt him move his hand from my hipbone, up the flat of my stomach, and to my bare breast, where his magical fingers began to do things to my hardened, sensitive bud that was driving me insane. I cried out, greedily needing another release.
“Come all over me, baby,” Ellis whispered, his words guttural, needy.
I began to pant at his words, feeling like I couldn’t breathe, my world going dark as I closed my eyes. A mounting desire began to form too quickly inside me, my stomach sucking in to stave off the desire for just a few seconds longer. My sex clenched, dripping and swollen against his beautiful cock and what it was doing to me. It didn’t take me long to shatter under his skilled thrusts, gripping the sheets and screaming out his name and a few shouts to God as I rode out the blinding orgasm. His dick was doing things to my insides that rivaled what his fingers were doing to my outsides—my peaked buds, the swollen need between my legs. As I clenched around him, he too pushed against me hard, stilling as his body pulsed, both hands now clasping my hips almost painfully as he groaned his release into me, laying his hard chest against my back. He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard into my ear. He didn’t lie there long, but rolled over, got rid of the condom, and then came back to lie down next to me.
I had flopped onto my back and threw my tank top back over my head, pulling it down to cover half my exposed body. The covers were pulled up to the flat of my stomach. As Ellis climbed in, his warmth radiated onto me, causing me to sigh in happiness.
The sex with him was great, obviously—and his visits here and there were all I had. Was he a commitment-phobe? I didn’t know. Would he be here in the morning when I woke? He never had been. Did I care? Of course I did. Was there anything I could do to change the outcome? I was too tired to care. I drifted off into a satisfied, blissful sleep.
Chapter 5
Ellis
God, she looked so beautiful lying there asleep. Her red hair was splayed out over the crisp, white pillow, and the light from the electronics in the room caused the shadow of her eyelashes to illuminate over her cheeks as her eyes were closed and peaceful.
But I had to go. I didn’t want her to wake up and find me there. I supposed I should rephrase that. I didn’t think she wanted me there when her beautiful caramel-colored eyes fluttered open in the morning and saw me still lingering. Talia was a strong girl. She didn’t seem like the type who would want to find a man in her bed at eight in the morning as the sun was streaming into her windows. She would probably find it offensive or old-fashioned to actually wake up with her head on my chest, my arms encircling her small, pale frame.
But not me. This engrained and innate need to protect and watch over her was buried deep in my heart and soul. I wanted to spend every waking minute with her. I wanted to drive her to work and then pick her
up when she was done with her shift, greeting her with a kiss as she got on my bike. I wanted to drive her home to a place we shared together, and spend the night worshipping her perfect body until she was screaming out my name over and over. But that just wasn’t the kind of relationship we had.
Instead, I would text her, she would text back, and I would take that as an open invitation that she wanted me, even if it was just for the night. My heart raced and my body saluted to attention when she’d tell me to come over. I definitely didn’t have to be told twice when she gave me an open invitation. So on nights like these, when she let me adore her and explore her every inch before falling asleep, I assumed she only wanted sex.
And that—I could live with.
But just for now.
There was a pink light beginning to creep over the horizon as I rode my bike toward my apartment, ready to sleep the day away. It killed me to leave Talia sleeping, it really did. One day I’d stay all night and see what she thought—test those boundaries—but for now, I’d give her space.
I had often thought—maybe it was me who wanted it this way? No commitment, get what I wanted and give her what she needed—and then leave, move on with my day, my week, my month. I wasn’t sure. I was so fucked up inside, it was hard to decipher what I wanted or needed anymore. All I knew for sure was that I needed a job and something to focus on before I went utterly motherfucking insane.
I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex and hurried to my door, anxious for my own bed. After stripping and showering under some hot, steamy water, I fell into bed wearing nothing at all, letting my thoughts of Talia consume me. Lord knew visions of her beautiful face and body was so much better than the ones of sand, smoke, and sordid danger that usually plagued me.
My eyes fluttered closed and blackness took me, but it was anything but blessed or peaceful.
The truck is on its side and I slam my eyes open, wondering just what the hell is going on. One minute I’m driving through the desert with my fellow Marines on our way to check out a possible enemy camp, the next, the truck I’m in is on its side, smoke billowing from the top of it. Groans and moans of pain echo around me. My rifle is still in my right hand, but I cannot move my left. It’s stuck between my seatbelt and the butt of the rifle.
I yank hard to free myself, my brain still in a dazed fog as to what the fuck just happened. I manage to free myself by cutting the seatbelt off with my knife and crawl from the vehicle. About twenty feet away, I see a man lying on the ground. He’s writhing around in pain, so I stagger to my feet, coughing from the smoke, and go to him.
Kneeling down, I set down my weapon and my eyes take him in. He’s big guy, dark hair, muscular. As my gaze scans his body for injuries, my eyes bulge at the hulking piece of shrapnel sticking out from his leg. His camouflage pants are shredded, the blood beginning to bloom around the wound like a fast-moving storm overtaking a countryside. The guy is grunting and trying not to scream, the vein in his neck bulging fierce while his face turns purple.
“Get this damn thing out of my leg right fucking now!” he screams at me in a painful desperation.
I lick my lips and take a shuddering breath. I really want to pull it out of his leg. My God, it looks like it hurts more than anything on Earth. But my basic first-aid training kicks in, and one of the most important rules was ‘never remove an impaling object.’ I knew his femoral artery had to be pretty damn close to the wound, and that piece of metal could be the only thing keeping his artery from spouting a fountain of blood and killing him in less than fifteen minutes.
I could kill him if I pulled that fucker out.
Sgt. Hawthorne is what his uniform reads. I didn’t know him at all before this roadside bomb had rocked all our worlds, and this was a hell of a way to meet someone.
“Get the fucking doc now!” I yell to my comrades, trying to show this guy that I was desperate to help.
I could tell he was trying to be strong, but I definitely did not think anyone with this kind of wound could last very long. He’s going to pass out from the pain or continue screaming. Or worse—die. I should probably check him for other injuries. What if the shrapnel hit him elsewhere?
His head is thrust backwards and he’s got his eyes closed. He was a tough fucking bastard and I had to respect him for that. My eyes begin to scan him for other wounds, and with my right hand squeezing his thigh, I try to keep the pain at bay. I then lift my left hand to shove up his shirt. There’s so much blood everywhere, I have no idea what is splatter or what could be new wounds.
I look down at my hand and something doesn’t look right. Why are my pinky finger and ring finger shredded? They look like hamburger and are bleeding everywhere. Why doesn’t that hurt? Shouldn’t that hurt?
The clink of the smoke marker hitting the ground and a smudge of blue smoke rising in the air faintly registers as the screams of other Marines around me resonates in my ears. I rip a piece of my shirt off and wrap it around my hand so I can help Sgt. Hawthorne here while we wait for the chopper, which I can hear pulsing closer and closer. I’ll deal with these injuries later. Probably just a couple broken bones or cuts…
I gasped out loud as my eyes slammed open. I. Hated. That. Fucking. Nightmare.
I cradled the sides of my head in my hands. Make it stop.
I didn’t get very much sleep after the nightmare that never left me alone, and I knew sleep was futile. It was early afternoon now, and decided I should probably go see my mother.
Knowing she’d grill me about what I was doing with my life, if I had a girlfriend, if was ever going to settle down, and anything else she felt like throwing at me, I decided to spare myself the hassle and just call her instead. I could get the third degree over the phone instead of in person, and not waste any gas or miles on my bike doing it.
I flipped the covers off and pulled on some athletic shorts that were on my floor. Yawning, I raked fingers through my hair and wandered into the kitchen. I tossed a few scoops of ground coffee into a filter and hit the start button.
Scrolling through my phone while it brewed, the pungent aroma of the coffee hit my senses and immediately reminded me of Talia. She always smelled perfectly pure and amazing, but there was also that faint smell of coffee that lingered on her because of her job. I smiled a little as I shoved the coffee cup under the spitting stream and filled my mug. Sipping it carefully, I decided I needed to see her again. Today. Tonight. Sometime soon.
I found her name in my texts and shot off one to her. It was time we had a real date. Fuck all these dumb-ass rules.
After texting her, I called my mom and had a stilted conversation with her about the things I knew she’d grill me about. Did I have a job? Not yet. Did I have a girlfriend? That’s a loaded question to which I had no answer except “I’m working on it.” And the last—when the hell was I gonna grow up? I shook my head at the last one. If she knew half of the shit I’d seen, she’d gain a shitload more respect for me.
Talia
Ellis wasn’t there when I woke up this morning. Did I expect anything different? No. Was I hoping for a small miracle? Yes.
Why did he feel the need to leave when I just wanted him to stay? Had I ever told him I wanted him to stay? Not sure. Maybe it was time I communicated more. But what if he liked it this way? This casual, no-strings-attached hook-up… I liked it, and I hated it.
I laughed to myself. Of course he liked it that way. He was a dude. I was just a dumb girl who thought I deserved more when I knew I didn’t.
Nobody wants you, Talia. You’re pale, have red hair, and are too shy. Good luck finding a man. Nobody wants an ugly girl. You should wear more makeup.
I shook my head at the negative thoughts that plagued me constantly. The ones my stepfather would pound into me as a young teen. The only escape I had during those early, horrid days was the promise of sneaking out of my bedroom window at night after my parents were asleep to go hang with my friends. Smoke weed, cigarettes, and whatever else my friends cou
ld get their hands on.
My mom had no money. She worked in a fancy restaurant, waitressing her ass off, and probably flirting with the boss. It was the only way I figured he managed to let her use his address to get me into a school that was halfway decent. Lord knew the school I was zoned for was nothing like the one I actually ended up attending.
Still, I never asked questions. All my newfound friends at the high school, with their designer clothes and fancy makeup and expensive shoes had accepted me. When questioned once or twice at my choice at cheap fashion, I had made up some bullshit about how I hated my stepdad and was rebelling against him with cheap clothes from the second-hand store. The reality was, I only got something new when my mom had gotten some good tips.
The lie about my stepfather hadn’t entirely been a lie. I did hate his ugly ass. He was an abusive drunk, slapping my mother around when he was really wasted. He would say hideous things to me after she’d pass out from either drinking too much of the cheap booze he’d brought home for her, or after he’d roughed her up some more.
I would lock my door and pray he didn’t try to break the lock and come in to scream at me some more. I had put a poster of my favorite band over the fist-sized hole he’d left in my wall one night when he’d rifled through my nightstand and found my journal. The place where I had told my deepest, darkest secrets, thoughts about how I hated him and wished my mom would leave him.
Rick was his name. I loathed him for what he had done to me and my mom. Rick had eventually caused the demise of my mother, feeding her addictive personality with drugs and alcohol until her small, pale frame couldn’t take the abuse anymore, and she’d succumbed to an overdose.
I went through bouts of being angry at mom for not being strong enough to stand up to Rick, to a deep, dark sorrow at her gullibility and sensitive nature that had caused her to stay. “He’s sick,” she’d say, referring to his alcoholism. “I vowed to stay through sickness and in health, and he’s sick, Talia,” she’d croon, brushing a stray curl from my face, smiling at me with the warm, caramel-colored eyes that were so much like mine.
