Take Me Harder

by Jackie Ashenden

  Unquestionably. But she didn’t care. He deserved it.

  “I’m not sorry,” she went on, probably making everything worse yet not caring. “You’re just so angry, and I’m sick of you taking it out on me.”

  His vivid gaze met hers, and she didn’t look away, a hot, electric thrill shooting straight through her. Which was insane, because surely any woman with sense in her head would have been running from the room, especially given the tension and atmosphere of violence slowly gathering between them.

  Not physical violence, she could tell that immediately. It was violence of a different kind. Deep inside her, right down low, she felt a pulse that made her heart race and her body ache.

  “You think I’m angry?” His voice was deceptively mild, deceptively soft. “I’m not. Why would I be? It was only eight years in jail for something I didn’t do. While my own fucking family left me there to rot. Like I didn’t even matter. Why would I get angry about that?”

  Maybe it should have been satisfying to have her guesswork confirmed, but she wasn’t satisfied; she was shocked. “What do you mean, they left you there?”

  “Dad was supposed to do a deal to get me out, but he didn’t. I never heard from him, not once.”

  Her shock deepened. “But you had visitors, though. I mean surely—”

  “Quinn a couple of times. Not Zane. And certainly not my fucking father.” He bared his teeth. “Not you.”

  She blinked, her throat suddenly tight. “You told me not to. So I didn’t. And when you got out…” A thread of hot shame wound through her. “Well, I told you why I didn’t come. But I should have. I shouldn’t have been such a coward.”

  “No, you were right not to,” Rush said harshly, that anger glittering in his eyes. “And you were right to be afraid. I’m not your friend, Ava. I can’t be. I’m not the same guy you knew, not anymore. I’m fucking bad, and you should stay right the hell away from me.”

  Her heart lurched inside her chest, and all she could think about was the fact that he was the one who’d volunteered to go inside, for his father, for his brothers. He was the one who’d endured whatever had happened there. How could his father have left him? And how could Quinn be so terrible to him now he was out? After he’d given both of them eight years of his life in return for their freedom? It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

  Her anger at him disappeared, determination following in its wake, solid and enduring.

  His family might not have been there for him, but she was. No matter what he might think, she knew he wasn’t bad, not deep down. And if there was one thing she wasn’t going to do, it was stay away from him.

  Ava sucked in a breath. Her hands went to her shorts and, not letting herself think about it, she shoved them down to her ankles and stepped out of them.

  Cool air moved over her skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. She’d never been naked in front of a man before, and it was a little scary. But she wanted to give him something. Show him that even though his family had let him down, she wouldn’t.

  Rush blinked. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked hoarsely, his gaze dipping, following the length of her body as if he’d never seen anything like it before in his life.

  Ava held on tight to her confidence and took a step closer. “I’m not staying away from you, Rush.” Her voice had thickened. “And you might not be my friend, but I’m still yours. And if you need anything…” She looked straight into his vivid eyes. “All you have to do is ask.”

  “Ah, fuck,” he murmured, his gaze dipping once again, focusing between her thighs. “You shouldn’t be doing this, sweetheart. Not with me.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart.” That was what he called Candy and she suspected every other woman he went to bed with. But not her. She was going to be different.

  His gaze returned to her face. “Why not?”

  “Because you call me ‘honey.’ That’s my name.”

  Surprise flickered briefly in his eyes. “What? You wanna be special to me?”

  Ava took another step closer. “Yes,” she said, her voice rough around the edges. “I want you, which makes you special to me. So I should be special to you.”

  “Oh, honey…”

  But she was done with the conversation, like she was done with him pushing her away. She knew what she wanted to do, what she wanted to give him. What she wanted to show him. And now it was time.

  Except…she kind of didn’t know how to do it, which meant he was going to have to show her.

  Ava dropped to her knees right in front of him, the long, powerful length of his torso towering over her, and she heard him take a sudden harsh breath.

  Then one battered hand gripped her chin, tipping her head back so she met his intense gaze. “You know this is wrong, don’t you?”

  She stared straight back at him. “So walk away.”

  He said nothing, and there was a moment when she actually thought he might. Then his thumb moved, tracing her bottom lip lightly, making her tremble. “Do you know what to do?” he asked roughly.

  She shivered. “No.”

  “It’s pretty simple.” His thumb traced the shape of her lower lip again, a slow drag back and forth, his gaze following the movement. “All you do is open your mouth and suck me like you mean it.”

  The desire was rising again, a hot, relentless pressure, making her heartbeat echo in her head and her mouth get dry. She wanted to say something, but he pushed his thumb into her mouth. “You remember how I taught you to shoot?”

  All she could do was nod.

  “Okay, good,” he murmured. “So your grip needs to be firm, but not too tight, understand? You don’t want me to go off before you’re ready.”

  She nodded again, sucking hard on his thumb, staring up into his face, all blunt angles and scars and those bright, vivid eyes that sometimes seemed too bright and too intense to be real.

  He stared back, his gaze dropping to her mouth then back again. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked softly.

  Ava didn’t bother answering. She reached for the top button of his jeans, flicking it open, then gripping the tab of his zipper and pulling it down.

  His breath hissed, and abruptly he pulled his thumb away from her mouth, his hand dropping to his jeans, spreading open the denim and reaching down, sliding his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. “There’s no recoil with this particular weapon, but just so you know…”

  The breath caught in her throat, because she could see his hand curling into a fist beneath the cotton, the long, hard length of his cock right there. He was big. Not that she had any comparison, but it sure as hell looked big to her.

  “It’s got a hair trigger.” His voice got quieter. “Especially with you.”

  A glow started up behind her breastbone at that, a certain satisfaction, but then there was no time for any more thinking because he was pulling down the material of his boxers and freeing his cock.

  And that outline she’d been seeing hadn’t lied. He was big. Long and hard and proud, with a gentle curve that had it nudging the flat plane of his stomach.

  “Open up, honey.” With one hand Rush gripped the base of his cock, and with the other he reached for her chin and held it tight. “Time to test that marksmanship of yours.”

  She opened her mouth, maybe to say something or maybe to say nothing at all, she didn’t know what. But that was when he guided his cock into her mouth and all the words she might not have said flew straight out of her head anyway.

  He wasn’t rough, but he was insistent, easing forward then pausing, then easing forward a little more, until she could feel him nearly all the way back to her throat.

  She panted, adjusting to the feel of him, to the thick, hot salty taste. She’d always found the idea of a blow job unpleasant, and yet it wasn’t, not even a little bit.

  It was hot. He was hot. Large and powerful in her mouth.

  She looked up the length of his body, watching all that beautiful carved muscle tense, the lin
es of his face suddenly drawn tight with hunger. His eyes glittered from underneath his long, gold-tipped lashes. “That’s it, honey,” he murmured, low and deep. “Suck me like I’m the best thing you’ve ever fucking tasted in your entire life.”

  So she did. She closed her mouth on him and sucked, tentatively at first because she didn’t want to hurt him. Then, when he murmured encouragement, harder. And he was the best thing she’d ever tasted in her life and she couldn’t get enough.

  He let go of her chin, sliding both hands into her hair and holding on tight, and she loved it. Loved the slight prickling of her scalp as he guided her movements, controlling how fast and how deep. And when he told her to hold him, she wrapped a shaking hand around the base of his cock, the heat of his skin burning her palm, and pumped him like he’d instructed, firm but not too tight.

  She sucked him hard, getting excited. Getting creative and running her tongue down the length of him and then back up. Around the sensitive tip, feeling the jerk of his hands pulling her hair as she did so. She lifted her other hand and gripped his thigh, the heavy muscle tensing beneath the denim as she dug her fingers into it.

  It was so good. It was like nothing she’d ever done before in her life.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, and she did, and felt the impact of his gaze shudder all the way through her.

  Because there was something desperate in his eyes. Something hot and needy and demanding. Something that made her feel as if there was nothing in the world for him but her. As if there was nothing more important than her, than what she was doing to him right now. As if he needed it more than he needed his next breath.

  She kept her gaze on him, kept watching him as he drew his hips back and thrust into her mouth, harder, faster. Until a groan ripped from his throat and his fingers curled into her hair so painfully tight she almost gasped. And she watched as the climax hit him, his lips drawn back from his teeth in almost a snarl, his turquoise eyes burning into hers.

  He said her name, and the taste of him was in her mouth and she swallowed him down, because she wanted to. Because she liked it. Because even though she was the one naked on her knees in front of him, he was the one who was desperate, who needed her.

  He’d looked at her, he’d watched her as he’d come. And she was willing to bet every single cent of her savings that he didn’t do that with Candy.

  Moments passed afterward, moments where neither of them said anything, where he withdrew from her mouth but didn’t let go of her hair, keeping her right there, naked at his feet. And she remained still, leaning against him. Then she turned her head and kissed the hot skin of his hard, flat stomach.

  He tensed, then finally his hands dropped from her hair.

  “If you want to look like my girlfriend,” he said in a cracked, ragged-sounding voice, “you’re going to have to get some new clothes. Tight dresses, short skirts, fuck-me heels. Think stripper.” He stepped back from her, tucking himself away and doing up his zipper. “We’ll be going tomorrow night, so be ready.”

  He gave her one last, intense glance.

  Then he turned on his heel and walked out.

  Chapter 11

  Rush stood in his suite at Lone Star and surveyed the duffel bag sitting open on his bed. Jeans and T-shirt, check. A change of underwear, check. Sawed-off shotgun, check. His old Colt, check.

  Two weapons were hardly enough, though, not for Troy’s. Maybe he needed a third? Then again, he probably wouldn’t even get them through the door. Troy wouldn’t want his guests wandering around armed to the teeth, after all.

  “Nice,” a deep voice said from behind him. “Going for a relaxing vacation, are we?”

  Rush didn’t turn around. “Don’t you know how to fucking knock?”

  “Your door was open,” Quinn said, moving up beside him. “What’s all this?”

  “I’m going for a dirty weekend. What does it look like?”

  “With a sawed-off shotgun?”

  “Dude, it’s not a vacation without a sawed-off shotgun. Besides, chicks love it.”

  “Hmmm.” Quinn frowned at the spread on the bed. “You’re missing something.”

  Rush made a show of thinking about it, then snapped his fingers. “You’re right. I don’t have anything formal in case of a sudden black-tie emergency. Hey, you don’t have a tux I could borrow, do you?”

  Quinn’s flat green gaze met his. “You’re supposed to be finding that skip I asked you to look for, not going elephant hunting. Because that’s what it looks like you’re doing.”

  Quinn could go fuck himself about that skip, that’s what Quinn could do. “Smith’s holding him for pickup, okay? So get the hell off my back.”

  But Quinn’s stare didn’t relent. “Why didn’t you tell me that two days ago?”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t ask. Anyway, why are you getting so riled about it?” Because apparently he just couldn’t fucking help himself. “Afraid Duchess is going to take the job, like she’s been taking all the rest of them?”

  Quinn’s jaw tightened. “Duchess hasn’t got anything to do with it.”

  “Sure she hasn’t. And your dick doesn’t get hard every time she walks into the room.”

  “Rush,” Quinn growled, glowering, “I swear to God—”

  “Bro, just fuck her already. The suspense is killing me, not to mention everyone else.”

  His brother’s features hardened. “You don’t talk about her. You don’t even speak her name, understand me? Not if you like your balls where they are.”

  Rush put his hands up. “Whoa, okay. I get it.” And then, since he really just wanted Quinn to fuck off and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it, he added, “Should we be talking about me going to jail for something you and Dad did? Or about the fact that he didn’t do a damn thing to get me out? Or hey, I know”—he gave his brother a fuck-you grin—“let’s talk about how you used to take off for days at a time, leaving Zane to get the shit beaten out of him by Dad.”

  Quinn was silent, but Rush could see the rage glowing in his eyes. Then he said, “Sure, let’s talk about that.” He took a step closer, getting right up in Rush’s face, making him aware of the couple of inches Quinn had on him. “And while we’re at it, let’s talk about how you were so deep in booze and pussy, you didn’t notice a damn thing either.”

  Something hot turned over inside him, a deep shame he didn’t want to admit to. But pride wouldn’t let him look away or back down.

  “No?” Quinn inquired softly when he didn’t speak, the word laden with contempt. “I didn’t think so.” He stepped away and turned. “Get me that goddamn skip and stop behaving like the entire fucking world owes you a living.”

  A hot burst of anger went through him. As if Quinn had any fucking idea what the past eight years of his life had been living in a cage.

  A cage you chose, fuckface.

  “You think I went to jail for you?” he said, his voice gone strangely thick. “You think I did it for Dad? Well, I fucking didn’t. I did it to get the hell away. And you know what? I don’t regret it. It showed me who my real family was. And guess what, motherfucker—it wasn’t you.”

  Quinn didn’t reply, walking straight through the doorway without pausing.

  Rush let out a long breath, then sat down on the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

  The anger in his gut sat there like a heavy stone, the hot wash of shame gently warming it. Because Quinn was right. It wasn’t as if Rush had been there for Zane either. After their mother had died, after she’d told him the truth, he hadn’t been aware of much, too eaten up with shock and disgust. At his father for making it so obvious that Rush was no son of his. At Quinn for being the favored son. At Zane for being too young to understand. At his mother for giving him a truth he didn’t want, because she thought he should know why his father treated him the way he did and because she’d wanted the truth out there, to get it off her chest before she died.

  So many fucking selfish people in h
is family, all caught up in their own pain. And he wasn’t exempt. He’d been doing exactly the same thing.

  Like you did with Ava.

  The shame bit deep, accompanied by an intense rush of desire, making his breath catch and his heart race.

  He put his elbows on his knees and bent his head, trying to get his stupid dick under control. But, as per fucking usual, his dick wasn’t listening.

  Her body, pale and creamy, with those pretty goddamn freckles scattered everywhere. Pink-tipped breasts and the perfect indentation of her waist. The red curls between her thighs, looking as silky and soft as the hair on the top of her head. And her fucking mouth…Jesus. That was a whole fantasy all on its own. The heat of it, the shy slide of her tongue as he’d pushed inside it, the delicate pressure of her lips as she closed them around him.

  His jaw ached. His dick ached. And all because of Ava.

  In spite of himself, in spite of the self-loathing that ate away at him, he smiled. Because he’d never had a woman punch him in the face and then take off her clothes and give him the best fucking blow job he’d ever had in his entire life.

  He didn’t blame her for the punch. He’d been a complete dickhead to her. Cruel to bring up Candy, especially when he could see how much that had hurt. Christ, he had no idea why she wanted to be special to him, why she wanted to mean something, because it wasn’t as if he was particularly special himself or anything.

  But she did want that. She’d offered herself to him, and despite everything in him telling him it was the very worst fucking idea he’d ever had, he hadn’t been able to resist her. She’d just been so determined, like she owed him or something, which was stupid. Of course he should never have said all that whiny-ass stuff about prison, but it had poured out of him all the same. And then she’d looked at him like it had mattered, like she understood him, and Christ…

  His chest clenched tight. He shouldn’t have agreed to let her come with him to Troy’s, but how could he have said no to her after that? It was going to be dangerous, yes, but he’d protect her. He’d brought her into it and he would get her out, end of discussion.