He didn’t stop there either. His cock was so hard he could have hammered fucking nails with it, but he wasn’t going to get himself off until he’d blown Ava’s goddamn mind. And as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t blown yet.
So he spread her sweet little pussy open and really went to town, licking and nibbling and kissing her. Using his fingers and his tongue on her tender, wet flesh, the brush of his beard against her inner thighs. He kept going until he’d wrung another climax from her and her hoarse screams had subsided into sobs.
Only then did he move away, grabbing a condom from the wallet in his jeans pocket, tearing open the packet, and rolling it down onto him. He was having problems keeping his own breathing measured, holding himself back from just sliding deep inside her and driving himself all the way to heaven. But he’d had a lot of practice with keeping himself in check, and he wanted to take this slow. He wanted to savor her.
And Christ, she was something worth savoring. Spread out on the bed, her skin sheened with sweat, one arm thrown across her flushed face, her beautiful tits heaving in time with her quickened breathing. She looked wrecked, making that dark, complicated satisfaction grip him tight.
He got back onto the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs, and her arm shifted, her eyes glinting from beneath it. “I don’t think I can handle any more,” she said in a cracked voice.
“You can,” he replied, unable to make himself sound any less curt, because by now he was feeling desperate. “You will.”
He reached for the arm she’d put across her face and drew it away. Taking her hand, he guided it down to his dick and wrapped her shaking fingers around it, the touch making his breath catch. Then he held her gaze. “Take me home, honey.”
Her eyes were so bright, the color the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. And she didn’t look away as she gripped him, as she guided him to all that hot, tight flesh, and then there was slickness and heat and she was the one blowing his goddamn mind.
Her pussy gripped him so tightly, holding him, keeping him close, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting hard and deep, the sensation so insanely good it reduced the already frayed grip he had on his control to almost nothing.
She groaned, her hips lifting helplessly, and it just wasn’t enough.
He pushed his hands beneath her, sliding them up her spine, gathering her close, and cradling her tight against him so he was surrounded by sweet, damp skin and the scent of delicate musk. So she was everywhere around him. “Honey,” he whispered, hardly knowing what he was saying, turning his face into her neck. “Fuck, honey.”
Her arms went around his neck while her thighs closed around his hips, as if she knew exactly what he needed, and that was the moment all his control vanished.
He tried to go slow, tried to savor. Tried to hold on to his resolution to give back to her. But no matter how hard he tried, it slipped out of his grasp.
He needed her. He needed her.
His hips moved as if they had a mind of their own, driving his cock inside her, deep, hard, desperate. As if he was trying to escape into her and lose himself, drown himself in her. He held her tight, thrusting harder, deeper, panting against her neck, dimly feeling her nails dig into his back and her teeth against his skin.
There was a part of him that was still semi-conscious, a part that remembered what he’d initially wanted for her, making him grab her hand and guide it between their desperately straining bodies, sliding it over sweat-slicked flesh, down to where she could feel him slide in and out of her. Guiding her fingers to her own clit and pressing down.
She stiffened, then sobbed against his shoulder, and he lost it.
Taking her down to the mattress, he let her go and braced himself above her, driving himself deeper, harder, faster. The mattress shuddered and jumped beneath him, and her breasts bounced with each hard thrust.
Then just before his whole fucking head exploded, she reached up and took his face between her hands and merely held him, staring up at him. Her eyes were the last thing he saw as the climax climbed up his spine and ripped him apart.
And in the instant before it did, he had the oddest feeling that right now, right here, he’d never been happier in his whole fucking life.
—
Ava woke with the feeling that she was being slowly suffocated by the world’s heaviest, hottest comforter. Annoyed, she flung out an arm to push it back, only for nothing to happen. The weight lying right on top of her didn’t budge.
She scowled and pushed again, belatedly realizing that the comforter wasn’t giving and soft like it usually was. No, it was warm and firm and very hard.
What the hell was going on?
Then she remembered.
Cracking open an eye, she turned her head to find herself lying partially buried by the very large, very hot, very muscular male body currently draped over her.
Damn her single bed. It really wasn’t big enough for her, let alone six feet three inches of powerfully built Rush.
Her scowl faded as her gaze drifted over him, and she couldn’t help smiling. Awake, he was all cocky confidence and arrogance, yet in sleep there was a vulnerability to him that twisted her heart tight in her chest.
She shifted a little, so he wasn’t actually crushing her, and turned so she could look at his face properly. He had the most beautiful mouth, the scar that pulled one corner of it only making it even more fascinating than it was already. The sun coming through the windows opposite the bed caught on the rich golden strands gleaming in his dark brown hair. There was gold in his long, thick eyelashes too, and in the morning beard along his strong, hard jaw.
His features were too blunt and battered to be pretty-boy handsome, not with that white scar twisting through his eyebrow, stark against his tanned skin, and his nose slightly crooked. Yet he was beautiful all the same.
Her heart twisted harder, which wasn’t a good sign.
Last night she’d wanted to give him something, make him feel better after the shocks he’d been dealt, and she’d expected him to take it without hesitation.
She hadn’t expected him to turn it back on her, touch her like she was precious, look at her as if she was special, explore her as if she was the most interesting thing on the planet.
She hadn’t expected him to give back. But he had, and now…
Now she felt as if something had changed.
Rush’s thick lashes twitched and suddenly lifted, the deep, intense turquoise of his eyes looking straight at her. He smiled, all sleepy and warm and sexy.
And her heart didn’t twist this time, it inflated like a balloon, nudging against her ribs, pushing at her lungs, stealing all her breath, wanting to climb right up into the sky.
Of course something’s changed. You’ve fallen in love.
No. It was worse than that. Because the feeling wasn’t new. She’d experienced it before. She’d felt it whenever she walked into the Redmond kitchen. Whenever he poured her a glass of milk and pushed cookies in her direction. Whenever he’d asked her what she’d been doing that day or how school was. Each and every time he’d smiled at her…
She hadn’t just fallen in love with Rush Redmond. She’d always been in love with Rush Redmond.
“Mornin’, honey,” he said, his voice all sleep-roughened. “Well, this is cozy, huh?” He shifted, and somehow she was underneath him, his long body settling over her, lying in the cradle of her hips and thighs, the hard, hot length of his cock pressing against her stomach. He put one elbow near her head, propping his chin in his hand and grinning down at her. “I think I like a single bed.”
Ava swallowed, panic fluttering inside her. Which she didn’t understand. Because he’d been over her and under her and everything in between the night before. So him only lying there and grinning at her shouldn’t make her feel like pushing him away and running down the stairs and straight out of the house.
So she loved him. So what? It didn’t change anything.
“You’re not the one b
eing crushed.” Damn, her voice was hoarse too.
He didn’t look in any way sorry about it. In fact, his grin only deepened. “You love it.”
“Maybe.”
“Bullshit maybe. I’m thinking for sure.” He gave a little rock of his hips, the ridge of his cock nudging against the sensitive flesh between her thighs, and she gasped, pleasure jolting the entire length of her body.
A satisfied look gleamed in his eyes, and he did it again, making her shudder. “Oh God, don’t,” she murmured, trying to shift away, feeling suddenly too uncomfortable both emotionally and physically to cope with him right now.
He didn’t look offended, a sexy smile still flickering around his mouth. “Why not?”
“Because I think you and that sweet little cock of yours killed me dead.”
Rush stared at her a moment. Then he laughed, rich and warm, the sound rolling around her and over her like joy itself.
If she hadn’t been gone on him earlier, she was so gone now.
It made her want to push at him as if she could push at the feeling inside her, push it right the hell away.
Still grinning like a lunatic, Rush put his hands on either side of her head and leaned right down, his mouth almost brushing hers. “Little?” he murmured. “Who are you calling little?”
Longing swelled inside her. She wanted nothing more than to stay right here with him, basking in his smile and flirting. But they still had unfinished business from the night before. Troy, her mother’s killer, was out and about, unpunished, and she couldn’t let that go, no matter how beautiful Rush’s smile was. No matter how good his touch made her feel.
So she stuffed the longing right back into the little compartment in her heart it had come out of, making sure it was locked down. Then she looked up at him and said, “We need to talk about last night.”
His smile faded, and it felt like the sun disappearing on a cold winter’s day. “I thought I didn’t have to.”
Her chest tightened at the edge in his voice, the warmth that had been there seeping away. “You don’t. But Troy killed my mother, and I want to talk about how we’re going to get justice for that.”
Rush was silent a moment, looking down into her face. Then he sighed. “Yeah, I know you do.” Pushing himself away from her, he got off the bed and went over to where his clothes lay on the floor. “Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll fix us some breakfast.”
You idiot. You’ve spoiled it now.
Well, what else was she supposed to do? Lie around with him instead of getting justice for her mother’s murder? No, that wasn’t happening. Now that they knew the truth, she wasn’t going to let it go.
Swallowing back something bitter that tasted horribly like regret, she sat up, watching him as he reached for his clothing, pulling on his underwear, grabbing his jeans. “Are you going to tell me what happened with you last night?”
He tugged on his jeans, his attention on his hands as he pulled up the zipper. “I thought you wanted to talk about justice for your mom.”
“I do. But this affected you too.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “What? I found out my alcoholic dad is actually my stupid, fucking alcoholic dad. No drama there.”
But of course there was drama, and if she hadn’t seen it in his eyes the night before, it was definitely there now.
Slipping off the bed, she crossed over to him, sliding her arms around him and pressing herself against the welcoming heat and hard strength of his body. “Why is that so bad?”
He let out a short, mirthless laugh and looked away. But his hands came to rest on her hips as if he couldn’t help himself, his thumbs moving back and forth over her skin. “I guess because at least if he wasn’t my dad, there’d be a reason for the way he treated me all my fucking life. Turned out there was no reason. He just hated me.”
Her heart—the stupid thing—scrunched up into a tiny ball at that and it didn’t matter how much she ignored it, it still hurt. In his voice was the echo of pain and anger, and beneath that, bewilderment.
She swallowed past the tight feeling in her throat and laid her head on his chest, blinking hard because her eyes were prickling and he didn’t need to see that. Beneath her ear the steady beat of his heart was the most comforting sound in the entire world.
“You don’t know that,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I do. Ever since I was a kid, he basically ignored me. Didn’t seem to matter what I fucking did—he never took any damn notice.” His fingers tightened on her hips. “And when Mom told me I wasn’t his kid…well, shit, it made sense. I tried even harder after that to prove to him that I was a good son, to make up for the fact that I wasn’t his, I guess. But…” He stopped, pain threading the silence. “Nothing I did made any difference. And then after Mom died he became a drunk, and I just fucking gave up trying.”
Ava pressed herself harder against him, the echoes of pain and anger and loneliness resonating with something deep inside herself too, a recognition she didn’t want to feel.
“I don’t know what his problem was,” Rush went on softly, “whether he knew for certain that Mom had had an affair and he suspected I wasn’t his son, or whether he was just pissed with her and took it out on me. Or maybe…maybe it was just me.”
That made her ache. Made her throat so tight she could barely swallow. “It’s not you,” she croaked out. “Whatever his problem, it was his, not yours.”
Rush said nothing.
She tilted her head and glanced up at him. He had turned his face toward the window, his strong, battered profile set in hard lines.
He’d been hurt. She’d seen it in the shadows in his eyes, had sensed it in the deep hollows it had left inside him. The hollows filled with bitterness because that’s what happened when you’d been hurt. Because bitterness was easier than pain.
“It’s not you, Rush,” she repeated, more forcefully this time.
He looked down suddenly at her, the expression in his eyes like a blade. “How do you know that? How can you be so fucking sure?”
Because I love you.
The words were there, tasting sweet on her tongue, but she bit down on them. She couldn’t say them, not to him. Love wasn’t part of this and saying them had never helped before. They wouldn’t help now. So instead she said, “Because you’re a good man.”
He gave another bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Honey, I’m an asshole. Surely you must have figured that out by now.”
“Don’t keep saying that. You took care of me when I was little. You saw that I was alone and you became my friend. Would an asshole do that?”
“Far out. If giving someone milk and cookies makes me not a prick, I’d have—”
“No,” she said flatly, cutting him off. “Don’t make what you gave me mean nothing. Don’t tell me it wasn’t real. I told you what you meant to me as a kid and it was the truth. And if you’re going to turn it into a lie just to protect yourself, then yes, you are an asshole.”
“I’m not protecting myself.”
“Yes you are.” She looked straight up at him, pressing herself against him, willing him to see in himself what she saw. “You’re a good man who was hurt by people who shouldn’t have hurt you. And now you’re protecting yourself and I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to protect yourself from me, okay?”
He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t read the look in his eyes—it was too complicated, too freighted with things she didn’t understand. “That was a long time ago, Ava,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been to jail. I’ve beaten the shit out of people, hurt them, drowned my sorrows in everything that came to hand. Booze. Pussy. Violence. So many fucking things.”
“I know. I know all of that.” She lifted a hand, placed it over his left pec, over his heart. “But you’re still the same person here underneath it all. Still the same guy. Taking care of me when I was drunk. Helping me get justice for my mom. Protecting me at Troy’s. Taking care of me the way you used to.” Sh
e swallowed, because this was important. “Don’t you see? All the booze and violence and whatever else you’ve done, in jail or out of it, doesn’t change who you are inside. At least not to me.” She spread her hand out over his heart, the heat of his skin against her palm, against her whole body. “You’re my hero, Rush. You always have been.”
The look in his eyes shifted and changed, became something so intense she could hardly hold it. “Honey…” There were so many layers of warmth in the endearment, so many layers of meaning, it made her strangely afraid. “It would take a million years for me to deserve being your hero.” His hands curved over her butt, fitting her tightly against him. “But I’m willing to start trying.”
Right then and there she wanted him to start trying too. Yet there were things they needed to do, and she didn’t want to get distracted.
Oh sure. You’re just afraid.
But she didn’t know quite what she was afraid of, so all she said was, “Can we start trying after we’ve put Troy in jail?”
He frowned, searching her face as if looking for something. Then he sighed. “I thought you having a one-track mind would end up being a good thing, as long as it was about my dick.” Releasing her, he stood back. “But I guess, since it’s not…You’d better go get in the shower, honey. Before I change my mind.”
Ava wanted to kiss him then, give him some reassurance, but she didn’t trust herself not to stay and try to make him change his mind. Instead, she gave him a grin and turned away.
And tried to tell herself she didn’t regret it.
Chapter 17
Rush pulled open the fridge door and stood there for a moment, grinning like a fucking dick at the food in it instead of taking out said food and actually doing something with it.
He didn’t know what had happened to him and he found he didn’t much care.
All he knew was that he’d woken up with Ava’s silky smooth body wrapped around his, and life had suddenly seemed brighter than it had been in years.
It had got even brighter when she’d put her hand on his chest and told him that it didn’t matter what he’d done or what he’d become in the years he’d spent escaping his father’s neglect. That deep down, he was still the same guy who’d helped her. Who’d been her hero.
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