Or maybe, it will be my final undoing.
I try to calm my erratic heart and racing mind, but as I lay in the quiet room I find myself something beyond restless.
I stare at the ceiling, unmoving, heart beating wildly.
The empowerment over being able to make Smoke jealous turns into another kind of feeling that starts as a tingle between my thighs, growing and morphing into something more powerful until I’m pressing my thighs together to calm the growing ache.
I tell myself it’s the romance novels that’s ignited this need within me to feel more.
To feel something.
But I know, even as it’s happening, that it’s a lie.
With my one free hand, I try to untie the bathing suit top from around my back, but I can’t reach. I pull up the top instead, freeing my breasts.
I’ve touched myself before but have never found it to be all that satisfying. Most of the time I can’t bring myself to climax. But I needed to calm the storm in both my mind and body. Being tied to the bed limited my options.
I push off my bikini bottoms.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the pillow. My feet are flat on the mattress. Knees up. I squeeze my nipple, then run my flat palm lightly over the pebbled peak. A shot of desire pools in my lower stomach.
I bite my lower lip and move my hand to the other nipple. It feels better than I remember, although it’s been a while. I pinch it lightly and my mouth drops open in a silent gasp.
I might even be able to come just from this. I’m wet, my thighs slippery. I move my hand down my body. I imagine that it’s someone else’s hand touching me.
Wanting me.
The first face that pops into my mind is Smoke’s hoovering above me. I shake my head and decide on Duke instead. I remember his kisses. His good looks. It’s working until my fingertips reach my clit, then the image switches from blonde curls and goofy grins to dark eyes and rough hands. Tattoos and frown lines. Handcuffs and scars. Lips that were made for sin. A perfect body with a corrupt mind.
I remember the way it felt to be on his lap. The way he used my hips to rub me against his hard shaft through his jeans. I circle my clit with my fingers, using my own wetness to glide over and over it again and again. I lift my hips off the bed and imagine that it went further. That the phone or Zelda hadn’t stopped us. I imagine the sound his jeans make hitting the floor. That he flipped me over with my back against the couch and sucked on my nipples while his fingers found my wet, aching folds.
I come before my imagination has a chance to get any further. It’s hard. So hard. Shattering me and putting me back together with pleasure and pain and frustration. It’s so wrong, but I don’t care. I just care about this feeling running through me like a wild rapid-filled river. I’m screaming out into the otherwise quiet house. It’s a wild cry, desperate, loud and unforgiving. I’ve never experienced an orgasm this strong before. This unpredictable.
My hand is still between my spread legs, my finger lazily flicking over my clit as I ride out the waves of pleasure. I shiver from the sensation of my hard nipples against the breeze coming through the window.
I’m coming down, my mouth still open in ecstasy, my fingers dipping inside me briefly to again trace lazy circles over my swollen clit with my own juices.
Smoke’s name is still echoing through the house and through my ears. I roll my head to the side and open my eyes.
I freeze. My movements. My breathing. My thoughts.
Because, there, standing in the doorway, is Smoke.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’d taken off after seeing Nine put his mouth on Frankie. I was pissed. She was mine. Not his. My job. My problem. My everything. I was pissed at myself for being so fucking pissed. It’s a good thing Nine had parked in the other direction because I wanted to tear his arms off with my bare hands and beat him to death with his own useless limbs, and if he would have come close enough I probably would’ve.
I growl. I know I would’ve.
I’m on my bike not two miles down the road when I slam on the brakes and set my foot to the pavement, making a sharp U-turn. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I holding back? Frankie is mine to do with what I please.
An instrument of revenge.
Nothing more.
I shouldn’t be running from her; she should be running from me.
I speed back to the cottage. I barely had the kickstand down, before hopping off my bike and hurrying into the house with long determined strides.
Frankie doesn’t understand the extent of my anger. She asked me why when I cuffed her to the bed.
Why? I’ll show you why.
I’m about to step inside the bedroom when I stop like I’ve got a hand pressed to my chest.
This has got to be another one of her tricks.
My breath hitches at the sight before me. My cock hardens.
But what a fucking trick it is.
Frankie. Cuffed to the bed. That much I expected to find. It’s what I didn’t expect that has my throat dry and my fingers twitching by my side.
She’s naked.
She’s naked, and she’s touching herself.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. It’s both pleasure and pain. Heaven and Hell. Disturbing and delightful and fucking luring me in like a siren from the deep.
Which sums up everything when it comes to how I feel about Frankie Helburn.
I can’t look away. I can’t fucking swallow.
Not now. Not fucking ever.
She screams my name as she comes.
MY. NAME.
I can’t hold back.
Her eyes lock on mine.
Not anymore.
“You’re back,” she whispers, her cheeks are pink. Her eyes look like she’s just shot up heroin. She’s unfocused. High on lust. My cock throbs painfully behind my jeans, and I can’t take it any longer.
“I’m back,” I say. It sounds like a warning, and I meant it to. I shrug off my cut and reach behind to pull my shirt up over my head, setting both my shirt and cut on the dresser.
I stalk over to the bed and place a hand on her knee. Her skin is soft and warm. I roughly push it down until it meets mattress, spreading her legs wide. She’s glistening and dripping and perfect and pink.
“Fucking beautiful,” I groan. Her thighs are slick. “You were thinking about me,” I say, on a rasp, hearing the hunger in my own voice. I don’t attempt to hide it. I’m past that now. So fucking far past it.
Frankie nods, her fingers trailing from her lips to her breasts where she lazily pinches her nipple, never taking her eyes from mine as her back arches slightly off the bed.
“Fuck, Frankie.” I take off my boots, kicking them to the floor. “I can’t stop this anymore,” I say. I mean it. I’m powerless against this slight little thing. “No more fucking games. Just fucking. Just me and you.”
She lifts her hips off the bed, silently begging. She whimpers, and the sound is like a stroke to my cock. My balls tighten.
“You left,” she says on a breathy whisper, her eyes raking over my naked chest then dipping lower as I take off my jeans and kick them aside.
“I was pissed,” I say growing angry all over again at the thought of Nine touching her.
Frankie doesn’t react to my anger. Instead, she smiles and bites her bottom lip.
There’s no way this was a show meant for me to walk in on. I parked my bike at Zelda’s then walked back through the field. She couldn’t have heard me coming, and there was no faking an orgasm like that.
“Why?” she asks.
Because I’m stupid. Because I’m losing sight of what’s important. Because I can’t make decisions or think of anything else when you’re walking around in that little black bikini that barely fits you. When someone else’s hands are on you. Hands that ain’t mine. When I’d take a bullet if it meant I could be inside you shortly after.
The same little black bikini Nine couldn’t take his eyes off earlier is
now pushed up over her tits, her nipples hard.
When she came with my name on her lips, I had to hold on to the fucking doorway for support. It was fucking beautiful.
She is fucking beautiful.
I want her. I’ve wanted her since the second I saw her face for the first time. But now, coming with my name screamed from her lips, I know she wants me. I’m not waiting. Not anymore. Fuck the consequences; I can’t focus on anything else. Fuck everything and everyone.
Nothing is coming between us now except for Frankie, who WILL be coming.
Over and over again.
Frankie
Smoke’s eyes are so heavily hooded with lust they’re reduced to slits with his dark gleaming orbs shining underneath.
He places a knee on the bed and then the other, spreading my knees to the mattress as wide as they will go and covering my body with his, positioning himself between my legs. He pushes down his black boxer briefs over his perfectly rounded ass cheeks. They look like something from a sculpture. Tattoos cover his legs and continue all the way up to his neck but his ass is surprisingly tattoo free.
His cock is enormous. I’ve felt it against me, but I’d yet to see it. It’s not just long enough to reach his belly button, but it’s much thicker than I imagined. The tip glistening with need.
I blush. Heat rising in my neck and face as he places his hands on both sides of my head. I lift my hips again, and when my clit brushes up against his hardness covered in softer than soft skin, we both moan.
I was pretending to want him before. That my reaction to him was just nature. Biology. It was the biggest lie I’ve ever told even if it was only to myself. Because this thing between us, this electrical charge that sparks every time we’re in the same room, there isn’t anything usual about it.
There sure as shit isn’t anything natural about it either.
I want Smoke. There’s no denying it. Not when it’s him I imagined touching me when I came. Not when I can’t fucking breathe. Not when he possesses the ability to hurt me as badly as he did.
Not when I possess that same power.
If Smoke was holding back from me before, he isn’t anymore.
The look in his eyes is downright wicked. His biceps and shoulders flex as he holds his arms on both sides of me, bracing himself, hovering just above me.
He’s watching me as he swipes his thumb over my lip. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. He growls deep within his throat, then covers my lips and my body with his.
Smoke doesn’t bother uncuffing me. There isn’t time. The need between us sizzles in the air. Igniting the friction between us like a flint causing a spark. His kiss is hard and brutal, and I return it with all that I have. Our tongues aren’t dancing. They’re fighting a battle both of us know we are destined to lose yet neither of us will be the first to give up the fight.
His hand travels down between my legs while his tongue strokes mine, he circles my already sensitive clit over and over again, bringing me right back to the brink then stopping. He does this again and again while never taking his lips from mine. I’m dizzy. My heart’s slamming in my chest. My stomach is so tight it’s about to burst at any moment.
Our kiss is passionately chaotic. “Please,” I beg against his mouth between kisses and nips. I’m terrified and anxious but above all else is the pulsing need to have him inside of me.
His lips move to my neck, and he sucks and licks the skin behind my ear. I feel it everywhere. Wetness has pooled between my legs. The sheets underneath me are soaked. “I think you need to be taught a lesson,” Smoke growls. “When I said you were mine, I meant it.”
“Yes. Please,” I beg again as he goes lower and sucks a nipple into his mouth. I cry out, loudly, not caring who hears or what happens. “I need to. I need to…” I trail off, not remembering anything I was saying when one long finger enters me, stroking my inner wall. I’m shaking. Trembling. I’m on the verge of full on convulsing when he stops.
“When you come again, it will be wrapped around my cock and when I say so. You may think you have some control here, hellion. But you don’t.”
I buck my hips in response, both in frustration and retaliation.
He chuckles against my skin. “That’s it, hellion. Fight me. Just be warned,” he grips my hips so tightly I see stars. “I fight back.”
He releases my hips and rocks against me, rubbing his shaft over my clit again and again until I’m seeing stars. It’s pure fucking amazing torture. A pleasurable agony.
I look down between us at his massive erection and a thought occurs to me.
“You’re going to break me,” I say, against his lips, feeling a sudden shock of panic take hold.
He smirks. “Yes, I am.”
Smoke kisses me again. It’s deeper, more frantic this time. Our tongues start the tortuous dance once more when his shaft leaves my clit long enough to line himself up with my entrance. He lifts my hips up off the mattress.
“I’ve never—” I begin to say.
“I know. That’s about to change.” Smoke surges into me with a strangled roar. His face tight. His neck chorded.
I grimace. The pain is like breaking glass and scratching. I’m breaking from the inside out. I’m being split in half.
“It’s only fair that I break you,” Smoke groans, seating himself fully inside me. He looks me in the eyes. “Since you’ve already broken me.”
He reaches between us and rubs my clit while he thrusts into me again, ignoring my cries of pain until they slowly turn into cries of pleasure. He moves his lips from my neck to my ear back to my lips and down to my nipple. He uses his hands to guide my hips up to meet his thrusts allowing him to go deeper each time until I’m so full of Smoke he’s all I can feel. All I can see. All I can smell. All I can think about.
I don’t know if it’s the room shaking or me when the eruption begins low within my stomach, spreading like fallout from a nuclear bomb. I’m screaming and crying, clawing at his back, tearing his skin.
This only urges him to thrust harder. Faster.
I want to hurt him. Mark him. I want his flesh under my nails and blood running down his back. I need to scar him. Remind him of me and this and us for as long as he lives.
Nothing outside the sound of the slapping of his skin against mine or the way he moans my name matters. Not now. Not while his lips are on my skin and he’s deep inside my body.
The orgasm is so hard and rough and painful that I’m crying. Genuine tears are rolling down my face as Smoke’s pace quickens and he slams into me. The thickening of his cock inside me causes another wave of pleasure crashing into this one like two hurricanes meeting in the ocean.
“Smoke!” I cry out.
“God damn this fucking tight pussy of yours,” Smoke rasps sounding turned on and pissed off. “Open your fucking eyes,” he demands.
His voice is a distant echo in my lust-riddled mind, but I hear him, and it calls me back. And because I’m all out of challenge when it comes to my body and Smoke’s control over it.
I do as I’m told and open my fucking eyes.
Smoke holds my face, dropping his forehead to mine. He keeps his eyes on mine. His thrusts become wild. We breathe each other’s air as Smoke’s hips pound against mine over and over again.
It’s rough and hard and everything I never knew I wanted it to be.
“Frankie. Oh Fuck. Frankie!” Smoke cries out. His muscles tensing, his cock twitching before releasing everything he has inside me. Warm spurts fill me, coating my insides, dripping out onto my thighs.
I’m still convulsing around him, tightening my internal grip like a vise until he sags against me. We’re both panting for air. Smoke wraps an arm around me as he catches his breath.
My brain is muddled. I’m high on lust and Smoke.
“You were right,” I say, unspilled tears in my eyes. I stare up at the ceiling.
Smoke answers wordlessly by gripping me tighter.
I lower my voice to a whisper. �
�You broke me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I wake up alone. Immediately, I feel three things.
Rejection, dread, and an aching soreness between my legs.
I throw on one of Smoke’s t-shirts and my Converse, and when I’m sure Smoke isn’t in the house, I go search outside.
I’m worried about him. The thought is laughable, but it’s true nonetheless.
At first, I don’t see anything until I spot a light in the far end of the yard up by the main prison. I walk toward it, and I find Smoke, staring down at the ground. He doesn’t look up as I approach.
My eyes follow to where Smoke’s staring blankly down at two large stones atop an overgrown mound of dirt on the otherwise flat land.
Those aren’t rocks.
They’re headstones.
“You can ask,” Smoke says, reading my mind.
I think for a second it could be a trap of some sort, but I ask anyway. My curiosity getting the better of me. “Who is buried here?”
“My parents.”
“Who…who buried them here?” I ask, dreading the answer.
He looks up slowly. Our eyes meet.
“I did.”
“My parents were really young. Too fucking young. Teenagers. Runaways. They were both stuck in the cycle of partying and drugs when I came along. We’d move around from couch to garage to abandoned building. We were homeless, for the most part. They were good parents when they weren’t fucked up. From what I can remember, anyway.”
“What happened to them?” I ask. I can’t help myself. I feel for him. I reach out and place my hand on his arm.
He looks at our connection then up to my face like he’s deciding if he’ll approve of my touch. He nods and I leave my hand where it is.
“They always went to this house. It was one of the old outbuildings around the prison. I went to there to search for them after I woke up in a prison cell all alone. They weren’t there. No one was. I hated that house. Hated what the things in there were doing to them. So I crawled on my hands and knees under the crawlspace. I cut the gas line and pushed it up into the main water pipe and lit a match. I almost didn't make it back out, my pants snagged on a nail and I had to tear away the fabric to get free. The force from the blast sent me sailing into a tree. I dislocated my shoulder. Broke my arm. But I barely felt the pain. All I felt walking back to the prison cell was happiness. But then they never came back.”
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