Monster Love

by Jeana E. Mann

  “He was one of a kind.” Although my memories were thin, a vision of his long face and kind blue eyes made me smile. “I was here—with my sister Lanie—for less than a year. When his wife died, he had to send us back.” Marianne had passed away the day of Owen’s arrest. After her death, Stan couldn’t care for us alone. Few foster families wanted to take on a pair of teenage girls with a troubled history, so we were sent to a state facility. When I turned eighteen, I took custody of Lanie. “We lost touch over the years, but this was really the only home I ever had. I guess he knew that.”

  A warm rush swept over my skin. I studied the walls and windows, the corner where I’d studied every night, the living room where we’d watched TV. Our laughter echoed in my memories. Stan and Marianne had done everything within their power to make us feel at home and loved, and I was grateful. I knew then, without a doubt, that I couldn’t give up this house. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Gosh, look at the time.” Cindy gaped at her wristwatch. “I’ve got a dentist appointment this afternoon. I better get home and change clothes. Are you going to be okay here?” Her gaze swept over my face then she waved a hand through the air. “Of course, you are. You’re a fighter.”

  We made plans to paint the kitchen the next day and said our goodbyes. I spent the rest of the afternoon warring with my feelings. What was I doing, pouring out my heart to a virtual stranger today, throwing myself on Owen last night? I needed to lock down my emotions before they got me in trouble.

  I finished with the parlor. A team of experts were scheduled to refinish the floor in this room. Next week, Dad and the boys would begin demolition on the kitchen and install the new cabinets and countertops. I didn’t have a lot of money, but the house had to be brought back into livable condition. Whether I chose to remain or to sell, the renovations had to be done.

  When Dad and the boys left that evening, I heaved a sigh of relief. Ominous clouds rolled across the horizon, accompanied by distant thunder. At nightfall, I heard the familiar sound of Owen’s truck. He was back, parked at the end of my driveway. I stared at him through my bedroom window, knowing he could see me, feeling his gaze through the glass. This time, I didn’t go outside. Instead, I took a long, cold shower. Afterward, I thrashed around the bed, unable to ignore the persistent ache between my legs or the sting of arousal in my breasts. The neighbor’s cat yowled, desperate to find a mate.

  I closed my eyes and ran my hands along the swells of my breasts. Owen’s hands had thick callouses from manual labor. How would they feel on my skin? Scratchy but tender? Demanding but gentle? Rough and punishing? I wanted all of those things—all of him. The cadence of my breathing escalated. I pictured his hard body poised between my upraised knees as my hands skimmed lower.

  The scent of rain drifted into the bedroom through the open window, lifting the curtains and bringing cooler air with it. Fat raindrops plopped on the window glass, slowly at first then quickly. I watched the moon drift between the storm clouds. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and tilted my chin to capture the breeze on my cheeks. Thunder cracked, shaking the house and rattling the window panes.

  A sudden pounding on the back door brought me to my feet. Owen’s truck was gone from the street. Adrenalin spiked my blood pressure. At the same time, the heavens opened and let loose a torrent of rain. I shoved my feet into the sandals next to the bed and went to the kitchen. On tiptoe, I crept toward the back door. Owen’s profile showed through the window, illuminated by the motion light he’d installed. I opened the door. Rain had drenched him from head to toe. The damp strands of his hair were plastered to his forehead. His white tank clung to every peak and valley of his chest and abdomen, his skin visible through the cotton.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” I said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  His hazel eyes roved over my long T-shirt and bare legs before locking with my gaze, making me uncomfortably aware of my lack of panties underneath. I tugged the hem lower. The muscles in his jaw flexed. “We’re not done talking.”

  “Not necessary. I’m over it.” Although my words rebuffed him, my body thrummed like a plucked guitar string. I turned and retreated to the kitchen, leaving the door open, knowing he’d follow.

  “You always wanted everything neat and tidy, all tied up with a pretty bow.” His footsteps followed me. “I guess some things never change.”

  “I don’t like change.” I grabbed a towel from the laundry room and tossed it to him. He dragged it over his hair and arms while I watched, stimulated by the sight of his big hands roving his body.

  “Life isn’t like that, Stella. It’s ugly and messy and fucked up.”

  “No one knows that better than me.”

  “But it never stopped you from dreaming of perfection and beating yourself up when it never happened.”

  “I’m not interested in your psychotherapy.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall.

  “I just want you to know that nothing is ever gonna be perfect. What happened between us is water under the bridge. Chris is dead. I took the rap for it, and I served my time.” He inched closer. “It’s done and over. We both need to move on.” Another stride brought the tips of his boots within an inch of my toes. “But I can’t do that with you staring at me like I’m going to ax murder you in your sleep.”

  “Can you honestly say that some small part of you doesn’t hate me?” Unable to meet his gaze, I stared to the side, at the gaping hole where the refrigerator should be, at the battered kitchen cabinets with their chipped paint, and the flashes of lightning through the window over the sink.

  “I hate that I lost my chance to play college ball. I hate that Chris died. I hate that his death ruined us.” With thumb and forefinger, he captured my chin and forced my gaze to meet his. “But I could never hate you, Stella.” I couldn’t look at him without feeling something—nostalgia, longing, regret. “Whatever you did, I know you did it to protect Lanie and yourself. Everyone you cared about hurt you.” Overwhelmed by the flood of emotion, I tried to escape his grasp. He held fast. “No. Don’t look away from me. Tell me you’re done with apologies and mean it. Then you and I can get on with our lives and be free of this hell.”

  Deep inside those mesmerizing eyes, I caught a glimpse of my boy, the one I’d loved. My knees weakened. I pressed harder into the wall. The rough plaster bit into my backside. If he could forgive me, then surely, I could forgive him back. Time and tragedy had shaped us into different people, but one glance into his penetrating stare reminded me of who we’d been. Those two teenagers deserved a chance at a happy future, free from the burden of their mistakes.

  “Okay.” I whispered the word, knowing he’d leave if I agreed, yet fearing his departure.

  “For the record—” His chest swelled with a giant exhale. “I never stopped loving you.” The second his hand fell from my chin, a wave of bereavement swept through me. I raised a shaking hand to my neck, caught off balance by the ache in my heart. He never stopped loving me. Did that mean he loved me now? After eighteen years apart…after his prison term…after? He returned to the door, preparing to leave me again.

  “Owen, please.” My words were barely a whisper, but he heard them. I swallowed and closed my eyes. “Please don’t go.”

  19

  Stella

  Present Day…

  The wind picked up, rattling the shutters and whistling through the trees. Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed in rapid succession. The kitchen light flickered once, twice, then extinguished. Rain pelted against the siding. An uneasiness prickled over my skin. Owen stopped, his hand on the door knob. More than anything, I wanted him to stay and take away the relentless ache between my legs and in my chest.

  His shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh, like he’d fought a battle and lost. “Fuck, Stella. What are you doing to me?”

  Before I drew my next breath, he cupped my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. I opened my mouth, inviting him in. The touch of his tong
ue shattered the last shreds of my self-control. Our bodies slammed together. He backed me against the wall, lifting my arms over my head and pinning my wrists together.

  “I need to be inside you,” he growled against my mouth.

  “Stop talking.” I scrabbled for the hem of his T-shirt and dragged the wet cotton over his head. The shirt landed on the floor with a sticky slap. His big, rough hands slid up and down my body, electrifying my senses. How many times had I imagined this moment? A dozen? A million? Never, in my wildest dreams, had it felt this good.

  “Ah, Stella.” His voice wounded and soothed me, like broken glass wrapped in velvet. The heat of his breath puffed against the tender flesh of my neck. I never knew a man’s touch could feel so good and so wrong at the same time.

  We blurred into a mass of clutching fingers and searching hands. I pushed his jeans down his hips. “Condom?” I asked.

  “Wallet. Back pocket,” he rasped. I dug through his wallet for the foil packet. My fingers trembled as I slid the condom over his erection.

  This was craziness, but I couldn’t stop myself. Caught under the spell of his male scent and trapped between his body and the wall, I stopped caring about right and wrong. The tragedy of our past faded away in the heat of the present. I climbed up his body, wrapping my legs around his waist. With one giant shove, he slid inside me. His grunt echoed in the silence. I hissed at the instant pleasure.

  “I used to dream about fucking you like this.” He started a bruising rhythm. My head thudded against the wall with each thrust. I clutched his back, dragging my nails across his damp flesh. “Stella. My Stella.”

  “I’m here,” I said. “Your Stella.”

  Waves of bliss rolled from my center to my toes. In the distance, I heard our moans and sighs. I opened my eyes to see our reflection in the window. Owen drove into me, buttocks flexing, his big body covering my smaller one. With his bare chest wedged against mine, I felt his heart thundering. Tears burned my eyes. Until this moment, I’d been half a person, floundering in the darkness, but here, with him, I became whole again.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Stell.” He doubled his pace. His frantic thrusts brought me to the brink of orgasm. I hovered on the edge, my body shuddering, totally lost in his lips and touch. When his fingers wrapped around my throat, the tears began for real, sliding over my cheeks and dripping off the point of my chin. “I gave up everything for you, and I’d do it again. That’s how much you mean to me.”

  “Owen.” I gasped his name as the world crashed down around me. His legs quaked, his movements becoming uncoordinated and rough. Electricity licked up my body. My sex spasmed around him, carrying him to orgasm with me. We clung together. The night air filled with the sounds of thunder, rain on the roof, and our harsh breathing. A thrill ran through me, carried on a wave of danger. I was playing with fire. At any moment, one of us might combust, and I didn’t care. I wanted him to consume me, to burn me down to ashes.

  He rested his forehead against mine and skimmed a hand along my ribcage. His hand stopped at my breast. The warm weight of his fingers caged my flesh, claiming me. My nipple hardened against his palm. We stayed like that for a few minutes, until our breathing slowed.

  “What happened that night—to Chris?” It was the first time I’d said his brother’s name aloud in eighteen years. Until we faced the truth, we’d both be slaves to our secrets. “We’ve got to talk about it, Owen. I can’t rest until I figure this out.”

  “Not now. Not tonight.” Slowly, he let me slide down his body until my feet hit the floor. We stared at each other. I couldn’t get enough of him. I drank in every detail of his face, memorizing him in case he disappeared from my life again. He brushed a tender kiss across my mouth. “Seeing you every day, it’s killing me. I can’t keep pretending like you never meant anything to me,” he said.

  “And I can’t let you walk away,” I replied.

  20

  Owen

  Present Day…

  Upstairs in her bed, I fucked her like there was no tomorrow. I took and took and took until both of us were too exhausted to move. Every whimper, every spasm of her body, restored the power she’d stolen from me. I made her come over and over again. Her fingernails tore at my back, scoring the flesh and fueling my lust. When she cried out my name, I made her come again. I wanted to use her up until there was nothing left but her smooth white bones. But the more I took, the more she seeped into my soul, and the more I wanted. She was mine. No matter how many men had had her before me, when I was done with her, she’d be ruined for anyone else.

  After the last time, she fell asleep in my arms. With her cheek cradled on my chest and her hair spilling over my stomach, she looked small and vulnerable. I watched her eyelids flutter, felt her fingers twitch, as she dreamed. The weight of her body on mine filled me with satisfaction. She belonged here, in my arms. At the same time, I knew this could never last. Our love had been doomed from the start. We could never be together, but I couldn’t stay away from her either. As long as she was in my life, I’d keep crawling back, taking whatever crumbs she wanted to throw at my feet and always keeping her safe.

  21

  Stella

  Present Day…

  The storms subsided by morning. I awoke feeling groggy, thoughts jumbled, warm and relaxed in a tumble of bedsheets. Golden sunshine beamed through the bedroom window. I stretched lazily. A pleasant aching in my joints brought the events of the previous evening rushing back. I sat up and clutched the sheet to cover my bare breasts.

  “Morning.” Owen came out of the bathroom, wearing a towel around his hips and a rare grin. “Sleep well?”

  “Yes.” Heat scalded my cheeks at the memory of all the things we’d done to each other. “Did you?”

  “Like a baby.” The mattress dipped beneath his weight when he sat on the edge of the bed. His beautiful eyes caught mine, and I read uncertainty in their depths.

  “It’s Saturday,” I said, seeking to fill the quiet between us.

  “Yeah?” A furrow formed between his brow. “I suppose you’ve got things to do. I’ll get out of here.”

  “Wait.” I put a hand over his. The warmth of his skin flowed into my arm. “I was going to hit the flea markets in Mathis County. Why don’t you come with me?”

  “I don’t know.” I could feel him pulling away from me emotionally, one inch at a time. He looked down at the floor where his bare feet rested on the hardwood.

  We’d been too busy fucking to talk, and afterward, we’d been too exhausted for words. Now, all I could think was that I couldn’t bear to see him leave. I just wanted to pretend we were normal people living normal lives for a while longer.

  “I don’t want you to go yet.” The sheets rustled beneath me. I cupped his face in my hands and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. The stubble on his jaw tickled my palms. “Let’s enjoy each other for a while longer, without worrying about murder and motives and the past.”

  He studied my face. The furrow between his brows deepened. I could feel the thoughts churning in his brain. A sliver of fear chilled my blood. What if he rejected me again? He had every right to walk away. It would probably be the best decision for both us, but I prayed that he’d give us a chance.

  “Stella?” Michael’s voice carried up the stairs. Apparently, Owen and I had left the door unlocked in the wake of our passion. So much for keeping away the burglars. Guilt followed swiftly on the heels of my panic. Michael hadn’t called since our argument, and I’d been too busy with the house, the robbery, and Owen to think about him. Even though we hadn’t defined our relationship, I didn’t want to leave things unsettled between us.

  Owen’s gaze met mine. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “No. Stay here. I’ll go.” I went to the door and opened it a crack. “I’ll be down in a second, Michael.” With shaking hands, I dragged my fingers through the rat’s nest of my hair, pulled on some clothes, and ran downstairs.

  Michael stood at the kitchen windo
w. He had his hands in the pockets of his khaki trousers and his back to me. I studied the sleek lines of his immaculate haircut and drew in a deep breath. By the tilt of his head, he knew I was behind him, but he didn’t say anything for at least four heartbeats. When he finally spoke, his words sliced into my chest. “Who is he?”

  “Who?” The question caught me off guard. I cleared my throat, stalling for time to collect my answer.

  “Come on, Stella. There’s a truck in your driveway, a pile of clothes on the floor, and a condom wrapper. The evidence is overwhelming.” The amount of pain in his voice squeezed my lungs until I couldn’t breathe.

  “Owen.” There was no point in lying to him, but my heart broke at the callous delivery.

  His shoulders tensed. “Is he the reason you moved back here?”

  “No.” I took a step toward him then stopped. “I didn’t know he was here.”

  “But you lied about knowing him, didn’t you?”

  My fingers clenched into fists until my nails cut half-moons into my palms. I drew in another deep breath, knowing how much my words were going to hurt him. “Yes. I lied. He was my boyfriend when I lived here. We never got a chance to say goodbye to each other. It was a shock to see him again. Last night—one thing led to another and—”

  “I see.” Michael held up his hand to stop me. His dark head bowed. When he turned to face me, his voice shook with anger. “I came here because I was worried about you, because I hated the way we ended our last conversation, because I care about you, Stella. And all the time you were fucking that criminal.”

  “It’s not like that.” But it was exactly like that. I bowed my head, tears of regret stinging the backs of my eyelids.