Never Be Tamed

by Clare James

  And the slow and controlled portion of tonight's festivities were coming to a close. Yes, things were moving toward fast and rough. And the next moment he plunged inside with so much force, I cried out his name.

  Then he pulled out slowly and did it again. Damn, Michael knew what he was doing. He rolled his hips and found his rhythm. I gasped for breath as my race to the finish began. It was the perfect pace, the endorphins were flowing, and I could see the finish line. I planned to just coast my way in.

  But then his hands untangled from mine and slid down the side of my body, tweaking my nipples as he descended, moving back underneath me and latching onto the back of my thighs. Michael lifted me and changed the angle just slightly, bringing us closer together, and when he thrust again it almost knocked the wind out of me.

  I wasn’t going to be coasting to the finish line after all. Instead, I’d be coming in top speed.

  Michael

  I captured every sigh, every groan, and every sound of pleasure that came from her mouth. Damn, she was so beautiful. I knew one time wouldn't be enough, I knew that before we started. Who was I kidding?

  I teetered on the edge of bliss, with such little control, I was at risk of shattering any second. Pressure coiled inside, but I needed to take care of Jenna first.

  I didn’t want to lose the angle so I used one arm to wrap around the back of her thighs, the other hand skated up between us so I could apply pressure where she needed it the most. In the next second, I found her clit and pushed. Jenna practically bucked us off the mat.

  “You can let go, Jenna. I've got you.” My words pushed her over the edge and her muscles contracted all around my cock.

  I fought for control, waiting for her to ride out her release. And once she began to fall, I pumped into her more forcefully until my own rush of pleasure pulled me under.

  And once we recovered from the first wave, we did it all over again.

  After a minute or an hour or year, I rolled onto my back, taking her with me and tucking her into the crack under my arm. Yup, I was fucked. This girl had completely wrecked me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jenna

  I was completely and utterly wrecked—from the inside out. Michael wrapped me up in his arms, and I settled into a big, strong, man cradle. I really wanted him to sing to me, but I couldn’t ask. That would be weird.

  His lips pressed right to my forehead, his hand interlinked with mine. The word surreal came to mind. We stayed there like that, in a puddle of exhaustion, for a long time. Probably too long. I don’t think either of us could believe what happened, despite all the moments that led us here, and I think we worried about what would happen next now that we were really in this precarious position.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, not moving his lips from my skin, and I felt the words as much as I heard him. I brought our linked hands to my mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers.

  I know I should’ve been concerned about all the problems waiting for us, like his sister, my messed up past, our living situation, graduation, and the fact that I was absolutely convinced I would not survive this relationship—but I just couldn’t bring myself to think about anything negative.

  Being with Michael was just too good. Strange, because sex with someone new was supposed to be awkward and clumsy. It was supposed to be about finding what each other liked, and didn’t. Not so with us. It wasn’t awkward, and we did seem to discover what the other liked without even asking. A few times, thanks to the man’s stamina—bless you, police academy.

  I felt reborn, all traces of the old Jenna—that insecure girl with a hole in her heart—had turned to ash. The double orgasm killed her.

  “Do you want to see where I work?” he asked, suddenly.

  I tipped my face up to his and watched as his expression turn a little shy. I sensed instantly that this was a big deal. He was inviting me into his life, and that right there, was even more intimate than what just happened in an old basement gym.

  “I’d love to,” I told him. But as we put ourselves back together, he seemed to see the old basement gym in a different light.

  “I’m sorry, it was here, Jen.” There was a trace of regret in his eyes, but I wasn’t having it. “I wanted more for our first time—”

  “And second,” I chimed in.

  “I’m serious,” he said.

  “So am I.” I replayed the way he just called me Jen. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

  We went across the street to the police station and Michael showed me around. He looked completely in his element, and I could see him there. And the uniform, my God.

  Dirty images of handcuffs and submission holds floated through my mind. Thankfully, Michael didn’t catch on.

  “Where do you sit,” I asked him when we moved into the office area.

  “Right this way.”

  I followed him to the work area in the corner. He sat in one of those wheely chairs and I leaned up against the desk, taking it all in.

  Then something caught my eye. I apparently caught Michael’s at the same time—a file with the words Top Dog on the tab. We both reached for it together. I got to it first.

  “You can’t do that, Jen.”

  I turned away from him with the folder, and flipped through the pages of information as fast as I could. There were notes and filings and paperwork with words like: not in compliance, high-risk animals, abuse, eyesore, dump. Page after page of insults to a place I thought was the greatest in the city. I even read a document that said the shelter’s building may have asbestos. That Sullivan was diabolical.

  Michael didn’t say a word as I examined the folder. I’m sure he didn’t want to bring attention to his—what was I, a hook-up?—riffling through police documents.

  But the way he was looking down, brought an image to mind.

  “Was that you in the squad car the other day?” I asked him point blank.

  “Hey, let’s not do this here.” He used a soothing voice, one that seemed rehearsed. It was a tone he probably perfected in his criminal justice training. Yep, I was the crackwhore he was trying to talk down.

  But the more I read, the more distraught I became. The bottom dropped out from under me, and I couldn’t move.

  In marathon running, we call this a power outage. It’s the road block that takes the life out of you, completely depleting you of all energy. The main cause: going too fast, too soon.

  Sounded familiar.

  More than that, my pride was hurt looking at that folder. Top Dog was where I worked, where I spent all my time. It was a good place, a flipping great shelter. Our animals were happy and we were doing honorable work. Sullivan could go fuck right off, and shoot, I caught a sob in my throat, so could Michael.

  How could he do this to me?

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I have to get back to the dogs,” I told him, not daring to look at him head on. “I take it you can get yourself home.”

  He nodded, and I didn’t look back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael

  Determined more than ever to get the dirt on Sullivan, I worked at the station until the early morning hours. Just as I expected, I found plenty of ammunition once I started digging.

  I talked to Jones about it when he arrived in the morning, and he agreed that I could present my findings to the captain. I wasn’t about to let anyone hurt my girl.

  Yeah, it was presumptuous to think that way, but that’s how I felt. I knew what it was like to be guarded, not to want to let anyone close. But hell, couldn’t I be done with that for now? Maybe try another way?

  For me, letting someone in meant the risk of letting someone down—especially someone I cared about. But it was more than that. It was about my need to protect anything that was valuable to me. I’d come to realize that maybe I was taking on too much. And with my family, my job, my new career, did I really have room for something, or someone, else?

  I guess I was will
ing to find out. Jenna might be used to people walking away or leaving, but I planned to stay. I owed it to myself to see where it was going to go. And if I was truly going to help people with my self-defense courses, I needed to come to terms with what happened to Tabby…and my role in it all. If I wasn’t in a healthy place to understand it, there was no way I could be in a place to help everyone else.

  So once I went back in the gym to work on my demos, I let my mind drift back to that time that I never wanted to think about.

  Tabby didn’t have to tell me what happened that day, everyone on campus knew. And because of who Thomas Richardson was, he got away with drugging my sister, and taking photos of her in all kinds of compromising positions. And when she reported him, her payback was so much worse.

  I’d hung out with that crowd and heard stories, but never in a million years did I ever witness anything like what Thomas and his crew did to Tab. And for that reason, I didn’t really pay attention to the previous accusations.

  Tabby wouldn’t talk to me about it, not that I tried very hard. It was easier to ignore. Until I watched how it was tearing her up inside. The weight-loss, the isolation, the depression. I’d never seen someone so broken, and still she battled on. She fucking fought, until she broke.

  It was a memory that no matter how many times I tried, I could never forget:

  When I was on campus that day, I went to check in on Tabby. I’d decided it was time that she open up and talk to me. I had to do something. I was approaching her dorm, when I saw the commotion. Thomas’ group of idiots had been following Tab, trying to get retribution for their friend.

  I was closing in on them and could hear the exchange.

  “Slut,” Johnny Milton coughed out.

  “Trash,” another joined in.

  I moved faster to try to get to her, planning my next move as I did.

  “Whore.”

  Then Johnny yelled, “There she is guys, the poster child for STDs.”

  Tabby didn’t respond.

  People were beginning to peek out of their dorm rooms and gather by her door. I was close, I was watching.

  Then Johnny threw a condom at her and said, “Tabby, maybe next time you decide to put on a little show and make your way around the hockey team, you should use protection.”

  The door to her dorm room was papered with photos of her at the party posing with various guys. Their faces were blacked out.

  Nobody was doing anything to stop them, and then Johnny moved closer, catching her shoulder. God no, if anything happened to her I’d never forgive myself. I picked up speed.

  Almost there.

  I grabbed the asshole by the shoulder, and spun him around. Of course the other chickenshits scattered. I didn’t waste a moment before I nailed Johnny in the face with a right hook. And then I freaking went to town.

  I vowed never to be silent again.

  Johnny curled up on the floor.

  “You got off easy this time, you dumb fuck,” I said. “The next time you bother my sister, you won’t get up. You get me?”

  Johnny moaned.

  “I said, do you get me?” I asked again after I dropped another kick to Johnny’s ribs

  “Yeah,” cough, cough (real ones this time). “I get you, I get you,” he said.

  And Johnny Milton never bothered Tabby again.

  Tabby never blamed me for that day, or any other. Christ, she even thought I was a hero for showing up at all.

  I was no hero, but I also wasn’t to blame. No more than Tabby was. I was finally beginning to believe that now

  But I also knew would never sit out or back down again. And that went for Jenna too. I wouldn’t stop helping her. I couldn’t.

  Yet maybe it was best if I stopped helping myself to someone who wasn’t meant for me. I could help her, without being with her. As much as it killed me to think I’d never touch her again, maybe it was the best thing for her.

  I didn’t have the answers, but when I got home and found the Buddy Walker that I’d given Jenna hanging over my door knob, I considered it to be a sign.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jenna

  As if finding out the guy you’re sleeping with (or slept with once) was trying to shut down your place of business wasn’t bad enough, I forgot all about Christian, and our date.

  It was so lame, and really sucky of me, but I played sick. I just couldn’t deal with one other guy…except for Oscar.

  But for the next several days, I tried to focus on the positive—particularly for the shelter. I had an idea to get some good publicity to get the cops off our backs and Tris’ foundation on our side. In just a few days, I was able to pull the entire event together.

  We’d hold a Spring Cleaning Spruce Up neighborhood event to help get the shelter looking its best. Nobody was going to call our perfect pet oasis a dump! Plus, people in Minneapolis loved this kind of neighborhood feel-good event. I wasn’t ashamed to say I was taking full advantage.

  We’d have a group on yardwork, painting, fence repair, and then offer special dog training courses and playtime with our adoptees. I found several local sponsors to help with supply costs and offered to assist other businesses in the area with their own events.

  Gloria was ecstatic, and Tris agreed that the timing was perfect.

  Though when Tristan called on the big day, I was exhausted and the last of my resolve had completely deteriorated.

  “I’m hearing something in your voice, darling,” Tris said on the phone. “What’s going on up there?”

  “It’s just that fucking Sullivan,” I told him. He’d heard those exact words fly from my lips several times in the past few weeks.

  Of course, that wasn’t the extent of my problems. I also missed Michael desperately.

  Man, he’d really done a number on me, reminding me how good things could be with someone you cared about, and how it made every single thing in your life better. Even the dogs were sad without him.

  “Honey,” Tris pulled me out of my daydream. “I haven’t heard you this wound up since you got into that tiff with Foster last year, are you okay?”

  “I will be okay,” I assured him. I had no idea why I was picking now to break down, but I had to get over it. There was too much work to do. “Things are just a little stressful with the event and all.”

  “Well, things are looking great from this end. We only have a few more steps to get the approval from the foundation. I’m sorry for the call, but I just wanted cheer you up, not freak you out. But since I’ve got you, why don’t you tell me what really has your undies in such a bunch.”

  At this point, I had nothing left to lose so Tris got his wife, Aria, on the phone with us. Then, I proceeded to tell them both the long, sad story. Yeah, I told them the whole dang thing.

  “What a prick,” Aria said. She always took my side. She was a girl’s girl, but Tris liked to play devil’s advocate.

  “Babe.” He chided his wife. “We don’t know Michael’s reasoning for what he did. Maybe, he didn’t have a choice. This is his career we’re talking about.”

  “What about honesty?” Aria snapped.

  “What about being scared shitless by you women?” Tris countered.

  We all laughed, which, let me tell you, felt a heck of a lot better than what I really wanted to do—which was cry.

  “Okay, enough of us bickering,” Aria tried to soothe me, it was the mom in her. “What do you think, honey? How did Michael treat you?”

  “Like a princess,” I admitted. “Well, except when his sister was around. But we were working through that part. He didn’t want to put her through the wringer unless we both were sure about where our relationship was going.”

  “And then he said, he’d come clean?” she pushed.

  “He did,” I said.

  “Jesus, Jenna,” Tris said. “What the heck did you do to the guy’s sister?”

  “I gave her the mean girl treatment.” I cringed. “You remember what I was like.”

 
“Did she deserve it?” he asked, hopeful.

  “Nope,” I spoke the truth. “And that’s the problem. She didn’t deserve it at all.”

  “Well, honey,” Aria said. “Before you can work through any of this, you need to talk to the man.”

  Little did I know, I was about to get my chance sooner than I expected.

  Our Spring Cleaning Spruce Up went off without a hitch. It was pretty awesome, actually. We had kids, and pets, and goodie bags for attendees, and the demonstrations on dog training were impressive. A local TV crew even came by to film a happy, fluffy piece.

  It was more than I could’ve hoped for.

  But what I didn’t expect was to see Michael—wearing his speckled painting pants—at my event. Side note: he looked flipping incredible in his speckled painting pants.

  “Where do you want me, boss?” he asked, proceeding gingerly.

  I raised a brow in question.

  “I’m actually pretty good,” he said. “Painting was my summer job during high school and the first two years of college.”

  What could I say to that?

  I got him set up with his gear and tried to dismiss the zing that traveled up my arm when our fingers brushed together as I handed him a paint brush.

  I felt his eyes on me all day, and by the time the event was over, my body was so incredibly sensitive, I practically jumped him on our walk home.

  “The case is over,” Michael said, sobering me up from my drunken, lust-filled state.

  “Case?” It took me a moment to understand what he was talking about. His body turned me into a moron.

  “Sullivan,” he reminded me. “I found out that guy has a list of broken city ordinances about a mile long. I took the info to the captain, and let’s just say that nobody will be spinning their wheels on anymore of his complaints.”