by Debra Webb
She clasped his shoulders more tightly, with both hands now, tried to lift her hips higher, but he shifted his own, keeping her from achieving her goal. “Just do it,” she urged. “I know you want to.” The charge of sensations rushing through her was too much. She needed to hurry.
He stared into her eyes, his cold as ice. “I told you I stopped feeling anything a long time ago.”
“Liar.” The truth was written in the harsh lines of his face, in the tension vibrating in his hard body. She squeezed that inch nestled snugly inside her.
A guttural sound ripped past his lips.
“You feel that,” she challenged. His nostrils flared and something besides the fury burned in his eyes. And in that moment of distraction, she surged upward, going high on her tiptoes. She cried out at the sweet-stinging pleasure.
He caught his breath.
“I know you felt that.” She tried to sound smug, but her voice quivered. Her body shuddered with the need to move … to feel the friction of him sliding in and out of her in that ancient rhythm that was printed on their very DNA.
He remained perfectly still. She gritted her teeth to hold steady. The muscles of her legs screamed in protest of the awkward position. But she didn’t know any other way to do this, and dammit, she was winning … his entire body trembled violently with his efforts to hold back. That he resisted only made her more determined. God, she needed desperately to move.
“Why?” he demanded.
That single, guttural word made her heart pound harder.
She wet her lips, searched those gray eyes so cluttered with confusion and need … a need he wanted to deny. “Because I want you.” Her body hummed with that truth. She needed him … needed to feel this.
His face lined with renewed determination. “I won’t do it. Not like this.”
He tried to move away, but she stopped him. “This is what I want,” she challenged. “If you won’t do it, I will.”
Then she moved. Up and down, just an inch, then two. Even that little bit felt amazing, made her muscles clench hungrily. She held on to his shoulders … let her body guide her. When she could bear it, she took more of him, each time losing her breath all over again. Biting her lip against the unbearable pleasure, she lowered her hips until nothing but the very tip remained inside those tight, pulsing muscles on fire for more of him. Then she surged upward again, taking as much of him as he would allow. Again. And again. Until the movements were no longer conscious … just instinct … the momentum increasing as her body rushed toward climax. Her first. She hadn’t known it could be like this. She was remotely aware of his rigid hold starting to crumble. Felt his resistance faltering. But his denial no longer mattered. Her fingers dug into his shoulders … her body arched higher, took in more of him, when she’d thought for sure she’d reached her limit. And then she couldn’t think anymore. She could only feel herself flying apart with the brilliant sensations of sheer rapture.
She collapsed on the cool dirt, breaking the contact of their bodies. For long seconds she couldn’t open her eyes. When she did, the first thing she saw was him watching her melt after having come undone … the cost of restraint devastating his face, thawing the ice in his eyes, and revealing the uncertainty. His damp, rock-hard penis still pulsed with need against her thigh.
“You coward,” she choked out between gasps for air.
The uncertainty vanished … replaced by a savage ferocity that stole what little oxygen she’d managed to drag into her lungs. His mouth closed over hers with punishing force. She shoved against his chest as fury exploded inside her. How dare he make her beg … make her practically masturbate using him and then have the nerve to kiss her so greedily like this. She shoved harder at him, used her knees to block his big body from coming down on her. But she wasn’t nearly strong enough; he forced his way between her thighs.
“What’s wrong?” he growled. “You waited all this time for me to pop your cherry, don’t you want me to do the job right?”
Fear and hesitation nudged back into her senses. Screamed at her to get away … that he wanted to hurt her … to make her pay. She told herself she didn’t care, but survival instinct kicked in and she sank her teeth into his lip.
He made a ferocious sound, jerked his mouth away from hers. He licked a trickle of blood from his bottom lip. “Afraid you’ll get more than you bargained for?”
“Bastard.” She tried to slap him, but he was too fast. He caught her arm, rolled her over in one fluid motion, forcing her onto her stomach before he came down on her.
“Scared yet?” he murmured against her ear. “Don’t you want it this way? Don’t you want to know how it felt for me?” He ground his erection against her buttocks; her body shuddered in anticipation. “You thought I was such a tough guy, but I was just a scared little girl in that fucking prison.”
Emotions twisted like a hurricane inside her. He wanted to scare her; that was the point. Wasn’t working. Her need and the very desire he wanted to extinguish began to build all over again. She closed her eyes … tried to think of the right thing to say that would somehow make up for what he’d lost … that would soothe that tortured part of him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her breath caught as much on the words as at the feel of him rubbing … stroking that sensitive flesh. Her body was frantic for more of him. Something electric flowed over her skin … vibrated through her muscles.
“Sorry isn’t enough,” he snapped viciously as the head of his penis grazed the seam of her bottom more intimately, threateningly. Her body convulsed with forbidden pleasure, which he evidently took as fear, since he challenged, his voice cruel, “Say you don’t want me and I’ll stop right now.”
He waited, held utterly still.
The feel of his weight … of his skin against hers made it impossible to think clearly. But there was one thing she knew with complete certainty. “I want you. All of you.”
He thrust hard, fully inside her … not the way he’d threatened. She cried out his name as her vaginal muscles clamped around his thick girth, increasing the already unbearable friction. Yes, she wanted him. Dammit. She wanted the contrasting texture of his powerful thighs rasping against her skin … the deep, stretching penetration of him filling her so completely. She didn’t want it to stop … she needed it … felt consumed by his strength and power.
His hand pushed between her and the dirt, fingers splayed against her belly, pulled her more tightly to him, sending an arc of sheer pleasure-pain coursing through her as he went deeper still. His lips brushed her cheek as he ground his hips into her bottom. “Had enough?”
She shook her head, tried to open wider for him. He trembled, swore at his own weakness. He straightened, settled fully on to his knees, with her bent forward in front of him. He started to move. The incredible sensation was very nearly unbearable. She urged him on with frantic, whispered pleas until he lost control. The sounds of his desperation made her want to see … to watch him taking her this way and losing total control. His body flexed and contracted with each withdrawal and thrust. The muscles of his abdomen gleamed with sweat … his powerful hands held her hips firmly … his eyes were closed, leaving the whisper of dark lashes against his cheeks.
The desperation fueling each move played out on his face, made her yearn to touch him there even as his movements became more urgent, almost violent … and then she started to come again. The climax tightening her muscles encouraged him. He roared like a beast … rammed harder … until he couldn’t hold out any longer. The ferocity of their synchronized release rendered her helpless and left her shivering with the intensity of the receding sensations.
One strong arm swept around her waist and pulled her up against his chest, sending his still-throbbing erection deeper inside her and stealing her ragged breath. Sitting back on his heels with her nestled in his lap, their bodies still intimately connected … he pressed his face into her hair and fought to catch his breath.
“I wanted to hurt you …
and then I just wanted you.”
The regret in those softly uttered words was a stark contrast to the way he’d spoken and acted moments ago. But there was nothing to regret. He hadn’t given her anything she hadn’t wanted … hadn’t asked for. The feel of his powerful muscles supporting his weight as well as her own after such extensive physical exertion made her giddy.
She’d come here to tell him that she knew the truth … she hadn’t meant for this to happen. Or maybe she had. Maybe she’d needed it … needed to give herself to him this way for reasons she would still be sorting years from now.
She’d made so many mistakes already … what if this was just another? The warm feelings that bonded her to him so fully started to fade. She hadn’t considered any consequences for her … or for him. Hadn’t thought her intentions through. She’d put him in prison and now she did this? Her parents were right; she did need help.
“I should go.” She pushed his arm away and got up. The loss of contact, the feel of him sliding out of her body, was like losing a part of herself.
She grabbed her clothes, haphazardly jerked them on. When she finally looked up again, he’d tugged on his jeans without fastening the fly, leaving that heart-stopping vee that made her foolishly want him again.
“Emily.” He reached out to her, his voice low, soft.
Allowing him to touch her right now with any sort of tenderness would be her second mistake of the day.
“I … have to go.”
She’d been wrong. He wasn’t a coward. She was.
She’d wanted him to take her that way … brutally, almost violently, to punish her. If he’d done the worst possible to her she wouldn’t have cared. She’d goaded him into being cruel.
Maybe, just maybe, if he’d really hurt her, she could have lived with what she’d done to him. Instead, he’d made her love him, and that was the most unbearable pain of all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
125 Carriage Avenue 10:00 A.M.
He was cheating on her again.
Misty Briggs was certain of it. She couldn’t prove it yet, but she sensed it. She’d watched him. His wife had rushed off to church this morning with their two sons, but he was still home. She knew he wasn’t sick, not physically anyway. He was up to something.
And she intended to find out what.
Misty had tried to stop the momentum this time. She’d given plenty of warnings. But no one would listen to her. People were going to be hurt again … just like before. It had to stop.
His fancy car rolled out of the garage. A Jaguar. Silver. Leather interior. Cost nearly a hundred grand. Several times over what her efficient little Maxima had cost. But all that money wouldn’t buy his way into heaven.
Men like Keith Turner went to hell.
She knew for sure because that was where her daddy had gone. Her mother had told her that every day of her life. Misty, she’d said, don’t ever trust a man. Especially not a handsome one.
So she never had.
She tried to protect the people she cared about, but sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t do enough.
After sliding the gearshift into Drive, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and followed the fancy Jaguar. Maybe if she could learn who he was screwing around with on the side, she would finally understand that he was bad for her. Bad. Bad. Bad.
He’d sure been bad for Heather Baker.
Misty slowed as she passed the turn he’d taken in the quarry. Why would he go there? Didn’t seem like the kind of place for a secret romantic rendezvous. But then, they could do it in that swanky car of his. She turned her car around the first chance she got and drove back to the gravel road that led deep into the limestone quarry. It was Sunday; the place was closed. But that would be all the better. No one to disturb them.
She made the turn, took her time. She didn’t want to run into him or whoever he’d come there to meet. Creeping along, she decided to take the fork in the road that would lead her around to the back side of the site, the delivery entrance. The road the dump trucks used. She hoped he hadn’t made that same decision. Oh well, she’d take her chances. No one really ever thought anything about her skulking around. She was plain old Batty Briggs.
They just didn’t know.
She was far brighter than even her principal suspected.
She knew how to get things done when no one else could.
A large metal garage flanked this side of the excavation site. Dump trucks, backhoes, and other equipment were lined up next to the garage. The perfect place for her to hide.
She nosed up to one of the massive trucks and shut off her engine. She powered the windows down and listened. The Jag was parked next to the office, windows up and the motor still running. She could see it clearly as she peered between the front end of one truck and the bed of another, but he’d have to be looking specifically for her to see her and then it wouldn’t be easy to spot her position.
Anticipation started to hum inside her at the idea that he would get out soon. Though she didn’t trust handsome men, she liked looking at them occasionally. Liked thinking about how it was when he came during sex.
She’d watched a few times. The sound of male grunting was curiously intriguing. Made her a little tingly. Keith grunted a lot when he had sex. He liked using his tongue, too. A lot of licking went on.
Her nipples hardened as she let the images play out in her head. He would start with his lover’s toes. Licking and sucking, while his fingers did things to her calves and the backs of her knees. His lips formed nicely as he kissed.
But not as nice as Clint Austin’s.
He had the best lips of any man Misty had ever seen.
She wondered how long it had been since Clint had had sex with a woman. She was sure he’d had plenty in prison, but none of it would have included a female, just lots of grunting and poking.
Clint Austin was strong. She’d wager it had taken at least four to hold him down.
She banished the image. She liked the kissing and licking much better. Hot, thick tongues and soft, full lips. Much, much better than the other.
Her thighs pressed together. Just thinking about it excited her. She placed a hand on her breast and squeezed. She had very nice breasts. She’d been told so many times. Justine had told her so. She would never lie to her. Misty wore her clothes loose to prevent men from staring at her breasts. They always stared if she wore form-fitting clothes.
She squeezed her breasts, felt a jolt deep inside her. Using both hands, she massaged, kneaded, enjoyed the feel of what she’d been blessed with. And why not? Better for her to enjoy them than some man.
Tighter, she squeezed, until her breath caught. Her bottom came up off the seat. She was really hot now.
The Jag hadn’t moved. The motor still running.
She pushed one hand inside her shorts and touched her clitoris. “Mmmm.” That felt nice. She knew how to touch a clitoris properly. With whisper-soft, feathery touches. Men were too stupid to know that. They jabbed it and pressed too hard. This, she made slow, gentle circles, was the right way.
Her legs stiffened … her hips started to rock ever so slightly in the seat. The need to close her eyes was almost overpowering. Couldn’t do it. Had to watch him, make sure he didn’t go anywhere. She came. Wave after wave of sweetness. She relaxed into the seat, licked her fingers, and sighed blissfully. Wonderful. And she hadn’t needed a man at all.
The sound of wheels crushing gravel had her sitting up straighter. She frowned when Troy Baker’s truck pulled up alongside the Jag. What was this? She didn’t want to see Troy Baker. He was an idiot. She’d found the childish mess he’d made at Clint Austin’s.
Anger blazed through her. Keith was supposed to be meeting a woman. Misty knew he was cheating. She needed to see it with her own eyes.
It was the only way to prove she was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
10:20 A.M.
Troy was already shit-kicking mad when he finally got to th
e meeting place. He was pretty damned drunk, too. But not so much so that he didn’t have sense enough to make sure they didn’t meet out in the open in broad daylight.
Clint Austin had gone too far.
And Emily Wallace was right on his fucking heels.
What the hell was she thinking, taking up for the sonofabitch? Insinuating that he was innocent? She should’ve let him burn up in that damn house! Just showed how much she really cared about Heather’s memory.
The bitch. Troy had no use for her anymore. None.
Keith climbed out of his Jag and glanced around. “What couldn’t keep until after church?” He slammed the door and walked toward Troy. “This is the first time I’ve ever missed church with my boys. All I can say is, it better be good. I’m in enough trouble with Violet now.”
Troy resisted the impulse to say, Fuck Violet. He had and Keith got the short end of the damned stick. Course that was before she got her wish and married Keith. And, hell, Troy’d been drunk anyway. He’d gone pretty crazy after Heather’s murder. It had taken him years to get his shit back together. He’d been all right until that low-down parole board had gone and let that bastard Austin go free.
“What’d you tell her?” Troy knew for a fact Keith’d had to make up one humdinger of an excuse to get out of going to church with Violet. She had an obsession about appearances.
Keith leaned against Troy’s truck. “That I puked half the night and was hungover.”
Troy kicked a good-sized piece of gravel across the layer of smaller pieces that lined the ground everywhere you looked. The gravel skidded a couple of times before going over the edge into the excavation site. “You do pretty much look like shit,” he said with a laugh. Violet would have a hissy if she knew Keith had left the house without shaving.
“Feel like it, too.”
Keith pushed away from the truck and wandered toward the big-ass hole in the ground that provided limestone gravel for a tricounty area.
