He wasn't blameless. He'd been a dick. He'd been bullheaded and uncompromising. But he'd been that way in the name of wanting to protect her. That had to count for something. Maybe not much, but something. He'd been scared of losing her and that's exactly what happened. He'd been jealous and selfish and wanted her to love him. But now that Sam was dead, he only wanted to protect her more. He drove the winding, hilly road past Morningside park. He glanced past Shay and out the passenger window. The sky was still dark but the edge of the horizon were turning a light blue. The worst night of Shay's life was almost over. A light fog hovered over the city below, and he knew it meant that spring was coming, finally. Soon the shitty winter would be over and things would be looking up. Tree branches would grow leaves and flowers would bloom. Birds would chirp and dogs would bark. Kids would run around and scream and play in the park. Old folks would sit outside in their folding chairs. Music would blast at night on the street corners and the city would be alive again. Soon enough. Life would go on.
He couldn't fucking wait.
When he was close to his apartment, he circled around for a few blocks, looking for a parking spot. He lucked out, finding a spot a block away from his building. He pulled in and shut off the car, turning in his seat to look at Shay. She had her head propped against the window and she didn't stir. He brought her hand to his mouth, running her knuckles over his lips. Her skin was cold. Her eyes fluttered at his touch, but she didn't open them. He set her hand softly back on the console and yanked the keys out of the ignition. He got out of the car and jogged around to her side. When he opened her door and unlatched her seatbelt, she finally woke up. When he glanced up, she was looking at him, her dark eyes shiny.
“We're here,” he said. She nodded and when he held out his hand, she took it. She followed him out of the car, moving slowly, like she was still in a dream.
“This is your neighborhood,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Yeah it is,” he said. He tugged on her hand lightly, leading her toward his building. She followed without a sound. The traffic on the George Washington Bridge rumbled in the distance as the glowing bridge came into view. He turned down his street, glancing back at Shay. Her eyes were on the bridge, like she didn't want to look away. He wondered what was going through her mind. It was probably better that he didn't know for sure.
When they stepped into the marble foyer of his building, he saw how worn out she looked. He had a thought and turned his back to her. “Get on. I'll carry you.”
“My legs work,” she mumbled, but when he bent his knees to accommodate her, she hopped onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck without any more protests. He stood, hooking his arms under her knees. Then he carried her, piggyback, up the stairs. She rested her head on his shoulder as he took flight after flight. He could feel her heart beating against his back and hear her breathing, close to his ear. It was almost too much. The events of that night had been terrible, and he had no intent on taking advantage of her. But being so close to her was doing things to him. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her and soothe her until the worst of it passed. He wanted to be the one that loved her.
He set her down at the top of the fourth floor landing and unlocked the door to his apartment. He turned on the light in the entryway and stepped aside, letting her past. She entered the apartment like a sleepwalker, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it and her bags on the couch. Then she headed straight for his bedroom and he didn't follow her at first, wanting to give her space. He hung up his jacket in the hall closet and went into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water and drank it, slowly. Then he poured another glass and followed her into the bedroom.
She was curled up on her side of the bed, still in her dress and heels. She wrapped her arms around her knees, shrinking into a small ball of herself. A pain shot through his chest and he bit down hard on his bottom lip. Her eyes were closed and she didn't look up at him when he put the glass on her bedside table. “You need anything?” he asked. She shook her head, eyes still closed.
“I missed this,” she murmured. “I missed you.”
“Rest,” he said, sliding off her shoes and placing them on the rug beside the bedside table. “Just rest.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay,” he repeated, not able to resist leaning over her. He ran his fingers through her hair before he could stop himself. She sighed softly, raggedly, like it hurt when he touched her. He took a step back, only wanting what was best for her. She needed time and he wasn't an asshole. He could give her space. He left the room, heading back to the living room. He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do. The cat looked up from the couch, her wide eyes apathetic. She didn't give a fuck about human problems. He could understand why. Humans had a habit of making shit more complicated than it had to be. For a cat, life wasn't complicated at all. Sleep, eat, bat a ball around. No doubts. No unimportant clutter. All his life consisted of lately was clutter and static. Useless words and fears filling the void. He wanted clarity again, the clarity of knowing exactly what he wanted and how to get it. The only clarity he'd ever felt were the few weeks that Shay had been his and he wanted it back.
He went to the window and stared out at the bridge. He had spent many a night doing the exact same thing, but it had never felt as lonely as that moment. Even though Shay was finally back, it still felt like there was a wall between them that he couldn't cross. Maybe it was her grief and anger, maybe it was his guilt and longing, maybe it was a mixture of all of the above, he didn't know. Then he heard her crying. Loud, jagged sobs that cut through him like a knife. The sounds of her pain echoed through the big apartment and it was torture, for both of them.
“Fuck it,” he said aloud. He wasn't going to let any invisible wall separate them. She needed him, plain and simple. He was by her side in half a second. He climbed on the bed next to her without another thought and scooped her up. She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, muffling her cries against him. “I'm here, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “Cry all you fucking want.” He stroked her hair as she screamed into him, all of the anger he knew she had inside coming out.
“I didn't give him the money,” she said, pulling away from him to catch her breath. Her face was tearstained, the pain etched into her features. “He came for it and I didn't give it to him. I yelled at him and told him I never wanted to see him again. And now he's dead.”
“Don't do that,” he said, swiping at her tears with the back of his hand.
“Don't do what? Blame myself?” she closed her eyes, fresh tears making tracks down her cheeks. “What am I going to do know?” she asked, her face crumbling. “He left me all alone.”
“You're not alone,” he said, tightening his arms around her. She pressed her body to his, hugging him closer.
“Don't leave me,” she said, her voice thick with pain. “Don't let me go.” He nodded, fully intent on keeping that promise. He had no intentions of ever letting her go again. But it wouldn't be up to him, he supposed. In the morning, he had no control over what happened. She would leave or she would stay and he would have to live with it. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he kissed her and held her through the worst of it. She shuddered against him as sobs wracked her body and all he could do was hold her and whisper in her ear that everything would be alright.
Maybe, someday, it would be true.
***
Shay squinted her eyes as the light streamed through the window and directly into her face. Tate still hadn't gotten any damn curtains apparently, she thought sleepily. She blinked, her eyelids feeling thick and swollen. The events of the previous night washed over her and she realized it all wasn't a dream. This was her new reality. Her father was dead, that was that. He wasn't coming back and there was nothing she could do about it.
She couldn't even cry about it any more. She was all out of tears.
She had no idea how long she'd been asleep. She only knew that she'd cried herself
to sleep with Tate. His arms were still around her, in fact. Her head rested atop his bicep like it was a pillow and his other arm was curled around her ribs. They were both fully dressed, she realized. Her dress was tight around her legs and her strapless bra was twisted uncomfortably. His worn thermal shirt was soft against her cheek, though. Everything about him was comfortable. He was warm behind her and she relaxed into him, liking the way his body felt against hers. He was so much bigger than her, yet they always seemed to fit together. He made her feel safe, like nothing bad could happen if he was near. She knew it wasn't true, but it was a comforting thought nonetheless. More than comforting, really. If she was honest, Tate's presence was the only thing keeping her sane.
Softly, she lifted his heavy arm off of her and set it against his hip. She pushed up onto her elbow and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. She tipped the glass to her lips and moaned lightly as she drank. The water was warm, but it still felt like heaven against her parched throat. She swallowed and glanced down at the glass, a thought coming over her. Every morning, when she woke up, she was thirsty and her mouth was dry. Usually, she'd have to stumble to the kitchen to get a glass of water because she forgot to put one beside the bed. Not that morning. That morning, Tate left water on the nightstand because he knew she would want it when she woke up. He knew what she would need even before she did. Even when she was a mess and he had to hold her together, he'd still gotten her the glass of water for the next morning. It was such a stupid, easy-to-overlook detail, but he hadn't overlooked it. He hadn't forgotten.
He'd remembered.
It seemed like such a small thing, but at the same time, it wasn't. As she stared down at the glass in her hand, it felt like a huge thing. Beside her, he shifted onto his back, throwing his free arm over his head. She twisted around to look at him in the sunlight. His stubble glinted gold in the light and his cheekbones seemed more pronounced, like he'd lost weight. She dragged her gaze down his chest. Under the off-white thermal, his muscles still bulged, but he looked a bit leaner, thinner. She wondered if he'd been taking care of himself. It didn't look like it, though, and her heart squeezed a bit in her chest. She didn't want anyone else cooking for him, she realized. No other woman should cook for him, except Maria. She flicked her gaze to his face again and found his eyes open and trained on her. She didn't look away. She didn't care if he caught her staring at him, studying him. She liked looking at him, she realized. She liked it a lot.
“Here,” she said, holding out the glass. He took it, his fingers brushing hers. He propped himself up and drank the rest of the water, his eyes still on her. She watched his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed and her heart sped up in her chest. It hadn't really been that long since she'd been this close to him, she realized, but it felt like forever.. In his bed, too, one of her favorite places on earth. And life was too damn short. She was still reeling from the past twenty-four hours. She knew she probably wasn't thinking clearly, but she also didn't care. She sat up and took the glass out of his hand. She set it carefully on the table, making her mind up in an instant. She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it onto the floor, her back still to him. She unhooked her bra and tossed the uncomfortable garment away. Her nipples hardened immediately in the cool air of the room.
“Shay,” he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper. He was warning her. Warning her that if she didn't want him, then she should stop. But she wasn't going to stop. She wasn't going to push him away or pretend. She wanted him fill her up until there was no room for any pain or fear or grief. She wanted him to remind her about all the ways life could be good and easy and right. He was the only one who had ever been able to make her feel like that. She hadn't known a lot of good men in her life and it was hard to recognize them. In fact, he was not only good—he was the best. And now she knew the truth.
She loved him.
She'd known that for a long time, of course. She'd tried to pretend that she didn't and push him out of her heart, but the man was hard to forget. All those years, she never had. The first time they met, they'd seen something in each other. She'd been young and dumb and had done stupid things, but there was no denying it. Something had drawn them together and they'd both let their guards down. They'd both done stupid shit, but in the end, she still needed him. She still craved his touch and his dick and his beautiful face. She craved the way he looked at her when he was on his knees, like he trusted her with his life. He'd come to her when she needed him, even after she'd told him she hated him. He'd come to make life okay again and she was going to let him.
She slid off the bed and stood, turning to face him. He was propped up on his elbows, the width of his chest straining the soft fabric of his shirt. His face was guarded and his breathing was labored, but his dick was already hard beneath his jeans. She only had her thong panties on and she hooked her fingers in the straps and pulled them down over her hips. His eyes followed the movement. He looked just as hungry as she felt.
“Take off your shirt,” she said, her tone lightly demanding. He did as she asked after a moment of hesitation, tossing his thermal into the corner. Not able to resist touching him any longer, she put one knee on the mattress. He met her halfway, sliding his arms around her waist and pressing his face to her stomach as he dragged her into the middle of the bed. She straddled him quickly and ran her fingernails up his back and into his hair, knowing it would drive him up the wall. He moaned into the soft skin of her abdomen and the unhinged sound sent a thrill up her spine. She tightened her fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. With her free hand, she ran her thumbnail over the curve of his Adam's apple.
“Shay,” he repeated, his eyes glazed with desire. He ran his tongue across his lower lip and the little movement sent a pang of lust through the center of her. “Please,” he breathed.
“Please what?” she whispered. She ran her nails down the scar on his chest and he jerked against her.
“I don't want to fuck this up,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said, without thinking. She shivered, goosebumps dotting her skin again, as his words swirled through her brain. He wanted the same thing she wanted, more than anything.
“Let me love you,” he said, his voice even more strained. It sounded so natural when he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then and only then did she nod in agreement, because she wouldn't ever turn him down when he was looking at her like that. She wouldn't turn him down for anything in the world. He flexed his fingers, digging into the flesh of her hips, and she knew then exactly what she was going to do.
She pressed her palms into his shoulders and pushed him onto his back. She crawled over him, her hair hanging down and softly tickling his chest. She pushed his arms up over his head and kissed him, a sloppy messy kiss because she couldn't control herself. He kissed her back, finally fighting her a little for control. She liked it when he fought. She only held him down harder and he growled and nipped at her bottom lip in response.
“I missed you,” he said, flexing his biceps under her touch. She tightened her thighs around him at his words. She wanted to fuck him so badly, but she was going to make it last. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his arms, pushing him down again. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath. She inhaled his scent, her pussy clenching just from the smell of him. She ran her tongue along the pulsating vein under his skin, tasting all of his flavor - a hint of spicy cologne, fresh soap, and salty sweat. It was as intoxicating as the first time they'd fucked.
He moaned and arched his back as she nipped his collarbone. She couldn't stop as she dragged her tongue down his chest and across the taut skin of his scar. She traced the sensitive spot with her mouth, closing her eyes and memorizing the feel of him. At the jagged base of his scar, she ran her teeth over the bumps of his ribs, not able to resist biting down lightly. He jerked against her, but didn't move his arms from where she'd placed them above his head as she continued her assaul
t on him.
She ran her tongue over his tight stomach, the muscles flexing as she teased him. He was still wearing his jeans she grabbed his waistband and unbuttoned them, yanking them open. She slid her hand into his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his dick. He was hot and hard and she pressed her forehead to his abs as she thought about how much she loved everything about him. She loved the way he tasted and the way he smelled. She wanted to make him feel good. Beyond good. She wanted him to know how she felt about it. She wanted it so badly.
She squeezed his cock and he bucked his hips. She knew he wanted more and so did she. She slid down his body and freed him from his boxers. For a second, she could only stare at his cock as she pumped her hand up and down. Pre-come already glistened on the tip and she ran her palm over it, making a mess. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked it off, savoring the salty taste of him on her tongue. Then she ran her tongue over the head of his dick, closing her eyes as she did. She didn't care about anything at that moment but him. He was everything.
He had been for awhile, whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not.
When she sucked him deep, he hissed in a sharp breath through his teeth and grabbed the headboard. She moaned at his reaction as she sucked him in and out. His cock was too big for her, but she took him as deep as she could, almost gagging. She focused all of her attention on him, dragging her tongue along the underside of his dick. Then she flicked her tongue out and licked the head of him, wiggling her tongue against his most sensitive spot. When she brushed her teeth against the spot, he bucked his hips and she sucked him deep again, pulling him all the way to the back of her throat. He arched his back, the muscles in his chest tight. She moaned into him as her pussy clenched at the sight.
“Shay,” he whispered. The sound of her name from his lips only turned her on more. She released him from her mouth and licked a trail down his shaft to his balls. She pumped her fist up and down his cock as she sucked and licked at his balls. When she lightly bit the fragile skin, the headboard bowed and creaked as he yanked on it. He growled and arched his back again as she licked the spot where she bit him, pumping her hand faster up and down his cock. She didn't want to make him come yet, but she could feel he was close. She ran her tongue over the head of him one more time then pulled her mouth away. He moaned and yanked on the headboard again as she sat upright, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Then she dropped her hand between her legs, feeling how wet she was. She ran the pad of her finger over her clit and gasped at the strong sensation. She was so turned on just by sucking his dick. She was so turned on just by him in general.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 35
