Selling Out
Page 30
I felt myself clench at his words. He said it to me every day, reminding me that he didn’t just want me for my body, for what pleasure I could bring him. I was trying, but it was hard to believe. It was hard to remember. He understood that too.
“That’s right,” he murmured as my hips began to rock into his hand. “More.”
“Ahh.” I let out a small cry as pain shot up my leg.
He stilled. “What’s wrong?”
“My leg. Sorry. It’s brushing against the sheet.”
He pulled the sheet off, then gently placed my leg over his. This way nothing could accidentally brush against the wound. The position also left me completely exposed, cool air wafting against my sensitive clit. I shuddered from the chill.
“Shh,” he soothed, his hand reaching for me, fingers pushing inside. I shuddered again, this time from pleasure.
Held open by him, probed by him, I felt vulnerable. It was bittersweet, the lingering sense of shame tainting the overwhelming pleasure. I whimpered.
“I know,” he said, and the most incredible thing was, he did. He knew what it felt like to be afraid to let anyone close. He knew what it felt like to be used. “Just tell me if you want to stop, and I will. I won’t be mad.”
I relaxed into his hold, leaning my head back. His mouth found the skin behind my ear, nibbling down to my neck. I pushed my hips into his hand, practically riding him as I sought my release.
“Yes,” he muttered. “Do it. Use me.”
My whole body tightened, squeezing his fingers and bucking against his palm. I couldn’t find the peak. I could just push and writhe and plead with tiny moans, reach until I felt wrung out and stretched taut.
“Shelly.” He sounded lost when he said my name like that.
I realized that my body was pushing back into his, that my ass was rubbing his cock, and he was probably about to come inside his jeans. That’s what pushed me over, the thought of him spurting that way, making a mess of himself because he couldn’t hold it back. With a cry, I came, grinding down onto his hand, bucking in his arms. He groaned, sucking at my neck as my body released liquid onto his hand. His fingers stilled as the last of the orgasm ran through me.
With a small sigh of contentment, I settled back. He jerked against me.
I smiled without opening my eyes. “So you didn’t come in your jeans.”
He laughed, a short, rough sound of strain. “No. It was close.”
I pressed the curve of my ass against his erection, and he groaned. “Almost there,” I said.
“Is that what you want?” he murmured. “Does it turn you on?”
“Yes,” I said, strangled, and he chuckled hoarsely.
He pushed against me, once, tentative.
“Again,” I whispered.
He held my hip this time, and just like that, his hand keeping my body steady for him to rub his cock against me made my arousal burn hot.
“Again, again.”
He wasn’t just pushing into me but pulling me back onto his body. His hands scrabbled for a better grip, as if he could get closer, as if he could pull me inside him and merge with me through the denim.
His groan was low and tortured and selfish—a man desperate for his release. Like every other time, I was a sex object being used purely for my partner’s gratification. But this was different, because I was hot instead of cold, slick with arousal instead of slippery with lube. I was with Luke.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted.
I smiled.
His movements grew jerky. I knew he was close, but I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to go with him.
“Wait,” I said, turning slightly. “Can you… Can we…?”
If I had seen his face first, I wouldn’t have stopped him. It was all hollows and tension, want and arousal. It looked like pain and felt like it too in the brusque way he turned me onto my back, in the grip as he spread my thighs.
“Your leg,” he ground out.
“Fine,” I gasped. I had no fucking idea, though. I couldn’t feel anything but the ache in my cunt and the abrasive rasp of his denim and then the hard, painful press of his length against my clit. His body sank down onto mine. Without break, without reprieve, he began a hard-and-fast rhythm of bringing himself off, dragging me along. I reveled in his roughness, such a stark contrast to the gentleness he usually showed me—it was need. And it was trust, for now I understood that it was as hard for him to believe in the intimacy between us as it had been for me. My body sparked with a heightened arousal, but my heart warmed with tenderness.
“God, Luke. God.”
“I know,” he said. “Oh shit.”
I kissed his temple.
His body tensed over me, against me, and I knew he was coming. I wouldn’t make it, there wasn’t time, but it was okay. And then his mouth sought out my nipple, sucking and—oh God—biting. It was too much, too hard and fast, too hungry and desperate and too damn close, and my body launched into another orgasm, my hips strained against his, and he forced them down, riding his release in the cradle of my body.
We curled up together afterward, catching our breath.
I rested my chin on his shoulder. “Hey.”
“I’m a mess,” he said, amused.
Glancing at the dark spot on his crotch, I suppressed a smile. “Was that second or third base?”
“I have no idea. But I’m pretty sure this means you’re officially my girlfriend.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” He grew quizzical. “You know I want more than that, right? In the future. That’s where we’re heading.”
I looked down where my finger drew figure eights on his chest. “I know. I want that too. But I kind of like this high school stuff.” I felt a blush heat my cheeks. “I didn’t get to have that.”
He lifted my chin and kissed my nose. “Me neither. And I like it too.”
After a few minutes, he checked on my leg, but the wound hadn’t opened. It was a little sore from rubbing against the sheet when I was in the throes of climax, but so was my entire body. A session like that was draining, and I would have been more than happy to take that rest Luke had badgered me about, but I was restless. I opened the window. Fresh air wafted in, rich with the scent of twilight. We wouldn’t be able to do this back in the city.
Luke groaned from the bed. “Why are you vertical?”
I swallowed. “You want to go back.”
He was silent a moment; then he came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He spoke in a low tone. “I do. But I’m happy here too.”
I shifted in his arms, turned my face into the soft hair of his chest. “What would you do here?”
“I’d find something.” His shoulder shrugged beneath me. “I’m sure they need cops out here too. It would probably be less stressful.”
I snorted. “Less stressful because you’d be handing out traffic tickets.”
“I wouldn’t mind, Shelly. Whatever we have to do, wherever you need me to be.”
“Why so accommodating?”
“Would you rather I drag you back to the city and demand you have supper ready on the table?”
It didn’t sound so terrible. Maybe what I had really meant was that I wanted to go back. “I think the work you do would be more meaningful there. I think you’d prefer it.”
“But…” He raised his eyebrows.
“You might be ashamed of me. Word will get out about me in the department. It’s one thing to grab a quickie on patrol; it’s another to date me.”
“Marry,” he corrected.
My breath stuttered. “Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t have to be now, but it will happen.”
I blinked, incredulous and giddy that he would propose to me. Though he hadn’t, really. “Isn’t it supposed to be a question?”
“Would you have preferred rose petals and champagne?”
“God, no.” I’d had more than enough seduction in my lifetime, more than enough false charm. I want
ed the real thing. I wanted forever. “So what now?”
“Now we go back. I’ll do the work I’ve been doing, cleaning the streets—” His hold tightened as I tried to object. “And if anyone has a problem with my wife, we’ll deal with it like adults.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. I don’t want any more violence.”
He chuckled softly. “At night, I’ll come home to you.”
“Naked, except for my apron and high heels.”
“Wearing whatever you want, doing whatever you want.”
Which was what, exactly? That wasn’t a question for Luke but for myself. I had never been the domestic type, and hadn’t I already figured out that a regular job wasn’t for me? I had been raised to do one thing only. Even the love of a good man couldn’t make me forget all my training.
The bookstore was ages ago, a million miles away, but I might as well have been walking out the door, the rejected application damp in my hand. The life was the only thing I knew, the only one I had.
* * * *
I stared at the unmarked building, red brick and blackened bulletproof glass. Luke sat quietly in the driver’s seat beside me, giving me the space I needed.
“It’s a little depressing,” I muttered.
He made a small sound that could have been assent. Or not.
“I mean, just because it’s a new start doesn’t mean it’s a better one. How can I know this is the right thing for them?”
Was it the right choice for me? I’d wanted so badly to make this right, without fully understanding what was wrong. I knew better now. It wasn’t the actions of a single man. This would happen again and again, unless we did something. One girl, then another. With relief, I realized I hadn’t been wrong before, bringing them here, supporting this place. But it had been a halfhearted effort. I hadn’t been able to make the next step of helping them build a new life, because I hadn’t been able to build a new life for myself.
“Wait here?” I asked softly.
His eyes shone with acceptance, approval. He pressed a kiss to my lips before I got out and rang the little doorbell. The wait was longer than usual, but I stood still and patient. Finally the door opened, just a crack. Marguerite was draped in shadows.
She squinted through the glare on the windows. “I shouldn’t even have opened the door.”
“Thanks for trusting me on this.”
“That’s your cop, I’m guessing.”
“Just talk to him. He has ideas for how the police department can help you, so you’re not wasting resources working behind their backs.”
She frowned. “We do okay by ourselves.”
“We can do better,” I said gently.
Her eyebrows rose. “We?”
“I want to help. To volunteer, to teach, all the things you’ve been asking me to do. I’m ready now.”
She didn’t trust cops, and probably with good reason. But she didn’t know Luke, not yet. With his help, we would be able to do more at the shelter. Give these girls a legitimate future with proper paperwork instead of a life on the run.
“Okay,” she said with clear reluctance. “I’ll meet with him. No guarantees.”
I waved Luke inside. He got out of the car and strode over, his gait slow and unthreatening. But Marguerite paled as he approached, the pink of her lips pressing to white.
Well, that had gone downhill quickly. “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s okay.”
As Luke reached us, he looked at Marguerite with a raw, open curiosity. He stepped closer. His eyes widened.
“Daisy?” His voice was a soft expulsion of air, of shock.
She gave a terse nod. “Luke.”
“Is it really you?”
“I go by Marguerite now.” She hesitated, pulling away when it looked like he would step forward. “I’m not sure this is even a good idea. I’m a completely different person now. I’m guessing you are too.”
“Daisy. Marguerite. I want to know you, who you are now. I’m trying to catch up here, but give me a chance.”
“I want to know you too,” she said in a small voice.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
Nice and soothing, and I recognized the tone of voice he had used for me once, his instinctual soft touch with an animal who has been hurt.
“That’s a start. That’s all we need.”
* * * *
We returned to Luke’s apartment, where we planned to stay until we found a house, something small for just the two of us and modest enough that I could still fill it with nice things. Luke made a decent living on the force, but the shelter wouldn’t be able to pay me anything, at least until we got grants in place.
I was already reading up on that, studying the procedures and writing some very tame, G-rated firsthand accounts of my experiences to help encourage the wealthy of Chicago to open their pockets. We all lived here, the streetwalkers and those in the penthouse, stacked on top of each other. I had walked among the wealthy and privileged with no hope at all. I would do it again, this time with a message: look down.
We lounged in bed, in the same coarse blue sheets I had thought were unreachable.
“How did you know?” he asked me.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. Though I hadn’t been shocked to discover it. It had been like remembering a detail of my childhood, one I’d never really had.
I had always felt a certain affinity toward Marguerite that couldn’t be explained from our exchanges at the shelter. Family. She had felt like family, and Luke had felt like mine, long before I’d believed either of them could be possible. “She told me a long time ago about life on the streets. When you told me the whole of it, I put it together.”
“She didn’t seem that happy to see me.” Disappointment trickled into his voice.
I linked my hand in his. “Give her time. She’s survived this long by being tough. It wouldn’t make sense for her to tear all that down in a day.”
He smiled slightly, pulling me against him. “Thank you. It’s inadequate, I know–”
“I didn’t do anything, but I’m glad now that you can move on, you know. Get to know the real Marguerite. She’s an interesting lady, I’ll tell you that.”
“Forget the past, you mean.”
“Put it where it belongs, but don’t forget. It made us stronger, all of us. You couldn’t be nearly as good a cop if you hadn’t gone through that. I hope that I can be useful to the shelter, because I know what these girls are going through.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you sounded like an optimist.” His tone teased me.
A smile tilted my lips. “I think it’ll be a long time before I get there, but I’m hopeful, and that’s something.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, bending down for a kiss. “It’s really something.”
In the bedroom, he proved his words, feasting on me and offering himself up in return. He was my craving and my nourishment, my weakness and my rapture. Like a genie rubbed from a lamp, my arousal had been awakened by his tongue and his touch and his kindness, while his resolve as an officer of the law had only been strengthened.
He’d been willing to give up a life of rigid honor, while I would trade in my stature, my past, my everything to be with him. But in the end, neither sacrifice had been necessary. Instead we fit the pieces together, his work and my heart, his body and my lust, every part of us intertwined and flowing together—seamless.
Loose Id Titles by Amber Lin
THE LOST GIRLS Series
Giving It Up
Selling Out
Amber Lin
Amber Lin married her high school sweetheart, birthed a kid who’s smarter than she is, and spends her nights writing down her dirty thoughts. In other words, life is good.
Connect with Amber on her Web site at http://authoramberlin.com.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
>
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Loose Id Titles by Amber Lin
Amber Lin
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Loose Id Titles by Amber Lin
Amber Lin