Wanted

by Palmer, Dee

  “Mine,” he whispers, but then corrects himself. “You’re extraordinary, you know that?” My chest is tight and bursting at the same time. My head spins with new and wondrous feelings I can’t vocalize, but I try, because I can sense the intensity of the moment, and his voice is thick with concern.

  “That was amazing. You felt…” I shake my head and let out a puzzled laugh. “I felt powerful and powerless at the same time. It was…God, I want to see you.” I struggle against my restraints, feeling them for what they are for the first time, a hindrance.

  “I understand.” He sweeps his hand over my face, to soften what I know is going to be a rejection to my plea.

  He kisses my mouth, gently, teasingly light and moves to my neck. I tip it back to give him better access. He could do that for days, and I wouldn’t complain; I’d melt. I’m unbelievably wet, considering he has yet to lay a finger on me, just the odd touch, caress, and tender kiss. It’s enough. My heart rate is spiking, and I squeeze my legs together, acutely aware of the unbearable building ache and only occasionally aware of the butt plug residing comfortably in my arse.

  “Something you need, angel?” His breath scorches and cools my skin in equal measure. I’m coated in what must be a sheen of perspiration that reacts with his breath like a jolt of electricity, and I can feel the trace of gooseflesh where his breath touches my skin. His kisses blaze a trail, leaving me panting for more.

  I know there’s no point pleading again to touch or see him. I’ll get the same infuriating response, and I have a much more urgent, building need, demanding attention.

  “I want you.” I try a different tack.

  “Hmm…I understand.” I can almost see the wicked turn of his lips as the low, rumbling words fall from his mouth, in-between the tortuous trail of kisses he’s pressing onto my skin as he makes his way down my helpless body.

  “I need you.” It’s not a lie, and I’m so far beyond begging, it’s only because my hands are still tied behind my back that they are not clasped together in prayer.

  “Good,” he croons, flipping me swiftly onto my front. I can feel his strong thighs trap me as he moves to straddle my legs. His mouth is still working its way down my back. I hold my breath when his hands cup and squeeze the “not as firm as I’d like” flesh of my bottom. His appreciative groan eases my insecurity, and then he obliterates it with his words and actions.

  “You have the fucking sexiest ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of devouring.” He sinks his stubble-dusted face between my cheeks, and as much as my instant reaction is to clench in a what-the-hell moment, his strong hands pull my cheeks apart and massage in sensual pulls and squeezes that quickly make me forget his face is right there. He lifts my hips up and sinks his face lower so his tongue is working its way beautifully from my clit to my entrance and back again. He’s so slow and deliberate, firm and relentless, I can feel the spark of raw pleasure light in my very core. My toes wiggle with anticipation, and I hold my breath, waiting to die from the ecstasy I know is on the tip of his tongue. His teeth graze me in the most delicious way, and I want to grind myself against him, and he pulls right back, giving me none of the friction I need. I turn my head to the comforter and let out a howl. I can feel him chuckle, the vibrations rippling through the bed from whatever body part he has pressed against it.

  I yelp when he pulls my legs off the bed so I’m kneeling on the floor, my tummy flat on the bed, my hands still tied behind my back. My legs are secured at the ankles but not so close I can’t open them a little. I shiver from top to toe when he slides down flush behind me, his legs straddling mine, his heavy chest sinking onto my back. It’s like I can feel every curve of his taut muscles, and his skin on mine is both rough and smooth, but always searing hot. He feels so damn good I melt from the inside out. His mouth is at my ear, and he rumbles out a husky whisper that even to my lust-addled brain is strained.

  “Where do you need me, angel?”

  “Oh, God,” I whimper and feel his lips smile against my neck.

  “Do you want me here?” His lips cover my mouth, his tongue diving, swirling, teasing mine with too delicate strokes. I’m so on edge, I want him damn well everywhere. He breaks the kiss and moves so swiftly, I sag at the loss of contact. His large hands sweep down my body and rest on my hips. Once again I can feel his burning-hot breath so close to my core, I can almost taste me. “Or here?” His tongue circles my clit, and my hips jerk, though his fingers grip tightly to stop me moving away. My jaw is clenched, and I’m wound so tight, I doubt I will be able to answer him. “Or how about here.” He tugs on the plug in my arse that I have been blissfully unaware of for some time, but not anymore. Holy hell. The moan that escapes the back of my throat is raw and desperate, and the sound surprises me, but it’s a perfect reflection of my current state. I nod with my head buried in the comforter, thankful for the coverage as my cheeks flame. You’re utter filth, Finn.

  “Oh, angel, I’m going to need more than a shake of your head.” He’s still moving the plug inside me, but he has also slipped two fingers inside my very wet center and is working me in tandem. Oh. My. God. “Finn?” His deep tone registers on the periphery of my erotic haze.

  “Oh, God, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  “Own it, Finn. You want it. Now tell me.” His tone is demanding, and I don’t hesitate.

  “I want you to fuck my arse.” I suppress a squeak as my mouth tries to retract my wanton words. Too late, they are out there, and I don’t care. This is my decision, for me, I’m off the charts horny with the sexiest man on the planet, who wants me, every last filthy piece of me. I will own it. “Please,” I gasp, shuddering when he pulls the plug free, replaced smoothly with his thumb, and I can feel him move the head of his cock along my slick center.

  Cool lube is worked with his thumb in ever-increasing larger circles. The pressure is unbelievable, but after a short time, he removes it and positions his cock where the removal of the plug had left me wanting more, wanting him. I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly as I will every muscle in my body to relax. He’s gentle and insistent. The building pressure as he breaches me spikes to a point of pain, though he keeps his movements gentle so the edge is there but no more. His hand slides around the front of my body and his fingers glide with heavenly precision over my clit and dip inside me. I feel nothing but full and fabulous, every nerve in my body zings to life, tingles and dances like the little hairs all standing to attention across my skin. My head drops, and my eyes roll skyward, not that he can see them, but he can hear the effect he has on me, my sighs, my moans, my stuttered breathing, which catches with every roll of his hips. He sinks in further, inch by careful inch until he rests, hips flush to my bottom and he’s buried to the hilt. Tension radiates through his tight grip on my hip, and his taut thighs encase mine. I know he’s in as much sensual agony as I am. He pauses a moment, and I’m glad for it, because I so need a moment.

  “You okay, angel?” His voice is surprisingly even, but he growls when I nod. I clench at the noise, because I feel that rumble everywhere. I feel him everywhere.

  “So good.” It’s a pathetic adjective to describe the indescribable; nevertheless, it’s all I have. Every nerve is on fire, and every brain cell is occupied elsewhere.

  “Perfect,” he declares, ending our moment. His hips start to move, his fingers curl into my flesh, and all hell breaks loose as my body takes over. It’s had enough waiting; it has seen the goal and is ready for the mother of all prizes.

  “Charge?” I pant out an unasked question, desperation with a tinge of panic in my voice. I hope to God he doesn’t stop this freight train I feel in my toes, my fibers, my soul.

  “I understand.”

  I screw my eyes tight with disbelief, but before I own it in the name-calling department, he becomes my hero, saying the only three words that matter at this moment in time.

  “Come for me.” He keeps the pressure exactly right, fingers curled inside me, hitting the perfe
ct spot, driving hard and relentless, pushing me to heights I didn’t know existed. My climax is a slow rumble of pleasure, which builds and builds, and like a tsunami-strength wave, it crashes through me, wrecking my body and my mind. I can’t breathe. My whole frame trembles with aftershocks, and dark spots and flashes of stars burst over the inside of my tightly-shut lids. I’m gone, out for the count.

  It might be seconds or it could be hours, but I’m vaguely aware I have the use of my arms and legs. It’s dark, but I know my blindfold is gone, too, because I’m gazing at the most beautiful, deep-blue, sapphire colored eyes I have ever seen. My arm drapes across his T-shirt-clad chest, and I can feel the steady, strong thump, thump of his heart.

  “I didn’t know if you wanted a shower?” His fingers are stroking through my hair, and it feels divine.

  “Will you join me?”

  His body tenses, but his smile is warm, his voice soft. “Maybe in the morning.” He kisses my hair.

  “Hmm…okay.” I snuggle into his hold. I didn’t really want to move. I start to drift, and dreams, sweet happy dreams, dance in my mind as I hover on the edge of consciousness. “I’ve never been so happy or so scared.” I tell the dreamcatcher I can see swinging in the sunlight in my bedroom window. Keeper of all my dreams and nightmares.

  HER FIRST TWITCH WAKES ME. Her head is nestled somewhere between the crook of my shoulder and my chest. We both crashed after the best fucking night of my life, and she feels so damn perfect lying next to me. Her body has tensed, and her soft breathing picks up. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow against her creamy bare skin, but when I delicately brush away the hair that has fallen over her face, I’m cut to my core. I freeze, can barely breathe, and feel fucking sick at the same time. Tears. Rivers of tears trickle down her cheek. Why the hell is she crying? Did I hurt her? She said she’s never been so happy before she fell asleep, though she also admitted to being scared. Does she regret what we did? Does she regret coming here?

  Her shoulders start to shake, and my hand strokes her skin to try and soothe her. My mind is racing, and I need to know what she’s thinking. I have to know why, when I have the best thing in all our lives in my arms, she’s fucking crying.

  “I thought it was my grandmother being mean,” she says, clear as day, but I know from her breathing and the dead weight of her head she’s still asleep. Her eyes are moving rapidly behind her closed lids, and she’s dancing on the edge of consciousness; however, she’s definitely still asleep. “I never get to eat chocolate.” She lets out a bitter laugh and falls silent again. Just when I think she’s drifted off, she sniffs and speaks again.

  “My mother came to see me when I was seventeen. I didn’t realize she was still alive. Whenever I asked, my grandmother always said she was probably dead.” I stroke her hair and let her carry on. I know I should probably stop her. I should wake her when she’s clearly reliving a painful memory, but the thing is, people will tell the truth when they sleep-talk, and I want her truth.

  “What did your mother want?” I ask softly, ignoring the rising guilt clawing at my stomach.

  “She left me with my grandmother when I was five. Took me there and told my grandmother she didn’t want me, never wanted me. That she should’ve had the abortion, but my grandmother wouldn’t let her, so here I was. She tried to walk away, leaving me on the doorstep. My grandmother shut the door in our faces.” She pauses, and my breath catches, mindful that any movement could end this monologue I’m so desperate to hear. I can feel the wetness on my chest from her free-falling tears, but still I don’t wake her. “I remember crying, but not because of the words. I didn’t really understand the words, not until I was older, and my grandmother explained what they meant. No, I cried because of the loud bang from the door slamming. My mother took my hand and dragged me away, swinging my little body to a stop in the front garden where she told me to sit. She said she would be back.” She falls so quiet, I feel her breathing rather than hear. “I asked if she would bring me back a chocolate bar.” She sniffs out a derisive sound that changes to a sob. “She didn’t even lie, she told me no and to just wait. She never came back.”

  My fucking heart breaks for her, and I feel like a total shithead for eavesdropping on her private hell. I’m just about to end this and wake her when she starts to talk again.

  “My mother found me and wanted to make sure I wasn’t looking for her. It would be ironic if it wasn’t so fucked-up. She had a new man, but she’d lied and told him she didn’t have children. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to show up and mess things up. She sought me out to reject me all over again. I was surprised I had the courage to tell her bluntly how that would never happen. She fucking broke me and thought I’d want anything to do with her.”

  “She didn’t deserve you.” I press my lips into her hair and pull her close, not caring if I wake her.

  “I still want her to want me. I still want someone to want me enough to keep me.” That’s too fucking much. How can she not think we want her? But even as I think the words, I know. She just fucking told me why, and her asshole ex compounded her fears. I twist and roll her onto her back, my urgent mouth covers hers as she wakes with a gasp. A second of hesitation, then the most dazzling yet sleepy sexy smile moves against my mouth, and she opens, accepting my tongue and threading her hand into my short, spiky hair, gripping as best she can. I nudge her legs wide with my body and ease myself into her. Every inch I push into her slowly and deliberately, making sure she’s with me and not still stuck in her nightmare. She sighs and shivers, all the while smiling against my mouth. I sweep my hand down to scoop her ass, and I roll her onto me rather than me thrusting into her. Once I know she’s with me, and I can feel her warm, wet, and willing muscles ripple against my cock, I don’t hold back. I power into her, marking and claiming, pushing her higher and higher with every proprietary pump of my hips. I growl the word “Mine” into her neck, and she explodes.

  I wake with a raging thirst and a rock solid erection wedged against Finn’s sweet ass. I unwrap myself from the spoon and with considerable effort leave the bed. I pull a pair of boxers on and stealthily leave the room. My bedroom door creaks like a motherfucker, but I must have left it open, so I’m silent in my escape. Waste of fucking time, as the hall is pitch black, and my eyes don’t adjust in time to stop myself from tripping over a crouched body slumped against the wall. My bulky frame crashes to the floor, and I bite back a curse. Pink doesn’t.

  “Fucking hell, Charge!” He rubs at his jaw that I must have caught with my knee. I scowl at him, and even in the low light I know he can see me. He nods and follows me downstairs without further noise.

  I hit the kitchen and instantly feel his hand on my shoulder. He spins me and is right in my face.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his face inches from mine. All I can see is fury. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad; a dark scowl clouds his face, flares his nostrils, and his jaw is clenched so tightly, the muscle on his cheek is bulging. I wrack my brain but come up with one thing. I marked Finn last night with my mouth. I couldn’t help myself, and I know she fucking loved it. She came like a fucking train at the first bite, but he can’t possibly know that unless he was in the room. The door was open.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grit out, straightening to my full height, a few inches taller than him.

  “Really?” He doesn’t back down, and the tension builds.

  “I’m tired, Pink. If you have something to say, say it.” I tip my chin and hold his glare.

  “And why are you tired, Charge?” he goads, his chest almost touching mine.

  “Fuck off. I’m not telling you that,” I snarl, and I’m itching to step away before I hit him, though I won’t back down.

  “Not what I meant, asshole,” he snaps.

  “Then enlighten me.” My patience is on its last tether, but I know my rising anger is a defensive tactic.

  “Finn…sleep-talking,”
he states, knocking the fucking wind from my lungs. Shit.

  “How did you know?” My voice is impassive even if my stomach has dropped, and I know I have no color left in my face. I felt it drain away.

  “Yes, because that’s the important question.” His derisive tone is thick with sarcasm and disappointment. “Why the fuck didn’t you wake her?”

  I step back and run my hand through my hair, gripping the knot of tension in the back of my neck. He has every right to be disappointed, disgusted even. I know I am.

  “I was going to. She started to speak, and I…She was crying, and I thought I’d done something wrong.” I start off calm, but with my rising guilt comes agitation and a rush of excuses.

  “You did do something wrong.” He fires the accusation with pinpoint accuracy. I’m too late to brace for the impact, and my chest caves. I shake my head as her words replay in my mind. The sadness, the unbearable hurt. That little girl carrying the burden of such a cruel rejection from the one person who was supposed to protect and love her.

  “Did you hear what she said, too?”

  “Yes,” he states, and I see the first flash of understanding in his eyes. The silence is choking as we both process what we heard. He isn’t finished with me, though, and the silence doesn’t hold for long. “It’s fucked-up, but it’s still her story to tell, if she ever wants to. How would you feel if she did that to you?”

  “I don’t sleep-talk.” My flip remark is low.

  “But you do cover up.” He ignores it and is intent on pushing. I know he’s angry; moreover, he knows better than to walk this path.

  “That’s different,” I say, harshly and with an air of finality. He lets out a long, slow sigh, and the tension seems to dissipate with the air he expels.

  “Keep telling yourself that, brother, and she’ll walk right out the door. We understand, Charge. We love you, but think about it, okay? Don’t fuck this up for us.” The accusation in his words holds no strength, and his tone is more of a plea than any type of reprimand.