Desire: Ten sizzling, romantic tales for Valentine’s Day!

by Opal Carew

  “Get your fucking hands off of me.” The sound of my palm slapping into his cheek reverberates through the room. The bastard doesn’t even flinch. No, instead he reaches for me again.

  “I said stop!” My knees tremble. I can’t help it. There’s so much emotion swirling through me, and my hormones are still flying high after that amazing fucking release.

  In fact, I’m having a bit of a hard time standing up.

  “I’ll stop as soon as you can stand up on your own again.” I stiffen and shove at him at he picks me up and carries me to the bed. There he hands me more water.

  I try to stand. His hand on my shoulder pushes me back down.

  “This is called aftercare. If you’re going to be playing in a place like this, you’d better get used to it.” Standing in front of me, he watches as I try to stand again, frustration painting his features.

  “Allegra. Allie. Just sit until you’re steady again. I’ll keep my hands off of you. I promise.” He rakes his hands through that dark, delicious hair, and in that moment I can see a hint of my own misery.

  That, combined with his use of the nickname no one else had ever called me, does me in. I can handle being furious with Seth. I can handle hating him, with wanting to kill him. I can even handle the incredibly hot sexytime that just transpired between us.

  But I cannot handle his tenderness. I can’t handle the feelings that come with it. So I do the one thing I promised myself I would never do if I saw Seth Thorne again.

  I run.

  Chapter 8

  Seth

  I’d just acted out one of my longest held fantasies, and I’d had no idea until it was too late.

  I’m disgusted that my hands are shaking—actually shaking—as I leave the room that still smells of spun sugar and make my way across the playroom. Around me, couples and triplets and one full on orgy explore their own pleasure, but for once the heat in the room leaves me cold. I almost feel as though I’ve left my own body, am watching myself walk down the stairs.

  The control that is my constant companion is gone, and without it I’m full of panic and fear.

  Allegra Flynn hates my fucking guts. Oh, I’d known that was probable. I’d hate myself, in her place.

  But the reality is a stone in my gut.

  Everything that I did back then, I did it for her. But she’ll never know. Even if I told her, she’d never believe me. Especially not now.

  I’d had no idea that seeing her again would affect me so much. Okay, I might have suspected, which is why I’d had no intentions of seeking her out while I was in town. I’d planned to do what I came to do, and then go back to New York, back to my solitude, and the chilly isolation that I had surrounded myself with.

  But seeing her, touching her, tasting her…it’s changed everything. I feel like the boy I once was, yearning for something I can’t have.

  She’s not my stepsister anymore. But given what’s transpired between us, this fact doesn’t make it any less taboo.

  Gavin tries to catch my attention as I leave the club, but I wave him off. If he gets too close I might find myself with my hands around his throat, demanding to know what he was thinking, allowing Allegra access to his den of debauchery. A girl like her has absolutely no business there.

  Though when I think of the way she responded to the strikes of my palm, when I remember the way her greedy little pussy clutched at my fingers, I wonder if maybe she does, in fact, have needs that are compatible to mine. The idea is… exhilarating. At least, it is until I imagine her in one of those rooms with another man, pursuing her pleasure after I’m gone.

  The rage that washes over me at the thought of another man’s hands on the woman whose taste is still on my fingers is not so far from how it felt to have my fists slam into Theo’s face.

  I need a release. Getting into my car, I know that after tonight, I can’t even consider finding another woman to satisfy my urges, so I drive to the only other place I can think of that will suit my purpose.

  Parking the fancy car on a dark street, I enter the rundown building. It’s late, so I don’t expect to encounter too many people—in fact, I’m surprised they’re even open. But Tristan was the only person I’d told about my visit, and I figured he might have stayed late, expecting me.

  I step into the gym, the heavy odor of sweat and leather and rubber like a slap in the face—it’s a far cry from the cultured air of my circles in the city.

  The stench has a cautious smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The place hasn’t changed in six years, when Tristan, MMA stars in his eyes, would drag me here to watch the guys train.

  It’s still a raw no-frills place to work out. And now it belongs to him, one of the only people I’ve trusted in this lifetime, which means for tonight, it can be my sanctuary.

  The gym is nearly empty. There’s one massive giant at one of the heavy bags, pounding the hell out of it, and two guys in the boxing ring, one holding pads for the other to slam his fists into. No women, which suits me just fine at the moment.

  Walking up to the side of the ring, I lean on the bottom rope.

  “Hey buddy,” I say to the light-haired man with the tribal tats winding up his strong arms as he spins and backhands one of the pads, “you’re dropping your arm.”

  He stops dancing around and turns to glare at me. Recognition settles in but the glare doesn’t fade as he sneers at my club attire. “Then get in here and show me how it’s done, Fancypants”

  “I need to change first.” I open my arms indicating my denim and leather.

  “Then change. I ain’t going anywhere.” He gives me a lopsided grin, which is amplified by the mouth guard.

  I want to laugh. I might look fancy now, but I still have the mean streak born in prison. Fucker doesn’t stand a chance.

  In the locker room, I search out a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I hang up my own clothes in a locker and return, crossing the gym. I roll under the last rope into the ring. Tristan tosses me some gloves the moment I’m on my feet, still sneering. The second I have them on and partially tied, head gear on, he’s dancing toward me.

  “Remember how to box, Fancypants?”

  “I think I can figure it out, Twinkletoes.”

  He throws a right hook and I dodge out of the way. He’s not as fast as I know he can be. He was the youngest ever to win an MMA middleweight championship title. I watched the match online.

  He’s good. I won’t say I’m better, but like I said, I’m definitely meaner.

  We dance around the ring, both landing some good punches. Sweat sheens my skin, and I feel the warm burn of my muscles at work. He hits me a few more times than I hit him. Normally that would piss me right the hell off, but tonight I welcome it.

  Maybe it’s penance for my sins, or the fact that I’m not as quick as I used to be. I haven’t had to use my fists in a long time.

  After a half hour of being used as a punching bag, I pull back, tugging the headgear off, panting. Wiping my arm over my forehead to mop away the sweat, I suck in air and size up my opponent.

  Tristan Hemsworth, the best friend I ever had, shoots me a cocky grin, tears off his gloves and comes at me again, but this time for a hug, slapping me on the back.

  “Took you long enough to get your ass back here.”

  I don’t answer, instead taking off my gloves, tossing them to the side and following Tristan out of the ring. He tosses me a bottle of water and we collapse on the floor, leaning back against the ring as we fill each other in on the Cliff’s Notes version of each other’s last six years.

  When I’m done, he looks at me, shakes his head and laughs. “Back then you were most likely to land your ass in jail, and now you’re a fucking millionaire. How the fuck?”

  “Well, you were still right about the first part.” Heavy silence descends, and Tristan smacks himself in the head.

  “That was dumb. Sorry, man.” He looks contrite. I’m not actually mad—the past is the past.

  “I’ll forgi
ve you by watching your face when I tell you I’m actually a billionaire.”

  I’m right. His expression is comical. His jaw almost drops to the floor.

  “I… wow. How?” He looks around his gym, as if he’ll find the answers amongst the punching bags.

  “Won’t bore you with basics. Good investments, mostly. And yeah, it still baffles the fuck out of me most days.” I finish the water and reach for a towel, mopping my face off.

  “So, you thought you’d come visit your peasant friend before heading back to the city?” He arches an eyebrow at me, nonchalant, but I think I see a touch of hurt there.

  We might have spent most of our time drinking, but he was still the best friend I ever had.

  “It’s not like that.” I run a hand over my sopping-wet hair, trying to find the right words. “I…”

  “You don’t have to explain.” He tosses his empty water bottle into the recycle bin. “Two points. Yeah! Oh here’s something you might find interesting. Guess who comes here all the time?”

  I cock my head in response as I send my own bottle flying. It hits the rim. Damn.

  “Allegra Flynn.” He runs a hand through the spikes of his hair.

  The fresh water bottle stops midway to my mouth. Just hearing her name on another man’s lips, even Tristan’s, has my fingers tightening, slopping cold water onto my hand.

  “Is that so?” I school my face into a mask of stone.

  “Yeah.” Tristan heaves a happy sigh. “She asked me to train her. Nice to see a woman want to get strong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I appreciate the way her ass looks in those tight little pants. She grew up really fucking nice.”

  I can barely contain my snarl. “Shut it.”

  Tristan chuckles. “Yeah, you always had a thing for her, didn’t you? Not like she was your real sister, anyway. And even then, with those little dresses and those glasses, she was a looker. Jailbait, but a looker.”

  Craning my neck, I glare at my so-called friend.

  Tristan laughs again. “Chill, man. I’ve tried. She’s not interested. Probably every guy in this gym has, but she’s never taken one home. Least, not that I know of. And the way these crass idiots blab, I’m pretty sure I’d know.”

  Slowly, I expel the breath I’m holding, forcing every muscle in my body to relax.

  If Tristan had said that he’d fucked Allegra, I just might have killed him. And I’m not entirely sure that I’m not serious about that.

  “You planning on visiting sweet little sis while you’re in town?” Tristan eyes me sideways, and I try not to show anything on my face.

  This morning, my answer would have been a solid no. Now that I’ve had her bent over my knee…

  I just don’t fucking know.

  With the canny sixth sense that Tristan’s always had regarding me, he pushes just a little further, just enough to get under my skin.

  “If you ask me, someone hurt her real bad. Some guy.” He watches me with those long-lashed eyes that all the girls used to swoon over. “By the way she attacks the bag every time she comes in, I’d say she’s working out some issues. Some guy hurt her real bad.”

  Yeah. Yeah, I certainly did.

  Chapter 9

  Allegra

  Rattled to the core, I found myself with no place to go but home—home being the house I still shared with my dad.

  The fact that I also shared it with Seth is not lost on me, but where else would I go for the night? I’m a waitress. I can’t just splash out money on a hotel room for no good reason.

  “Dad?” His car wasn’t in the driveway, but I need to check, need to know that I’m all alone. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this—weak in the knees and trembling.

  Kicking off those heels that Seth had loved so much, I run upstairs to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to strip off my dress alone, and while I curse the zipper I swear I can feel his hands on me again, stroking over my spine.

  God fucking damn it all to hell. Out. I need him out of my head.

  I turn the water on, a scalding temperature I can hardly bear, but I can still smell Seth on me. The scent of his cologne lingers on my skin from where he touched me, where he kissed me. I lift my arm to my nose and inhale. Spice and sweat and man fill my nose.

  Never mind the fact that my ass is on fire. Looking over my shoulder into the mirror, I blink at the red handprints left on my pale skin.

  His handprints. His mark.

  It should make me scream. It kind of does, but at the same time just looking at his mark makes me wet all over again.

  The realization makes me shake. Instead of climbing under the searing spray, I sit down on the edge of the tub, just letting the steam soothe me.

  There’s no point in lying to myself. I want to kill him, this man who broke up my family. And at the same time, I can’t bring myself to wash him away. I wonder what Dr. Gill would say about that. Probably that it’s normal. That he was at the root of the most intense occurrence in my life, and now he’s also the man present at some kind of sexual reawakening. The latter sounds ridiculous, but again, I won’t be lying to myself.

  When Dr. Gill had suggested a kink club to work out my issues, to help me learn better how to lose control, I thought she’d lost her fucking mind.

  Now though? I’ve had a taste and I know I’ll never be satisfied with vanilla again. Or maybe it wasn’t the kink itself. Maybe somewhere, some part of me knew all along that it was Seth.

  Aaaahh.

  The juxtaposition of my emotions about him is what sent me spiraling into self-destruction in the first place. I hate him and yet, oh, I want him. I could kill him for what he did to Theo, what he did to this family and what he ultimately did to me. But I was never able to reconcile the indescribable cruelty of the man who almost killed Theo with the tenderness of the boy who’d made sure I was okay after being humiliated at a party.

  Theo. Jesus, I almost forget that he’s coming home. I haven’t seen him in over two years. He’d ordered me to stay away from the prison. Frankly I’m glad. It might make me a bad sister, but I wouldn’t have been able to stomach seeing him in there. Because I know I would’ve thought about Seth once being in there too.

  I suspect Theo will be different. Harder. He’d already changed after the incident with Seth. He lost his sweetness. Maybe he’d lost is innocence like I’d lost mine—I imagine that almost dying would do that to a person. He did his own spiraling, though I’d barely been aware of it, too busy looking for acceptance with my legs wide open.

  Theo drank more, stayed out later, and got into trouble. But more, our relationship changed too. He was no longer gentle with me. No longer tried to soothe my hurts. Innocent teasing became insulting. The occasional argument turned into a fight.

  He never hit me, but he did break a mirror with his fist once. It was scary as hell.

  We stopped doing stuff together as well. He would find a million excuses not to hang out with me, but sometimes I would still catch him watching me.

  And when he watched me, it wasn’t the indulgent gaze of a sibling. I couldn’t quite figure out what lay in his head, I only know it creeped me out.

  I shiver, remembering that penetrating glare. Then for the umpteenth time, I think about those words Seth said to me all those years ago.

  Theo will never hurt you.

  Why had Seth said that? I have gone over it again and again. Turning this over and that, trying to make sense of it. I try to shake it off, but seeing him again has brought up all the old feelings.

  Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? These feelings aren’t old. They’re never-ending, old and also as new as a shiny penny. They haven’t gone away at all.

  Groaning with frustration, I turn off the water without showering, then force myself to stand, to put on my robe. My stomach growls, and I know I should eat something, but I can’t seem to stay still—I’m too restless to just sit and wait, for what I don’t even know.

  I walk down to
the kitchen and fetch a glass of water. Leaning back against the counter to drink, I look around, my memory taking me back. Everything’s the same as it was that night six years ago. Same table, same chair—the chair where Seth sat, Theo’s blood on his hands. Those hands. The hands that wrapped around my wrists. I will never forget them; never forget how it felt when Seth grabbed me. How my body responded to the action, to the violence in him.

  I’d wanted so badly for him to touch me then, no matter how wrong it was. I’d wondered what it would feel like to have his skin pressed up against my own.

  And now? Now I know.

  Turns out knowing is worse.

  Opening the patio door, I step out, hoping the fresh air will clear my head. Of course it doesn’t, because I’m on an uninvited trip down memory lane, and I remember being out here that night with the sense of being watched.

  I know it’s ridiculous, but right now, I have the same sense.

  Shivering, I rub my arm with the hand not holding the water glass, looking across the yard to the apartment over top the garage. It’s empty, has been empty since Seth left, unless you count dust and the raccoons that will never seem to leave our yard.

  I can’t stop from trembling again as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’m being ridiculous, memories and old insecurities crashing over me like the incoming tide because seeing Seth opened the door.

  But the sense is strong enough that I turn and go back inside. Placing my empty glass in the dishwasher, I leave the kitchen and head back upstairs.

  I pass my room, then Theo’s old room. I should probably put some sheets on that bed—something tells me that as soon as he gets out, he’ll be staying with us for a while.

  I’m too keyed up to do it right now. So I continue on, stopping in the threshold of the other spare room. The one Seth had stayed in before moving into the rooms over the garage.

  Seth’s things are stored inside the closet.

  I nudge the closet door open with my foot. Dusty boxes of his stuff are piled up. My dad had washed his hands of dealing with it. Dinah didn’t have the heart to take it with her when she left us. And I hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.