“I won’t have to anymore, I’m cutting that shit off.” Durty maneuvered away from him, reaching for the cut to tear the threads off.
“Think about what you’re about to do, Durty. The girls didn’t lie to you. Lace didn’t want you to find out through them, she said it was my responsibility.” He reached for her once more. “She was respecting me enough to allow me to clear the air.”
Reaching for her wasn’t the brightest thing to do. Out of instinct, Durty lashed out with the hand that held the instrument, slashing at him. The metal met resistance, slicing through a small area of the leather covering his chest.
The moment shock registered at her actions, Sting grabbed at her hand, forcing it open. Durty fought him, trying to keep her fingers clutching the small weapon. It was no use, he was stronger, prying open her fingers and throwing it out the open door and into her yard.
“What the fuck?” Sting barked at her, his voice rising in volume.
All reasoning fled her brain. She had to hurt something as bad as she was hurting. “I’ll cut it off with a knife then, fucking asshole.” One way or another, those patches were coming off. She knew when she handed them to Lace, she’d be hurting as much as Durty was.
Durty turned and lunged for the kitchen door, envisioning the tip of the knife cutting through every hand sewn stitch Durty spent hours doing. It was one tiny piece of her life she’d be freeing. She’d answer to no one anymore, and that sounded pretty fucking good to her at the moment.
Umph!
All of the air was thrust from her lungs when her back met plaster and dry wall. Opening her eyes, her lungs fought to get any small amount of air they could. They burned, and her ribs screamed in pain.
The blurred vision cleared, Sting’s face inches from her own. Her wrists were numb and pinned over her head. Something inside her snapped.
Her past came tumbling to the forefront of her brain, images of the abuse fighting to be seen, the ex’s voice echoing in her ears, screaming at her and insulting her in every way possible. The memory of the emotional and physical pain she’d endured filled her mind’s eye, forcing her to relive all of it in a matter of seconds.
Flight or fight?
Fight won out. Before Durty could stop herself from reacting to Sting keeping her from going into the kitchen, she spit in his face. “Go ahead and hit me! You know you want to!”
The shock on Sting’s face from wearing her mucus dissolved into hurt, quickly replaced by anger.
The sound of breaking plaster in her ear mixed with his scream of rage wasn’t what Durty expected. Hell, she didn’t know what to expect. Part of her expected to be slapped, the other half figured she’d get yelled at.
“Fuck,” Sting yelled, pulling his fist away from the wall while he freed her wrists. “Why can’t you fucking get it? I didn’t lie to you! This was club business! You of all people should know I cannot tell you about what goes on in the club or with the club. And if you honestly think I could hit you? Then fuck you.”
When he shoved away from her, Durty felt the blow of his words along with the torrid of emotions that plagued his face. Tears slid down her cheeks as he turned away from her and started for the door. She’d pushed him to the edge of sanity and forced his hand. Now, he was walking away from her and her psycho moods. Who could blame him? She’d hit him, spit on him, and taunted him to hit her.
“Please, Brett, don’t go.” Durty thrust herself away from the wall, stumbling toward him to try and stop him from walking out the door. She knew once he made it past that point, he’d be lost to her. “I’m sorry.”
Sting stopped, leaving his back to her, scoffing. “Sorry won’t cut it, Durty.”
Before he could take another step, she blurted out, “I love you! Please, don’t go!”
He slowly turned around to face her, a single brow rising. “Right, I’m supposed to believe that?” His hand rose to peel the bandanna off his head, using it to wipe his face free from her saliva.
She hadn’t wanted to tell him that way, but her mouth overrode her brain. “Yes, because I don’t say those words lightly.” Durty took small steps toward him, wringing her hands together in nervousness. “All I could see, when you slammed me up against the wall, was my past. My ex was very abusive, Brett.”
Durty swept past him, sinking down to the couch, burying her face in her hands. “Jesus, I never thought I’d be talking about this again.” Her hands fell to her lap, tear filled eyes lifting to look in his. “Doug was my high school sweetheart. We grew up together as kids, both our families the pillar of the community and high society. It was destined we end up married to one another.
“He asked me to marry him when we graduated, we’d be married right after we finished college. He was majoring in business administration and finance. I was supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps and take over the family business in banking, majoring in the same. I wasn’t interested in sitting in a bank for the rest of my life, so I became a disappointment and got my real estate license on the side, opening my own agency.
“I was constantly reminded I was inferior because I refused to step up and run the family business, no matter that I was becoming very successful with real estate. Anyway, Doug and I got married. I guess the stock market business is stressful since the abuse started with drinking. That’s when the verbal outbursts got bad. I was never good enough, not selling the houses high enough or bringing home a big enough commission. If I got smart with my answers, I was silenced either being hit or locked up in the basement.”
Sting moved over to the couch, taking a seat next to her. She offered up a tiny smile when he took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“That’s just the beginning.” A small laugh was cut off by a shake of her head. Durty drew in a ragged breath before she continued. “It progressed eventually. Even when I got pregnant. He was more careful then. He couldn’t let the public see the bruises. I tried to get help from my father, but he never believed me.
“Until Doug killed my baby. I came home—” her voice broke, forcing her to look away from the sadness that lay in Sting’s blue gaze. “I came home from work one day and found Doug suffocating Sebastian. I tried to stop him, but it was too late.” Durty turned her hands, palm up, spreading out her fingers, reliving the blood that was on her hands. “I stabbed him between the shoulder blades. I didn’t know what else to do.
“I called the police and he was taken to jail, but he bought his way out. I filed for a divorce, was granted it, and wanted to come home. My father, the great Altdorf Simons, wouldn’t let me. I was a disgrace. I didn’t know my place in the home, which the woman was to keep her mouth shut, no matter if she was being beaten or that her baby was murdered.”
“Jesus,” Sting breathed out, shrugging out of his cut. He turned it inside out, folding it neatly down the middle. Laying it to the side, he pulled Durty into his arms. “You don’t need that shit.”
She laid her legs over his thighs, resting her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes drift closed. “I’m still a daddy’s girl. I guess that’s not something you can ever take away, but I hate him for not being there for me when I needed him the most.”
“No one can blame you for feeling that way, Durty.” He lifted her tear stained face with a gentle hand. “Please, don’t ever place me in a category of men like that again. I don’t hit women, never have, never will. Spank an ass? Yeah, but that’s it.”
She knew he was trying to make her feel better, and a giggle bubbling forth. “Yeah, well. I was upset, and people say shit they don’t mean when they’re upset.”
“I get that.” Sting nodded, his thumb sweeping along her cheek to wipe the tears away. “I’m different, I guess. I don’t need to prove my masculinity by smacking my bitch up. I’ll whip my dick out if I need to show I’m a man.”
“Really?” Durty’s brows shot up, the corner of her lips twitching, trying to keep from smiling. That was the only invitation she needed. S
hifting her weight, Durty straddled his lap, leaning back enough to allow her fingers to grasp the edge of his shirt and give it a solid tug up and over his head. Tossing the shirt aside, Durty took in the sight of his muscled chest lightly peppered with darker brown hair.
“What do you think you’re doing,” he asked, his voice lightly teasing her.
She looked back up as he peered at her intently. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach as desire for her flared in the fathomless depths of his eyes. She found herself completely conscious of his virile appeal, especially the fullness of his lips. The memory of how soft and gentle they were made her powerless to stop herself when she leaned closer, dipping her head to brush hers over them.
Sting’s quick inhale let her know he wanted this as much as she did. Durty smiled against his lips when she raked her nails over his chest, down his abdomen—a hiss from him her reward. Flicking her tongue across his bottom lip, Durty lifted her hands to tangle them in the silken blond tresses, trapping his head in her grasp.
She moaned when his mouth parted for her, his tongue dancing with her own. Durty tilted her head enough to give her an angle to nip at his lips tenderly.
That didn’t last long. Before she realized what happened, she was on her back, being pushed into the cushions by a body heavier than her own. Her jean clad legs parted, allowing him to place his weight on his knees and not her chest. Sting’s mouth never left hers with the movement, giving her ample opportunity to run her fingertips down the lean lines of his back.
His head lifted, the tip of his tongue swiping across his lips. “Are you sure?”
Still the gentleman, even after she’d been a total, raging bitch. That told her much more than anything else he’d professed. He’d broken through the barricades of her psyche, showing her he was a man in total control of his emotions and actions—someone she could put her trust in. Durty slowly nodded, moving her hand to cup his cheek. “Totally.”
One hand cupped her ass, the other rested at the middle of her back, forcing her to arch her chest into his. Sting’s left leg dropped off the couch, his foot planted on the floor. Feeling his hips shift down, pressing against her very core, Durty yelped in surprise when he rocked back, lifting them up into a standing position. Locking her legs around his waist at her ankles, her head fell back with laughter.
“Why didn’t you just ask me to let you go so we could get up?”
The look Sting gave her had her heart thumping erratically. No one ever looked at her with as much desire or intensity as he was. Clearing her throat, she looked down to hide the way he affected her.
His knee lifted, and then she fell back, his arm on her back still in control. The softness of her bed enveloped her. Frowning when he released her, he stood up and gazed down at her. Durty lifted to rest on her elbows, head canting in curiosity. Her body throbbed with the need for him to completely possess her, and she’d be damned if she was going to let him walk away.
“Take your tank off.”
The order stilled something inside of her. She ought to be panicking, but a smoldering flame was lit instead. The heat spread through her like wildfire, urging her to comply with his firm request.
She yanked off her top and threw it to the floor without hesitation, the cool air from the AC causing tiny goosebumps to prickle her skin.
Sting took a step back from the bed, his eyes never leaving her. “Now, your bra.”
Trembling hands lifted, trying to pry open the front clasp, fumbling at it like a teenage boy getting to second base for the first time. Snap! There it went. The fabric fell open, revealing heavy breasts to him.
When his darkening blues dropped to her chest, her nipples hardened, and her breath quickened. She wanted nothing more than to have his hot mouth on her aching flesh. Her body involuntarily pushed her chest out, begging him to taste of her, her head falling back as he complied, moving toward her.
His tongue flicked over the diamond hard nub before the warmth of his mouth encompassed the pink flesh, suckling to draw the sensitive skin further inside. A low, feral groan was released as she pushed up more, his hand cradling her free breast before he squeezed the heavy mound. Durty cut off a cry of delight when he bit the side of her breast, urging him to do so again, but he pulled away from her, much to her disappointment.
Sting looked in pain when he stepped back once more, his hands dropping to the button of his jeans. His voice was barely above a rugged whisper, “Take off your pants.”
What the hell was he trying to do to her?
The way he ordered her to do his bidding was a total turn on. There was no tone of harshness, no form of abuse of power over her. Durty could hear the yearning in his voice as he instructed her on what he wanted.
Laying back, Durty lifted her hips enough to unbutton and wriggle the fabric from her hips, exposing the white lace boy shorts she sported. Kicking free of the jeans, the cool air hit the damp spot at her delta, heightening her senses.
Durty’s head jerked up, swearing Sting growled low, and judging the look on his face, she guessed right. He watched her like she was his next meal and he was seconds away from devouring her.
Sting prowled toward her, causing Durty to suck in a sharp breath and hold it. The bed shifted under his weight when he crawled onto it, his eyes capturing her own. She forgot to breathe. That look seared her to her very core.
All her senses short circuited when his mouth found the meaty globe once more, his tongue circling the dusty pink nub with aching slowness. Sting’s weight was welcome when he rested his hips over hers. A deep, guttural groan bubbled out when he ground down into the junction of her thighs, his zipper rubbing against the moist fabric, the friction nearly making her come out of her skin.
“God bless America!” Durty gasped, her eyes squeezing shut, her body feeling like it’d caught on fire. Completely aroused, she pressed closer to him, crushing her soft curves into the hard plains of his body, her hips ground harder against the growing bulge in his jeans. A hiss of pleasure was ripped from his lips before they found the crook of her neck, his teeth sinking into the pliable and soft skin.
“Take them off, please,” she begged, needing to feel the length of his body on her own, the heat radiating off of him.
“Take what off?” His voice was gruff when he pushed up on his hands, gazing at her from under thick lashes.
His near platinum mane cascaded around her like satin curtains, his eyes glowed like diamonds when he smiled at her. It all but took her breath away at the very idea a man as gorgeous as him would notice someone like her. She was damaged goods, and he was handling her like a pro.
Durty tried to swallow, her mouth very dry. She knew she was a vanilla type girl and Sting was pushing the limits, forcing her outside the box. Clearing her throat, Durty looked to the left, whispering, “Your pants.”
“I didn’t hear you.” Sting scooted backward, clearly rising from the bed.
“No─” Durty tried to protest, reaching out for him, but missing capturing him. “Your pants.”
“What about them?” Sting lowered his hands to the top button of his jeans once more.
Heat flared through her, her cheeks burning, Durty could only gasp for air. Sitting up, her eyes never strayed from the fingers toying with the brass button that held the gates of what was assuredly heaven, closed.
“Take your pants off.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, afraid of what it might sound like any louder.
“I still couldn’t hear you, Durty.”
Her eyes rolled with a sweep of her tongue across parched lips. She really wanted those jeans off him, and knew the only way that was happening, was if she grabbed her ovaries and asked him the proper way. Gathering up something akin to courage, she spoke louder. “Take your pants off,” Durty paused, her lips lifting into a shaky smile. “Please.”
Breathing wasn’t an option when his hands freed that tiny button from its confines. Inch by agonizing inch, she wa
tched impatiently as he lowered the zipper, slowly revealing the tanned skin she yearned for. Taking hold of his belt loops, Durty tugged down on his pants. She wanted him inside of her.
Now.
Once the jeans passed his thighs, she let go and watched them fall to the floor. He was commando and standing proud. Durty’s mouth watered as she studied him. He wasn’t a porn star, though he had the looks. Sting was perhaps a tad above average and thick, with a slight curve up.
Durty moved to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs to straddle him as he stood before her. The prickle of tiny hairs tickled her finger tips when she ran them up the length of his thighs, rounding his trim hips. His breathing quickened when her nails scraped his abdomen, the muscles jumping under her touch.
That was all it took.
Durty was on her back once more with Sting between her legs. The only thing keeping him from burying himself inside of her was the white lace they hadn’t removed. That was quickly remedied.
His hands tore at the panties. The fabric ripping free of her body was the most erotic sound Durty ever heard. Her body throbbed with need at the dominant gesture, her breasts rose and fell with near hyperventilation.
Sting took total control of her. His free hand grasped her thigh, pushing her legs further apart to accommodate him. Everything came to a stop when he paused to meet her hooded gaze. Durty placed her palms on his chest, pushing against him with light persistence.
His head lowered, hovering his lips over her own. “I love you too.”
Before she could reply, his mouth devoured her own, his tongue begging for hers to dance with him. Groaning into him, Durty met his fervor with her own, her hips writhing under him, urging him to possess her fully.
A single thrust of his hips had her singing praises in her head as he filled her to the brim. Durty broke their kiss when her head pressed back into the bed, forcing her chest up and into his own, a tiny cry elicited.
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 18
