by Eden Summers
“I sure am.” I chuckle.
He grins, exposing his dimple, and a softness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. It’s beautiful. Frighteningly so. For a second, I pause, taking in his complexity. The calm of his smile against his hard penetration.
“I thought you were going to be rough.”
He bites my lip again, this time harder. “I thought it was better not to scare you.”
“Or you turned into a pussy.”
“Yeah?” He raises a brow and slams into me. “You really think so?” He snakes his hand behind my neck and grips my ponytail, tugging my head back. My breasts thrust toward him. My eyes roll.
Pleasure. So much pleasure.
His mouth trails a path from my cheek to my shoulder, then my chest. His kisses become stronger. Harder. I squeal as he sucks on my skin. Shit. He’s leaving marks, tattooing me with his domination.
“Too much for you? ’Cause I haven’t even started,” he murmurs against the side of my breast, his hips still bucking, fucking the life out of me. Or maybe he’s fucking life back into me.
I don’t want that. I don’t want change. I need this sterile existence. “No. Not enough.” I need the harsh detachment to keep me sane.
I shove at his chest and buck my hips, encouraging him to roll. We tumble, switching positions, me on top, his muscled body beneath me.
“Better?” He raises a brow in question.
I nod. His cock sinks deeper, stretching me farther. “Mmmhmm.”
He cups my breasts, his fingers digging into flesh. I ride him, my hands splayed on his hard chest. All my muscles are tense, taut from the build of bliss. Then my foot twinges. A cramp strikes. “Shit.”
“What?” He scowls.
“I’ve got a cramp.”
“Not my fucking problem.” His words are rough, but his lips curve in a tease.
No, it isn’t his problem, but he pushes to sit, his hand sliding over my thigh, my calf, my heel. He curls my toes in his fist and the pain increases. He doesn’t stop fucking me; he continues the rhythmic pulse of his hips, the stimulation gradually fighting back as the cramp subsides.
“Better?” His eyes hold something that threatens to weaken me. Something that cracks my ribs apart in an attempt to touch my heart.
“Yeah.” I glance away and bury my head in his shoulder.
His hands find my ass as he continues to sit, our chests plastered together, our sweat mingling. He guides my movements, making me grind against the dick nestled deep inside me. The friction teases my clit, the pleasure pulsing through me from my core, to my stomach, to my breasts.
“For a fucking temptress, your pussy is as tight as a virgin’s.”
I close my eyes and smile. “You’re so sweet.”
He chuckles, digging his fingers deeper into my ass. Tomorrow, I’ll have a roadmap of marks on my body. A treasure trove of carnal memories.
He leans down, his mouth latching onto my nipple. He sucks. He grinds. He thrusts. Every movement catapults me toward an edge I’ll happily dive over.
“Tell me your name. I want to shout it when I come.”
I shake my head. I’m already close. I need to focus.
He growls, “Tell me.” The rough texture of his tongue swipes my breast, trailing my areola.
“Oh, God, don’t stop.” I want more. I need more.
“Then tell me.”
I pulse faster, my orgasm within reach. He groans, and the delicious sound acts as a trigger.
My pussy contracts, pulsing over and over. Wave after wave of ecstasy pummels me from the inside out. Drowning and re-energizing at the same time. I moan, longer, louder. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Damn you,” he growls, pistoning his hips.
I slowly blink through the shattering peak, my mind and body tangled in a delicious web of delirium and euphoria.
Each change in his expression becomes a memorable snapshot I vow to never forget. He shouts his release, his fingers creating scars—emotional and physical. That beautifully rugged face contorts. Sweat beads his skin. Wisps of hair cover his eyes as his forehead scrunches.
I watch, enraptured, as his pleasure takes hold, and I thrive on him succumbing. For once, he’s not in control. He’s weak. He’s human.
My chest tightens in excitement, as if I’ve won a battle. But what could I have won other than a temporary distraction?
His shoulders slump, and his grip loosens. The emotionless face I’ve grown accustomed to returns along with his steady breathing. I stare at the stranger poised between my thighs, unable to look away from the lazy intensity staring at me.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, resting back on one hand.
I snap out of the lust haze and command myself to focus. “I’ve already told you.”
“You haven’t told me a damn thing.”
“Then maybe it’s none of your business.”
His nostrils flare, and I’m equally annoyed and turned on by his anger. “Is it a crime to want to know your fucking name?”
Yes. He shouldn’t need to know. I certainly have no interest in learning his.
“It’s Emma.” I scowl. “You already know that.”
“Bullshit,” he grates.
I pull back with the evaporation of ecstasy. So much for a distraction. The memory of how I got here floods back. The images of Dan assail me, creating revulsion.
I crawl off him, my body immediately missing his, and move to sit on the edge of the mattress. I lean over, massaging my forehead as my mind rambles unwanted thoughts.
How did I get here?
I was happy once. Loving. Optimistic. I didn’t have a care in the world. Then Jacob changed everything, instigating a domino effect I had no control over. I functioned with continued detachment. I lived for one thing, and one thing only. And this is what I’ve become.
All the fulfilment I experienced moments ago washes out like a tide, and hollow disgust flows in with the force of a tsunami. I’ve just had sex. Mind-blowing, limb-shaking sex. Mere minutes after finding out I’m a murderer.
Who have I become?
“You should leave.” My statement is strong, belying the already fractured parts of me which fragment into tinier slivers.
I stay silent, waiting for a protest that doesn’t come.
The mattress jolts with his shifting weight, then he’s gone, moving away from the bed, his padded footsteps retreating. His clothes rustle. His shoes thud against the floor.
“Emma… Stephanie… Whatever the hell your name is, I want to see you again.” Each word is growled harsher than the last. “Tonight. At the bar.”
I grab my pillow and drag it to my chest. I won’t succumb again. I need to pull my shit together, not spread it out for the world to see. I have to figure out what to do now that I’m one of those people I usually fight to punish. And now, more than ever, I have to gain retribution for what has been done to my family before I become the focus of someone else’s vengeance. Or worse—trapped behind bars.
“Do you hear me?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I hear you.”
But hearing him doesn’t mean I’m listening.
8
Her
I don’t meet him that night. Or the next. Or the one after that.
Too many nights pass with me sitting by the window watching him enter Atomic Buzz. But he’s always there, always looking up at my window before he walks inside, and always glancing toward my position in the shadows when he leaves hours later.
I’ve tried to focus. I’ve pulled out all the memories I have on Jacob from the box hidden beneath the floorboards under my bed. I’ve scattered the newspaper clippings, the grainy photos, the family tree, and covered my living room floor, my coffee table, and the sofa.
Those papers have lain untouched for days.
I’ve attempted to find dirt on the name Dan mentioned—Vaughn. Zeke or Zander or Zack. Nothing comes up. Jacob York had successfully disappeared, and this new Vaughn alias is a ghost. Or maybe
the lead was a lie.
Either way, it cost Dan his life and has now trapped me in a tighter cage of paranoia. I haven’t left my apartment in days. I’m constantly alert, always on the lookout for anyone suspicious approaching my building. I reach for my gun whenever my phone vibrates with a notification that my door surveillance camera has been triggered. And sleep… Well, let’s just say sleep and I aren’t friends anymore.
I need to get a grip, but there’s no grounding here. Each day that inches closer to Dan’s funeral compacts the emotional instability clogging my veins. I’ve followed the investigation. Doctors say he suffered a dissected carotid artery from a blunt force trauma that led to a blood clot being carried to the brain.
The blunt force trauma was from me.
His death was a result of the injuries I’d inflicted.
He literally died at my hands, and as I look down at my palms, I can see the damage I’ve caused. My fingers seem savage. Less feminine, and now tarnished with brutality.
His funeral will be held the day after tomorrow, and I can’t stomach the mental images my overly creative mind conjures. All those people who will mourn a depraved man. All the tears. All that misplaced heartache.
He should’ve lived to endure his punishment.
I drag my gaze back outside and stare at Brent’s bar. Thoughts of the mystery man are the only thing capable of temporarily wiping away the anger. Even when he’s not there, I can see him walking through those doors, glancing up at me.
I need to get a grip. No. I have to escape and clear my head. Even if just for a day.
I shove from the window ledge, grab my coat, and leave my apartment for the first time in days. I linger in the lobby, stalking the sidewalk like a deranged mental patient as I scan the roads and sidewalk for police. A suspect hasn’t been announced yet, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have one.
I could be on any number of radars—authorities and Dan’s family.
I slip outside, the weight of a million stares on my shoulders even though fewer than ten people are in sight. I hustle across the road, my jacket collar high and my head low as I enter Atomic Buzz.
Inside, I’m relieved there’s only two of the regulars drinking away their sorrows. I approach the bar and slide onto a seat. “Hey, Brent.”
He pauses in the middle of stacking racks of glasses on the far counter and turns my way. “You’re back twice in one month. What did I do to earn the honor?”
“I actually came to ask a favor.”
He places the rack down and dusts his hands. “What’s up?”
A lump forms in my throat. I hadn’t realized asking for help would be difficult. Favors build connections, and I seem to be making too many of them lately.
“I know it’s late notice, but can I borrow your car tomorrow?”
“You heading back to Seattle to see your family?”
The lump grows, increasing the need to swallow.
He remembers. Of course he does. He listens to every word I say. He cares about me, even when he shouldn’t.
“Yeah. Just a quick day trip. I’ll have your car back before you close tomorrow night. I’ll make sure to fill it with gas and give you cash for the cab rides you’ll need while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry about the money. You know you can borrow anything you want, whenever you like.”
I nod and lower my gaze in an attempt to ditch his lingering stare.
“You look tired,” he adds. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” I answer without thought. “I just didn’t want to rent a car at late notice. By the time I get to the lot and find—”
“I’m not talking about the car.”
I assumed as much.
I paste on a confident smile and lift my gaze. “Everything is super-dooper perfect. I couldn’t be better.”
Go hard or go home, right?
His eyes narrow, not buying my bullshit, and I hold the expression like a motherfucker, unwilling to lose this battle. I can’t handle his concern on top of everything else. I simply can’t.
Eventually, he nods. “Have you seen that man of yours is hanging around a lot? I think I’ve doubled my income this week because of him alone.”
I scowl. Maybe I should’ve held more interest in learning mystery man’s name because calling him ‘my man’ isn’t a trend I’m down with. “He’s not mine.”
Brent shrugs and grabs a liquor bottle from under the bar. He pours a nip, then grabs another bottle and another, finally filling it with soda before he slides the concoction toward me. “It sure looked that way when he left your building last week.”
Last week? Geez, I’ve been hermitting my life away for longer than I thought. “I kicked him out the night we left here together.”
“I know.” He gives a conniving smile. “He told me.”
“He did?” I shuffle forward, not realizing my mistake of showing my piqued interest until it’s too late. And now I can’t be bothered hiding my intrigue. “What did he say?”
That smile turns to a grin. “He told me he likes you. That you were different. But he also said he wouldn’t apologize for carrying a gun because he was here to protect his family.”
“He told you about the gun?” Christ. The guy acts as if every word he utters is a secret, yet he happily blurts the details to Brent. Maybe the whole recluse act is just that—an act to hold my interest. “I don’t believe it.”
“What part don’t you believe?” he asks.
I don’t want to believe any of it. I don’t need to think about him liking me when he’s already become my only comforting thought through this hellish week. I don’t want my opinion of his gun to change, either. I’ve made a lot of my judgements about him based on his sinister intent with a deadly weapon. I’ve branded him dangerous because of that firearm.
If he only carried to protect his sister…
If he truly is a non-violent man…
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
“What now?”
“Nothing.” I grasp the drink and sip. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
“He seems like a genuine guy.”
Genuine? In what? To me, the guy seems genuinely bad news. Genuinely toxic to my concentration. Genuinely a huge fucking mistake with his overly inquisitive nature.
I transition from a sip to a gulp, chugging the alcohol until it’s all gone. “This isn’t a conversation we’re going to have.” I push my glass toward him and slide off the chair. “Is it still okay to borrow your car?”
Brent chuckles and retrieves a set of keys from a hook on the back wall. “Sure.” He lobs the prize at me. “Drive safe.”
I catch the offering, along with a relaxing sense of relief at the enabling escapism. “Thanks.”
I pull out the cash I’ve stashed in my jeans and place it on the bar. “For the cab rides and the drink.”
“You know I don’t want your money.”
“And you know I don’t want to hear your protests.” I kinda love this guy. He’s my only friend, no matter how disillusioned he is by the lies I’ve told. “I’ll return the keys as soon as I get back.”
“Don’t rush. I can deal without a car if you need it longer.”
“You’re too damn good to me.” I wink at him and make for the door, energized to get out of this city for a while. I’ll leave before daybreak, clear my head with the three-hour drive, lick old wounds while I visit my family, then return home with a plan for the future.
I push open the door to the street, and the heavy glass falls away under the hand pulling from the other side.
“Hey.” The deep, familiar voice slays me. Grips me. Punishes me.
I ignore the temptation to fall into lust and continue onto the sidewalk, only chancing a brief glance at my mystery man.
A brief glance is all it takes for his image to sear my retinas—worn, ripped jeans, a black jacket with the cuffs hitched a few inches up his tanned forearms, and a white T-shirt beneath that hugs his chest
. “You’re drinking earlier than usual tonight.”
He releases the door, remaining outside as I pivot my attention toward the curb and watch for traffic. The light crunch of his steps follows me. Intuition tells me he’s a foot away. I can feel him. Sense him. His interest raises the hair on the back of my neck and makes me shudder.
“You been watching me, princess?”
Fuck. Fuck.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind the attention.”
I roll my eyes and turn to face him. “I’ve gotta go.”
In a blink, the subtle humor glistening in those hazel irises is gone, and a delicious scowl takes its place. “You’re not going to join me for a drink?”
“Not tonight.” Not any night. Not when my stomach turns in knots whenever he’s close. I step onto the road, wait for a passing car, then jog to my side of the street. I’m yanking at my own ripcord, trying to fast-track my departure, but my heart is thumping in excitement, ignoring the inevitable crash and burn that will happen if I don’t get out of here.
“Then when?” The question comes from right behind me. “What’s got you in such a hurry to leave…again?”
Shit.
“I’ve got a big day tomorrow. I need to get up early.” I reach my building and enter the pin code into the keypad. The panel beeps, the lock clicks in release, and I pull the door wide, only to have his fierce hand push it shut.
I stiffen, all my muscles frozen and humming as I drown under his intense stare.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.
I sigh and fight the good fight, trying not to lick my lower lip to give him the encouragement we both crave. “I’m heading out of town.”
“Oh, yeah?” He raises a brow. “Where are you headed?”
Far away from his questions, his interest, and his temptation. I can’t keep encouraging the distraction. As much as I want to deny it, I thoroughly enjoy his attention. I’m suffocating in my need to breathe him deep, and not just into my lungs—into my life.
I shouldn’t have to remind myself it’s imperative to lay low and focus. The police are looking for me, whether they know it or not. And I have to find Jacob before karma deals me a heavy punishment.
