by Maisey Yates
But, oh well. Hell was hell, he supposed, unless you bought into the levels of it. And anyway, he was probably already headed to the lecherous pervert level, so he supposed he might as well go all in.
Right before he could knock, the door swung open and Clara answered it, looking bright eyed and disheveled, her feet bare. She was dressed in a pair of sweats and what looked like a thermal top that clung to her slight curves. She was beautiful. So beautiful he could hardly breathe.
“Hi,” she said, sounding breathless.
“Hi. I brought... I brought soup.”
“I don’t like soup,” she said.
“We had stew together last week.”
“Stew is different than soup,” she insisted. “I don’t like soup. Stew is good. But I’m not—” she cleared her throat “—hungry anyway.”
She stood there, looking at him, her expression laden with very unsubtle meaning.
“Not hungry, huh?”
“No. Not for... Well, come in.”
Relief spread through him. No, Clara wasn’t subtle, but he realized then that he had been a little nervous that her assertion she didn’t want food might have been her way of trying to send him away. Apparently not.
He walked inside. The little space was cozy, warmed by a fire lit in the woodstove off the living room. He could hear it popping and crackling against the wrought iron, a strange, homey sound that reminded him of a safe, comforting childhood he’d sure as hell never had.
Before he could say anything, Clara took the paper bag out of his hand and looked inside. Her eyebrows shot up. “Are those condoms? Or very oddly shaped, rubber saltines?”
“I brought soup and safe sex,” he said. “I’m recently informed you don’t like soup, but I am hoping that you’re interested in the sex.”
She sagged with relief, her petite shoulders dropping, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I am extremely interested in the sex.” She set the bag down, and then turned to him, stretching up on her toes and grabbing hold of his face before kissing him.
He just stood there, his hands resting at his sides as he let her take the lead. She was so... She was sweet, and there was something both innocent and incredibly dirty about the kiss. Something to do with the fact that she didn’t know what she was doing combined with the fact that she was clearly very enthusiastic about it. Desperate for it, even. Desperate for him.
He had spent a good portion of the day being angry at himself. Regretting what had happened up in his bedroom. Regretting that he had taken her virginity when they hadn’t had any time. That he had done it in the morning, with the edges of his hangover still crowding around them. Regretted that he had proven he wasn’t worthy of the kind of trust that Jason had placed in him. And then at some point, midafternoon, he had just quit caring. Because really, there was no point in having regret about it.
He had already known he wasn’t the man worthy of that kind of trust. Because he already knew what he was worth. It had touched him. Deep. To know that somebody had trusted him like that. To know that his friend had seen him as the kind of person who would step up and take care of Clara. And the fact of the matter was, he had. But Clara wasn’t a child. She was a woman. And the interaction he was having with her now was separate from Jason. Separate from his intentions, and from his wishes.
The only real regret Alex had at this point was that his friend wasn’t alive to punch him in the face. That would make things feel equal. It would make things feel fair.
If Jason was here, something might have still happened with Clara. Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Because maybe she wouldn’t be in the space that she needed this. And maybe he wouldn’t be either. Maybe she would be off dating a nice hipster guy that took her out to restaurants she hated and then had safe, nonthreatening sex with her in his tiny house. Which probably wouldn’t even rock when they had sex, because he would surely be gentle enough with her not to cause that kind of commotion.
But Jason was dead. And that meant she needed something else. Maybe right now that meant she needed him.
God knew for whatever reason, he needed her.
And so he let her kiss him. And he enjoyed it. But there came a moment when letting her take the lead was no longer a question. Because it was no longer possible.
He gripped her hips, drew her up against him, let her feel how hard he was. How much he wanted her.
He wasn’t going to resist this time. He wasn’t even going to pretend. He wasn’t serving a higher purpose, right now. He was serving the purpose of his own need, and since it seemed to serve hers, as well, he was going to go with it.
His own mother didn’t much care whether he lived or died, so there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of point in pretending he was anything more than he was. Anything more than a man who had once been a boy nobody much wanted.
But Clara wanted him. At least physically. And he saw no reason at all not to take her up on that.
He kissed her deeper than she kissed him. Dirtier. And he showed her that there were some benefits to skill.
She tasted like surprise. Expectation. Innocence. And that shouldn’t turn him on. But it did. It damn well did. Same as that soft thermal top she was wearing and those unassuming sweats. Clothes that told him she absolutely hadn’t taken for granted she’d be having sex tonight. And that was hot too.
He lifted her up into his arms and headed into the living room, holding both her and the condoms. There was a small, braided rug on the floor that didn’t provide much in the way of cushion for them. But, in the interest of efficiency, he grabbed a red blanket off the couch and threw it down over the rug, providing them with a little bit more.
He deposited her onto the makeshift bed, then straightened.
“Take your shirt off,” she said, her words surprisingly bold.
He smiled. “Are you making demands now?”
“We had to go too fast earlier today,” she said. “And now, I want the chance to really look at you. More than I did before.”
He whipped his shirt up over his head, not seeing any point in arguing, since their objectives seemed to more or less match up. He got on his knees in front of her as she leaned back on her forearms, halfway propped up, her eyes roaming over his body shamelessly. He leaned over her, planting his palms on the blanket on either side of her, bringing his face down close to hers. “So, honey,” he asked, leaning in and kissing the side of her neck. “How was your day?”
She gasped. “That’s not fair. I can’t think when you do that.”
“Good,” he responded. “I don’t want you to think. If you think too much, you’ll probably end up sending me home.”
“No chance,” she gasped as he nibbled his way down to her collarbone.
“Really? Why is that?” He needed to hear it for some reason. Needed to hear exactly what she was getting out of this. Maybe because—no matter what he told himself—he actually needed something to add to the pile of justifications he was stacking up in his brain. The justifications that made having sex with Clara okay.
“Because I want to do this here,” she said, lifting her hands and sliding them down his chest. “Here in this house. I’ve had so many things happen here. So many bad things. My whole life is in these walls, Alex. And so much of it is bad. So much of it is pain. I want some good things. Some things that feel good. You feel good. And I know this isn’t going to last. I know you’re just here to look out for me. I know that this is all for Jason.”
“Stop right there. This—” he waved his hand between them “—this is not for Jason. This is for me, Clara. And I can dress it up in my own head, and I can tell myself it’s for you. I can tell myself it’s because you begged, because you’re asking me to help make pretty memories here in your living room. But the fact of the matter is, I’m doing this because I want you. And I need you to know that. Don
’t dress it up. Don’t pretend that I’m some kind of nice guy doing you a favor. Don’t let me pretend that either. I’m a horny jackass, and I just want inside you. Beginning and end of it. Okay?”
Her eyes darkened, her breath coming faster. And he wondered for a moment if she was going to shove him off her. He would deserve it, certainly, after that little speech. But he had to clear the air between them. He couldn’t let this strange, cozy, romanticized situation cloud the reality.
“That’s the best thing you could have said,” she responded, her voice breaking. “Because that’s... I don’t think I’ve ever been irresistible to anybody. No, I know I haven’t been. Because everyone has done a great job of resisting me up until now. Up until you. That’s what I want. I don’t want pity, Alex. I don’t want to be somebody’s project. I don’t want to be your dead friend’s sister. I just want to be me. For just a little bit. And that’s always been impossible here. Because as much as my tragic history is contained here in this house, it’s contained here in this town too. It’s what everybody thinks when they see me. I’m glad you see a desirable woman. I think in the end it’s going to help me see it too.”
Whether she was the one who closed the distance and started kissing him, or he did, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter anyway. Because then, he was kissing her. Long, deep and intense, pouring all of the emotion he felt into it. He didn’t know what the hell the emotion was. Some kind of pounding desperation that he had never quite experienced before.
This was wrong, and he didn’t care. It was the definition of entanglements, and he didn’t care. Alex had never had a girlfriend in his life. He didn’t do the emotional stuff. And Clara was never going to be his girlfriend, that much he knew. But this wasn’t some quick hookup between deployments. Wasn’t some one-night stand with a woman he met at a bar off base. This was Clara. And he couldn’t disassociate that from the moment. He didn’t even want to.
She was ten years younger than him, and so much less experienced, but with all she’d been through, the losses and struggles, he felt like she might understand him better than anyone else in his life.
He shouldn’t care about that. When had he ever pondered whether or not he was understood? Never. And he shouldn’t start now. Hell, this was far too much thinking during a kiss anyway.
So he shoved it all aside. All of it. Except for her delicate scent. Skin, soap and little else. Except for the way her delicate fingertips brushed against his skin. Except for the soft, sweet little noises she made when he parted her lips with his tongue and tasted her deep.
He pushed his hands up underneath that soft, completely unsexy shirt and pushed it up over her head. He removed her bra too, left her bare before him. The sweet, slight curves and enticement he wasn’t going to try to resist.
“Indulge me,” he said, knowing that he was pushing things, and not really caring. He was past the point of good taste, past the point of salvation. Might as well revel in it. “You had never kissed a man before me.”
She bit her lip, shook her head.
“That means no man has ever touched you like this.” He lifted his hand, slid his thumb over one tight, pale pink nipple, the answering tightness in his own body almost more than he could stand.
“No,” she said, the answer choked.
“No man has ever done this either.” He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her soft stomach then moving down lower, to the tender skin just beneath her bellybutton.
“No,” she gasped. “Alex?”
He forced his fingers beneath the waistband of her sweats, dragging them down her thighs and off her body, and then he just kind of hung out down there. Looking up at her bare, pale legs, at the extremely innocent pair of cotton panties that was stealing his view of that most feminine part of her.
He reached upward, pressing two fingers over her cloth-covered center. “Are these little foxes? Oh, and they have little hearts next to them.” He pressed more firmly against her, and she gasped. He stroked her, reveling in the way her hips shifted restlessly against his touch. “Very cute.”
“Do you really...” she panted “...want to have a conversation about my panties right now?”
“I might.” He curled his fingers beneath that cotton border that lay at the crease of her thigh. “It’s a pretty interesting subject.”
“I don’t understand why we’re talking.”
“I have a lot to say.”
“How?”
“I just thought you needed to know how damn pretty you are,” he said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. “So.” He punctuated that word with a kiss to that sensitive skin on her thigh. “Damn.” Another kiss, this time higher. “Pretty.” And that brought him right to those fox panties.
She was watching him, a mixture of horror and fascination in those blue eyes. She wasn’t going to let him forget she was inexperienced. No chance of that.
It gave him ample time to look at himself. At his conscience. At his choices. But he found he still didn’t care. If anything, it only got him hotter.
Slowly, slow enough that she had the chance to really understand what was about to happen, he swept the panties to the side. And he cursed.
“What?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
“Just so pretty,” he managed to force out through his tightened throat.
He shifted his hand, sliding his thumb along all that pale beauty. She gasped again, and he took his exploration deeper, parting her folds and slowly stroking her up and down, until she was making small, whimpering sounds.
“As much as I like the underwear,” he said, curling his fingers around the fabric, “it has to go now.”
He stripped it off her body, discarding it, then turned his focus back to her. Instinctively, she lifted her hips upward, and he was more than happy to respond to that invitation.
He lowered his head, tasting her, the need that had been consuming him since he’d had her earlier today only intensifying as he got the first hint of her flavor on his tongue.
He wanted to pleasure her, he really did. But that was just going to have to be a side effect to satisfying the beast that was roaring inside of him, demanding that he devour her.
For himself. For his own desire.
His own needs.
He gripped her hips, pulled her toward him and licked her, long and slow. She let out a sharp, short squeak, lifting her hand and threading it through his hair, pulling it hard.
He didn’t know if she was trying to make him stop, or if it was just a response, but either way, he kept on going. Her hands came to grab hold of his shoulders, fingernails digging deep into his flesh as he continued to pleasure her.
He brought his hand up, pressing two fingers deep inside of her as he circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, before soothing it with one long, slow lap.
Her hips were pulsing against his mouth in time with his movements, demanding more, signaling how close she was.
Alex cared about that. Somewhere, dimly in the back of his mind. But mostly, he was just obsessed with having more of her. Now that he had embraced the idea of having Clara, he was insatiable. Drowning in this obsession, in this need that verged on pain.
He curved his hands around, palming her ass, lifting her more firmly against his mouth. And she screamed. Her release tearing through her, her entire body shuddering in his hands.
Just because she was satisfied, didn’t mean he was. He kept on licking her, tasting her, until she was begging him to stop, but he pushed, just one more, and he felt her explode again. Then he raised himself from between her thighs, gathered her into his arms and held her until she began to piece back together.
“Alex,” she said, her voice thick, like she was drugged.
He kissed her. Let her taste her own desire on his lips. He drew back, hurriedly
shucking off his jeans and underwear before grabbing the box of condoms. He took out a square, tore the packet open and protected himself quickly before moving back to her.
“I don’t think I can,” she said, her voice sounding shaky, weak. “I mean, I don’t think I can come again.”
“I think we should test that theory,” he said.
He hooked her leg over his hip and thrust inside of her, the passage easy this time because she was so wet with the evidence of her previous releases.
“Oh,” she gasped, holding on to his shoulders. “It feels so good this time.”
“Because you’re more than ready for me now.” He nuzzled her neck, kissed her, blazed the trail up to her mouth, before capturing it. “You want this,” he said against her lips. “Tell me how much.”
“I want this.”
“You want me,” he said, the words unexpected, even to him. “Tell me that. Tell me you want me.”
“I want you, Alex.”
He didn’t even have to ask for his name. She had already known enough to give it. That he needed to hear it. That he needed to be sure that she wanted him. That she didn’t just want a Band-Aid for grief. That she wasn’t just taking him instead of Asher because he had somehow become the more convenient lay.
“Alex,” she said again, when he withdrew and thrust back home. “Alex,” she repeated as he began to establish a steady rhythm designed to drive them both crazy.
She was so hot, so tight, squeezing him just right. He thought his head was going to explode. He was pretty sure all of him might explode. He wanted to make it last. This time, it mattered for her.
Because he was the only man to ever be inside of her. And he wanted to make sure that he was the man she remembered. Forever. For always.
He pumped into her, his pelvis grinding against her clit with each thrust, and she lifted her hips to meet him each time. He had never been with a woman who seemed quite so in awe of what it meant to be with him. Who seemed so enthralled with having him buried inside of her.
