Break for Me

by Shiloh Walker

  “Think Chris is ever going to figure it out?” she asked.

  Tate hunched his shoulders and busied himself studying the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m right around the corner. I’m okay to walk.”

  “Yeah, and we walk the same direction, so let’s go.” Stubbornness written all over his face, he jammed his hands into his pockets and stood there.

  She snickered. “I bet Guy goes home and sits on his couch, composing sonnets about his beloved Tink.”

  Tinker Bell, the nickname they’d given Chris back when she’d just been a kid, had stuck with her throughout her teenage years, thanks to the woman’s love for the mischievous little fairy. It fit, too. Chris and Jensen both had large, slightly tilted eyes, and their features were best suited to pixie-like haircuts. But while Tink worked for Chris, it didn’t work so well for Jensen and they all knew it.

  Tate cut her a dark look and growled, “Just shut it, Jensen.”

  She blew him a kiss. “Guy and Chrissie, sitting in a tree…”

  Ali laughed.

  Hooking her arm with the other woman’s, Jensen started to walk. “Tate sees it, too. He just pretends otherwise. He can’t stand the idea that his best friend has the hots for his baby sister.”

  “I’m not hearing this,” Tate said, falling into step next to them. “I’m not. I’m just not.”

  Chatting with Ali, ignoring her brother, she let some of the tension, some of the pain of the day fall away.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t see him sitting there until she was almost on top of him.

  Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting to see him.

  Tate’s grumble came from deep in his chest and she stopped, shot him a look. “Cut back on the testosterone, bub. I didn’t like it in high school and I don’t like it now.”

  “I—”

  “Come on, baby. I think Jensen is big enough to handle herself.” Ali slid her arm around his waist as the man sitting on the porch of the big old house across the street lifted his head, all but lost in the shadows.

  Nothing could hide his eyes, though. Jensen felt his gaze, all the way down to her toes, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  Every inch of her seemed to sizzle, seemed to burn.

  As Tate continued to hover, she looked over at him. “Go on,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”

  Then she stepped off the curb, feeling her heart start to hammer against her chest.

  There hadn’t been a single time outside of the job when she’d sought Dean West out.

  She’d thought about him.

  She’d thought about him a lot.

  But she’d never looked him up. Crossing the street to talk to him made her feel nervous, almost as nervous as she’d been in high school when she went to go ask Tony Castillo if he wanted to go to the prom with her.

  That hadn’t gone so well. He’d been convinced prom meant sex. She’d disabused him of that notion, with no small amount of physical force and she’d had to hide her bruised, torn knuckles from her dad for the next few days.

  She hadn’t been able to hide them from Tate, though, and he’d dragged Tony out of his car when he’d been sitting in the parking lot behind McDonald’s a few days later. Tony had paled whenever he saw her for the rest of the school year and his pretty face had taken more than a few weeks to heal up.

  While she knew this wasn’t going to go over like that, she was still dragging her feet.

  His dark eyes, the color of melted milk chocolate, cut toward her and then he focused on the glass he held.

  Whiskey splashed into it as he refilled his glass.

  “Brascum needs to expand the kind of liquor he carries in there,” he said without looking away from his glass. “Nothing against Maker’s or Jack, but they aren’t the end-all, be-all of when it comes to whiskey.”“I’m more for rum.” She eyed the glass he held. “Although it’s been a day. Mind?”

  He passed the glass without saying a word and she tossed it back, felt the burn of it, sighed as it hit her belly. She passed it back and he took the glass but instead of refilling it, he just held it. After a moment, he put it down and lifted his hands, clasped together like he was praying. “I got words I need to say to you, but I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Don’t.” Staring out at the dark street, she thought back to how often she had to hear the very words he probably felt he had to say. “I’ve heard them all before, Dean. They change nothing, you know. I’m raw right now, but the wounds are old. You didn’t know. It’s cool.”

  “No.” He shook his head and said, “It’s not cool. Maybe these are old wounds, but I was taking digs at you over a personal thing and that just makes it more of a problem for me.”

  She slanted him a look and felt her heart freeze in her chest, for one long, long moment.

  There was something she’d meant to say. The words died, right there on the tip of her tongue as he took a deep, slow breath that seemed to shudder through him.

  She felt it echo through her as well, her skin drawing tight while heat buffeted her.

  No … no … no. Helplessly, she tried to gather up the strength to get up and walk away. This was no good. She couldn’t do this—

  “You got that look in your eyes,” he said, a faint smirk twisting his mouth. He had the damnedest mouth. She’d had dreams about that mouth. Dreams about capturing his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his, feeling his body against hers as she learned how he felt, how he tasted.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  “It would be easier, you know.” He stared out over the street, that deep, rich voice of his level and smooth, rolling over her like liquid gold. She felt something melt deep inside her and she had to bite back a groan. “If I didn’t look at you and sometimes see the same damn thing I feel. Because I know you feel it. But you ignore it. Ignore me. That’s what pushed me. I was a fucking asshole, and I know it. That’s why it’s not cool. So I’m sorry.”

  Licking her lips, she nodded. Get up, she told herself. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate and even once she managed to get vertical, her thighs were all trembling and weak. Swiping her palms down the outside of her jeans, she darted a quick look at him. “Don’t…” The words tangled on her tongue as their gazes connected. “Don’t let the thing about my mom get to you. You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

  “There you go,” he murmured, turning his head, dipping it down just a little. The heavy fall of dreadlocks obscured his face and she had the insane urge to reach down, fist her hand in his hair so she could see him, see his face. Proud, arched cheekbones, that fucking sexy mouth, and those intense eyes.

  She had no business wanting him. A want like this scared her.

  Because it was so deep, so strong, she made herself take another step back.

  Dean just nodded. “It’s okay, Jensen. I get it. You and me, we’re not going there. So I’ll…” He blew out a breath. “I’ll just stop.”

  The words ripped out of her. “Stop what?”

  He didn’t answer. Long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Woodford Reserve he had next to him and he rose. “I hope you can get some rest this weekend. Find some peace.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  He paused halfway up the steps. “I can’t stop myself from thinking about you. But I haven’t made much of an attempt to hide the fact that I’m interested. I can do better, so I will. You don’t want to see it, so I’ll keep it to myself. Sooner or later, it will fade.”

  Will it?

  She stared at the strong line of his back as he crossed the porch, her heart slamming away in her chest.

  A knot formed in her throat.

  This … this intensity she felt every time she looked at him. That could fade?

  It was the most real thing she’d felt since …

  She didn’t even realize she was moving until he’d turned to look at her.

  Then she was doing the very thing
she’d dreamed about.

  His skin was warm against hers, the light stubble scraping against her palms. Because that light touch wasn’t enough, she kept one palm on his face and then drove the other hand into his hair, tangled it in his dreads. The texture was coarse against her hand and she shuddered at the thought of feeling him, all of him.

  “I don’t want it to fade,” she whispered as she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

  * * *

  He’d had two drinks.

  He thought.

  That wasn’t going to make him hallucinate.

  Right?

  And even if it did …

  Dean groaned as her tongue danced across his lips and then pushed inside, without even waiting to see how he’d react.

  Fuck, there was no question of reaction.

  He’d only been waiting half a lifetime, it seemed.

  Maybe his entire life.

  Sliding one hand down to her hip, he yanked her against him. The feel of her, all slight angles and delicate curves, was every bit as perfect as he’d imagined.

  She jumped up and he caught her, the bottle of whiskey, the glass falling to the porch.

  Feeling like the top of his head was about to come straight off, he turned and pressed her against the wall. She arched against him and through the barrier of their clothes, he felt the warmth of her—it was a seductive, sweet heat.

  This was devastation, and he thought he was going to die if he didn’t get his hands on her.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he lifted his head and looked down at the upturned oval of her face. Her breath came in harsh, labored pants. His breathing was just as ragged and against his chest, he could feel the slight swell of her breasts, rising, falling. Sliding a hand over the curve of her hip, slipping his fingers under the hem of her shirt, he said softly, “When a man’s been dying for a taste of something for as long as I have, it’s hard to think straight, especially in a moment like this. I think maybe we should–”

  She pressed a finger to his lips.

  “I think we should stop thinking. I’m tired of it.”

  “Jensen—”

  * * *

  The sound of her name on his lips, his normally smooth, rich voice shaking and gruff, made her nipples draw tight and her knees wanted to just give out.

  Fisting her hands in his shirt, Jensen leaned in and pressed her mouth to his neck. The heavy weight of his hair blocked her and she pushed it back, taking her time, fisting her hands in the dreads, learning the feel, the texture. His chest rose and fell against hers, his breathing almost as ragged as her own and his body was shockingly hot.

  The warmth of him seeped into her and she shuddered, reveling in it. She wanted to fall into him, drown in that warmth, surround herself in it.

  “I spend most of my life thinking. Watching. Remembering. Waiting. I hardly ever feel. I hardly ever do.” She turned her face to his and caught his gaze.

  Then, without so much as blinking, she leaned in and caught his mouth.

  His mouth opened under hers. His hand came up, tangled in her hair.

  “Are you sure?” he growled against her mouth.

  She slid a hand down, under his shirt, dragged her nails across taut skin. “What do you think?”

  * * *

  “I think you want to see me break,” he muttered, dragging his head from hers.

  Control melted away, like it had never existed but he possessed enough sense of self to know two very important things.

  They were on the porch.

  And there was enough light around that anybody who happened by could see them. Keeping his arm banded around her, he kept her tucked against him as he fumbled the door open.

  Inside, he didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t do anything but flip the locks on the door and then flip her around, putting her back up against the door before he bent his head and caught her mouth with his.

  Hot.

  She was hot and sweaty and she shoved her hands into his hair, tugging him down to meet her with a greedy, demanding hunger that just about took his head off.

  Working one arm under her hips, he boosted her up and tucked her between him and the door. That, he thought, was just about perfect. He angled his hips against her and swore, his eyes all but crossing as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She arched back, sending jolts of electricity sparking through him as she started to rock and ride against him.

  He caught her hip in one hand. “You keep that up, I’m going to come before I even put my dick inside you.”

  “We can’t have that.” She grinned against his mouth, her eyes bright in the darkness. “You’ll just have to control yourself, Dean. I’m having…” A hot little whimper rose in her throat before she managed to say, “Fun.”

  “Fun.”

  He leaned back and caught the hem of her shirt. “If this is fun, let’s see what else I can do to entertain.”

  * * *

  Jensen thought he’d take her to the bedroom.

  She’d expected a slow, lazy seduction.

  Something sweet and easy and maybe she could have a chance to catch her breath.

  What she got was heat.

  Everything inside her seemed to melt as his hands raced over her. Long, agile fingers grabbed the hem of her shirt and before she had a chance to steady herself, he stripped it off. Two seconds later, her bra followed. She blinked, dazed, and looked down just in time to see him trailing his fingers down the midline of her torso.

  “So damn pretty,” he mused, his voice low and dark and smooth. It sent shivers down her spine and she found herself mesmerized by the sight of his hands on her. His hands, beautiful and so dark against her flesh, slid up and cupped her breasts.

  She could feel a blush rising up to stain her cheeks red. She’d never been terribly self-conscious but in that moment, she was. Her body was what it was—strong, capable, not overly female.

  “Look at me.”

  Slowly, she lifted her head and found herself staring into his eyes.

  “I think I’ve imagined seeing you naked about a thousand times now,” he said. “I didn’t even come close.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. He dipped his head. She curled her arm around his head, gasping as his mouth closed over her nipple, hot and hungry. The rough texture of dreadlocks against her arm, the silk of his mouth, the heat of his body. Everything else in the world spiraled away and she lost herself to just the sensations and the pleasure.

  Her feet hit the ground and she snarled as he let her go.

  But all he did was reach for the waistband of her jeans. “You’re overdressed.”

  Falling back against the door, she stared at him in drugged, hungry fog. A few seconds later, cool air kissed her flesh as he came back over her, his elbows rising to bracket her in against the wood at her back. “There aren’t enough hours in the night for what I want to do to you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck, her shoulder. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

  She hummed under her breath as he moved lower, pressing a line of kisses down her torso, along her belly. The muscles there quivered and she hissed a little. He smiled and flicked her a decidedly devilish smile. “Ticklish, baby?”

  “No.” She probably put more force behind that than she should have.

  He laughed and trailed his fingers across her abdomen, watching as she jumped.

  “Don’t!”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got other things on my mind. For now.”

  A second later, she groaned and fisted her hands against the door. Her knees threatened to give out underneath her.

  His mouth pressed against her core and the blistering heat threatened to drive her insane.

  His tongue parted her flesh and the pleasure was a whip against her senses. Her knees tried to give out and then his hands were there, bracing her at her hips while the pleasure ripped through her. She caught his shoulders, stared down at his h
ead, pressed so intimately against her.

  This was …

  It was too …

  She bit her lip, trying to resist the urge to close her thighs as he—

  Oh …

  She tensed and tried to pull away.

  Dean caught one thigh, steadied her. “No. I don’t think so, Jensen. I just got here.” He nuzzled at her entrance and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking.

  He shot her a look. “Now why you have to do that? I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

  She bit the fleshy pad of her palm and despite the awful, amazing intimacy of the situation, when he slid his tongue across her, over her, inside her, she couldn’t help but roll her hips against him, like she was desperate for more.

  And she was . Oh, how she was.

  That felt so good …

  Barely aware she’d moved her hand, she reached down, tangling her fingers in his dreads and arching closer.

  “That’s it … yeah, come on, baby,” he muttered against her, the words muffled and raw and thick. He flicked his tongue against her clit and that felt so good, she heard herself shriek again.

  Then she groaned and tensed, because he slid two fingers inside her.

  He slid them inside and pressed, right there—

  * * *

  She climaxed against his mouth. Right like that.

  Braced between him and his front door, Jensen Bell climaxed, and it was even hotter than he’d hoped it would be.

  And Dean was determined to watch it happen again.

  Again. And again. Next time, though he planned on being inside her.

  Savage hunger tore through him, tearing greedy bites out of his sanity and he shot to his feet, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her hungrily. She went to reach for him and he jerked away. “Stay there,” he ordered.

  He had to get a rubber.

  There was a box in the bathroom. He thought.

  There had better be or he was going to die.

  Just curl up in a miserable ball, and die.

  Fortunately, death wasn’t going to happen today. There, tucked in a drawer in the back, he found the box, one he’d picked up who knows how long ago—a quick check at the date on the side assured him they were still good. He tore it open and grabbed one condom out, tossing the rest of the box onto his bed as he passed by his room.