by Leighton, M.
“I understand it, and I’m sure it’s natural to feel that way—for a while. But it’s not healthy to hang on to an emotion like that for long.”
“It is when the alternative is even more self-destructive. Then it’s healthy. It’s healthy to hang on to hate when letting it go could kill you.”
For one fraction of a second, the perpetually angry mask Nash wears lifts and I see the wounds behind the tough scar tissue. I see a small glimpse of the person he used to be, maybe could be again.
Without thinking, I reach up to touch his cheek with the tips of my fingers. “Maybe one day you can find something other than anger and hatred to live for,” I say softly, almost absently.
As if my touch woke him from a stupor, as if he knows he’s letting me in deeper than he’d like, Nash looks away. He reaches for his vodka, takes a long, slow sip, then sets the glass gently back onto the table. When his eyes return to mine, they’re curiously blank. There’s no hurt, no anger, no . . . nothing in them. Just a wall, an impenetrable barrier that’s been years in the making.
“You got your warm, fuzzy story. My turn. Tell me about Saturday night.”
My stomach curls up into a tight ball and my pulse picks up speed as I remember what happened after I parked the car. I was preoccupied, stewing about the breakup with “Nash.” Of course, I had no idea who I’d been dating. Or who was breaking up with me. That still blows my mind. And infuriates me sometimes. It makes me feel like an idiot if I think about it too long.
I push those thoughts aside and let my mind go forward, through the chain of events that still terrify me when I let them out of the lockbox where I’ve been keeping them.
“My mind was on the breakup. At first, it was a pretty big smack to the ego. All Na—Cash told me was that he was interested in someone else and that it wasn’t fair to keep seeing me. He was very vague and secretive about it, and he refused to answer any of my questions. So, I was preoccupied and wasn’t really paying attention to much of anything else when I unlocked the door.
“I set my purse on the table and went back to my bedroom to change clothes and then have a glass of wine. After I put on my pajamas, I realized I’d left my phone in the car, so I went back out to get it. It was when I came back in that I sort of snapped out of it and realized that the television was on and turned up really loud. I thought that was odd because Olivia had obviously worked a shift. I mean, she was at Dual closing up when I was there. And she never leaves the television on. She’s much too responsible to do something like that.
“Anyway, I was standing there in front of the door, wondering over that, when I saw him move toward the living room. It was like he stepped out of the shadows and was just . . . there. A silhouette. A black presence against the white, flickering light of the television. I knew instinctively that it belonged to no one who was familiar to me.
“All this happened in probably twenty or thirty seconds. It’s like he appeared right as my brain was starting to work, but that delay . . . that short delay was enough. It cost me what little advantage I might’ve had. Could’ve cost me my life, I guess.
“Just as it was all coming together in my mind, that there was a strange man in my living room in the middle of the night, I opened my mouth to scream. That’s when he lunged at me. I tried to dodge him. And I almost did. It was just his arm that caught me. Knocked me back into the table where I’d put my purse. I remember hearing the crashing of the lamp when it hit the floor. He knocked me off balance and I hit the wall and then stumbled into the living room, still trying to stay out of his reach. I couldn’t think of anything more than the need to get away from him, to make sure he didn’t catch me. He grabbed my leg and I fell. I kicked at him so he couldn’t get my ankle, but he yanked me back toward him and straddled my legs. I was on my belly, so it was hard to do much of anything. I did manage to dig my keys into the back of his hand when he pulled my head back by my hair. I was still holding them from going outside to get my phone. But then he put something over my mouth and I could barely breathe. I remember smelling something harsh, like a chemical, and then there was nothing. Until I woke up wherever they kept me, blindfolded, bound, and gagged.
“I’ve never been more scared in all my life. They must’ve had me in a basement somewhere,” I tell Nash, my mind going back to the horrifying sensations—smells, sounds, the feel of cool, smooth stone beneath my cheek and hip. I feel small and alone and still afraid when I remember it. “The floor felt like the coldest concrete in the world. And it smelled like must and something metallic, something coppery. Like blood. And when it was quiet, I could hear water dripping. And someone breathing.” I stop and look up at Nash, who’s watching me intently. “I still don’t know who was down there with me. Or what happened to them. Eventually the breathing just . . . stopped.”
Another shiver runs through my body like aftershocks of an earthquake. During the hours I was curled up on that floor, I imagined that the person lying near me was another woman, scared and alone. Unable to move or see or speak, like me. Only she was wounded. Badly wounded. Maybe beaten unconscious. She never made any sounds; her breathing never changed when I moaned and struggled to talk to her behind my gag. Until her breathing stopped, until it ceased to sweep through the quiet of the room. After that, the silence was deafening.
I lay on my side, my arm, shoulder, hip, and thigh having long since gone numb, and I cried. I cried for whoever had lain on the floor of the same room and passed away without a sound, without a loved one. Without a prayer of being discovered. Surely somewhere someone is mourning her loss, maybe even looking for her. Unless they know what she was mixed up in. And who she was mixed up with.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t even a woman. Maybe it’s best that I never know.
I’m not even aware of the tears coursing down my cheeks until the feel of Nash’s fingers brings me back to the present, back to the land of the living.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
I smile a watery smile. “I guess we’re even, then.”
He gazes down into my eyes, neither of us saying a word, his fingers still pressed to my damp cheek. The sound of the piano fades into the background, as does the world and all the pain I’ve found in it so recently.
Instantly, I’m absorbed, consumed. Just like I want to be. For whatever reason, when I’m with Nash, I’m free of my life and the worry of it. I’m free of the past and the terror of it. I’m free of everything but him. He’s overwhelming and I need to be overwhelmed. He’s uncontrollable and I need to be out of control. He’s the promise of something . . . else and I need something else.
“I think there are times in life when you need something to lose yourself in, something to take away the pain, take away the feeling of everything else. Something to numb it. Just for a while.” As quietly as the beat of my heart, Nash articulates exactly what I’ve been thinking and feeling. And then he makes me an offer I can’t refuse, one that I don’t even want to refuse. He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks. “I can be that for you. We can be that for each other.” Chills race down my arm.
Nash’s hand moves into the hair at the nape of my neck. He cups the back of my head and angles his face until he can draw the lobe of my ear into his mouth. I feel the brush of his hot tongue and my eyes drift closed. “I could make you forget everything else. I can make sure that you feel nothing but pleasure, that you can’t think past what I’m doing to your body, what I’m making you feel. With my hands,” he says, pulling his fingers from my hair and trailing them down my arm to my hip. “With my lips,” he continues, moving his mouth across my cheek. “With my tongue,” he whispers as he spreads wet heat across my bottom lip with the tip of the very tongue of which he speaks. “And I promise, you’ll love every second of it.” As if to punctuate his statement, he bites down ever so lightly, sinking his teeth into my flesh.
My breath catches in my throa
t just as his mouth fully covers mine. I part my lips, eager to taste him, to feel a part of him inside me.
The lingering hint of mint is mixed with the vodka on his tongue. He tastes like a cocktail. And he’s every bit as intoxicating as the alcohol he’s drinking.
With a will of its own, my hand moves up to the back of Nash’s neck, my fingers threading into the silky strands of his loose hair. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss. He teases my tongue with his own, drawing it out until he can suck it into his mouth to tangle with his own.
Beneath the table, I feel his palm move from my hip to my thigh, then inward until skin meets skin. The dramatic slit of my dress allows him nearly full access to me. And I want him to take it. I part my legs the tiniest bit, an invitation. I don’t care that we’re in public. I don’t care that my father would disown me for the scandal. I don’t care about anything but this man and what he makes me feel. I only want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. And for this moment, the crowded piano bar is nothing more than a backdrop for the electricity that sings between us.
His hand moves to within inches of the apex of my thighs and stops. It’s perfectly still but for the movement of his thumb. It makes an arc over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Back and forth, so close to where I want most to feel it.
I’m panting into his mouth when Nash’s lips disappear. I open my eyes, confused. His face is a mere inch away, his eyes burning holes into mine. They’re on fire and I feel the heat all the way to my core. “I bet your panties are wet right now,” he murmurs, his hand inching up a fraction, then stopping again. My heart is racing and I wiggle a little in my seat. An impossible ache radiates from between my legs. “And I bet your nipples are hard,” he says quietly, leaning forward to nuzzle my neck. “Hard and throbbing, Begging, like the rest of your body. To be licked. And sucked. And fuc—” he groans, catching himself.
And he’s right. It does. My whole being wants it. I feel like nothing will be right with the world until I’m filled with Nash, until my body is stretched tight around his, pinned beneath his weight.
With his scent all around me, his firm length pressed warmly to mine, his breath fanning my skin, his hands tormenting me, something begins to niggle at the back of my mind. Something seems so . . . familiar.
The house lights come on and applause breaks out all around us. With a frustrated sigh, Nash leans back, removing his hand from my leg, removing his heat from me. The performance was so amazing, the crowd is on their feet. A standing ovation. I think to myself that I had a private performance that was definitely worthy of such praise.
And I can only imagine how much better it gets.
The lowest part of my belly squeezes at the thought of what might be to come, what I feel is inevitable between us. What I want to be inevitable between us.
“Come on,” Nash says, sliding from the booth and offering me his hand. “I think that’s our cue to leave.” His smile is a wry twist of his lips that makes him even more handsome, even sexier than he usually is.
Personally, I didn’t think that was possible.
FIFTEEN
Nash
I don’t know what Marissa’s thinking and I’m not the kind of man who really cares or feels it’s overly important to find out. She’s quiet, but I figure if she’s uncomfortable or she’s got something to say, she’ll say it. She’s an adult. She doesn’t need me to pry it out of her. And if she does, tough shit.
Surely she knows where this is going. I think I’ve made it pretty plain that I have every intention of sleeping in her bed tonight. Not that either of us will be getting much sleep. The one thing I’m certain of is the only thing that matters. She’s game. I know she is. She wants me every bit as much as I want her. That’s the only thing that would stop me tonight—if she said no. I’m no rapist. But that won’t be a problem. She won’t say no. I’d bet my life on it.
I press a little harder on the accelerator. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been with a woman, so my need is at fever pitch. Add to that Marissa’s response to me and I’m fighting not to find an empty parking lot. I’d pull her into my lap, rip her damp panties off her, and watch her ride me until she comes so hard she can’t breathe. I’m throbbing just thinking about it.
I resituate in my seat, trying to ease some of the pressure off my stiff dick. I can’t help but wonder what Marissa would do if I were to suggest that. Or, better yet, just do it. I know she’s never had a man like me, and I know I intrigue her. I’m sure there’s some part of her that knows about us, that remembers. Maybe that’s a factor. Either way, she’s willing to go with it, to go with me. Knowing that it goes against the grain for her, that she’s feeling wild and reckless, is a very potent cocktail. Makes me want to show her things she’s never seen. Or done. Or felt.
Yeah, Marissa’s unique. I’ve never met a woman with her particular . . . blend before—classy, reserved, but willing to let the tiger off the leash when I’m around—and I’m anxious to savor this time with her. I’m sure it won’t last long, which is perfect for me. We can just tear into each other and slake this hunger until it’s gone. We’ll both be satisfied and then it’ll be over. We’ll move on, go our separate ways. Clean and neat, cut and dried. No fuss, no muss. Just the way I like it.
I park the car at the curb and cut off the engine. I glance over at Marissa. She’s watching me with those sultry blue eyes. For a few seconds, I say nothing. Neither does she.
“I’ll be sleeping in your bed tonight,” I finally say, matter-of-fact.
“Yes,” she answers simply, confirming what I already knew.
Without another word, I slide out from behind the wheel and walk around the hood to her side. I help her out and put my hand at the small of her back to guide her up the sidewalk. My fingers itch to sink into that round, perfect ass of hers.
When we get to the door, she takes out her keys. I grab them from her fingers and unlock the door. She precedes me and stops just inside the entry. I shut and lock the door behind us, then turn to her. Without a word, I take her purse from her hand and lay it on the table by the door. It holds nothing now, not until she gets a new lamp.
Bending, I sweep her into my arms and carry her back to her bedroom. I set her on her feet at the end of the bed. She watches me as I lower myself onto the mattress and lie back, propping myself on my elbow.
In silence, I stare at her. She stands perfectly still as I let my eyes roam her from the top of her platinum head to the tips of the toes I can see poking out of her sexy, strappy shoes.
I’m gonna enjoy bringing the hellcat out in this one. She wants to be free of her past, free of who she was, but she has to be free of control first. So I’m going to take it from her.
SIXTEEN
Marissa
“I’m gonna give you something you’ve never had before. And you’re gonna give me what I want,” he states. It’s as though I have no choice in the matter.
A little thrill races through me. I’ve always been in control. And before, I would never have let a man talk to me that way. But with Nash it’s different. He’s different. He’s wild. He’s dangerous. And I’m ready for that. All that. I need it, crave it. I know it can never be anything more than this, but for one small space in time, he’s mine. And I’m his.
“Take your hair down,” he orders. Reaching for the pins that hold my hair in place over one shoulder, I remove them, without question doing as he asks. There’s something exciting and a little naughty about being subservient to him in this sexual way. Warmth gathers in the lowest part of my belly.
Part of my hair cascades down my back. I shake my head so the rest of it follows.
“Unzip your dress.”
I’ve never done a striptease before. I wouldn’t even know how to do a sexy one, so I don’t even try.
For a moment I feel lost. Maybe even a little shy, which is new for me.
I turn to the side, in profile to him, and I reach behind me to unzip my dress. The strap on my shoulder slips off and I hold the bodice in place, hugging it to me in modesty.
I glance over at Nash where he’s reclining on the bed, watching me. His eyes are throwing flames so hot, I feel my skin flush. And I like it.
“Let it fall.”
I let my shaking arms fall away from my body, and the dress slips to my hips and stops, revealing my entire torso, covered in nothing but a lacy strapless bra.
“Now the bra.”
I unhook my bra, taking a deep breath as the air hits the sensitive skin of my erect nipples. Nash’s eyes are on them. I can feel it as though it’s a physical touch.
“Now the rest.”
I run my palms down my hips, dragging the dress with them until it falls into a heap on the floor, pooling around my ankles. From beneath my lashes, I glance at Nash again. His eyes are on my butt.
“And the panties.”
My heart is slamming against my ribs as I hook my thumbs under the lace band of my panties and pull them down my legs. I don’t stop until they’re lying at my feet with my dress. I stay bent over, ready to work open the strap of my shoe, when Nash stops me.
“No. Leave them on.” I straighten, but remain turned, still in profile to Nash. “Now face me,” he murmurs, his voice low and deep. I take a breath and hold it as I pivot toward him, clad in nothing but a blush and my five-hundred-dollar stilettos.
His eyes burn fiery holes into mine before they drop and travel the length of my body. Slowly, they make their way back up again. I’ve never been more self-conscious of my thin frame or my small breasts. Nevertheless, I stand confidently and let him look his fill, even though I’m quaking inside.
When his gaze locks onto mine again, it’s even hotter than before.
“You’re perfect,” he says simply. Relief floods me, followed quickly by a rush of blood, pouring hotly into all the right places at once. “Pink nipples that beg to be sucked,” he whispers, “a tight stomach that begs to be kissed, and long legs that beg to be spread.”
