Never Let Me Fall

by Abbie Roads

  The shack wasn’t large enough for a private bathroom. A sink and toilet stood side by side across the room. “There’s pomade on the sink. Use it. Slick back your hair so it won’t get in our way.”

  The Evan stared at him for a beat too long, glanced at the heroin with naked desire, then shrugged and went to the sink.

  Anticipation hardened Robert’s dick even more. Just smelling the pomade Evan used to wear had that effect on him. For many years after Evan’s bitch wife killed him, the only way Robert could feel close to Evan was by using the pomade to jack off. That was until he started using the Evans.

  The first Evan had been a mistake, of course. The way all firsts usually are. Something about that young man had called to him. Maybe it was that mop of dirty-blond hair and the sharp, hard facial features. Whatever the reason, Robert had been drawn to him, but in his exuberance to taste what he and Evan had shared, he’d gone too far too fast and had to end the Evan before he even began with him. The cleanup had required accusing the man’s girlfriend, a trip to court, and a lesson learned.

  Now he only approached junkie Evans who agreed to payment for their time.

  Robert leaned back and partially closed his eyes, leaving them open just enough to look through the fringe of his lashes. The Evan finished and turned around. If Robert focused only on the Evan’s hair, if he ignored the Evan’s face and his emaciated body, then he could almost pretend this was his Evan.

  His balls tightened, and his hand got rougher. He was so close.

  “You just want me to watch while you crank one off?” The Evan’s belligerent tone killed the mood more effectively than if Robert had dipped his wick in a bucket of ice water.

  Why was every Evan always so wrong? He’d never found a decent one. Some had been okay for a while. None lasted.

  “I want you to speak when spoken to.” Robert bent his tone to make it seem mild.

  The Evan had the audacity to harrumph like an impatient woman.

  “Come to me.” Robert gestured toward the floor next to his legs.

  The Evan moved closer.

  “Down on your knees.”

  Reluctance infused every inch of the Evan’s body as he knelt.

  Good God. This Evan was getting compensated for his time and efforts—he could show a little gratitude. He didn’t know Robert’s whole plan for him. Robert yanked down his zipper. “Take care of me. Make it good, and you’ll get a bonus.”

  The Evan bent over him and got to work.

  This close, Robert could smell him—male musk. He drew in a deep, satisfying breath. His Evan used to smell like that after a long, hot day on the job or after they’d made love. He reached out and gently placed his hand on the back of the Evan’s head. Pomade slid underneath his palm, the wonderful scent of it filling the air around them. Robert slit his eyes and looked through the fringe of his lashes again. He could smell his Evan and could almost believe the mouth wrapped around him was his Evan. Almost.

  But he always knew the truth. Evan was dead. He was never coming back.

  Evan’s bitch wife was to blame. Evan only married the woman because it was expected of him. But then she’d killed him, and most of Robert had died too. The control it took not to murder her when she’d asked for his help in concealing what she’d done to Evan… That moment had been the biggest test of Robert’s restraint.

  He’d given her what she wanted. For a price.

  He’d decided to spend the rest of his life punishing her. Punishing her body and her babies—the surest way to hurt her. He married her. Everyone thought it was so sweet that he’d taken her on after her husband abandoned her and their two kids. He’d done it to make her suffer. Make her children suffer. But nothing ever assuaged his loss.

  Since the day Evan died, Robert hadn’t been able to feel anything. He didn’t care about his own son. Junior died a few weeks ago? A month? That’s how much he didn’t care. He’d always done enough to keep up appearances. That was all.

  Now, for the first time since Evan’s death, hope began to bloom. There was another who could take Evan’s place.

  It hadn’t dawned on him until recent years how much Tommy looked like his father. The black hair of his bitch mother had disguised features that were purely Evan. Robert imagined Tommy with Evan’s dirty-blond hair, imagined his mouth on him.

  The orgasm began gathering in his balls, but he tried to hold back the pleasure.

  It wasn’t until Robert had fed the last Evan heroin, then set the scene, and requested Tommy from the BCI that he’d finally decided on a plan. It was gonna take some work because of the mistakes he’d made when Tommy was a child. He wished he could go back in time and take it all back. Treat the boy with love instead of the all-consuming revenge that had fueled him.

  Tommy would resist as his father had done at first, but Robert was a patient man. One thing was on his side. Tommy never dated. Never. Was the boy saving himself for a man?

  The orgasm crashed over him. He pushed the Evan’s head down, and only when the last ripple of pleasure left did he let go of the guy.

  The Evan sat back and looked at him, contempt and hatred shining in his eyes. Then he stood and walked to the sink and spat a mouthful of cum into the basin.

  Robert needed to get used to that kind of reaction. Tommy would be furious with him at first, but eventually, he’d come around. Just like Evan had.

  Chapter 14

  Afternoon sunshine reflected off the snow, filling the bedroom with an ethereal light, giving Helen a glow as if she were a celestial being instead of a flesh-and-blood human.

  Heaven wasn’t some place in the clouds where fat baby angels played harps and everyone walked around with a smile on their face. Nope. It was right here. In this moment. With her lying on his bed, legs spread wide open to him, baring her greatest hurt and, by that act, showing the immensity of her strength.

  Gone were all her fears and uncertainty, replaced by a wanton beauty in wait for her man.

  He knelt before her altar. The thatch of blond hair at her apex shimmered like spun gold.

  He lifted her leg by the back of her knee, spreading her wider. The first glimpse of her juicy, pink lips caused his hips to buck forward in longing. There would be time for satisfying his dick later. Right now, she needed one last bit of healing.

  The thick puckered flesh ran from the inside of her thigh all the way to her core. None of the other scars had seemed as vile as this one. It might not have been a life-threatening injury, but it was uglier for its intention. Humiliation.

  His chest got tight. He had trouble pulling oxygen out of the air. Behind his eyes, he felt the sting of tears for all that she’d suffered. It was a miracle she’d come out the other side with any sanity left.

  He bent his head and touched the damage with his tongue. The ridge and ripple of this scar felt different than the others. Appalling. He took his time, letting himself well up and flow into her. Trying with everything inside him to give her solace.

  He followed the damaged skin until he found the center of her and slipped his tongue inside. Her flavor exploded across his taste buds—sweet, salty, and sultry. The best damn thing he’d ever tasted. He swallowed the essence of her; it warmed him and turned his already hard dick into a baseball bat. Damn.

  Her hips bucked. He startled away from her. Oh shit. Did he hurt her? Never in a million years had he meant to cause her any pain. He should’ve been more aware of the injury, not losing himself in his desire for her. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off.

  “Whatever you do”—she moaned a sound that his dick interpreted quicker than his brain—“don’t stop.”

  No need to tell him twice. He shoved his nose into her golden curls and inhaled her carnal aroma. She smelled of sunshine on a summer day. His eyes rolled back in his head as the scent of her filled his lungs. He held her inside him. Aromath
erapy at its finest.

  And then he pressed his lips to her nub in a hard kiss, opened his mouth, and suckled.

  With his fingers, he caressed her opening until her body thrashed, demanding more. He slipped two fingers into her. Her juices coated him, and she moaned a sound so sensuous that he dry humped air—couldn’t control himself. He remembered every moment of being inside her and wanted so badly to be there again.

  Bucking against his mouth and hand, she was resplendent in her abandon. Head tossed back, face flushed with pleasure. Watching her mounting pleasure was like gazing at a sunrise. A sunrise of his creation. Just before she peaked, he pulled away from her.

  She growled a low, frustrated sound, and he couldn’t help himself—he laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not done.”

  “Better not be.” Her tone was husky from desire. Dear God, he loved her voice. She could be reciting words straight from an owner’s manual, and he’d cling to every vowel and consonant coming out of her mouth.

  He got to his feet and gazed down at her while he unbuttoned his shirt. Couldn’t go one more minute without his skin touching hers. He got lost in the beauty of her. Long, lean muscles decorated in badges of courage. Tight nipples an elusive shade between peach and pink. Wasn’t that color called coral? Her breasts were the perfect size. Less than a handful, more than a mouthful. His mouth watered, imagining the flavor of them. For some reason, he suspected they’d taste sweet, like cotton candy. He licked his lips. He loved cotton candy.

  She watched him with bald admiration, making him feel like a superhero. Her gaze stroked his chest as he let the shirt fall to the floor, then locked on his hands as he worked the button and the zipper of his pants. Slowly, he revealed his erection. Being the object of her adoration was sexier than hell.

  A smile full of I-want-you fired on her lips. Seeing that look on her face reminded him of just how unbelievable life had become. He never wanted to take this for granted.

  If ever there was evidence that she was meant to be his, it was right here. It was in seeing her lying there. Seeing the anticipation on her face and knowing it was because of him.

  He lowered himself over her, bracing on one forearm.

  Golden hair fanned out around her in a halo. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I thought so, the first second I saw you.” He lowered his lips to hers.

  Her fingers wound around his neck and into his hair. She pressed his face against hers as if she were starving for him as their tongues found each other. She tasted happy. The slide of her tongue against his, a vortex of sensation.

  He pulled back to stare into her eyes, seeing himself reflected in her irises. With his free hand, he stroked her belly and the ridges of her scars. And then his palm found her breast, the density of her under his hand a fascination. It wasn’t as though he’d never touched a breast before, but this felt like the first time. He lost himself in the satiny soft skin on the underside. He bent his head down and licked that perfect little spot, then captured her nipple between his teeth, biting gently as he stroked the tip with his tongue.

  He’d been right—she tasted of cotton candy and every dirty fantasy he’d ever had.

  Her hands were all over him. Pulling his hair, pushing his head harder against her, wanting more. And he intended to give her everything. She arched underneath him, and he settled himself between her legs, letting some of his weight fall on her. Everywhere their skin touched was fire and snow. Burning and cooling and beyond any sensation he’d ever experienced.

  His dick strained, shifting forward those precious few inches to find its home. But he held off, wanted to wait just a bit longer.

  Her hands smoothed down his back in a caress that was part tickle and part tail-fire of electricity. She grabbed his ass and squeezed, then lifted her hips underneath him. The center of her touched the tip of him. He slipped inside just a bit.

  He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and trailed his fingers over the place where she’d had stitches. He’d forgotten to ask her about that one. There’d be time enough for that later.

  He met her eyes, locked on to her, into her in that way they had of seeing inside each other. “You’re my miracle.” He didn’t exactly know what he was trying to say, only that he wanted her to understand how much she meant to him. How simply having her in his life changed everything.

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. But these weren’t sad or scared tears. They were the kind of tears a person had when they were deeply moved. “You brought me to life.” She reached up, stroking the scar on his cheek. Her touch on his sensitive skin sent a shock wave of pleasure through him.

  He pushed forward, the heat of her body bathing him in her grace. Her mouth parted, a small smile of pleasure tipping her lips. Her eyelids slid to half-mast. Her cheeks were flushed the same damned color as her nipples. Nothing could ever rival her beauty. The world paused, allowing him to take her in, memorize her, and tuck her away in his mind. This was his life now. She was his life. As necessary as his heartbeat.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  It was the only word he needed.

  Good intentions told him to go slow. His body didn’t fucking listen. He slammed home, burying himself up to his balls. Distantly, he heard himself moan, but he was lost to everything except her. The ability to think vanished. All he could do was feel. And all he felt was her. Her soft body underneath him, surrounding him, cradling him, welcoming him, soothing things inside him that were sore, broken, and damaged.

  She transformed him. Made him into something other than himself. A better version. Stronger. He could feel strength coursing through his muscles. Vitality surging through his veins. It was as if he’d taken a hit of some superdrug. Only it was all her. She did this to him.

  “Do…you…feel…that?” He could barely speak as their bodies moved to a cadence of their making.

  “Oh God. Yes. It’s”—she moaned a low keening sound of pleasure—“amazing.”

  He hooked his arm under one knee, opened her wider, and slid deeper.

  She gasped, her eyes going round, her body thrusting against his. “Please. Please. Please,” she chanted.

  He would deny her nothing. There was no thinking involved. Hell, he couldn’t have formed a logical thought if he tried. She dominated his world. Nothing mattered except her.

  They locked in the age-old dance of rocking and pumping and thrusting. Her hands roamed his body. On his chest, on his back, clenching his ass.

  And suddenly he found himself in that strange place where his body teetered on the precipice of orgasm. He gritted his teeth, strained to hold off. Pain built and grew in his balls.

  Her thrusts went messy and clumsy and more intense. “Thomas. Thomas. Thomas.” She chanted his name like a prayer as she arched her back and groaned a sound so glorious, it went straight to his balls. He exploded, raw sensation ripping through him, tearing muscle from bone, heart from soul, mind from body, and then somehow mashing him all back together.

  He didn’t know how long it was before he finally emerged from the postorgasmic bliss. The first thing he became aware of was his face buried against her neck. He kissed her, nuzzling her skin, loving that little spot just beneath her ear. Her fingers gently trailed over his back, her touch light and ticklish and soothing at the same time. Then he realized he was lying completely on top of her. Her body a better cushion than the softest mattress. He lifted his head, blinking at the bright sunlight filling the room. He felt as if he’d just woken to a whole new life. “Am I crushing you?”

  A brilliant smile fired on her face, the kind that contained enough wattage to power his heart for the rest of his life. “No. It feels good to have you on me. I feel safer than I have in years. Like you’re my shield.”

  “You know I won’t let anything hurt you.” His tone was filled to the brim with I-swear-to-God truth.

  No one got through life
unmarked, but she’d been through enough. More than her fair share. And he was gonna make absolutely certain nothing caused her pain ever again.

  She touched his face, her fingers cool as they stroked over the scar. He closed his eyes, absorbing the sweet sensation of her touch when his skin was normally so hot. “Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

  The old fear, the old resistance flared to life, but under her gentle touch, it dissipated. Oh, how quickly the tables had turned. He expected to feel some hesitation, some mental block to speaking his truth, but it seemed silly not to tell her. Especially when Helen had just bared her soul to him. What he’d gone through had been nothing compared to her suffering.

  But the one thing he couldn’t do was speak about it while still inside her. Didn’t want the foulness of his past tainting her. He shifted, gently pulling himself out of her, the movement a delicate pleasure.

  He slid his arm underneath her neck, and she used his shoulder as her pillow, nestling in to his side. He focused on the ceiling while he spoke, despising how his tone took on a dull quality and yet not being able to change it. He summarized a childhood of pain caused by his stepfather in a few sentences, but that didn’t completely answer her question. “When I was five, he stomped on my face.” She gasped. His gaze darted over her, trying to understand what was wrong, but then he realized she was responding to his words. “I’ve never told anyone. Not even my sister.”

  Helen shifted up on her elbow to look at him as if the damage on his face took on a new meaning to her.

  And then he realized he needed to tell her all of it. It would be like telling a half-truth to stop now. Only he was frightened. Would she believe him? Would she think he’d lost his mind? The words came out in a rush. He told her about his black-and-white existence. He told her about the shadow of death. And through it all, she just stared at him, taking in the information. Her expression never wavered from compassionate and caring, and yet he couldn’t help saying, “I know. It all sounds so…psychotic.”