Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty)

by Jackie Ashenden

  She pulled two bottles out of the fridge, some fancy boutique beer from the looks of things, and put them on the counter, pulled open a drawer, and got out a bottle opener. “It’s not about that. It’s just…” She paused, eyeing him. “Like I told you before, you’re a dick and you never used to be quite so…I don’t know, dickish.”

  That annoyed him for some reason. “Back at ya, babe. You never used to be as much of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, well. I had to change, didn’t I?” Nora pulled the caps off the beers and handed him a bottle, then turned around and leaned back against the counter, lifting her own bottle for a long sip. “Can’t exactly be a shy doormat when it comes to collecting bail bonds.”

  He hitched his shoulder against the doorframe and took a sip of his beer, curiosity biting deep. “So what happened to all that art history shit you wanted to do? I thought you were gonna go to college?” At least, that’s what she’d told him, which had always impressed the hell out of him. He didn’t know anyone who’d even thought about college.

  She snorted and glanced down at the floor, taking another sip from her beer. “Can’t go to college if you can’t pay for it. And after Dad kicked—” She stopped, then started again. “After I left Houston, I just didn’t have the money.”

  “When was that? When did he kick you out?” Okay, so saying it out loud was painful for her, but just because it was painful didn’t mean it should be avoided. Sometimes a wound had its own power if it was left to fester for too long.

  “I was nineteen. About a year after…us. I pretty much had nothing. He cut off access to my bank account, canceled my credit card. I only had a couple of hundred in my purse and that’s it.”

  Jesus Christ, that prick. The Nora he remembered had known nothing about the real world. She’d been raised all alone by a man who paid people to do his dirty work for him—including dealing with his own daughter. To dump her out on the streets with nothing and no support wasn’t exactly good fatherly behavior, and shit, he knew what that felt like.

  “I never told you about my dad, did I?” He shifted his shoulder against the doorframe. When they’d been together, he’d never told her much about his childhood, mainly because at that stage he’d wanted to forget all about it himself. But now felt like a good time to share, to make her not feel so alone.

  Her head lifted, dark eyes meeting his. “You said he was an alcoholic.”

  “He was. Used to blame my mother and me for our situation, for how we lived in a trailer park with no money. I tried to be good for him, you know? I didn’t wanna make things worse. But one day I got in a fight at school and broke my arm. Had to go to the ER. Dad was called to come and get me, and when he did, he told me what a no-good piece of dirt I was and he wasn’t going to spend any more of his hard-earned cash on me. Then he walked out.”

  Nora’s mouth opened, a look of shock crossing her face. “Holy shit, Smith.”

  He shrugged, because it had happened years ago and he’d decided he wasn’t going to let anything his dad had done touch him. “It was okay. My mom paid for the treatment in the end, even though she didn’t have the cash either. But the point is, I know what it’s like to be dumped in the shit like that. Fathers, man. They’re pricks.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice husky. “They are.”

  “So what about now? You must have some cash these days. What about a community college?” He didn’t like that she’d given up on that. After all, he hadn’t given up on his dreams after what had happened between them. He’d gotten himself out of the trailer park and built himself a house. Okay, so he didn’t have the traditional kind of family he’d once thought he’d have, but the club was family nonetheless.

  Nora’s gaze returned to its contemplation of the floor. “A bail agent with an art history degree? Don’t be stupid. What use would it be?”

  “Who gives a shit about whether it’s useful or not? That’s what you wanted to do.”

  “So? I changed my mind.” For all her relaxed-seeming posture, he could see the taut line of her shoulders, the tension in her neck and jaw.

  Okay, no. This was wrong. He remembered the way her eyes would light up whenever she talked about art. He’d never understood what she told him, but he liked asking her questions about various famous painters just to hear the passion in her voice when she spoke. To see her lose that pale, nervous look that had seemed to be always a part of her.

  “Why?” he asked flatly, because there had to be a reason. “You used to love that shit.”

  She only shook her head, the braid over her shoulder curving around one breast. He couldn’t see her face, but there was something small about her. Something vulnerable. She looked suddenly…tired, and he had the suspicion that it had nothing to do with the fact that they’d had no sleep the night before.

  An unfamiliar, intense protectiveness closed like a fist around him and he found he’d pushed himself away from the doorway, taking one step over to her where she stood. Putting his untouched beer down on the counter beside her, he took her face between his hands and turned it toward him. Her brown eyes were dark, the gold in them tarnished with anger and something like pain, though why that was there, he didn’t know.

  “That was what you wanted, golden girl,” he said. “What the fuck happened? Was it your dad? What?”

  “Does there have to be a reason?” There was pain in her voice too, like this conversation was hurting her. “I didn’t have the money. And then…it just seemed…” She trailed off, shadows shifting in her eyes. And then she was rising up on her toes, pressing her mouth to his in a kiss that was all sweet desperation and hunger.

  There was nothing he wanted more right then than to let her use that kiss as the change of subject it was. Because there was sweetness in it, and even though it had only been twelve hours since he’d last been inside her, it felt like years and fucking years. It felt like the first time.

  But, no, he wasn’t going to let her do what she’d done the day before, get out of this conversation by using her body.

  Gently but firmly, Smith eased her away from him, the honey taste of her mouth lingering on his tongue. Her eyes had gone huge and dark, the gold completely swallowed.

  “What?” she asked huskily.

  “Not happening, Nora. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

  “Getting out of what? Come on.” She ran a finger down the front of his chest, the light touch sending sparks everywhere. “Isn’t that the only reason you’re here?”

  He covered her hand with his, stopping it from progressing any further, holding it flat to his abdomen. “Answer me.”

  “Smith.” His name was a hoarse murmur as she tried to rise up again, her mouth trying to find his.

  But he was far taller than her and all he did was lift his head, staying out of reach. “Come on, baby.” He kept his voice soft, even though he felt anything but. “You had a dream and you let it die.”

  Abruptly she looked away, pushing at him, obviously wanting distance.

  He didn’t let her have any, remaining obdurate as she tried to shove him, not pressing forward, not crowding her more than he was already, only standing there like a wall, letting her know she couldn’t move him.

  “God, you’re an asshole,” she muttered. “I kind of hate you.”

  He said nothing, just watching her.

  Then slowly, like air escaping from a balloon, she let out a long hissing breath and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

  He stared down at the top of her head, her hair in all its brilliant shades of gold contrasting starkly with the black of his T-shirt, and he found himself lifting his hand and placing it gently on the back of her head, soothing her.

  “I had to let it die,” she said after a long, long time, her voice slightly muffled. “I had to let everything about that part of my life die. I didn’t want to remember it, didn’t even want to think about it. I had to become someone new because that was the only way I could move on.�
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  Perhaps it had been that light, gentle touch on the back of her head. Perhaps it had just been the way he’d stood there, immovable, as she’d pushed at him. Letting her know there was no escaping him.

  That there was no escaping the truth or the feelings that poured out of the box she’d shut them in. A box that Smith had flicked open so casually.

  Anger. Betrayal. Grief. At her father for treating her like the pieces of art he used to buy, the precious Sutcliffe daughter kept high on a shelf where people could look at her, but not touch her. Only to get rid of her when she was no longer useful.

  At herself for all the years she’d spent doing everything he’d wanted in the hope of some crumb of attention, a hug, a kiss. Even a simple conversation. She’d always thought that if she was good enough, obedient enough, he might finally give her a sign that he loved her. But he never had. Because the truth was, he didn’t want a daughter, he wanted a yes-man, an employee. Someone who did what he told them to and never questioned him.

  She’d tried to be that person and in the end had failed. Which meant she had to be someone else. Someone who didn’t care as much. Who didn’t get hurt. Who could turn up a middle finger at anyone expecting her to be something different.

  But, unfortunately, becoming that person had meant killing who she’d once been, and everything associated with her, including all the dreams she’d once treasured.

  Smith’s hand began to move, stroking the back of her head lightly, a gentle, warm pressure. “You can’t let it die, Nora.” His voice was a deep rumble echoing through her, taking hold of the emotion in her chest and twisting it hard. “You can’t let it go. You gotta hold onto it as tight as you can. ’Cause it’s those dreams that get you through.”

  She closed her eyes, her throat constricting. She’d thought it had been simple to let go of her past, to put it behind her and not think of it again. But it wasn’t. “Easy for you to say. You’ve always been strong, and I don’t have an MC—”

  “Bullshit,” he interrupted calmly. “It’s not easy. Listen, I wanted to make my old man proud of me. I wanted to be good for him just like you did with your dad. But when he left me in the ER like I didn’t even matter, I thought screw it. Got myself a plan that night, got myself a dream, and I never let it go. And hey, am I still in that fucking trailer park? No, I’m fucking not.”

  The hard wall of his chest was warm, strong, the scent of him wrapping around her and making her throat tighten even more for what she’d lost. Like an ex-alcoholic faced with a bottle of wine, she allowed herself only a few sips, a few visits to the gallery and no more. She didn’t buy the art books she’d once loved, or hang her walls with the art she’d collected. Everything that had once given her pleasure, she’d denied.

  So what have you got left?

  She was horribly afraid that she had nothing.

  “It’s not as simple as that,” she said thickly, though part of her knew it kind of was.

  “Sure, it is.” His hand on her head stilled. Then his fingers slid down to the back of her neck, wrapping around her braid and exerting a light pressure, tugging her head back. She resisted, but he didn’t let up so she had no choice but to go with it, opening her eyes and looking up at him reluctantly.

  She couldn’t read the expression on his face or the look in his black eyes, but the fingers wrapped around her braid were firm.

  “You loved art.” His voice was quiet, intense. “You wanted to study it, you wanted to work in a gallery, talk to artists, all that shit. That kind of passion doesn’t just die and you can’t kill it, either. It’s still there, whether you like it or not.”

  A burst of an unfamiliar feeling shook her, which took a couple of moments for her to realize was hope. Weird. Why should she hope for a dream that was dead and gone? That she herself had killed and happily?

  The feeling glowed in her chest, strong and true, making a lie of the last eight years of pretending. “How do you know that?”

  Smith didn’t let go of her braid, something fierce glittering in his dark eyes. “Because of you and me last night, golden girl. You can pretend all you like that you’re this tough, strong woman who doesn’t do what anyone says, but you spread your legs for me when I told you to. And then you came apart in my arms all the same.”

  She flushed. “Yeah, and all that says is that—”

  “It says,” he interrupted, “that the passion you once had? It’s not dead, baby. You didn’t kill it, no matter how much you wish you did. It’s still there, like a light inside you. Why else did you spread your legs for me? Why else did you scream when I made you come?”

  “No,” she said thickly, not wanting it to be true, not wanting that part of herself to still be there, no matter the glow of hope burning in her chest. “It was only because I hadn’t had sex for a long time, that’s all.”

  “It’s not all. It was you and it was me. It was us together, baby. This chemistry between us is insane and you know it.” His grip on her braid was tight, little pinpricks of pain erupting everywhere. “I don’t know why you keep wanting to deny it, but I’m not going to let you, understand?”

  Oh, yeah, she did. But denial had pretty much been her natural state for the past eight years and letting go of it was hard. After all, it was easier to deny herself what she truly wanted than to have someone else do it.

  “I don’t want to go back to being that woman, Smith. I don’t want to be that weak, that scared again. Doing everything Dad said just to get him to acknowledge me. God, I hurt you. I ruined your life.”

  “Do I look ruined to you? Shit, you’re not that woman, Nora. Sure, you may have seen last night as going back to being that good little girl for your daddy, but that’s not what I saw. I saw a strong woman taking the pleasure she wanted.”

  Really? Had he really seen it that way? Not her being too afraid to resist, but her being strong enough to take?

  But the look in his eyes was undeniable. That’s exactly what he’d seen.

  “I just wanted you so badly,” she said faintly. “I was needy and weak—”

  “Christ, baby, you wanna talk about needy?” Smith’s dark eyes glittered. “You had a club president on his knees in front of you, desperate to taste you. What the fuck were you so afraid of?”

  She knew. Because in admitting those desires, she had to accept the fears as well, and they were still there too. “I think…I was afraid you’d tell me no.” Her voice was hoarse. “And I was just weak enough, just needy enough, that I would have done exactly what you told me to. I would have replaced one controlling man in my life with another. Another man I was too scared to oppose because I couldn’t imagine my life without him.”

  Something in his eyes flared. “Fuck, seriously? You really think I would have just run you over like that?”

  “Why not? I hurt you, I destroyed us, because I was too scared to tell my father no. Why would it have been any different with you? Why would I have been different? Him kicking me out was probably the best thing, because at least I learned to stand on my own. But that doesn’t matter now. I’m not the same person, and I can’t just pick up where I left off.”

  “No.” The word was absolute, unequivocal. Smith at his most arrogant. “Just fucking no. It’s not too late for you. You deserve everything, Nora Sutcliffe. Everything you fucking want.”

  Her heart squeezed tight, like he’d taken it in one of those big warm hands of his and curled his fingers around it. “I was just so goddamned pathetic. I don’t want any part of it. I can’t. Maybe I’m still that person, Smith. Maybe I’m still just a spoiled little rich girl under it all who’d fall right back into letting herself get ordered around.”

  Smith’s fingers closed hard on her braid, pulling tight. And his mouth was suddenly on hers, hard and hot and demanding. A kiss that called to all the passion she’d been denying inside herself. A promise of more.

  She didn’t want it to end, but he pulled away before she could stop him, his black
eyes brilliant, his breathing as fast as hers. “You’re not,” he said roughly. “You’re not spoiled and you’re not weak or scared. You honestly think I could tell you what to do? You don’t do a damned thing I say. You’re tough, strong, and so fucking stubborn it drives me crazy. You’re also so fucking sexy I can’t stop thinking about being inside you. You’ve got all that passion inside you and I gotta have it, baby.”

  The words shuddered through her, flipping a switch deep inside her.

  Denial was exhausting and it didn’t get her anywhere. It only left her hollow, empty. And looking at Smith, feeling him against her, so strong and warm and vital, she only now realized just how empty that was. Maybe he was right. And maybe she was too. Maybe back then she really would have just gone from being under the control of one man to the control of another, because she hadn’t known another way to live.

  But she did now. She was more than that, stronger than that. But she was tired too. So tired of fighting this thing between them.

  She wanted him. She wanted the passion, the chemistry that burned between them. And this time she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Smith didn’t move, but his black gaze was so intense it almost devoured her whole. And as if he read her mind, he said, “Why don’t you tell me what to do, Nora? Tell me what you want to do, right now.”

  You know. You know exactly.

  She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I want…I want to have you.”

  “Come on, golden girl.” He lowered his head, those mesmerizing black eyes inches from hers. “Tell me.”

  She took a breath. “I want…to suck you off.”

  Smith’s eyes went even blacker, the half-smile on his face turning feral. “Then what are you waiting for?” He released her braid and stepped back to give her some room. “Do it. Take what you want.”

  She didn’t hesitate this time, going to her knees on the scuffed linoleum in front of him and reaching out to the front of his jeans and stroking gently, feeling him harden beneath the denim. He leaned forward, his hands braced on the kitchen counter in front of him.