by Cathryn Fox
A knock sounds at my door and I freeze. Who the heck would be knocking at my door this time of night? Could it be Caleb? How would he have gotten into the building? I grab my robe, slip into it, and knot it at the waist as I pad quietly down the long stretch of hall leading to my door. I go up on my toes, and my heart jumps into my throat as I peek through the peephole.
Oh. My. God.
No.
5
Tyler
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. But goddammit, I seem to be driven by a force I have zero control over. I could try to kid us both and say I’m standing outside her door simply because the protector in me needs to be certain she’s okay, unscathed by her date with the DB, aka douchebag. While that’s partly true, it’s only half of the whole truth. Ever since seeing her at her father’s office, I’d been a fucking wreck, thinking about her constantly, even in sleep. I want to see her. Need to see her.
Yeah, she’s too sweet and kind for a felon like me. Not only do I have nothing to offer her, I told her father I’d stay away. It was part of our agreement. But I’m clearly a selfish prick, because here I am, standing in her hall, unable to keep my distance when it’s the best thing for her. She’s trying to make something of herself, and the last thing she needs is to be associating with a damn criminal who could ruin her chance of advancement. Then again, I don’t want her associating with Caleb, either, a guy her parents would love, no doubt.
For the last week, ever since catching her on the sidewalk with Caleb, I’ve been on edge, ready for battle, coiled defensively and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. I’m a pretty good judge of character—one of the many things a guy learns in prison—and it’s that instinctual perception that’s been driving me to watch over her without her knowledge. I scoff, hardly able to believe I’ve been reduced to a damn stalker. Just another crime to add to the rap sheet, I suppose. If the DB had been in her apartment, murder might have made the list as well. But he’s not inside. I personally watched him drive off, then delivered Gracie back home before making the return trip.
I take in her wide eyes, the circle her mouth is making as she gapes at me. Her hair is wet, her skin damp, and I can only assume she’d just showered. I grip the paint-chipped doorframe over my head, anything to occupy my hands before I pull her to me, press my body to hers, and tell her everything will be okay. But that would be another big fucking lie now wouldn’t it, because nothing will ever be okay again. I look her over, study the robe that does little to hide hard nipples—a body in need—and my dick twitches as the sight of her torments my starved body. Christ, what I’d do to strip her of that silk and give her what she craves—what we both crave.
Not going to happen, dude.
I swallow and work to get my shit together as she unhooks the safety chain—a fucking joke of a lock to a guy who’s done time. If someone wanted into her apartment, that little piece of metal is going to do jack shit to protect her. The chain rattles as it falls against the wooden doorframe, and I draw a deep breath, let it out slowly.
“Hi, Sara.”
“Tyler,” Sara whispers as she opens the door a few inches, her body tight, uncertain. “What…what are you doing here?” She glances up and down the hall, her expressive eyes searching, seeking. Who the fuck is she looking for? Her asshole date? Possession I have no right to feel zings through me, and above my head, my fingers curl tighter around the doorframe.
“I just…” I begin, but my thoughts fall off as I lean toward her. I catch her scent, sweet vanilla, and it tears through my blood at breakneck speed, arousing the beast in me with an intensity that frightens me a little. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve held a woman in my arms. I had my pick last week when Lucas and I hit the bar, but it’s not just any woman I want. It’s Sara. It’s always been Sara.
“Just what?”
“Just wanted to make sure you got home okay?”
She squares her shoulders. A change comes over her. A harder edge to her face as shock morphs to anger—my words like tinder to a fire, fuel to her rage. “I’ve been getting home okay for a long time now,” she says through gritted teeth. “I don’t need you checking in on me.”
Maybe not, but I want to talk to her about the DB. Some woman opens a door down the hall, and stares at me suspiciously as she passes by. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“How well do you know that guy?” I ask, even though the hallway is no place to be having this conversation.
The door widens, and a shadow moves over her face as her eyes shoot daggers. I can’t blame her for being angry. I have no right to be standing at her door, asking questions she doesn’t need to answer, making demands I have no right to make. But everything about that DB rubs me the wrong way. Call it gut instinct, or prison survival intuition—fuck, call it whatever the hell you want to call it—but he’s not a good guy, and she deserves better.
She puts one hand on her hip. “Let’s just say I know him about as well as I know you,” she says, her words venomous, even though she looks so wounded.
I flinch, her anger and hurt seeping under my skin and twisting me up inside. I try to breathe, but grief presses down on me, fills my lungs and leaves me gasping—like waterboarding torture. I try to speak, only to choke on my reply.
I push off the door and pace, working to get my shit together. After a long moment, I say, “Sara, I don’t think you should be seeing him.”
Instead of responding, she asks, “How did you get in?”
I shrug. “It was easy. This place isn’t that secure.” I angle my head. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you locks are for honest people?” I give her a wink to lighten things, but it seems to have the opposite effect.
“Ty…ler,” she says quietly, her voice cracking and her body shaking as pain and grief overcome her. A sob wracks her body, and I can’t even begin to count all the ways I hate myself right now. Painstaking need to hold her pulls at me, but I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t be here starting something we can’t finish. Nothing about this is right—our fate was decided the second the wooden gravel hit the desk—but how can I leave now?
I reach for her. “Sara…”
“I can’t…you have to go,” she says, and presses unsteady hands to her eyes as she wobbles backward. Sorrow batters my pulverized heart, pounds it into my throat until I feel like I’m suffocating, as she shatters before me. I fucking hate seeing her like this. Hate that I’m the reason she’s so broken.
Empty, bereft, hollowed out inside, I grip my hair and tug. “I’m so fucking sorry, Sara,” I say quickly. Christ, I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all her.
“Ty,” she whispers, and the need I hear in her voice explodes through my body. She might be telling me to go away, but her voice and body are telegraphing an entirely different story. She’s always been an easy read to me, and despite my promise to her father, the fact that I’m headed down a dangerous path I have no right to negotiate, I step inside, kick the door shut behind me and set the lock. I dip my head, and my heart crashes as I brush my thumb over her warm cheek.
“Sara,” I say. She blinks up at me and I’m no longer able to fight the good fight. I give in to my needs and close my mouth over hers.
At first her damp lips are frozen shut, but when I coax them open with my tongue, she closes her eyes and hands herself over to me. A soft mewling sound catches in her throat and I slide my hands around her small body, needing to touch her all over. I kiss her long and deep, and break it only to whisper, “I missed you so fucking much.”
I splay my fingers so I don’t miss an inch of skin. She goes up on her toes, and her warm palms squeeze my shoulders. A restless ache moves through me, and I breathe past it, wanting to draw this out, and not go at her like a fucking animal—the way my rock-hard dick is urging me to. Traitorous prick.
I push my tongue into her mouth, and as it tangles with hers, every old feeling I’ve kept suppressed for so many years crashes over me like a ha
mmering tsunami. Need unlike anything I’ve ever felt before grips my balls, and I gather her into my arms, and carry her to her bedroom. She runs her soft hands over my body, our lips still joined as I set her on the edge of the bed. I inch back, sever the intimacy, and try to refill my lungs as she looks up at me with lust-imbued eyes.
“Ty,” she murmurs and reaches for me, but I need a minute to just look at her, to steady myself. She hasn’t changed much physically in nine years. She’s still slim, her big brown eyes stark against her pale skin as they telegraph her need. Her hair is a bit longer, the damp strands soaking her robe. That’s what others would see when they look at her, but what I see is a woman who is a shell of her former self. Thanks to me.
“Please,” she murmurs and shrugs until her robe slides from her shoulders to expose a stretch of smooth skin. Blood leaves my brain in a whoosh, and my dick grows impossibly harder as I brush the skin with the back of my knuckles. Her gaze drops, rakes down my body and she goes perfectly still when she sees my rock-hard cock struggling against my jeans.
“Please what?” I ask, a desperate ploy to hear her says she needs me. Sorry bastard that I am.
“I need you inside me. I need to feel…”
Christ knows I need to feel too. I’ve been closed off, my emotions on lockdown for so fucking long, I’m about ready to rupture. Has it been like that for Sara, too? The only way to get through the day was to shut down anything and everything that makes you feel?
I rip into my pants, kick them off, and make quick work of my shirt. Sara’s eyes go wide as she takes me in, her gaze skating over my scars. As tears well in her eyes, a lump lodges in my throat.
“Sara, don’t…please. Don’t look at them.”
“Ty,” she murmurs so low it’s hard to hear her. I drop to my knees, spread her legs and slide in between. Her sweet smell washes over me. I breathe her in, fill my lungs until they’re fully expanded, ready to explode. It was her scent I’d kept with me all these years, the memory of her—of us—the only thing that got me through some pretty rough nights.
I stand, press my mouth to her neck, and savor her flavor as I lightly run my lips over her quivering flesh. I push her robe down even further as I kiss a path to her shoulder. My hands go to her arms, and I brush them lightly, watching little goose bumps form in my wake.
As I indulge in her body and press open-mouthed kisses to her skin, she unloops the belt and widens her robe to offer her body to me. I could fucking cry as she offers me something so precious after everything I’ve put her through. She touches me, explores my body, and holds my head as I kiss a path down her curves. I give her a small nudge and she falls back on the bed, her long hair splaying. Beautiful, so damn beautiful and perfect. I climb over her, press her down with my body, keeping her pinned for fear she might come to her senses and flee. I touch her softly, gently, and take one pebbled nipple into my mouth.
“Yes,” she moans and arches into me, her nails pulling skin as she rakes them over my back. On fire for her, I clamp my mouth around her hard nub, and she cries out. I break the kiss, her nipple popping free, and I lick the pale nub gently as I shape her curves with my palms.
She writhes beneath me, moving restlessly, her body conveying exactly what she needs. I press my mouth to her stomach, lightly lick her as I move downward, to the spot that’s beckoning my touch.
I sink to the floor and grip her thighs, pulling on her until her legs are draped over the bed, and her sex is wide open, mine for the taking. She goes up on her elbows and our gazes meet. The heat in her eyes, the way they turned a darker shade of brown, does the most ridiculous things to me.
“You want me?” I ask.
She nods.
“Say it, Sara. Tell me you want me.”
A moment passes as a bevy of heavy emotions flicker over her eyes, and squeezes the air from my lungs. Then she palms my face and whispers, “I’ve never stopped wanting you, Ty.”
Determined to make every minute with her count, I spread her with my fingers, and gaze longingly at her open sex. Mine. Her pussy glistens in the lamplight, wet, hot, so eager for me. Her sweet scent fills my senses as I lean in and close my mouth over her soft flesh. Her taste explodes on my tongue and a pleasure so powerful it dims my vision grips me hard. I insert a finger and she’s so hot and tight, I can’t help but wonder if she’s been celibate all these years. I push that thought away. I can’t stomach the thought of her with another man.
I crook my finger inside her, never forgetting how she liked to be touched. When she tightens around me, I draw a breath to center myself and keep my own orgasm at bay. I don’t want this to be over before it ever gets started.
“Tyler,” she cries out, and moves her hips as soft quakes squeeze my finger.
“That’s it, Sara. Fuck my finger, take what you need.”
I slide another in for a snug fit and she rocks into me, her body trembling almost uncontrollably. I can’t believe how close she is. Then again, maybe I can. It’s been years for me and the second I put my cock in her, I’m going to lose my shit big time.
I take her clit into my mouth, claim it, own it completely as she rides my fingers. She gives a broken gasp as her hands grip her bedding, tug hard.
“Like that,” she says, urgency and emotion in her voice. “Just like that.” Her cries grow louder as pleasure centers in her core.
I pull my fingers out and plunge back inside. I swirl my finger around her slick heat, then repeat the motions until she’s delirious beneath my ministrations. “That’s it, come for me. Let me feel you come all over my fingers.”
I lick her clit, and apply more pressure with the tip of my tongue until her head is rolling from side to side. Jesus Christ, I love seeing her like this, so lost in pleasure nothing else matters. My cock throbs, aching to replace my fingers as she breaks, gives in to the need pulling at her. Her hot cum burns my flesh, and I keep my fingers inside her as she rides out the waves. When she finally stops spasming, I spend a few more minutes on my knees, my mouth pressing hungrily, savoring her sweet release and never wanting to leave the comfort I’ve found between her legs. I lick her, soft gentle strokes to soothe her pussy before I put my cock into her tight sex.
She pants, gasps for breath, as I lap at her. Sexy mewling sounds follow her heavy breaths, and when her breathing levels out, I slowly stand. My hand goes to my cock as I gaze at her, sprawled out on her bed, eager and waiting for me. I pull from the base to the crown, and Sara sits up, her mouth inches from my throbbing dick.
“Sara,” I say my voice deep from need as her warm breath fires my blood. She wets her mouth and I brace myself. My cock jumps and my balls tighten as she takes a long time to gaze at my nakedness, like she’s committing every inch of me to memory. Impatience thrums though me, pressure brewing in my groin. “Touch me, Sara. Please…touch me.”
Her gaze flickers to mine for a second and her mouth curves. “Is this what you need, Ty?” she asks as she takes me into her hands, lightly running her fingers over the long length of me. I tremble. Her soft hands wrap around me like a heated glove and are definitely going to be the death of me.
“Fuck yes,” I say, hungry for more, for…everything.
She must sense that in me because she blinks up at me and asks, “What else do you need?”
I touch her face, run the rough pad of my thumb over her kiss swollen bottom lip. “I need you, Sara. I need your mouth on my cock, and then I need to be inside you.
“Fuck,” I growl as her hot mouth closes over my crown, her tongue lapping and tasting the pre-cum pearling on the tip. She moans with pleasure, and I touch her hair, move it from her face so I can see her. My heart pinches at the beautiful sight of her, the pleasure she’s so willing to give me after all the hurt. But I don’t want to think about the hurt. I can’t think about that right now.
She stretches her lips around me, taking me impossibly deeper, the warmth of her mouth driving back the cold that resides within me. She makes a noise, a soft pur
ring sound, and it vibrates around my aching dick. Hunger and need consume me, take control. I shake with blinding pleasure, and my breath comes in a ragged burst. She cups my balls, massages them gently, and rocks into me. Seeing my cock slide in and out of her sweet mouth just about does me in. I clench down, eager to hang on. There are so many more things I need to do with her tonight.
“Jesus, Sara,” I growl and push her damp hair off her forehead, her bobbing head dragging my focus. I’m so goddamn hard, haven’t felt anything soft on my dick for a long ass time that I’m right there, ready to explode in her mouth. But I’m not nearly ready for this to be over. I want to savor tonight, because there won’t be any more. The urgency in her body tells me she knows that too.
She greedily sucks me in, then pulls out, only to take me back in again. My hips jerk forward, as lust explodes in me, and I need this to stop almost as much as I need it to continue. I suck in a quick breath, and step back. My cock plops from her mouth and she whimpers in disappointment.
“Come here,” I say, and lift her to her feet. I pull her against me, run my hands down her back, over the lush curve of her ass. Her skin is hot against mine, burning through my flesh and into my soul. “I need my cock in you,” I say and she visibly quivers. I pick her up easily and position her in the center of the bed. I climb over her, my dick throbbing against her thigh. My mouth finds hers again, and her hands race over my body, palm my muscles as we exchange hot, hungry kisses.
She widens her legs and puts them around my back, a familiar move, and my crown probes her entrance. “Shit,” I say, and inch back. “I don’t have a condom.”
“Top drawer, nightstand,” she says quickly. When we were together I always took care of protection, and as I reach into the drawer, I don’t want to think too much about why she has condoms. I shut that from my mind and bite into the foil wrapper.
