by Ella Brooke
Our teeth scraped together, and I winced, drawing back as an incredible suspicion took hold of me.
“Haven’t you ever kissed anyone before, Char?”
Even in the faint light from the stars above, I could see that she was blushing. But although she was clearly embarrassed, she met my gaze steadily.
“I never wanted to kiss anyone except you,” she whispered, and instantly I was lost.
I bent again, capturing her mouth more firmly. Her lips parted, but this time she let me be the aggressor, let me show her what to do and how to do it. My tongue traced carefully over the delicate flesh of her lips and then slipped into her mouth, and I felt her shiver. Her hands let go of my jacket and crept upward, tentatively, until at last her gentle fingers slid into the depths of my hair.
It was my turn to shiver.
I kissed her more deeply than before, letting my body press against hers. I was already hard, aching and hot, and I sought relief by pressing into her soft, warm body. She slipped her arms around my neck instinctively, surrendering to me, and I tightened my arms around her waist and lifted her against the wall.
Her long, slender legs wrapped around my hips, and I let myself lean into her, let myself move against her. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to. I was still wearing jeans, but through the denim I could feel that she was hot and wet, and that what I wanted so badly was covered by nothing more than the thin fabric of a pair of panties. I wondered if her panties were black to match the dress, imagined stripping off the dress to find out, and the thought of her beautiful, pale skin clad in nothing but midnight silk made a shudder run through me.
I wanted to yank off her panties, undo my jeans, and fuck her right here and right now. But an unwelcome thought intruded.
If she’s never kissed anyone before, she’s a virgin.
As a virgin, she needed to be treated gently—needed me to tease her nipples, kissing and licking and sucking until she sobbed for more. For me to go down on her, to tease her clit with my tongue until she was trembling, until her body was soft and wet and ready for me. She was beautiful and sweet and innocent, and her first time shouldn’t be a hard, fast fuck against a rough brick wall.
But her fingers clutched my shoulders, her hips rolling against mine, and I couldn’t stop or even slow down. She had attached herself to me like a starfish, so I let go of her waist and groped for her panties, shoving them out of the way. She lowered her feet to the ground for an instant and kicked off the little scrap of fabric, but in a heartbeat she wrapped herself around me again.
I supported her with one hand and fumbled at my jeans with the other, somehow managing to unzip them. My hands were shaking, and I felt as clumsy and uncoordinated as the first time I’d made out with a girl. Which was ridiculous. I was the furthest thing from a virgin. In fact, I’d had so many women I’d lost count.
But none of them had been this woman, and maybe that made all the difference.
I shoved my jeans and boxers out of the way, pressing up against her eagerly. She was warm and wet, and I felt myself throbbing with need. But I forced myself to wait.
“Are you sure about this, Char?”
This wasn’t the way her first time should go, and I knew it. She should have scented candles and satin sheets and soft, romantic music. Instead, she was losing her virginity in a dark alley, up against a brick wall, with empty beer bottles and other assorted trash scattered around us. It was, I was guiltily aware, not even a little romantic.
But she pulled back and looked right at me, her gaze steady and calm.
“I’m sure,” she said.
I groaned and shifted slightly, pressing into her. She moaned, her head falling back against the bricks, and her hands gripped my leather jacket tightly. In the throes of passion she looked beautiful, her lips parted, her eyes drifting shut. She felt incredible, tight and wet and hot, and I paused with the head of my cock just inside her, trying to give her a chance to adjust.
But she moaned and squirmed and clutched my jacket more tightly, making it clear she didn’t want to wait.
My spine flexed despite my best intentions, and I sank into her soft flesh another inch. She felt so good, so damn good, and I couldn’t have stopped even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t think I could ever stop. I wanted to fuck this woman every day for the rest of my life.
No—I wanted to make love to her. Forever.
She wiggled, trying to take more of me inside, and I gave her what she wanted, sinking into her deeply. Another thrust, and I was balls-deep inside her, my aching cock sheathed completely in her satin heat. I bowed my head and pressed my face against her shoulder, struggling not to move.
For a long moment, we stood there motionless, our bodies melded together. But then she wiggled again, and the slight movement stole away what remained of my self-control. I withdrew, almost all the way, and then thrust hard.
She cried out, a short, almost anguished sound, and I froze.
“Okay?”
“Fine,” she whispered, “fine, don’t stop, don’t stop—“
Reassured that I hadn’t hurt her, I began moving in her hard and steadily, and with every thrust she cried out with pleasure. A little worried about attracting an audience—not that I cared personally, but she probably didn’t want this in the papers tomorrow—I caught her mouth with mine and kissed her deeply.
I didn’t often kiss the women I fucked. Not while I was fucking them, at least. But her mouth was so sweet that I couldn’t seem to stop myself. And somehow kissing her made it all more intense, more profound. I felt so strangely connected to her that my chest ached.
I wanted to make love to her forever, but it felt too good. Within moments I was gasping into her mouth, my hips stuttering as I fought to hold back my climax. I struggled for self-control, and for a moment I thought I’d managed it.
But then she moaned into my mouth, shuddering all over, and once again I was lost.
My orgasm crashed over me in wave after wave of ecstasy, drowning me as I spilled my seed inside her, groaning helplessly. At last my climax died off into a soft wash of pleasure, and I all but collapsed against her, crushing her between my body and the wall.
She didn’t seem to object. She buried her face in my neck, and I could feel the soft brush of her breath against my skin. Her fingers gently caressed my hair.
I’ve never been a cuddler after sex, either. All I usually wanted from sex was shallow pleasure, rather than any sort of deeper interaction. But for some reason, with her all my lifelong rules were forgotten. I sighed, letting her stroke my hair, and pressed light kisses to the top of her head.
I wanted to remain there for the rest of my life, to be part of her forever, but biology was against me, and eventually my softening cock slipped out of her. She gave a little noise of disappointment, but I straightened up and fastened my jeans. She pushed her skirt down, wisely choosing to abandon her panties on the grimy asphalt of the alley.
I looked at her. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick was smeared, and her eye makeup was smudged. And yet she was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. She looked bright-eyed and happy, her lips swollen from my kisses, and her skin glowing with the flush of pleasure I’d brought her.
I thought about my come mingled with her moisture on the inside of her thighs, and heat arrowed through me. I couldn’t get hard again so soon, but the thought of filling her with my come still made my cock twitch. I wanted to do it again and again. I’d never before—
Ah, shit. I’d never forgotten to use a condom before.
I swallowed uncomfortably. “Um, listen, Char, I kind of forgot to, uh…”
“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “I’m on the pill.”
She still shouldn’t be having sex with near-strangers without protection, but I didn’t say so. As it happened, I’d seen a doctor recently and knew I was clean, so I wasn’t too worried about it. She’d be okay, and so would I. It was fortunate she was on the pill, because I could only imag
ine my father’s rage if I impregnated such a middle-class woman. I could hear his voice in my head: A Kensington may use women, Hunter, but he must choose a lady!
Yeah, there would be hell to pay with the old man if I ever got someone like this pregnant. And even though I was twenty-seven, I still didn’t enjoy getting into squabbles with my dad. I’d had enough fights with him to last a lifetime. So it was just as well she’d taken care of it, although I had to admit that the thought of impregnating her made something inside my chest swell, made me feel hot and hungry in a way I didn’t quite understand.
Which was weird. I was the bad boy of the Kensington family, very much the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of guy, and I’d never once thought about settling down, marrying, and having children. Not until this very moment.
Char was having all sorts of weird effects on me. But oddly, I didn’t mind.
“Okay,” I said and then hesitated. This was the part when I usually hit the road without looking back. But I couldn’t do that to Char. Not because she was Jacob’s little sister. But because she was…
Well, she was special somehow.
“Can I call you tomorrow?”
She blinked up at me. I saw a dubious expression cross her face, and I understood it well enough—everyone knew I wasn’t the kind of guy to get involved in a real relationship. And the truth was that I hadn’t been that kind of guy…till tonight.
Whatever she saw in my face must have reassured her, because she smiled slightly.
“I’d like that.”
I added her to my phone’s contacts, picked up my motorcycle helmet from where it had fallen into a puddle of something that was definitely not rainwater, and looked down at her.
“Goodnight, Char.”
And then, spurred by a strange impulse, I did something I’d never done with any woman.
I bent and kissed her goodbye.
The Harley’s Shovelhead engine roared as I sped up the hill toward the sprawling Kensington mansion, called simply but accurately Hilltop. My mom had been dead for years, and although I wasn’t rich in my own right, I nevertheless had enough money of my own to reside wherever I wanted. And yet I still lived in the house I’d grown up in. I told everyone it was because I liked having an army of servants at my disposal, but I suspected it was more because after all these years, I was still pathetically striving to win my dad’s approval, to make him see me as something other than the black sheep of the family.
Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
Particularly not Dad.
My younger brother Austin lived in the mansion too, but he was more inclined to spend his time in New York or DC. Which was fine, as Austin and I didn’t get along. Where I’d always been the bad boy, in trouble more often than not, he was the shining star of the family, able to do no wrong in the eyes of the world. He’d sailed through private school, handling AP and honors classes with ease at the same time he was the star quarterback, and then he’d gone on to Harvard where he’d graduated summa cum laude a couple of years ago. He was universally beloved, and the press adored him, referring to him as Au the Golden Boy.
I loathed that kid.
I parked my Harley in its customary spot in the massive, heated garage that stood behind the mansion, and then headed for the back of the house. As I entered the house, I saw there were three cops in the kitchen. I hadn’t spotted their cars because I’d approached the grounds from the back drive.
A cold hand clutched my chest. Shit. Austin had taken the private jet to New York; had something happened to him there? Had the jet itself gone down? All sorts of horrible, appalling scenarios ran through my head, making it hard for me to breathe. Yeah, sure, I couldn’t stand the kid…but he was my brother, and I didn’t want anything to happen to him.
I heard my father’s voice in my head again: To a Kensington, family is what matters most!
And God help me, it was true. No matter how annoying Au was, I’d have protected him with my life.
I paused at the doorway, feeling my heart thundering with fear. The cops looked back at me, as expressionless as if they were carved out of stone.
“Is…is everything all right?” I asked, hating how tentative I sounded. But I was worried about Au, damn it. “My…my brother…is he…?”
The cops exchanged looks. Then one of them stepped forward.
“Hunter Kensington,” he said, “you’re under arrest.”
Chapter Two
Three years later…
Charlotte
“Mamaaaaaa!”
I groaned into my pillow as the piping little voice woke me up precisely fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off. It was the same every single morning. My daughter did not believe in allowing me to sleep until dawn.
At least she’s sleeping through the night now, I thought as I struggled upright. Finally.
I would have loved a chance to snooze peacefully for a few more moments in my old, white, four-poster bed, which I’d proudly picked out at a furniture store when I was ten. Alas, Diana disapproved of slow service, and her howls grew louder. Reluctantly, I struggled out of bed, made my bleary-eyed way down the hallway, opened her door, and plastered a smile on my face.
“Good morning!”
Diana had just turned two a few months before, and she was a small and dainty thing with lots of dark curls that tended to tangle overnight. Her hair was almost black, but there were coppery highlights in it, and her wide eyes were a vivid hazel. She greeted me with a much more sincere smile than my own, looking delighted to see me, like I didn’t stagger into her bedroom half-dead each and every morning.
“Mama!”
I swung her out of the crib, planted a kiss on her forehead, and put her down on the changing table, where she promptly began to squeal and carry on like I was killing her. She had no interest in potty training yet, but she also didn’t care for having her diaper changed. But the alternative was unacceptable, so I talked to her quietly, trying to calm her down before she awakened the entire neighborhood. Fortunately she and I lived in the basement of the old house I’d grown up in, so there wasn’t much chance of her waking up my mother or my brother, both of whose bedrooms were on the second story.
That chore completed, the two of us headed upstairs for breakfast. For me, that was two pieces of toast with marmalade, and for her, a sippy cup of apple juice, slices of banana, and a bowl of Cheerios. While she was happily engaged with breakfast, I ducked into the nearby bathroom to pee and put on my blue uniform, keeping the door open so I could keep an eye on her. I’d braided my hair the night before after my shower, so all I really had to do to make myself presentable was throw on a bit of makeup.
Before long, I was strapping Diana into my old, ratty hatchback and dropping her off at daycare where she predictably howled as long as she thought I could hear her, then immediately ran off with a happy chortle to join her friends.
At last, I headed for work.
“I’m late. I know. I’m sorry.” I held up my hands in apology as I dashed into the diner. Pinecone was too small to even have a McDonald’s, but as a consequence its single diner did a brisk breakfast trade. There were already quite a few people seated at tables, waiting impatiently for service, and my boss glared at me as I charged into the kitchen. Howie was a balding, paunchy man in late middle age, whose perpetually sour expression hid a soft, squishy heart, and he threw a dark look at me.
“I’d fire you if I could find anyone else who’d work for me.”
“I’d quit if I could find anywhere else to work,” I retorted. I scrubbed thoroughly at the hand sink, plastered on yet another smile, and headed out to the dining room to take orders.
Pinecone never changed, and every day was pretty much like the next. I spent the morning greeting regulars, along with the occasional straggler from the nearby interstate, and taking orders for eggs of every sort. Breakfast hour slid into lunchtime, and the orders shifted to various types of cheeseburgers, and still I hadn’t gotten a bre
ak. My feet were killing me, and I was starving, but I kept on smiling.
Until Hunter Kensington walked in.
I hadn’t seen him in three long years, and I was suddenly, forcibly reminded of the night of my twenty-first birthday when he’d strode into Zippo’s Bar, clad in a leather jacket and oozing bad attitude. I remembered Angela’s gasp: Oh, my God, he’s gorgeous.
And he still was, though he was thinner, his face more lined than it had once been. He walked wearily, slowly, without the arrogant pride that had once stamped his every movement. He seemed drained, maybe even beaten. And that was hardly surprising given what had happened to him.
But even though he was lacking the arrogance he’d once had, he didn’t show any interest in the common people. Even when the whispers started, he didn’t trouble himself to look around. He just settled down at a table and waited with grim, tired patience.
Oh, my God, I thought frantically. He’s here to see me. He’s finally gotten out of prison…and he knows about Diana. He knows.
And of course, because he was a Kensington, he’d want to take my daughter away from me. Family was everything to the Kensingtons, and they all had a very firm idea of how children should be raised. And being brought up by a waitress who couldn’t even scrape up enough cash for her own apartment would definitely not be acceptable from the Kensington point of view.
My heart started to pound, and I considered doing something I’d never done before in my life—running away. If I headed out of here now before he spotted me—if I ran out the back door, jumped in my old Honda—if I picked up Diana from the day care and we just sped out of town and never looked back—
But I couldn’t. I was a single mom working as a waitress, and I didn’t have enough money to pay for groceries half the time, let alone flee across country. And I couldn’t run away. My family was here, and besides, I had a daughter who depended on me. I desperately needed to hang onto my job.
Slowly, my pulse thundering in my ears, I headed for his table.
***
Hunter
