F*CK CLUB_SHAME

by Shiloh Walker

  There was a monster standing in front of her and she seemed blind to it. He wasn’t, though, and he needed to be stronger than this. Pulling back, he twisted his wrist, breaking contact with her face.

  Charli moved with him and somehow their hands ended up entwined and she closed the distance between them once more.

  “Why did you come inside, Max?” she asked.

  She was standing so close he could feel the faint disturbance in the air as she spoke. He wanted to eliminate the few scant inches between them and fist his hand in her hair, kiss her, taste her...take her.

  But this was Charli...

  When he didn’t answer, Charli swayed closer to him.

  He didn’t move.

  Even when she let her lips ghost over his, he didn’t move.

  But when she leaned in closer and pressed her mouth firmly to his, he did move. He caught her chin in his hand and yanked his head back, staring at her. “Don’t, Charli. I’m not one of your pretty, polished doctors with soft hands. You don’t want the kind of things I’d do to you,” he warned her.

  “Says who?” she asked, that challenge still in her voice.

  “Says me. Just trust me.”

  “I trust you more than I trust anybody I know, Max. But I think you’re wrong.” She kissed him again and this time she opened her mouth, letting her tongue flick against his lips.

  The first crack in his control happened at that light touch, but he maintained, keeping his hands fisted at his sides.

  If he touched her even once, it was over.

  Charli didn’t seem to mind his lack of response, running her tongue over his top lip before moving to the lower one, flirting with the seam of his lips before starting it all over again, teasing and taunting him.

  When he still didn’t move, she eased away. But if he expected her to be dejected by the fact that he still wasn’t reacting...well, he had to remember. This was Charli Steele. And what Charli wanted, Charli got.

  The determination glinted in her eyes as she pulled back.

  If he was a smart man, one who believed in self-preservation, he would have turned and run like hell.

  But maybe he was tired of fighting a need that tied him in knots.

  So he just stood there as she reached for the waistband of her skin-skimming tank top and peeled it away, proving that she, too, could dispose of the shirt in a second.

  Under it, she wore a bra the same color as the tank—midnight blue—and her skin gleamed like satin against it. He’d been with women who wore lingerie so exotic it boggled the mind. Yet there was nothing he’d ever seen as sexy as Charli in a dark blue bra and her jeans. She moved closer again and wrapped her arms around his neck. “How long you think you can hold out?” she whispered against his lips.

  That was a damn good question.

  The feel of her skin against his was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could handle.

  It was a torment he wanted more than anything.

  He didn’t like to be touched during sex.

  He’d do all the touching, all the fucking, all the everything, but having Charli dip her hands into his hair as she slanted her mouth over his was a sweet, sweet pleasure and he groaned as she licked at his mouth.

  That faint noise had his mouth open just the slightest and he tensed as she teased her way past his lips, bringing with her his first real taste of her.

  It was a drug.

  It was the drug.

  The drug he’d crave the rest of his life.

  And that was the second crack in his control.

  As he opened wider for her kiss, she curled around him and thrust her tongue past his lips. Her nails scraped over his scalp and he shivered, thinking about feeling those short, neat nails scraping over other parts of him.

  She arched against him, and even though he knew it wasn’t possible, he imagined he could feel the heat, separated by layers of denim and cloth. He wanted to strip away her jeans, peel off her panties and kneel in front of her, taste the wet heat of her pussy, then lift her up and impale her on his cock.

  That image didn’t quite shatter his control.

  But her shaky voice as she whispered against his lips? That did him in. “I want you, Max. Please don’t act like you don’t want me back.”

  His control shattered, falling to tiny pieces around him.

  Shoving a hand into her hair, he yanked her head back and took control of the kiss just as she went to slide her tongue into his mouth again. He caught that sweet thing and sucked on her, feeling her shake against him. Her nipples were stiff points, stabbing at him through the silk of her bra and he reached up and yanked the straps down her shoulders to bare her breasts.

  He pulled back to stare at her, desperate to feast his eyes on a sight that he’d fantasized about for years.

  Charli was petite, but she was also stacked. As he cupped her breasts in his palms, she arched against him, filling his hands to overflowing. “Not want you?” he muttered as he lightly tweaked her left nipple. “I don’t know, Charli.” He caught her hip in his hand and dragged her up against him, letting her feel the weight of his erection against her belly. “Does this feel like I want you?”

  She whimpered, her eyes going wide as he boosted her up and planted her against the door. “Maybe you didn’t get a good enough idea,” he said, his cock now cuddled between her thighs. “You think I want you?”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  It made her tits rise and fall and he swore, lifting her left breast up so he could close his mouth around her nipple. She shrieked as he bit down lightly.

  And this time, he knew he wasn’t imagining anything as a rush of warmth centered between Charli’s thighs.

  Dragging his mouth from hers, he met her fogged gaze and said, “You better call a stop to this now, before it’s too late.”

  “You think I’ve spent the past few years trying to get you to pay attention to me to back away now?” She reached up and caught his neck, dragging his mouth back to hers.

  She bit his lower lip and he growled in response, urged on by the wildness of her kiss. Crazed by it even.

  He let her legs go and reached for the zipper of her jeans, desperate now to have her wrapped around his dick.

  She didn’t do anything to stop him and in no time, she was wearing nothing but the bra, twisted around her torso. Even that was in the way. He wanted her completely bared to him. Reaching behind her, he freed the clasp and yanked the offending material away and threw it to the floor.

  Her hand caught the hem of his T-shirt and he tensed, but at the look from her, one that was a dare, challenge and plea, he let her peel the shirt away. Nobody else would have been able to stand there and run her hands up and down his chest like Charli did. She reached the nipple ring that pierced his left nipple and tugged on it, eliciting a moan from him. With a wicked smile, she dipped her head and pressed her mouth to the silver hoop, then caught it between her teeth and tugged once more.

  He hissed out a breath, reaching up to cradle her head as she shifted and went to take the flat circle of his nipple in her mouth, sucking on him. Her free hand roamed across his chest. Each brush of her fingers was a shock, each stroke a treasure.

  How long had it been since he’d welcomed the touch of another?

  A lifetime.

  An eternity.

  Yet with Charli, her touch wasn’t just welcome.

  It was vital.

  She reached between them and freed the button on his jeans before dragging down the zipper of his fly.

  He caught her hands then, because he already felt like the top of his cock might explode. Just one touch from her might do it.

  She made a mewling sound in her throat, but acquiesced, letting her hands fall to her sides. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He never left the house without taking a couple of rubbers with him, although for the past few weeks, he hadn’t needed to use them.

  He’d been too tired, too distracted...or Charli had been th
ere.

  Now Charli was here...and he was about to fuck her.

  He fumbled with the rubber more than he had in years, his hands almost as shaky as they’d been the first time he’d decided to let some girl take him back to her place for sex.

  Not some girl, he thought.

  After snapping the rubber into place, he reached for Charli. He hesitated as she lifted her eyes to his. “You sure about this, Charli?” he asked, voice raw.

  “If you stop now, I’m going to have to kill you,” she told him.

  He caught her hips and boosted her up, her back to the door. “I should take you to bed,” he said, trying to find something that might be gentleness. But he didn’t have it in him. When it came to sex, he only understood one way—fucking.

  “I don’t care about a bed.” She shifted against him.

  He’d think later that she seemed a little less sure then.

  And he’d realize why.

  But just then, all he knew was that she was wet and naked and when he boosted her higher and hooked her thighs over his knees, she was open and waiting for him.

  Just him.

  Angling his hips, he rubbed against her entrance, watching as her lashes fluttered. A soft noise escaped her. “Ooohhhh...please, Max!”

  He changed his angle then, slipping the head of his cock inside her. “Is this what you want?” he asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Good.” He bent forward and bit her neck as he thrust deep, high and hard.

  She shrieked, the pain in the noise penetrating the fog of want, just as he figured something out.

  She was...tight. Too fucking tight. Shame froze.

  Drawing back, he stared down at her, seeing her clearly for the first time since he’d touched her. The pain in her eyes, the nervousness. The nerves had been there all the fucking time and he just hadn’t let himself see them. “Fuck, Charli...you’re a virgin!”

  “Not anymore.” Her breathing hitched and she tried to shift, but he held her all but pinned to the door—pinned and helpless and open.

  Fuck!

  Shame went to pull out.

  She caught him around the neck, hooking her forearm around him and pulling him back to her. “Don’t you dare stop, you son of a bitch,” she said, slamming her mouth to his.

  He froze, indecision weighing on him.

  This was Charli...

  And she was kissing him. The greedy bastard in him was quick to point out that, despite the fact the he’d hurt her a little, she was still hot and wet, and clinging to him, and kissing him.

  The small sliver of him that he tried to keep decent was reticent, though, and kept whispering, It’s Charli, man. She deserves better.

  She did.

  But as she clenched and shivered around him, it was hard to think about anything but how wet and tight her cunt was, how good she smelled and the fact that she was sucking on his tongue, kissing him like he was everything she’d ever wanted.

  He understood that kind of want, because the one woman he had wanted—the one woman he’d thought was safe because of who she was, was undulating against him as she fought to adjust to the invasion of his cock.

  Unable to think, he shoved a hand into her hair and pulled her back, staring down at her through slitted eyes.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She didn’t pretend ignorance. That wasn’t Charli. “Because you are the one I wanted it to be, Max. Don’t tell me that surprises you.”

  Now that he thought about it, it didn’t surprise him. Now that he let himself think about it, he knew he should have expected this and that was just another reason why he should have stayed away.

  He’d known Charli thought she had feelings for him.

  When she was a kid, it hadn’t worried him.

  But she was far from a kid now.

  “Stop thinking, Max,” she whispered, arching closer and tightening her muscles around him. “Stop thinking and just make love to me.”

  “Make love?” He bent his head and pressed his lips to her ear. “I don’t make love, Charli. I fuck.”

  “Then fuck me. I don’t care. Just move.” She turned her face to his so that the words were spoken against his lips, and the challenge in her tone devastated him.

  She wanted this and damn if he was strong enough to stop it.

  Swearing, he pulled back and rocked inside her, feeling the drag of her muscles around him, wishing, for the first time ever, that he wasn’t wearing a fucking rubber. Wishing he wasn’t so tainted, that he could do what she asked—make love to her. But all he was good at was fucking.

  But damn if he wouldn’t make it good for her.

  He set a slow, lazy pace, catching her chin in his free hand and craning her head up to meet his gaze.

  He didn’t kiss her again, just watched as he palmed one round, perfect breast, rolling the nipple until it was a hard, tight pucker, then treating the other to the same.

  She whimpered as he swelled inside her and he could feel each tremor, counted each hitch in her breathing, marked them down in his memory so he could look back on this.

  Her nails sank into his shoulders and he bit the inside of his cheek to hang on to his control. When she twisted around on his cock and whimpered for him, he took her hips and tilted her up, changing the angle so that he rubbed against her clitoris with each stroke. That simple move lit her up and she tightened around him until she was like a fist and he had to fuck his way past tight, silken muscles with each sweet, tortured thrust.

  “Open for me, baby,” he whispered against her cheek. “Open... Fuck, you’re sweet.”

  She whimpered again, and this time it was his name and it was pure perfection, or at least the closest he’d ever get to it.

  Slamming his free hand against the wall next to her head, he ground his teeth, forcing himself not to ride her harder, take more than she was ready to give, but, fuck, fuck, fuck, it was hard. She quaked around him, drawing closer to orgasm, and still he held back.

  Then she was coming, her mouth open in a silent scream and he swooped in on her, taking that open mouth and driving his tongue past her lips as he began to ride her harder. She jolted against him, her stiff nipples scraping his chest.

  Her arms tightened around his neck as she clung to him, but she tore her mouth away, panting for air and chanting, “Please, please, please...Max!”

  He could have said her name a thousand times over, but didn’t let himself, afraid of what it might reveal. Instead, he buried his face against her neck and thrust harder, chasing his climax.

  It remained tauntingly out of reach, and in frustration, he jerked his head up and tangled his hand in her hair. Drawing her head to his neck, he said, “Bite me. Hard.”

  She didn’t even ask. She just sank her teeth into his skin and at that sweet pain, he exploded.

  Shame climaxed harder than he ever had in his life.

  And when it ended, only sheer will kept him from going to his knees in front of the woman who owned him, heart and soul.

  He stayed upright, panting for breath and reaching for control, because he had to find it before he looked at her.

  She couldn’t know.

  Charli couldn’t ever know.

  CLAY COATED HIS HANDS.

  The sculpture had sinuous, feminine lines but it wasn’t done. In his mind’s eye, Shame could see how it would look when it was completed but that was still hours away.

  He’d been locked in his studio for hours.

  Unconscious thoughts filled him, pouring out of him like water as he ran his hands over the clay—up, then down, pressing here, smoothing there.

  It had been three days since he’d spent the night with Charli.

  Three days and he was still smelling her on his skin.

  It was his imagination and he knew it. It had to be because the morning after, once he’d gotten home, he’d locked himself in his bathroom and scrubbed his skin until it was raw, convinced, if he eradicated all traces of the night with her, he’d forg
et about it that much quicker.

  Or maybe he’d tried to convince himself.

  He could still taste her.

  Smoothing a thumb over the part of the sculpture that would be the face, he imagined craning Charli’s face back and taking her mouth, licking his way inside, then having her suck on his tongue and draw him deeper.

  He remembered taking her to her bedroom, kissing his way down her body and fucking his tongue into the hot wet center of her.

  She’d been everything he’d always imagined—more. And she’d been unlike anything he’d ever dreamed of. Two totally conflicting ideals and he knew it. How one woman could be both things, he had no idea. But that was Charli.

  Another hour passed as he continued to work the clay, pausing only when thirst drove him to pause and grab the two-liter bottle he’d filled with water before coming into the small, windowless studio hours earlier.

  It was the sound of a doorbell that dragged him from the stupor. He studied the sculpture, wondered if he could stop now and be okay.

  He could.

  The doorbell rang a second, then a third time, as he continued to debate.

  When it rang a fourth time, he rose.

  There were only so many people who would be that persistent and his gut was hot and tight, telling him who it probably was.

  He should stay in the studio and work. If he ignored her long enough, she’d go away.

  But he locked the door behind him, sealing away the sculpture and the quiet room where he let down his guard, even if it was only for himself.

  Walking through the quiet house, he drew the rag from his pocket to wipe his hands, not bothering to go to the bathroom and wash up. She’d wait. She’d already rang a fifth time and he knew she was patient enough to ring a sixth.

  But she was there, waiting for him.

  Maybe he’d been waiting for her to come to him.

  And when he opened the door and saw Charli standing there, he realized that was the case.

  He didn’t know how some part of him had known she’d come, but it had.

  She looked him up and down, and he watched her chest rise and fall on a nervous hitch of a breath. “What are you doing here?” he asked, bracing his forearm against the doorjamb.