“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you blow me with those hard-ass tiles ripping your knees to shreds and freezing my ass.” Tank vaulted onto the bed and sprawled out in the middle of the big mattress like a pasha waiting to be serviced. He waved a hand at his impressive erection. “Sorry for the interruption. As you were.”
My lips twitched as I battled to keep my grin at bay. Was I supposed to salute him or something? I rolled my eyes as I made my way through the sea of white sheets and comforter surrounding us. The mattress was pillow soft beneath my knees and I was thankful for his foresight as I settled between his legs once more. But the sight of his straining erect cock had me forgetting my surroundings and my mouth watering.
Like a magnet finding its opposite, my hand was drawn to Tank’s cock. I wrapped one hand around the base and leaned forward to let my lips dance down his straining length. Taking a few minutes to explore, I used a little scientific method to figure out what Tank liked best. He moved restlessly when I tickled the seam of his scrotum but didn’t really sound too excited. I tried a few other moves. Squeezing here, a featherlight touch there, but nothing seemed to drive him crazy. And Tank wasn’t much help. Most guys thought the best way to receive head was to hold a woman down and thrust like there was no tomorrow—I blamed porn, really. But not Tank. He seemed content to just lie back and let me do whatever I wanted. It was frustrating as hell. And also hot. I was the one in control. After a few minutes, I found that when I squeezed hard with my right hand while sucking the crown of his cock, Tank arched into me and groaned deep in his throat.
Bingo.
Finding his weak spot, I moved with more urgency. Sucking. Licking. Squeezing him. His desire fed my own. Every time I bobbed, my dress would rasp against my painfully hard nipples. And I knew without even looking that I was slick with need. The combination of my need and his pheromones had me kinda light-headed. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. I knew that I was moments away from one of us orgasming when Tank leaned down and pulled me off him.
“What the hell?” I groaned as I glared down at him, supporting myself in a semi-pushup position.
Tank pushed my hair away from my face, then tucked a few strands behind my ear. “You keep going like that and I’m gonna blow.”
“I know. That’s kinda the point. Pretty sure that’s why they call them blow jobs.” Somehow without my realizing it, one of Tank’s legs found its way between mine. So while I was blowing him, I’d also been dry humping his leg like a horny teenager with more hormones than sense. I ached at the loss of friction. I’d been so close, one, two minutes more max and I would’ve climaxed.
“There is no way in hell that I’m shooting off in your mouth before you’ve had one orgasm. That’s not the way this works, baby girl.”
That wasn’t the talk of a one-night, two-night stand kind of guy. What the hell? Was Tank hoping for more?
Tank shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m old. My recharge time is too long.”
There it was. I rolled my eyes at his eloquent phrasing, then rocked back until I was kneeling between his legs. Scooting around, I turned until the row of buttons on my back faced him. “You’re going to have to help me with the buttons. They’re all the way in the back where I can’t reach them.”
Silence.
Then the bed bounced slightly. I went to look over my shoulder but suddenly found myself shoved face-first into the mattress. I tried to turn to look at him again, but he kept one hand in the middle of my shoulders, pinning me down. My heart raced at the sudden shift in the mood. “Tank, what are you doing?” I flinched as his other hand ran up the length of my leg. “God. You scared me. Hello? Are you going to say something? Anything? Do I need to safe word out?”
“You know, we never got around to acting out that fantasy I had about you at the rehearsal dinner the other night.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly complaining last night if memory serves. Let me up so you can help me get out of this dress, dammit.”
Tank’s hand glided up the back of my thigh until he met the elastic at my waist. Unlike Emily I’d gone without nylons and only wore a black thong and matching bra beneath my bridesmaid dress. I hadn’t felt very exposed until now. My skin broke out in a wave of goosebumps as Tank’s fingers danced from my thigh up to the curve of my ass, then over to the brief bit of fabric covering my sex. No resistance met his seeking digits. If anything I was overeager, as evidenced by my slick folds.
I moaned and thrust my hips back at him. His fingers skimmed over the surface, never delving beneath the scrap of fabric. He teased me until I thought I’d go insane.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Fuck me already, dammit.”
Tank chuckled darkly. “Nuh-uh. Haven’t you ever heard the saying: Good things come to those who wait?”
I snorted. “I have never been accused of being good.”
“Bad girls are my favorite kinda girl.” Tank popped my left butt cheek with what sounded like an open hand.
I heard the slap before I felt the tinge of pain. “Hey!”
“Problem, baby girl?” Tank’s fingers gripped the elastic at the top of my thong and pulled until the brief fabric and elastic stretched around my lower thighs.
Still, I felt confined. Bound and pressed into the position from my binding panties and Tank’s hand still at my shoulders. Trapped. The thought made my sex clench. I never knew I had a captive sex fantasy until now. I briefly struggled against the material but couldn’t find any traction.
Smack. Tank slapped my ass in the same spot again. “Answer the question.”
“There was a question?”
Smack.
My hips pushed back at Tank of their own volition.
Smack. At the fourth spank, my ass felt like it was on fire. I searched my memory for his question. Smack. At the fifth I found it. “No, no problems, sir.”
I don’t know where that sir came from.
Smack.
“What the hell? I answered your question.”
Smack.
Tank scoffed. “Are you really going to act like this spanking is a punishment? That you’re not getting off on me smacking your ass?”
“No, sir,” I answered sullenly.
Tank grunted. “That’s more like it.”
Cold air wafted over my exposed ass and a beat later I heard the rustling of a condom wrapper. I assumed. I was a little bit afraid to turn around. My sex clenched again. The combination of his arrogance, my fake binding, and that spanking had me more excited than I could ever remember being. I wanted him now.
And a beat later I had him.
His hands clutched at my hips and I felt him probing between my legs. Once. Twice. Then he nudged a little harder and suddenly he was deep inside me. His legs kissed the back of mine. Pausing for a moment, his breath huffed harshly in the quiet room.
“You okay, baby girl?”
I took a second to take stock. Then pushed my hips back at him.
He grunted. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
A moment later he wasn’t capable of speech.
His hips pumped against mine. At the top of every swing, his balls brushed against my sex. In this position his cock reached depths I’d never felt before. I gasped as he made contact with my cervix. “Ah, too deep.”
Tank didn’t say a word, but his thrusts calmed and slowed. He pulled back and his cock thrust an inch or two inside me. Just when I got used to this new style, he’d plunge deeper, then pull back to shallow. Then deeper. Then shallow. I didn’t know if it was a delaying tactic on his part, but it made it very difficult for me to find a rhythm.
Groaning in frustration, I collapsed onto my shoulders and turned my head to the side, which freed up a hand to glide down my body to where we were joined. Not wanting to jab him with my fingernails, I curved my fingers and let the sides caress his scrotum every time he thrust deep. And at the same time I allowed my hand to brush against my throbbing clit.
“Ah, oh. Right th
ere. Oh my God. Oh, Tank. Tank!” I moaned as the blend of his thrust, his girth, and my fingers took me over the edge. I melted into the mattress as my muscles dissolved into mush. From the smacking sounds surrounding us, I knew he kept thrusting, but I was kinda out of it. I was too busy riding the waves of my huge orgasm.
A few moments later—hell, it could’ve been minutes or hours, I was too out of it to keep track—Tank gave a hoarse shout and gripped my hips so hard, I was sure I’d have a few bruises tomorrow. Then he slumped against my back. I looked over my shoulder and found his face a few inches from my own. His hot breath fanned over my cheek. He sounded kinda winded.
“Fuck, baby girl. I think you almost killed me.”
I smiled smugly and blew him a kiss. “Not that you would’ve cared.”
“Nope. There’s no way on this fucking planet I’d rather go.” Tank pushed off the bed and whistled a snappy tune as he walked into the bathroom.
Meanwhile I buried my face into a pillow, leaving my burning ass on display. I was too fucking tired to move. A few seconds later Tank bounded onto the bed. For a man who’d claimed to be almost dead, he sure sounded annoyingly cheerful. I knew I should gather myself together and head for my room, but I couldn’t seem to make my legs do what I wanted. Besides, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to doing the walk of shame, when everyone at the reception had seen the way we left.
“God, I’m a cliché,” I mumbled into the pillow.
“What the fuck are you talking about? That wasn’t a cliché. That was earth-shattering fantastic sex if I do say so myself.”
“The horny, single bridesmaid at the wedding. I mean, I’m still wearing my dress for crying out loud. The only thing I’m not technically wearing is my panties.”
“So? I’m still wearing my shirt.”
I sighed heavily. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Well, if it bothers you that much, take it off. Problem solved.”
I cracked up. He said it so drolly as if he’d solved all the mysteries of the world.
“Here, I’ll even help.” Tank sat up and ripped his shirt off his body. Buttons pinged across the room, smacking into the wall. He tossed the remnants of his shirt to the floor. “Want help with yours?”
I help up my hands. “I knew it. You are a stripper.”
“Oh Christ. Are we back to that bullshit again?”
“You did that way too well. I’d say it wasn’t your first time.”
“You got me.” Tank’s expression turned serious as he stared into my eyes.
My breath froze in my chest. I’d been joking, but now I didn’t know what to think. Was he really?
“Nicole, I’m sorry. I wasn’t a virgin last night. I’ve been with other women. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“You jerk.” Picking up the pillow nearest me, I pummeled him over the head with it. “I thought you were going to say something deep, or confess to your stripper past.”
Tank snorted. “Sorry to break it to you, baby girl, but I’ve never been a stripper, and I’m not exactly capable of deep.”
“There’s no way that’s true.” I put the pillow down at the head of the bed and shimmied out of my panties. I turned and attempted to reach the buttons on the back of my dress when Tank’s hands batted mine away. “You were in the Marines, right? I’m sure you saw some pretty deep stuff there.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
I shivered as his finger traced the fine hair at the back of my neck. He’d only unbuttoned one button and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to work on more. Something about our proximity and the lack of eye contact made me want to probe deeper. “What made you enlist?”
“Stupidity.”
I darted a glance over my shoulder, but Tank wouldn’t meet my eyes. Turning away from him, I probed deeper. “That can’t be true. You put your life on the line for millions of Americans. There’s nothing stupid about that.”
“You didn’t see what I did. I was fucking twenty-one years old when September eleventh happened, full of testosterone and tall tales my sister used to tell me about our dad’s service. Bunch of bullshit. I did four tours in six years and saw more carnage than anyone should ever have to witness. Land mines. Kids forced to carry fucking bombs. Then one day an IED takes out most of our caravan, and I’m waking up in a German hospital. I didn’t make a difference. The whole thing was so fucking stupid.”
It was the longest collection of sentences I’d ever heard Tank say, and I didn’t know how to respond. What he’d described was so horrific and so far from my reality, anything I could say would sound pithy and sadly lacking.
Suddenly my dress pooled to my waist and Tank shoved away from the bed.
“I need a drink. You want a beer?”
I shook my head wordlessly and watched him close the bathroom door behind him. I doubted he needed a drink. More likely he needed some space from my stupid probing questions. God, I always had to push too far. With my dress mostly off and my panties somewhere on the floor, I felt vulnerable. No doubt Tank felt even more so. Hence the space and liquor. I should probably leave. Right? I mean, before he kicked me out. Clearly this—everything—was a mistake.
Me and my goddamn big mouth.
I grabbed my dress in one hand, holding the bodice over my chest while I inched down the mattress. I was a good six inches from the edge when the bathroom door popped open. Closing my eyes with a muttered curse word, I peered over the edge for my forgotten panties.
“Whatcha doing?”
“I’m just…” Screw it. I had plenty more underwear at home. I jumped down to the floor and tried to do up the back of my dress, with little success. “I thought I’d head over to my room. Give you some space. You know, since we already…Yeah. So thanks. I had fun. See you around.”
Fuck the dress. My room was only two floors down. I could hold up my dress with my hands in the meantime. Spying my panties on the floor, I bent forward to pick them up.
“That’s it? Wham, bam, thank you, man?”
“What?” I stood up too fast and forgot to hold onto my dress. It fell to my feet, leaving me with only my lacy black bra to cover me.
“Antimilitary rants aside, if you can hang out for twenty minutes, tops, we can go for round two.”
“I’m not leaving because what you said about the military.”
Tank raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he tipped his beer back.
“I’m not,” I asserted before backtracking. “Okay, maybe I am. I just thought maybe you wanted some space. What with your leaving the room and all.”
“I’m good. I got about ten years of space and more sessions with headshrinks than I could count.” He smiled bitterly. “All fixed, so no worries there.”
I played with my thumbs, not really sure what to say or do. Did I stay or should I go?
Tank picked up a robe lying over the chaise lounge near him and tossed it to me. “Here. It’s gotta be more comfortable than that slinky dress.”
“Thanks.” Stepping out of the puddle of material, I slipped into the plush terrycloth robe. “Wanna watch something on TV in the meantime?”
“Sure.” Comfortable in his nudity, Tank jumped up on the bed and reclined back in the middle. A beer in one hand, he pillowed the other behind his head and looked at me expectantly.
I grabbed the remote and scurried onto the bed next to him. A comfortable silence fell between us as he flipped through the stations. After a few minutes he stopped on a Sons of Anarchy rerun.
Immediately my skin felt itchy. I avoided looking at the TV screen. When everyone was bananas over the series a few years back, I gritted my teeth but didn’t comment. And it’d been hella painful. I’d spend the day after new episodes aired biting my lip to keep my litany at bay. I had enough strikes against me at work—I didn’t need drama about a TV show added to my list of infractions.
My teeth gritting must’ve been audible because after a few minutes of listening to Jax Teller talking about a cargo ship
ment or something, Tank waved the remote at me.
“Wanna watch something else?”
I knew better than to take a remote from a man, even when offered. “Nope. I’m good.”
“Really? Because you don’t sound like it. I can hear your teeth grinding from here. You got a problem with SAMCRO or is it all bikers you don’t like?”
He asked the question so flippantly, like my opinion didn’t matter or maybe I was projecting or something because I just saw red.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“You do a really good impression of a well-adjusted middle-class good girl. That’s what I know, so why don’t you tell me what I don’t know.”
“Why? So you can flip it so I sound insane? Like I don’t have a good reason to dislike bikers? Why the hell should I give you ammunition?”
“Why the hell are you in bed with and just been fucked by a biker if you hate them so much?”
I had no idea, but I was done. “None of your damn business.”
I pushed away from him and scrambled to get off the bed.
“Is it just me or do you make a habit of running when things get tough?”
“I don’t run from shit. I’m not scared of you or any of your biker friends.”
“Really? Because that’s not how I see it. You high-tail it every time me or one of my Brothers calls you on your bullshit. First with me and Reb at your house this morning and now this.”
“You wanna know my baggage? You wanna know what keeps me awake when I can’t sleep at night? You ever hear the soft thud a fist makes when it lands against your mom’s face? You ever watch your dad go after your brother and beat the shit out of him, then wonder when it’s your turn? Because he choked your mom last year and your brother this year, so clearly you’re next. You ever get berated for enjoying a TV show, then yelled at because your sobs are too fucking loud and annoying? That’s my fucking baggage, okay?”
My shoulders heaved with my suppressed sobs. I’d never told a soul about the hell I grew up in before we moved to Reno. I knew better. I’d never wanted to see the sympathetic looks or even worse have social workers push their noses in our business. Later on I’d seen the mess they’d made of Emily’s life and was so glad I didn’t speak up about my own home life. That wasn’t the kinda help I ever wanted. So I swallowed it all down and pretended like everything was okay. Like my father wasn’t the worst human being I’d ever met. And it worked.
Resilient Page 9
