God, that sounded so pathetic, didn’t it?
Except Xavier wasn’t looking at her as if she was pathetic. His stroking hand had stilled and there was something fierce in his eyes, something angry. “Bullshit.” The word was a growl. “She wasn’t right. What you didn’t deserve was her beating you. Her putting her fucking cigarettes out on your skin. Her leaving you on the fucking street for years.” His voice had gotten deep and gravelly with fury, and she shivered. Not because she was afraid of him, but because no one had ever said those things to her before.
No one had ever told her she deserved anything at all.
Her throat constricted. She looked up at his beautiful face, into those eyes that were bluer and darker than her own patch of sky above her alleyway, her own window into freedom. “Do you really believe that?” she asked thickly, hating herself for the needy note running through her voice and yet unable to repress it. “I mean, I—”
His hand moved from her breast, cupping the side of her cheek in a way that had all the breath leaving her body, taking everything she’d been going to say along with it. “Yes.” The certainty in the word was emphatic, as if he was laying down the law. “You’re beautiful, strong, stubborn as hell, and the most determined person I’ve ever met—bar my father. Your grandma on the other hand, was a horrible old bitch and she didn’t deserve you.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” Xavier’s thumb stroked down the side of her cheek lightly, then his hand fell away. “Shall I show you what you truly deserve, Mia? What I think you deserve?”
The tightness in her throat had moved down to her chest and she found she couldn’t speak. Half wanting, half afraid, she could only nod.
Gently, he slid his hand around her breast again, stroking, teasing her nipple. “This feel good?” His voice was all soft and rough and dark.
She nodded again, a jerky movement. Because it did feel good. It felt . . . God, like nothing she’d ever felt before in her entire life.
His gaze roamed over her face as his fingers stroked her. “This is what you deserve, sweet thing. This feeling. This pleasure. It’s all for you, understand me? So why don’t you just relax and let me give it to you?”
She wanted that. Wanted his hands on her skin, him touching her slowly, carefully, as if she was delicate and precious. So why couldn’t she have it? What would be so wrong in letting herself take it? Fighting was hard and she’d had it so hard for so very long. Didn’t she deserve something good for a change? Just this once?
He’d told her she deserved it and maybe she did.
“Yes,” she said huskily. “Yes, please.”
The look in his eyes intensified and he slid a hand further down her body, to the waistband of her sweatpants, where he pulled at the tie around her waist, loosening it. Then he tugged the fabric away, pushing his fingers under the waistband and the beneath the cotton of her panties, moving unerringly between her thighs.
She gasped at the sensation, jerking against his restraining hold, but he didn’t stop, his fingers brushing the curls of her sex, then pushing down further. Instinct had her wanting to keep her legs closed, yet somehow there was no strength in them as his hand pushed between them, his fingers sliding over her slick flesh.
She groaned, the sensation too intense to handle.
“Oh, sweet thing . . .” His gaze was impossibly blue as that exploring hand pushed further, cupping her sex gently. “You’re wet.”
Even though she kind of knew it wasn’t, she had to ask. “Is that a b-bad thing?”
His mouth curved, the look in his eyes hot and getting hotter. “Fuck, no. It’s because you like what I’m doing to you. You like me touching you.” As if to illustrate the point, his hand moved again, his thumb stroking gently over her clit while his fingers played over her folds, circling slowly around the entrance of her body.
And she did like it. Very much.
She shook then gasped as he moved his hand to pull down the sweatpants and her panties, baring her completely, before shifting that hand right back to where it had been, between her trembling thighs. His gaze flicked down to what he was doing, then came back to her face.
She wasn’t fighting him anymore, but shifting under his hand, her back arching, her hips moving. Restless and needy and aching. She felt like a live wire, pleasure a current running all the way through her, building hotter and higher. Drowning the sound of her grandmother’s voice telling her how she’d never wanted to be saddled with a grandkid at her age and how there must have been something wrong with Mia to drive her mother away. How Mia didn’t deserve all her grandmother did for her and didn’t she know what a fucking problem she was? That she’d better be good, she’d better be grateful, otherwise she was going to get it.
Drowning out the pain of the wooden spoon on her shoulders and the backs of her thighs, and the cigarette butts burned into her skin.
Drowning out everything bad and replacing it with something so good she could hardly stand it.
Any remaining tension went out of her, and as Xavier’s finger eased inside her, his thumb circling agonizingly slowly on her aching clit, she opened her mouth and his name came out of it, hoarse and desperate. She’d never said it before, and his gaze came to hers instantly. And something flared in the dark midnight of his eyes.
Abruptly the hold on her wrists released and he slid his hand up her spine to the back of her head, cradling it, his fingers curling into her hair and holding on tight. Then he bent over her and took her mouth like he owned it.
She realized then that kiss he’d given her before had been a prelude to something else. The start of a gentle rain shower. But this . . . this was the thunderstorm.
His tongue pushed deep into her mouth, demanding and hot, and his fingers in her hair were so tight she couldn’t move. All she could do was lie there and take it. But that was okay, that was perfect. Because by then the storm was exactly what she wanted.
Mia opened her mouth and let him devour her, her body arching under his hand as he slid his finger in deep, his thumb pressing down her clit. It felt so good, the sharp pleasure and the heat of his body underneath her, the taste of him as he kissed her. He surrounded her everywhere and yet it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
She tried to kiss him back, clumsy and awkward with it because she’d never kissed anyone before, not like this, but he just tugged on her hair, pulling her head back even further and devoured her deeper, hungrier.
She got lost in it, got lost in the pleasure that seemed to build relentlessly with each slow, easy slide of his finger, each hard press of his thumb. Until she was arching up into his hands, making sounds she’d never heard herself make before.
Instinctively, she reached for him, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she lifted her hips, moving to increase the friction because this not being enough, this wanting something more, was driving her crazy.
She said his name again, over and over, until he did something with his thumb on her clit and everything inside her drew so tight she wanted to scream. Then it exploded and she did scream, a cry that was caught by his demanding mouth and swallowed down, and she was shaking in his arms, all thought utterly gone, aware of nothing but the immense current of pleasure that pulsed through her entire body.
It took her a long time to come back to herself, for the short, sharp aftershocks to fade and for her mind to actually work again.
She could feel Xavier’s body beneath her, tense as a wound spring. He’d lifted his mouth from hers but his grip on her hair hadn’t lessened, and the look in his eyes as he stared down at her was blazing.
For one long moment she held his gaze and it was like walking through fire. She felt scorched both inside and out.
Then abruptly she wasn’t in his lap anymore, but beneath him, pressed down onto the couch with his hard body on hers. And he was kissing her again, that desperate, open-mouthed, feverish kiss that demanded everything, forcing his hips between her thighs and pressing
the hard ridge behind his zipper against her sensitive flesh, rocking against her as if he couldn’t help himself.
The pressure of him hit her clit, sending more jolts of that incredible electricity through her, and she shivered, trembling all over again and a little afraid, because she didn’t know it was possible to feel it again, not so soon. Yet she couldn’t seem to bring herself to push him away. There was something so hungry about him, so desperate, and she’d never experienced anyone being desperate for her, not like this. It made her want to give him whatever she could. She’d never felt that way about another person before, she’d never let herself. But Xavier . . . he was different.
She lifted her shaking hands and slid her fingers into his hair, reveling in the softness of it. She’d thought just before that she didn’t have anything to give him, but that was a lie. There was something else she could give him. Herself.
It was the only thing she had and even though it wasn’t worth much of anything, she gave it anyway, curling her fingers into the thick silk strands of his hair, and letting him take as much as he could from her.
She’d hoped it might calm him or soothe him in the way he managed to soothe her, but it didn’t. He seemed to become even hungrier.
Eventually he wrenched his mouth from hers, kissing down her throat, nipping at the delicate tendons of her neck, trailing down over her chest to her breasts. He paused there, making her groan as he licked one nipple, circling it with his tongue before drawing it completely into his mouth.
The wet heat against her nipple made her pant and she couldn’t keep still, moving restlessly beneath him. He made a growling sound deep in his throat and suddenly he sat up, kneeling between her spread legs. The look on his face was sharp and hungry, the face of a stranger. His eyes glittering, gone even darker than the midnight blue they already were. He didn’t speak, not one word. But his chest was heaving, his breathing hard and fast.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and took something out of it, tossing the wallet onto the floor beside the couch. He didn’t look away from her, staring at her like a wolf staring at a rabbit.
She took a shaky breath, because she knew what was coming.
Chapter 8
Xavier couldn’t catch his breath. Mia was lying stretched out on the couch, the halves of her shirt open, revealing the small, perfect curves of her breasts and the pretty pink flush that extended all the way down her body.
So fucking beautiful. Her skin was pale and so very fragile, so very breakable. He didn’t know why such a breakable-looking woman should make him feel so fucking desperate but she did.
Her dark eyes were wide and he could see apprehension flickering through them, and that small voice inside him was telling him to pull back, leave her alone. But he couldn’t. He just . . . couldn’t.
His hand was shaking as he reached out and cupped her cheek, stroking the softness of it with his thumb. “It’s okay.” His voice was hoarse. “I won’t hurt you.”
No, he wouldn’t. If he kept saying it, he wouldn’t. He’d die first.
He just had to take it slow.
Except the way she’d come before, holding onto him so tightly, with the sound of his name in her mouth and the soft wet heat of her pussy against his fingers . . . Christ, it was just too much for him. He felt outside himself with need.
Holding the condom in one hand, he flicked open the button of his pants with the other, tugging down the zipper, getting his cock out.
She was panting, her dark eyes dipping down and widening. He wanted to say something, reassure her somehow, but he couldn’t find any words. It had always been easy to say something, he’d never cared what came out of his mouth, but now? There was nothing. He couldn’t think of a single thing.
So he stayed quiet as he ripped open the condom packet and protected himself. Said nothing as he roughly pulled away her sweatpants and panties. He wanted to pause then, to look at her, naked and panting beneath him, but there was no time. Just no fucking time.
He came down over her, sliding his arms around and under her, cradling her. The heat of her body blanked his mind, winding his desperation even tighter. Pushing his hips between her thighs, he pressed his cock against the hot, slick flesh of her pussy. She gasped as he rocked slightly, hitting her clit.
Take it slow, asshole.
Christ, he was trying. But that gasp went straight through him and he couldn’t stop himself from rocking against her again and again, pressing a little harder, then bending to find her mouth and kissing her. Because it wasn’t enough, it just wasn’t enough.
He was hungry, fucking starving. For her taste in his mouth and the musky, delicious scent of her arousal in his nostrils, the feel of her skin against his and the heat of her pussy wrapped tightly around him. It was like there was a hole inside him and he needed her to fill it up. All of her. Every-fucking-thing she had to give.
He slid his tongue into her mouth, kissing her harder, deeper, all thoughts about going slowly and being gentle fraying under the sheer weight of his desperation. She was trembling, her palms resting against his chest, and he could feel her try to kiss him back. She was shy, tentative, her inexperience so obvious, and he found it so incredibly hot that it only made him want her even more.
Slow it down, you prick. You know you hurt people when you don’t think.
His breath sawed in and out, a harsh sound, and he tried, he tried so goddamn hard to hold onto what little restraint he had left. But she was so hot and her own breathing was out of control, and when he shifted again, easing the head of his cock against the entrance of her pussy, all that wet heat was too much for him.
Sliding a hand down underneath her, he lifted her then flexed his hips, thrusting in deep and hard, taking the cry she made into his mouth.
She went rigid beneath him.
Too fast, you bastard. You hurt her.
The thought was fleeting, incandescent for a brief second, and then it was gone because the tight grip of her pussy around his cock had pretty much annihilated him. He shuddered, trying to hold still and not to move, giving her some time to get used to him as he kissed along her jaw to her ear. “Easy,” he murmured, rough and hoarse, trying to reassure her. “Easy, sweet thing.”
She whimpered, her body twisting underneath his as if trying to find some kind of relief.
Christ, he could barely hold himself together, could barely think, because her little pussy was pulsing around him and the movements she was making were driving him insane. But again he tried, forcing himself to get it together.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed her again, nuzzling down her neck to her throat, licking the sweat that gleamed on her damp skin. “I couldn’t wait. I just . . . want you. God, you feel so good.”
She twisted again. “It . . . hurts.” The words were cracked and barely audible, but he heard them.
That’s what you do isn’t it? You hurt people. Because you just don’t fucking think.
A bone-deep fear wound through the heat, and he held her tighter against him, lifting his head to look down into her face, his heartbeat going like a fucking drum in his head. She was deeply flushed, her eyes huge and black, and he could see the pain in them and the fear, loud as a shout.
“Why do you always do this? Why do you always do the one thing that will hurt me the most?”
The echo of another voice, at another time, resonated beneath his thundering pulse, and his throat went so tight he could hardly breathe. She was so soft, this woman. So vulnerable and breakable, and fragile. What the hell had he done?
But he couldn’t think of that, not here, not with her. What he had to do was make this better, make her feel good, take the pain away. And not fuck up. Not again.
He bent, brushing his lips over hers, trying to find the patience he’d had before, the gentleness he’d found with her. “I know,” he said raggedly. “I’ll make it better. I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”
Then she shifted again beneath him, another re
stless movement, and he shuddered at the pleasure that roared in his head. “Oh Jesus . . .” The words were little more than a gasp. “I have to move. I have to.” The need was irresistible, and he was drawing his hips back then pushing in again before he could stop himself.
She groaned, her eyelashes falling shut, her mouth opening, arching against him, and after that there was no going slow, no being easy. He couldn’t do either, not when she was naked beneath him and the wet heat of her pussy was gripping him so tightly he could almost believe he was going to embarrass himself right there and then.
So good. So fucking good.
He gathered her against him, moving faster now, pushing into all that slickness, feeling her inner muscles grip onto him tight as if she was trying to keep him inside her. It was all he could do not to lose his head completely and chase the climax he knew was going to break him apart when it hit.
But not yet, God not yet.
He’d already hurt her. He wasn’t going to leave her with pain, not even if it killed him.
He kissed her again, her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her throat, anywhere he could get a taste of her smooth, delicious skin. “Is that better?” He pulled his hips back then slid in deep again, choosing a different angle this time, feeling her shiver and shake beneath him. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes.” This time the cracks in her voice weren’t pain, but something huskier, throaty, and when her fingers slid into his hair, gripping him, he knew it wasn’t to pull him away “Oh . . . yes . . .”
Thank fuck.
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