120 Mph

by Jevenna Willow

  Neither Beale nor Sara would have seen the other coming.

  Then, to add the rest of Sara’s torrid story on top all that? She’d almost been raped by her foster father . . .

  Christian dropped his hands from her face to lower both to her arms, choking back the horror binding him from telling her he’d went to the accident before finding himself here.

  Sara didn’t stop his actions. She gave him an easy smile—permission, if it was—and Christian was going to take this permission with a grain of salt.

  In exquisite slow motion, Sara stood, moved in front of him, making him guess at what she wanted. He watched, mesmerized, as she reached down, grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. Not a damn thing, not one stitch of material was on her flesh under the thick sweatshirt.

  Sara stood in front of a dying man, her pale, sweetly-scented skin for his eyes only. She then stepped forward and straddled his legs, sitting directly on his lap, placing pressure against his massive hard-on.

  Christian’s hands wound around her back, holding onto her. With only slight force, she pushed him back onto the bed, and he fell quite willingly there. His shaking hands slipped to her hips as Sara undid the buttons on his shirt, each one removed from their eyelets in delicate, slow motion. She was biting her lower lip but her eyes never left his. On the last button, he helped the removal of his cotton shirt off his shoulders, falling backwards onto the bed again.

  Sara remained straddling his hips. She leaned her body forward and the instant her warm breasts touched his heated chest, Christian knew he was a goner. Nothing was going to stop them now.

  Her lips found his neck. Her tongue dragged over his jawline. That sweet velvet appendage seared to his mouth, as Christian shoved his fingers through her hair to hold onto her for dear life.

  They kissed for a minute, no more. Then each discarded the remainder of any clothing that might have been in the way. Hands and limbs frantic, the task of taking things slow no longer was in the equation.

  When it looked as though she was going to straddle his erection, ready and waiting, Christian had other plans. He was going to make love to her, not the other way around. He was going to go at this at an exquisitely torturous pace, if at all possible. He was going to make it last. And he was going to do it again and again, until he could no longer breathe. This was the plan.

  This was not the consequences.

  Sara wouldn’t let any lovemaking be slow. Nor let him even place her on her back. When he suggested they should start at this as missionary, easy on her, and far easier on him since it had been such a long time and he might not last, Sara told him no. She wanted it hard, fast, frantic, and she wanted it from behind. She didn’t care if he lasted. If he did not, they would just do it again. How could any man with a working penis possible say no to that?

  He hadn’t known it was because she didn’t want him seeing the tears.

  Standing at the side of the bed, she bent forward, placing both her delicate hands on the mattress. She parted her long legs as he moved up behind her. His erection was so damn eager to enter her heat, Christian waited, gritting his teeth. He placed feather-light kisses to the bumps on her spine, hearing the loud purrs his touch caused.

  She likely thought he’d make this quick, but he wanted to kiss every damn inch of her first. His hands drifted to her hips, then both slipped forward to her front.

  Cupping Sara’s heat with one hand, Christian used his other to steal the breath from her lungs by clasping the heavy weight of her left breast into his palm.

  Damnit! He wanted to see her eyes, her face, watch her when he entered her, but Sara wouldn’t agree to this.

  “Please, Sara? Let me look at you.”

  She shook her head, reaching around to touch him. A small catch in her throat, she said, “Not yet.”

  Christian slipped a finger into her core, slick and hot, and she nearly buckled at the knees. Her body leaned forward even more to accept the invasion.

  So hard it was considered painful, Christian’s eager erection needed to find the source of her moisture all for itself. He abandoned her breast, withdrew his finger, and bent her forward some more. A hard thrust and he was deep inside her. For him to want to leave this place destined only for man . . .?

  His hips moving forward and back, and Sara took the heady thrusts into her body all in stride. Her hands started to slowly spread out across the mattress until she was about flat to it.

  They were fucking at the side of a motel bed. Not making love to each other. This was not how he wanted it. This was not how it should be . . . but he wasn’t about to stop doing it.

  Lasting long became the impossibility. He’d been without for far too long. One final thrust and Christian spilled what he could out of himself into her slick heat. Seconds later, his knees gave out and he fell atop her sweat-slicked back. A minute to gather his breath, he backed out and off, rolled Sara over, and saw the tracks of her tears. His heart felt the pierce, tenfold.

  Christian dragged her into his arms within a single heartbeat because even more of those tears fell the second he touched her.

  “Why?”

  She shook her head, denying him any right to get inside her head.

  “This was not how I had wanted our first time, and you know it,” he stated firmly.

  Her hand rose and she placed one slender finger to his lips. “This was how it had to be. You don’t love me. Don’t pretend that you do.”

  His heart ached by so few words as he watched a slow path of even more stinging tears made. No. He did not love Sara Ruby. He wouldn’t lie and say that he did.

  “You wanted an easy fuck. I gave you that. Don’t make it into anything more . . . because it’s not. You and I both know it’s not.”

  Christian used his thumbs to wipe away her tears, his mouth to kiss away her sadness, and his kindness and compassion as his only weapon against the shame he saw mirrored in her gaze. Naked and vulnerable, his cock hung, he didn’t know what to say to make this right. So he said nothing at all.

  “I had sex with a man who very easily kicked me out of his life,” she pressured out of her delicate mouth, closing her eyes. Though the words painful to hear, only a callous soul would not react to them.

  “I never meant to . . .,” he tried getting out.

  He never meant to hurt her like this.

  But Sara wouldn’t listen. She slipped off the bed, Christian following, and both trying to stop the inevitable from happening. She wanted to leave him.

  With utter fascination he stood stock still as Sara went down to her knees in front of him. Without pause, she set her lips to his again hardening cock.

  Christian grabbed Sara’s head in both hands. “Oh, God, Sara! Don’t. You don’t . . .”

  Why was she doing this to him? He hadn’t needed this. It was her turn for such an exquisite pleasure, not the other way around. About to argue this fact to its bitter end, Sara’s mouth and tongue contradicted Christian’s every waking idea. She worked her tongue over and under him as her lips and muscles sucked him hard until he was so damn ready for round two.

  Instead of having him explode orally, she stood, pushed him onto the bed, and straddled his cock before he could dare say ‘wait’. Again, she put her finger to his lips to silence his words.

  She then arched her back and began moving back and forth across his pelvis, sinking deeper onto his thickened shaft. Her splayed hands over his chest, her eyes remained closed . . .

  Her climax was so intense, he, for one brief moment thought she would hurt him. Then it was over.

  Damnit! She was making certain he could not dive into her soul; perhaps catch sight of one small piece of her she’d never shared with another.

  Sara backed away, and within the tiniest of breaths his blood ran cold.

  “There. You got what you wanted. Now get out.”

  Christian pushed to his elbows. She didn’t look as though her words had been spoken as a jest; it sure as hell did
n’t feel as if one.

  “I mean it, Christian. Get out. I don’t want you here.”

  He watched in utter horror as she gathered up his clothes and tossed them at his face. Not ready for the impact, his belt buckle hit him square in the nose. “Damnit, Sara!”

  “Get out!” she yelled.

  Christian was too dumbfounded to argue, but when a woman was yelling for him to leave, he had better before any cops were called into the room. He shoved aside the clothing.

  “Sara . . .”

  She set her hands over her ears so as not to listen to what he would explain—even if he could explain this.

  “I know you don’t want me to leave . . .” he tried, stuck on the remaining words as her lips quivered.

  Christian forced his body to move off the bed. He surely didn’t want to. He wanted to stay right where he was and fix this—whatever this was—because that was what he was so good at. Fixing things broken.

  “I should toss you out, naked, same as you did me. But God might not forgive me for it and I’m not willing to take that chance anymore. It’s bad enough we just did what we . . .Damnit! I am going to say it only once more, and you had better listen this time. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you. I want you out of my life. I want you to take all that—” She waved a hand over the expanse of his body. “—back to your perfect, Godly world. And if at all possible I would like you to go to Hell. You should know exactly where that is.”

  This made him angry. Christian redressed in a rush.

  “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of that, Sara. I am well on my way to Hell at this very moment. You don’t need to rush the journey upon me.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her he’d quit the church today. He wasn’t going to state he’d been lost, trying to find his way back over the five agonizing months she’s been missing from his life. He wasn’t going to apologize for this slip in judgment—as said, whatever this was. He was, however, going to make damn certain she understood the ramifications of what they did as perhaps backfiring in her face.

  “Fine, I’ll go. And you will not see me again, ever. You can go on your merry little way, pretend your life is damn perfect, and pretend I never once mattered to you. But we both know it’ll be hard to do—and that it’ll be one hell of a lie to come out your mouth. Your life is crap, Sara. You’re living in a fucking motel, making pennies on the dollar.” His darted glance at her miniscule piles of coin, then coinciding glare didn’t help the mutiny aboard this sinking ship. “We both know you are so damn good at lying if it suits your needs, so you should be just fine without me.”

  Naked and not caring, Sara moved to the motel room door, yanked it open, then said more forcibly, “Get out, now!”

  Christian got out quickly. He left, did not turn around, and dared himself not to go back begging for something that wasn’t really his.

  He pulled his motel key out of his pocket, shoved it into the lock of his room, stepped inside, slammed the wooden panel closed, and two hours later found his body still seated on its ass, his back to the door, and dried tears leaving behind evidence of his sin.

  Another ten equally wasted minutes to pull his thoughts together, Christian left the motel altogether.

  He never saw the man who entered Sara’s room as his car drove away from the parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sara thought Christian dared come back upon hearing the handle creak to the outside door. Someone was opening up her motel room door without permission and that someone was going to be in a world of hurt.

  Sara shut off the tap water, sliding open the shower curtain. If Christian came back just to make her hate him all the more, he had better not come waltzing into the bathroom, or she’d hate him for all eternity. She wasn’t in a very forgiving mood right now. In fact, she was in no mood to confront her regrets.

  And every second of every minute there was a new regret added to the lot and for the time being it was more than she could take.

  She stepped over the side of the tub, wrapped a scratchy bath towel tight around her body, and firmly set the lock on the bathroom door. Damn him! If he meant to make love to her again, she would fight him—tooth and nail until certain she could control her emotions. She’d had enough of the tears, the heartbreak, and the urge to make things better when this would certainly be just another pipe dream beyond her reach.

  He’d said his peace, she’d said hers. Everything then came crashing to a head . . . and now she would have to leave, find another place to hide, and make up another identity.

  She lowered her head to the door, pressing her forehead hard against the wood, then inched her ear closer to catch any further movement. The distinct sounds of a man rummaging around her motel room drew her body back. Why would he be rummaging through her room? She had nothing here that would shame her into turning herself in. Not after Christian finding her, then having sex with her body, but not making love to her soul.

  Oh, there was always that dreaded catch in the seam of life wasn’t there? She would have to possess a soul worth making love to, for Christian to care doing it again.

  Sara cautiously unlocked the bathroom door, drawing in deep breath to challenge this newest development head on. The best that would happen with her confronting their sins directly? She could see his incredible blue eyes once more before tossing him away. The worst? She would never want to stop looking at those eyes, or touching his face, or even touching the man.

  What Sara found near her motel bed dropped the blood from her head straight to her toes, making her head spin. A man she’d never seen in all her life was digging through her purse. Her pulse quickened as her hand rose to her mouth to hold back her scream. He’d already ripped apart her small suitcase, clothes strewn about the floor.

  Dressed in all black, head to toe, he didn’t look the type to confront with any damning questions while dressed in a bath towel. And foolish was who stated one’s fury aloud.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” forcibly slipped out of her mouth, when purse in his hand and he’d been about to touch her tiny piles of funds set on the table. The only money she had to her name.

  The man’s head whipped up and the sneer on his lips could not be mistaken, even if blind.

  Sara could sense the danger, if not feeling it, simply by the shift of air temperature inside the motel room. Or perhaps this was because when shock hits the body so hard, all that can be left is cold and bitter emptiness to fill the void? Gooseflesh rose to damaging heights on her arms.

  He dropped her purse and took two steps forward, leering at her. His gaze was languid and beyond disturbing. And since not the best greeting to make when practically naked, but the most having come past her lips due to her shock, Sara tried to dart into the safety of the bathroom as quickly as possible. She never made it in time.

  “Well, lookee here. The prize in the Cracker Jack box has come out to play, has she?”

  Just the sound of his deep, battle-scarred voice made her skin crawl. Sara inched back slowly, her eyes darting in search of a weapon she could grasp onto.

  The most she could do now would be to somehow get back into the bathroom. Then what? Pommel him with a toilet paper holder? The shower rod was securely fastened to the wall. Perhaps she could crawl through a window half her size and get stuck.

  She should scream, but over the last five months she heard a lot of screams and every one of them brought out the authorities in breakneck speed. She didn’t want anyone to know she was here, or even who she was. The motel manager thought her to be a woman named Rachael.

  The intruder wasn’t armed, by the looks of it. Even so, Sara never made it into the safety of the bathroom. The man lunged forward, grabbed her upper arm in a painful, crushing grip, then slammed her body into his hard, vile-smelling chest; quicker still, pinned both her wrists in his hands and pushed her up against the wall, stepping along with her.

  His mouth descended before she could take a much ne
eded breath; well before she could react into biting him or clawing his eyes out.

  The punishing kiss made the bile rise out of desperation, catch in the back of her throat, and gag her until she was ready to pass out. Stinging tears pooled in her eyes. She struggled, to no avail. But she would be damned if she passed out.

  The creep was twice her size and the more she fought him, the more her strength dissolved, and the more his punishing mouth bruised her into dominant submission. He jammed his knee between her legs and easily forced them apart.

  She had no energy left; making love to Christian used it up. Then again, it hadn’t been love, had it? Sex accomplished with a man—nothing more. Just violent, unquestionable, treacherous sex only a whore would share with one who couldn’t or wouldn’t love her back.

  No, no, no! A lie if ever told. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes when she’d told him to ‘go to hell’. The horror he couldn’t quite hide when she’d called him out as not loving her. Or was it just mirrored accusations neither would confess too?

  Sara could not think of Christian at this point in time. That near-saintly man was no longer a part of her life. A past, a distant memory she had to forget.

  Oh, if only she hadn’t thrown him out . . .

  The creep’s vile hand reached up and he used the callous side to caress her neck, leaving a trail of devil-ill along her skin. The harder she struggled, the less her towel wanted to stay attached at her breasts. Oh, God, she did not want to be naked in front of him.

  Stupid thought. Of course she was going to be naked. By what he was doing to her now, this was his every intention. He came in her to rob her. Instead, he was going to rape her.

  “So damn beautiful . . . and so damn willing,” he voiced. “Do you take the fucking as cash, or will an IOU suffice?”