by Aria Cole
“Spent a lot of time in them in school,” she finally offered.
She was close behind me, much closer than I would have guessed. Much too close for her safety. I almost felt like warning her off, but instead I said, “This place is small. Non-fiction, fiction, end-cap for the dirty romance novels—lot of women come in asking for that one—” I cut my dark gaze to her as I pointed at one with a sexy cover. Her eyes flared, cheeks pinking up the sweetest shade of rose I’d ever seen. I imagined the shade her nipples might turn when she was aroused. Dark rose? Dusky pink? The riddle rattled through my lascivious brain on repeat.
“I don’t read those,” she stammered. Flustered looked good on her. “But I’ve probably read over half your fiction section.” She pointed one long finger at the small sign that hung at the end of the next aisle. When I didn’t respond, her gaze flashed back to me, then down to the wet boots on her feet. I saw her thighs shift beneath the dark fabric of her leggings, which clung tightly to her legs like a second skin. When she turned away, my eyes ate up the sight of the curvy outline of her thighs. The soft swell of her curvy ass begged for my hands. She had curves for fucking miles and I wanted her in my bed. More than any woman I’d ever seen in my life, I wanted this one.
“I would expect you to be well read if you apply for a job at a library,” I responded finally. Her eyes flashed with hurt and I was shocked to find my heart stutter for a moment in the cavity of my chest. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. “I don’t have time to train someone, so I expect you to pick up the job without an issue. Now enough of the small talk,” I rumbled, taking a step closer to her and invading her personal space by anyone’s standards. “Tell me what you need from me.”
Two
Elle
I just needed a job. I came here for a job. But there was something about this man. I didn't know how to answer his questions, and his whole demeanor was so intimidating. He was terrifying and yet somehow beautifully ravaged with a thick scar slashed across one cheekbone, losing itself in the coarse hair of his well-kept stubble. He didn’t quite have a beard, but it was long enough for someone to push her fingers through. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen and that scared me. I knew a lot about handsome and terrifying men. Men were dangerous. They were scary and mean, but I knew how to keep away. I knew no one would keep me safe. I learned at a young age to stay away from men. They took what they wanted and left. They didn't protect but destroyed.
Maxwell's words hummed on a loop in my head as his dark eyes roamed across my body in a lascivious manner before he adverted his eyes away. Men never turned their eyes away; this was new. Usually, the men that my father had hanging around would look at me like I was dinner. Shame never dwindled in their eyes; there was only hunger. Maxwell had that same look, this predatory gaze that would stop a timid being right in their tracks, but with him, there was something more, something gentle and also haunting.
His gaze bore through me like the embers of a fire before it engulfed a forest. His eyes darkened like the calm right before a storm. I knew this man was not one to be trifled with. He was used to having his demands answered, his needs met. “Umm,” I choked, backing against one long shelf that capped the classics row. Right up against Dante and Dickens, he was stealing my sense, and maybe something more. “I don’t even know your name.” I had not even contemplated those words until I said them. This man who looked at me in such an intimate way was a stranger. I didn't know him, but I knew I wanted to. Never in my life had I been so intrigued by a man. Never had one touched my body with his eyes the way this scarred stranger did.
“Maxwell.” He leaned closer, the sharp angle of his surprisingly elegant nose just millimeters from my ear, the heavy pants of his breath washing across my skin and sending shivers down my body. I had a strange desire to gently brush my hand across his scar. “What’s yours?”
The vibration of his voice shuddered through me like a high voltage shock. His tone, like currents, pulsed through my veins, stimulating every nerve ending in my body. “Elle.” My eyes dropped closed and panic consumed me. I started to feel like the walls were closing in. I felt trapped. This man had trapped me. Fight or flight, fight or flight.
When men got too close, when they ogled and defiled, my body took over. My survival instincts took over. My mother had always been hurt, but that was my dad's fault. My mother kept me safe the best she could.
The next thing I knew, I was curled up in a ball on the floor, completely humiliated with tears streaking down my hot cheeks. Giant footsteps rushed away from me. Great; I had completely left myself vulnerable to this bear of a man that I didn't know. A man that looked at me with predatory eyes. I slowly lifted my head from my arms when I knew he was far away, but way too soon, his giant steps came crashing towards me and, once again, I felt my breaths accelerating.
“Here, drink this.” His words were curt as he shoved a tall glass of ice-cold water at me. My hands trembling, I held the glass and took slow, deliberate sips. His eyes looked confused, menacing, and soft all at once. My eyes, of their own accord, shifted to his scar. I wondered how he’d gotten that violent slash on his face. How it must feel to have scars showing on the outside for the world to see.
I knew all too well about scars. How they were ugly and deformed from the outside in. Daunting slashes scraped across layers of delicate flesh. Maxwell wore his scar on his face, I wore mine on the inside. Mine festered and did not heal. My scars destroyed me and made me run; his seemed to have destroyed him and made him hide.
Maxwell raised his hand and gently clasped my face. His rough palm, though formidable, was remarkably gentle. My breath hitched at his touch. I longed for it. It both excited me and left me agitated. I didn't trust it. He slowly moved his hand, brushing his fingers ever so gently along my arm. His touch felt like an artist’s brush and my body a blank canvas for him to mold. I was nothing and yet his touch made me feel like a priceless work of art. I had never been touched like this before, my body an inferno. I could almost feel the molecules buzzing with warmth and about to ignite.
His gentle palm roamed my skin and hovered just above my breastbone, as if he held me suspended by his invisible sexual energy, before his long middle finger made contact at the cotton between the rounded globes of my breasts. He dragged one finger down my rib cage, brushing over the soft dip of my navel, before ending at my waistband. I shut my eyes, longing to get lost in his touch. I wanted to shut everything off and just feel. I wanted his fingers gently brushing my skin. I wanted to be his muse, I wanted him to make me forget, I wanted to be safe in his arms. “You’re a distraction,” he finished, and with my eyes still closed, I felt almost happy.
His heavy hand clasped with my own, leaving me feeling oddly protected and calm. Why was he doing this? Why was I letting him?
“Help me put away the rest of these books.” On another breath, he was gone, the air absent of his protection, my mind reeling from his simple touch, my body burning up.
“Sure,” I stuttered, trying to get my bearings. I stumbled my way to the circulation desk and found my application in the trash and a stack of books in his arms that need shelving. “You’re throwing my application away? Please, Maxwell, I need this job. I love books, I am well read. My whole life was spent in the library. I am a hard worker and very dependable,” I rambled in desperation.
“Got everything I need.” His eyes sparkled and his beautiful lips twinged with a smile before he adjusted the collar of his crisp shirt. My eyes cast on the bronzed hollow of his throat, over the sharp edge of his clavicle, down, down to the bronze dusting of hair layered brazenly across his muscled pectorals. Being in the same room with Maxwell Black was a disastrous distraction. “You were the only applicant anyway, so I didn’t have much of a selection.”
I found my lips turning up on their own. This was my salvation, my escape. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn't meant to be one. If I were giving you a compliment, beautiful Ell
e, you’d know it.” He paused and then moved his body behind me. “You’d feel it here,” he whispered at the nape of my neck and left shivers trailing down my body from his mere breath. “Definitely here.” His fingertips danced at the back of my thighs, inching higher by the centimeter before backing away again. “You’ll know when I want you.” His tone fell another octave and rumbled straight into my stomach, twisting my insides and coiling my core into a tightly wound spring.
“Who says I want you?” I hummed, my confidence weak in his presence. It was his turn to laugh as a belly chuckle filled the small space. I was determined not to show weakness. Men never protected. All this was a mirage and I was so thirsty.
“We’ll see about that.” He followed closely behind me as I turned down the fiction aisle and shelved a Rebecca Du Maurier classic. “And, Elle?” His sexy voice singsonged; he was playful all of a sudden. “I like the chase. When you are ready, you will like it too.” I nearly dropped the remaining books at my feet before I opened my eyes and he was gone again, his tall burly figure already rounding the corner of the stacks.
Damn him. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything. But I knew with every beat of my heart he would be nothing but bad for me. How could a man like that be good for anybody? And on top of all that, the scar. Whatever had happened to him hadn’t been pretty, yet a part of me wanted to find out. Maxwell intrigued me and normally I was too frightened to be intrigued.
So I lifted my chin in the air and followed Maxwell, determined to stay in his good graces and keep this job. My life depended on it.
Three
Maxwell
I woke the next morning; sweet little Elle and her curvy assets had been running through my dreams all night. I tossed my arm over my eyes to block the morning light before feeling my cock flex and jump beneath the cotton sheets. I needed a cold shower; either that or I was going to have to rub one out before heading down to the library in an hour. Being with her all day would be nearly torture. And Christ, I was supposed to teach her, be close to her, talk to her when all I wanted to do consume her, ravage her, fuck her until she forgot her own name.
My eyes cast across my room to land on the old wooden chair next to the door. My eyes fell on the violet scarf I’d found on the coat rack last night after Elle had left. Her scarf. Her scent. Her. The beast in me growled and before I could think twice, I was on my feet and sauntering naked across the room, my hands clasping the scarf as if I were an addict with a last hit of heroin.
I brought the soft garment to my nose and inhaled. Fresh rain, a hint of vanilla, and strawberries. Not the packaged kind available all year long at the corner store grocery mart, but real strawberries, sun-drenched and picked fresh from the field. I inhaled the enthralling scent, remembering the feel of her under my fingers last night. I was desperate to feel more of her.
My cock stood heavy, my balls hanging low between my thighs before I did the unthinkable and wrapped the pretty purple scarf around my thick cock, feeling the fibers grate against the sensitive tip. Her fresh strawberry scent wrapped around my dick and invaded my nostrils. I pumped once, then twice, before bracing my other hand on the wall, my fist flexing as I began to pump my length with more vigor.
“Elle…” I roared a minute later when long hot spurts of fresh cum landed at my feet on the floor, a few drops spraying across the soft violet and making my dick twitch at the thought of returning it to her with my scent, my manhood around her neck, claiming her from every goddamn man around. The primal caveman that lived inside me wanted her. I couldn't explain it and I’d never been taken with anyone like this before. She was special, different. The feelings that twisted in my gut when I looked into her eyes told me all I needed to know. She’d walked straight out of my dreams and into my little town, and I would make her mine.
I thrust a hand through my snarled hair and sped to the bathroom, buck ass naked, before jumping into a chilled shower. I hopped and howled, just like I did every morning before cranking the heat and washing my hair and body. I stepped out again, dead set on some coffee, thinking maybe I could relax with the morning paper this morning now that I’d managed to calm my morning wood. I tossed on a pair of gray sweats, then trotted my way down the back stairs that attached my second floor apartment to the small library below.
Without turning on a light, I darted through the main room to the small coffee maker perched next to the circulation desk. The dark aroma lured me in as I approached, thankful for the timer I’d started setting a few weeks ago once I realized another cup of coffee before work had become a routine.
I turned and spun on one bare heel before a shadow out the front door caught my eye. Nestled on one cement step was my dark-haired beauty, an old paperback tucked into her lap as she sat hunched and reading in the morning light. I caught just a glimpse of her elegant profile, the sun casting shadows across her cheeks and glinting off the shiny strands of her hair. She was like an angel perched on my doorstep, ready to fill my life up with sweetness and love. Without thinking twice, I crossed the room and unlatched the door, the cool morning air blasting my chest and reminding me that I stood there, nearly naked.
Elle’s head turned in one quick move and her eyes hovered at my waist, where I imagined she saw two dark slashes of rigid muscle jutting into my waistband. I worked out. A lot. It’s what I did in my free time to burn off the excess energy. I was determined to stay big, remain a formidable force. I liked dominating a room when I entered it. I didn't want anyone to think I was weak.
Elle’s eyes crawled up my waist and my broad pectorals before her gaze settled on my own, returning the intensity I felt pulsing between us.
“Like what you see?” I winked. I was flirting with this girl and enjoying every minute of her cute little reactions.
“I guess I’m early.” She shot up, her eyes landing at her feet and the same scuffed boots she’d worn yesterday. Where had this girl come from anyway? She’d seemed to waltz in like a stranger, and while I had no right to question anyone’s past, I was curious nonetheless. Especially after her panic attack on my floor. She was so broken, I remember thinking how I longed to destroy those who hurt her. How dare anyone clip the wings of something so beautiful?
“Look at me,” I ordered, feeling my heart thud as I watched her dark chestnut waves slowly whisper in the wind before her round eyes met mine.
“W-what?” she said on a soft wave of air. I clutched the mug of hot coffee in my hand, my cock no longer sated from my early morning incident with the strawberry-scented scarf. What the fuck was this girl doing to me?
“You like coffee?” I gestured, unsure of anything else more meaningful to say.
“No. Thank you.”
“Well, you’re here.” I flashed her a meaningful smile. “I’ll go up and put some clothes on, then we’ll get started early, I guess.” I hated breaking the routine. I never opened the doors a minute earlier than posted, but I liked the excitement of Elle eager to please on my steps this morning.
I liked her very much.
“Should I stay?”
I turned halfway up the steps to my flat to find her gesturing into the library or up the stairs with me. “You’re already this far.” I shrugged and then continued up the steps. She followed me up. I could feel her eyes checking out my ass. If only she knew I’d had my cock in my hands just twenty minutes ago, coming to her pretty face and intoxicating scent.
“You left this last night.” I handed the scarf to her with the hint of a smile, thinking of it around my fist minutes ago, the ecstasy I’d gained. The thought of what it’d be like once I finally owned her, sheathing my cock in her deep depths. Would she taste like strawberry too?
“Thanks.” She pulled the scarf from my hands and our skin brushed, alerting my senses to the constant smell of sex and strawberries that wafted off her. Or was I making that up? Just a simple case of pheromones? I’d never dreamed about love at first sight before, but no one had ever taken the air straight from my lungs on first
sight before either, so anything was possible.
“So now you’ve seen the lair.” I caught her arm. “Not so scary?” I leaned in, desperate for another scent of her. I inhaled and felt her shudder as goose bumps rippled across her skin in uniform salute. I heard the soft swallow of her delicate little throat before she nodded sweetly.
“So precious,” I hummed and then darted my tongue out beneath her ear for a taste.
“What are you doing?” She shivered, fear and arousal rippling through her voice.
“Tasting you.” I pressed my palm at her throat in a move that shocked her. Shocked her and turned her on, if I was reading the shifting thighs and tightening nipples right. I could tweak them right now, maybe even find out what shade of pink they were. She’d let me. I could see it in the lusty hooded eyelids, feel it gaining momentum, readying to crash between us.
“You’re turned on, beautiful,” I teased and released. “But we’ve got training to do.” I ripped myself from her intoxicating gaze, ruffling through a file I’d pulled out last night. “Fill these out,” I said before walking down the long hallway, leaving her reeling and trying to make sense of my actions. Keeping her on her toes, that would be the game of the day. After last night, I needed to keep her in a playful mood. Something deep inside me wanted her to open up. To trust me.
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WHITE
Aria Cole
one
Eve
I shuddered, pulling the blanket around my shoulders, feeling my knees quake in the impossibly high heels that felt awkward and numbed my feet.
“I’m so sorry, Evie.” My foster brother and the oldest of the boys, Julian, wrapped his hand around my neck and squeezed—a comforting gesture he’d been doing since I was six and him seven.
