Off Limits: A Bad Boy Romance

by Lauren Landish

  The bathroom was just after the kitchen in the L-shaped design of the studio apartment, and I found a bottle of antiseptic spray inside the medicine cabinet after rooting around for a few seconds. "Here," I said, handing it to her. "No peroxide, but this should do."

  "All right then, off with your hood," Abby said. She grinned at the slightly macabre joke, her lips curling up in the most enchanting bow I could imagine. "You're already bleeding onto it, and you need to get some cold water on that fabric or else it’s going to be ruined."

  An electric thrill ran through me as I let her peel my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in just my jeans and boots. Abby had turned to toss my shirt through the open door to the laundry room beyond the bathroom, so when she turned back, her startled pause when she saw my upper body for the first time actually caused me to blush. She reached toward me before pulling her hand back, suddenly realizing that she hadn't asked permission. "Wow."

  I tried not to let it show that I was pleased with her unexpected compliment, but I couldn't help it.

  Abby blinked and shook her head, tearing her eyes from my torso to look up at my face and taking the bottle of antiseptic in her hand. "Okay, hold still," she said, moving close enough that I could almost feel the heat of her presence against the skin of my upper body. "I'll try and be gentle."

  Unfortunately for Abby, the button she'd originally taken to be a weak spray turned out to be much stronger than either of us anticipated, and the resultant shot of mist not only got my cut, but also my left eye. "Ow, shit!" I gasped, immediately closing my eye and turning around. I planted my hands on the countertop, my fingers digging into the curve made by the marble of the sink. "Fuck!"

  "I . . . I’m sorry!" Abby said, her voice apologetic. I was blind and in pain, but she sounded just as hurt as I was. "God, I'm so sorry!"

  "No . . . it's okay," I said, tears running down my face. "You didn't mean to, and I should’ve closed my eye."

  "Hold still," she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. I stilled, a blissful calm almost coursing from her touch into my body, as if she were some sort of magical being. "Keep your eyes closed."

  I heard the water in the sink turn on, and a minute later, the cool bliss of a wet washcloth pressed against my injured eye. "Here," I heard Abby say as she gently wiped my eye and down my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Dane. You go and save my life, and I try and repay you by blinding you."

  "You didn't mean to, and you don't need to repay me," I said. The pain was lessening. I turned away from the sink and reached up, putting my hand over hers to hold the compress against my eye. Her hand didn't move though, and I could feel how close she was to me. "Just let it flush out a bit, and I'll be fine. You just surprised me, that's all."

  In the silence that followed, which was now tense not because we wanted to be apart, but instead because of the unspoken desire to be closer, I could hear her breath quicken. In the reddish darkness of my still tightly shut eyes, I almost thought I could hear her heartbeat. "Dane?"

  "Yes?"

  "What are those tattoos for?" she asked, her free hand coming up to rest on the ink that adorned my chest and arms. "There are quite a few of them."

  " I got most of them in the Army," I said, trying to remember in my mind's eye what her fingers were touching. The truth was, some of them were from before the Army, a few were in service, but a lot of the others were from my time at Leavenworth. Every prisoner has their own little way of telling the administration to fuck off, and for me, it was ink. There had been a Specialist from the 10th Mountain division locked up with me who was quite the amateur artist, even though he didn't always have access to the best supplies. "I think that one is my jump wings. The parachute, right?"

  "Yeah," her voice, thick and a bit deeper, said. She was feeling it too, and I was quickly losing any resistance to wanting to pull her closer. She may have been untouchable. She may have been a bit younger than me and most likely the worst mistake since I'd permanently fucked my life up with a single act in Iraq, but if I was going to be damned, there were a lot of worse ways to go than what I wanted at that moment. "What about the others?"

  I took the compress away from my eye, blinking as light returned. The first thing I saw was Abby's beautiful face, and without an instant's hesitation or reconsideration, I knew that I was going to fuck her. I pulled her closer to me, my hand coming to her waist, our lips coming together, and I happily fell into damnation again.

  CHAPTER 3

  ABBY

  When I first saw Dane in the street light, it was hard to put my finger on what exactly was so fascinating about him. Obviously, I’d been impressed that he’d come to my aid and how he'd beaten up my attackers so easily. Two-on-one fights usually end up with the one getting his ass kicked. But when the light from the streetlamp let me get more of a look under his hood, there was something more about the way he looked that excited me.

  Dane was certainly handsome, but it was a dark, brooding handsomeness that I wasn't used to seeing. I'd gotten used to well-groomed, slickly laid back guys who looked like they'd never really worked a hard day's labor in their lives. They were basically weak, pretty boys, and Dane was different. Black eyebrows shaded gray eyes that looked like they could either be expressive and clear or stormy and intimidating. His face was lean, with a steely tension to his features that spoke of great strength, but his mouth was large and sensual, and even with the furrow on his cheek pulling up at one corner, expressive. His short beard made him look just a bit scruffy, but in not a bad way. He looked like the sort of man who was made for a motorcycle.

  "I'm not a very good man," Dane said, and in that moment, I saw something even more appealing than his dark handsomeness. I saw introspection, and yes, a bit of a haunted soul.

  I'll admit, I'm a lucky girl when it came to the looks department. A lot of it came from Mom, who I wish I had gotten to know better before she died. In looking at the old pictures of her, though, her high school and college graduation photos that Daddy still kept in the family room of the house, I looked a lot like her once you account for the change in hairstyles and fashion. My hair was a shade darker though, probably because of Daddy's influence, although I'd gotten a bit of his height too. While I'm no starter for the basketball team, Mom was so short that she was nearly a gymnast.

  So with my looks, even as intimidating as Daddy is, I'd had guys compliment me. The biggest problem most of them had was that they were insecure and tried to hide it by being cocky as all get out. I'd had guys try to strut past me with their chests puffed out or try to show off their clothes or their cars like peacocks at the zoo. One look in their eyes, however, told me that they were insecure little boys trying to mask imperfection behind a cocky strut of perfection.

  Dane wasn't like that at all. He was up front with his flaws, and in his eyes I saw that he was, despite his protests, more of a man than anyone I'd ever met at Georgia Tech. When we got back to his place, though, I was floored. Sure, it was a studio, but the Mayfair Tower was one of those types of places that a guy around my age would be bragging about. It was furnished tastefully, though it looked like he'd recently done a major change in decor—something about the way the furniture was arranged in the living area and the way the couch didn't quite jive with the impression I got of Dane on the way from the park, I think. It was like there was the real Dane, and one that maybe he'd recently left behind or something.

  Most of it was the contrast between his belongings. For example, the couch that he used to separate the living room area from the bed area of the studio was real leather, and while I didn't know the designer, it looked like one of those sofas that got used in photo spreads for magazines and had price tags in the thousands of dollars. On the other hand, Dane's jeans were off the rack Old Navy, and his boots I couldn't even identify. I wondered if perhaps Dane had fallen on some hard times, or if maybe he'd come into a windfall, and that was why he hadn't bragged about his living accommodations. He led me into the bathroom, and it didn't really mat
ter. I focused instead on the task at hand, cleaning his cheek.

  "All right, off with your hood," I told him as I looked at the antiseptic spray bottle. It had a lot of hype text on it, but the important part was the 99.9% printed on the side. If something had gotten into Dane's cut that this thing couldn't kill, I would be surprised.

  I wasn't really paying attention as I took his shirt and tossed it into the laundry room, but when I turned around, I couldn't help but shudder at the flush of heat that ran through me at seeing his torso. The tan that highlighted his firm muscles wasn't a frat boy tan or the tan of a guy who laid out in the sun, but the tan of a man who spent plenty of time outdoors doing labor. His muscles were the real thing, not some gym rack set built with curls and pump sets, but steely cords that knew how to do real work.

  And of course, there were his tattoos. I've always had a secret attraction to good body ink, though I didn't have any myself. Daddy would have had a heart attack if I did, even a little rose or butterfly on an ankle. But Dane's body was beautiful, with complex, intertwining designs that covered most of his chest and around to his shoulders, going nearly halfway down his left forearm. Whoever had done the work was talented, because even though I could see that there were different pieces from different times in his life, they all wove together in a tapestry that flowed and looked harmoniously joined, like a visual representation of his life so far.

  It was the tattoos and the impressive definition of his upper body that distracted me when I triggered the spray bottle. In hindsight, I should’ve sprayed the gauze pad in the first aid kit and then wiped his cut, but I wasn't thinking all that clearly. I'd meant to push the plunger slowly, giving just a little squirt of liquid onto his cheek. Instead, I pushed too hard, sending a mist of the alcohol-based cleaner right into his eye. He jerked his head back, hissing in pain. "Ow, shit!" he said as he turned around. "Fuck!"

  "I . . . I’m sorry!" I replied, horrified. Here he was, being a total gentleman, and I'd nearly blinded him. I felt like crying. "God, I'm so sorry!"

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, his face turning red as the first tears of pain trickled out of his eyes and started to make their way down his face. Still, he maintained his composure and there wasn't a hint of anger in his words. "No . . . it's okay. You didn't know, and I should’ve closed my eye."

  "Hold still. Keep your eyes closed."

  Grabbing a washcloth from the towel bar next to the sink, I quickly wet it until it was soaking. "Here," I said, pressing it against his face and taking the opportunity to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Dane. You go and save my life, and I try and repay you by blinding you."

  "You didn't mean to, and you don't need to repay me," he replied, a delicious tension in his voice. His hand came up to cover mine, and my body reacted again to his presence. His touch was just as strong as it had been the first time, and my heart sped up. I didn't even realize it as I stepped closer, until I was barely a hand's breadth away from him, close enough to smell him. He smelled like a man, clean sweat and a hint of some sort of aftershave, not the fruity type either, but a real scent. "Just let it flush out a bit and I'll be fine. You just surprised me, that's all."

  I tried to keep myself under control, but it was hard with him so close. I wanted to run my hand over his chest to feel the strength in his arms and his body. Even more, I wanted to feel his hands on me, and not just covering mine. I took a deep breath to try and control myself and forced my one-track mind to think of something to say. "Dane?"

  "Yes?"

  "What are the tattoos for?" I asked, giving in to the temptation and tracing some of his ink. I could see that not all of it was finely done. There were a few that looked a bit amateurish, but still the work of a talented amateur. I wondered where he got them. I saw a symbol I thought I knew, a set of wings coming out from a parachute on his right shoulder. "There are quite a few of them."

  " I got most of them in the Army. I think that one is my jump wings. The parachute, right?"

  "Yeah. What about the others?" I rasped, unable to resist it any longer. I wanted him. Right or wrong, one-night stand or forever and a day, at that moment, the thing I needed most was his touch, his caress. I wanted to taste his skin and run my tongue along the intertwining lines of his ink. When he opened his eyes and looked down into my eyes, I knew that he wanted it too.

  His hands pulled on the backs of my arms, and I wouldn’t have been able to resist even if I wanted to as he brought my lips to his. His mouth was as supple and amazing as I'd been imagining, his lips sending shivers down my spine even before his tongue came out to trace my neck. Groaning in desire, I threw my arms around his neck, heat flooding my body when he pulled me tighter.

  "Dane . . .” I whispered, relishing the sound on my lips. He responded by pulling me into him even more, wrapping his arms around my waist and crushing my body against him. Even through the silk of my dress, I could feel the warm heat of his skin with the light dusting of dark hairs on his stomach prickling against my body. I gave in to my desire, pulling myself up higher and lifting my leg to put my left knee on the countertop, letting me kiss him more easily.

  Dane's right hand let go of my back to cup my leg, his work-roughened hand sliding from my knee to the hem of my dress before stopping. He was strong, but still almost gentlemanly as his thumb pushed the hemline of my dress up until his hand found the silk of my bikini briefs. He stopped kissing to smile at me in joy. "You're so smooth."

  The gleeful, slightly dangerous glint in his eyes made my knees even weaker than they already were, and I nodded, enjoying the seduction game we were playing.

  Dane licked his lips, lifting me up by the hand that was cupping my ass and spinning us both around. In an instant, he had me propped up on the countertop, his hands at the hem of my dress, lifting it up. He stopped when the hem bunched up against the marble, stepping back. "Wait."

  "What?" I asked, my heart hammering and my chest heaving. My nipples ached inside my dress, and I was sure I was showing through. I could barely contain myself, and now he wanted to stop? Was he having some last second surge of timidity, or was some other reason stopping him? "What's wrong?"

  "I . . . It's been a while for me," Dane admitted without a hint of shame. He said it matter-of-factly, as if he were saying the sun is hot, water is wet, or that he was sexy as hell. "I forgot that it's probably better to lift your hem up a bit before you sit down on the dress."

  I laughed as I realized what he was talking about, even more enchanted and turned on by his honesty. "Well then," I said, sliding off the counter and taking the hem of my dress in hand, “there we go.”

  The look in Dane's eyes and the little twist of his lips set me on fire even more. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, but it still added a rakish sexiness to his appearance, like he was carrying his battle scars and would keep them as a reminder of what he'd done to gain my attention. I was kind of glad I'd worn one of my sexier sets of lingerie that night, mostly because it fit well under my dress, but the nearly sheer bra cups and silk panties certainly had the right effect on Dane. Looking down, my throat went slightly dry looking at the bulge in his jeans. He wasn't wearing any sort of overly tight skinny jeans either. He had to be big. Blinking, I looked up at Dane and bit my lip. "Better?"

  "Much," he said, his voice as hoarse as mine felt. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me into a warm and powerful embrace again, this time lifting me in his arms and carrying me to the bed in the back of the loft room. The bed was a queen size, but that was more than big enough for the two of us as we tumbled to the mattress.

  His lips found mine once more, this time his tongue wrapping around mine as he pulled me on top of him, my legs automatically parting to each side of him. I gasped when my panties came into contact with the bulge in his jeans, which already felt hot and delicious. "Oh, God . . .”

  Dane pulled back to look in my face, worried for an instant. It touched me that such a powerful man could be both demanding and respectful at the same time. He stu
died me for a second before grinning, reading my expression. "It's been a while for you too?"

  I nodded, suddenly shy. "Sorry."

  He shook his head, his hand coursing up and down my backbone. "Abs, there’s no need to feel ashamed of that. I'm honored, actually."

  Nobody had called me Abs before, not even my friends, and to hear the word on his lips sent ripples through me. I enjoyed the name and mouthed it silently as he kissed my throat and along my pulse line. Abs. It would be my special name from Dane, and one nobody else would ever use.

  He stopped his hands on my bra strap, and without too much fumbling undid the clasp at the back. Bringing his hands around to my sides, he slid my bra off until the only thing keeping it on was that it was sandwiched between us. Grinning, he pushed me back and let it fall off, where I tossed it off the side of the bed. My breasts hung in front of him while I ground over the bulge in his jeans, and by the look in his eyes, I'd never felt more beautiful in my entire life.

  Hot sparks shot through me when he cupped my breast and ran his thumbs over my nipple. I couldn't resist, and I started riding his bulge in my panties, the friction mixing with the electricity in my breasts to render me senseless. The whole time, his eyes bored into mine, but this time the gray wasn't brooding or dark, but instead wise and comforting. They were eyes that captured my attention, along with the growing confident smile on his face. It may have been a long time for him, but like riding a bicycle, he quickly remembered exactly what he was doing.

  When Dane pulled me down to him, replacing his hands with his mouth on my nipple, I whimpered. It felt so good. His tongue found all the little spots that left me mewling and gasping. My hips sped up, and I nearly cried out in frustration when he rolled me off him and turned both of us onto our sides. "Why'd you stop?" I whined, unable to help myself. "I was nearly there."