by LP Lovell
He bends forward, his lips brushing my earlobe as he speaks. “I can practically hear you thinking, Tor.” Brushing his index finger across my forehead, he smooths out the frown lines. His breath blows across my face. The scent of tequila and tobacco invade my senses, causing my head to spin. I cling to him, not because I’m drunk, but because I want to, and that right there scares the shit out of me.
He pulls back and his eyes flick down to my mouth. He closes his eyes on a groan as though he’s struggling with something.
“What am I thinking?” I blurt, my voice husky, like some kind of bloody sex phone hooker.
His lips pull up in a wicked smile. My breath hitches in my lungs. Oh, God, that smile makes my heart stutter and then break into a sprint.
His hand moves to the nape of my neck, grabbing a fistful of my hair. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.” He slams me against the trunk, the rough bark scraping against my skin. His breath touches my neck and I shiver violently. His teeth skim over my pulse before he bites down.
I groan, and my back bows away from the tree, scrambling to get closer, demanding more.
I can’t control myself. I just want him, and I don’t care about the complications or the consequences. I gasp as his body presses against mine. He releases my hair and his fingers skim down my neck, gripping it lightly, dominating me with every breath. My pulse skyrockets as my body basks in his dominance. I can feel every hard inch of him, the heat of his body through his shirt, his warm breath touching my lips, his fingers digging into the skin of my throat. He’s everywhere. I can’t escape him. I should be scared of him, but I’m not. I could blame the tequila, but can’t deny that he affects me.
His hand creeps down my chest, skimming over my breasts, gliding down my stomach. He grips between my legs, squeezing through my jeans. I roll my hips into him, desperate for some pressure. Something! His breath caresses my neck as he kisses over the place he just nipped. My nails dig into his skin, raking over the back of his neck as my skin breaks out in goose bumps.
With a growl, he grabs a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. He tightens his arm around my waist and pulls me up on my tiptoes, crushing his lips to mine. My fingers tug at his shirt, in a desperate bid to get closer to him. I want more. I need more. My body feels like it’s on fire. I can’t breathe properly. His tongue teases my lips, and my lips part.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth before I feel his teeth bite my bottom lip. He tugs at it gently and pushes his body harder, if that’s even possible, against mine.
I moan and claw at him like a bitch in heat. Fuck me. I have no shame right now, and I can’t even be embarrassed about that.
He rolls his hips against me, grinding his erection against my stomach. “Damn it,” he hisses over my lips. He grips my waist, lifting me and pinning me to the tree with his hips.
My legs clamp around his waist and his fingers grip my thighs, digging into my skin. He buries his face in my neck, his lips working down my throat, kissing, nipping, and licking as they go. My head falls back as my hands seem to find their way into his hair, pulling him in, wanting more. I can’t seem to get close enough to him. His lips continue their journey until he’s biting the tops of my breasts.
“Jude, where the hell are you?” I hear a deep male voice shouting. “Jude?”
Raising his head from my chest, he glares at me. “I’m not done with you. Do you hear me?” he whispers, slamming his lips to mine one last time before slowly releasing me.
I don’t answer him. I can’t answer him. Shit, I can barely breathe. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape from my rib cage, and my knickers are in dire need of replacement.
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the parking lot. I stagger after him on shaky legs. The combination of tequila and Jude’s lips have really done a number on my equilibrium. I can see a figure approaching us in the dark, and I instinctively cling to Jude.
“What the hell were you doing?” It’s Rich.
“None of your fucking business,” Jude says, still pulling me behind him.
I follow him to a truck and he opens the door.
Rich glances at me. “She better not puke in my truck,” he groans.
He can go suck a big one. I flick him the bird, feeling very brave with Jude half-sheltering me from his view. I cling to his arm, trying not to sway like the intoxicated mess that I am.
“Just fucking shut up and drive,” Jude demands.
As soon as the truck starts moving, I feel myself drifting. I’ve hit the figurative wall, and I need to pass out. I lay down across the back seat, and let my eyes close. I can hear the low rumble of Jude’s voice as he talks to Rich, and some country music playing through the radio. The last thing I hear before I pass out is Jude calling my name.
“Tor.” I shake her, but she’s passed out cold.
“You want me to carry her?” Richard asks.
“No!” I’m too quick with that reply, but I don’t want him touching her. “No, just go. I’ve got this.” He’s a fucking idiot and would probably come in his pants if her tits rubbed over his shoulder the right way.
He shrugs and turns around, heading to the house. I drag Tor across the back seat by her ankles. She’s like a rag doll. Her limbs sway as I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder to carry her inside the house.
What in the hell am I doing? I take the stairs two at a time until I reach my bedroom. I open the door and throw her unconscious form on the bed.
She groans as her head rolls to the side. “Jude?” she mumbles, her brows pinching together as she squints at me.
I fucking love the way she says my name. I swallow. I shouldn’t have this soft spot for her. I shouldn’t be thinking the things I am. “Yeah?” I sigh.
“Where am I?” She presses her palm to her forehead. “Oh, God, the room is spinning.”
“And of course you’re gonna vomit, right? Only makes sense.” I sit her up, draping her arm over my shoulder as I help her up and cart her dead weight into the bathroom. I flip the light switch and she grumbles. Using her hand, she shields her eyes from the harsh light as I plop her onto the floor in front of the toilet.
“Oh, God,” she moans, resting her forehead against the toilet seat. “Why did you let me drink that much?”
“Let you?” I shake my head, starting to argue with her, but why bother? “Fuck, woman, you were necking tequila like it was a damn sport.”
“Fuck you,” she grumbles.
“If you throw up, then no fucking thank you.” I smile. Jesus, she’s a damn mess.
“Oh, God. I feel so ill.” Her knuckles grip the edge of the toilet so violently they turn white.
I hear her sniffle. What the...is she crying? I angle my head to look at her. Her face is scrunched up, eyes closed, lip quivering. She’s fucking crying; she hasn’t even been sick yet...and she’s crying.
“Why the hell are you crying?” I try not to laugh, but honestly, this shit’s funny.
“Shut up. I hate being sick, okay?” Her entire body shakes and her shoulders lurch forward as she heaves.
I lean against the wall and watch her, not exactly sure whether to leave her or stay. After a few moments of retching, she stops, and resumes crying. When she dry heaves again, she dramatically throws herself over the toilet and her hair falls in her face. I roll my eyes, huffing as I step toward her.
“Jesus.” I squat down as I pick the sticky, damp hair off her cheek and wrap the rest of her loose hair around my wrist in an attempt to keep it out of the way. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”
“Just—” She heaves again. “Just leave,” she pants between deep breaths. She tries to push me away, but her movements are weak. Her face is still practically in the toilet.
“If I leave, you’ll probably drown.”
“Oh, God. I think I’m dying!” She wails, tears streaking her face.
I plop down on the floor and stare at her in amusement. Is this how all fucking woman are? De
ar God. They’re fucking insane. “You are not dying. Chill the fuck out.”
“I am fucking dying!”
I rub my temples. She gets nearly gutted, and this—vomiting from one too many tequila shots—has her in tears and fearing death is imminent? “You’re not fucking dying, not yet, at least,” I groan. “What kind of fucking doctor were you? Jesus. Since when has tequila been a fucking death sentence?”
Her face doesn’t budge from the toilet, but she does wave her middle finger at me. “What would you know?” She spits into the toilet a few times. “You’re a cunt!” Her voice echoes from the bowl.
I laugh. That word on her prissy British lips turns me on every damn time.
She sits back on her heels and snatches her hair away from me.
“You done?” I raise a brow at her, tapping my fingers over the floor. She looks like shit glaring at me with bloodshot eyes.
“Come on. Up.” I pick her up and flush the toilet before walking her to the sink. I turn the water on and point to the basin. She’s stumbling around like she’s about to fall over. “You gonna wash the puke off your face or what?” I ask.
I open one of the drawers in the vanity and rummage through, grabbing a toothbrush. I run it under the water, slather some toothpaste on it, and hand it to her. “Is this what it’s like to have a kid?” I groan. “Damn. Here. Brush your teeth too.”
She takes it from me, swaying back and forth while attempting to flash me a scathing look. It’s more of a drunken squint. She holds the toothbrush in her hand and stares at it like she has no clue how to fucking use it.
I wave my hands at her like a fucking orchestra conductor trying to teach a bunch of idiots to play Bach. “Aaaand brush…”
“Why are you still here?” she moans. “I can brush my bloody teeth. Get out!”
“Just brush your teeth, Tor.” I walk to the toilet and pull out my cock to take a piss. As soon as the piss hits the water, she slowly turns her head, blue foam all over her lips.
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. “What...are you doing?”
I step back farther from the toilet, still aiming the steady stream as I smile at her. “Taking a piss. See?” I shake it, then put the seat back down. “My bathroom. I piss when I feel like it. I’m going to bed.” I grin as I peel my clothes off, making my way to the bed and flopping down.
“You’re repulsive, you know that, right? I cannot believe you just got that thing out in front of me.”
I crumple the pillow up underneath my head. Will she ever shut the fuck up? “God!” I groan.
She stumbles into the room a few minutes later with her top wrapped around her neck and her arms in the air. Is she serious right now? I shouldn’t laugh, but fuck. She’s like a damn kid when she’s drunk. I sigh and get out of bed, yanking the top over her head.
“I had it,” she grumbles.
“Uh-huh. Looked like you had it.” I pull a t-shirt from my dresser and toss it at her before climbing back into bed. “And don’t worry. I’m not watching you.” I roll over, facing away from her, and hear her stomping around as she tries to get dressed. She’s mumbling to herself. God only knows what the hell she’s saying.
A few seconds later, the other side of the bed dips under her weight. I lean over and switch the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. Within minutes her breathing evens out and becomes heavy and I’m…wide awake.
Every tiny movement she makes is magnified. I’m hyper-aware of her presence, and so is my dick. What the actual fuck have I done? I must be a masochistic fucker to sleep next to the woman that only hours ago had me so hard-up I slammed her against a tree, ready to shove my cock in her as she dry-humped me like a two-dollar hooker. She’s hot, plain and simple, and my dick seems to feel the need to remind me of this fact...often. The longer I think about having her against that tree, the harder I get. This is fucking ridiculous. My eyes trail over to her. I watch her chest rise and fall in deep swells, and I’ll be damned, every time those fuckers move, her tight little nipples poke through the thin undershirt she’s wearing. That sight makes my dick twitch like it’s going to explode.
I lay in the darkness, just staring at the ceiling. A few minutes ago I was dog tired, but now...now, sleep is the last thing on my mind. I reach down and rearrange my dick. Just that brief touch has my cock begging for more. Fuck this. I climb out of the bed, my boxers pitching a tent as I stumble toward the bathroom. I leave the door cracked just enough to see her. Fuck it if she wakes up. It’s her fault I have this hard-on.
I lean one hand against the wall, peeking out at her as I sneak my hand beneath the elastic of my boxers, fisting my hard cock. I imagine her thighs wrapped around my waist as I viciously grind my cock against her pussy. I can almost hear the little moans she makes, practically taste the tequila on her tongue. I run my thumb over the head and it glides over the drop of pre-cum. Fuck. I can only imagine how damn good it would feel to actually have my dick in her. I give myself one long stroke and immediately feel everything in me relax. Picking up the pace, I push off the wall, turning to lean my back against it as I reach down and grab my balls. I tug harder and faster, massaging my balls as I think about how damn good it felt having her all over me.
I imagine what she would look like on her knees, with those fucking lips wrapped around my cock, my hand fisted in her hair while I fuck her face until she gags. I’m frantic at this point. My hand is loudly slapping against my lower stomach. The fact that she’s completely unaware that I am beating my shit like it owes me money makes me even more frantic.
I barely hear her talking in her sleep. “Jude,” she whispers, followed by a soft, feminine, incredibly sexy moan. And that’s it; I feel my balls tighten and my entire body tenses like a coiled spring. I go off like fucking Mount Vesuvius. It’s been awhile since I’ve been teased like this, which means shit goes every-fucking-where. Holy shit! My body tenses and jerks with aftershocks, my head slamming against the wall as I try to catch my breath.
“Jude…” she mumbles, which snaps me out of my fog. “Please…” Her voice trails off and I can barely make out her begging, and not the good kind of begging.
I grab a towel and wipe myself off. She mumbles my name again and whimpers. I step back into the room, and climb across the bed, brushing her hair from her face as I lay down next to her. She quiets and turns into my neck.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m getting into here. I just have this unexplainable urge to fix her, which is fucking ironic, because I’m usually the one to fuck shit up. It’s unnatural for me to care, and I have no idea how to handle it.
I close my eyes, my mind racing. I glance at the clock and minutes fade to hours. Every damn time I close my eyes I see my mom and sister; I hear the screams, my mother begging Joe to not hurt my sister, to let her go. I see Tor crying and bleeding, Euan pleading for his life. For the first time in my life I allow myself to realize that I am the monster in other people’s nightmares just like Joe is the monster in mine. I have brutally taken the lives of people, leaving their families with nothing but a fading memory. The people I kill know damn well what they’re getting into when they decide not to pay me my money, but their families...that gaping wound ripped into their souls from that loss...that affects me. Since when have I had pieces of me that give a fucking damn? I don’t want to give a damn, but Tor fucking makes me. Her being here has chipped away at me, caused me to re-evaluate everything. I roll onto my side, and instead of an empty space, there she is. She’s like a physical fucking conscience that I can’t ignore. I stare at her silhouette and my mind comes to a gridlock. This woman has changed everything in my life. In a matter of weeks she has created a fucking war inside me. She makes me question who the fuck I am.
I trace my fingertip over her arm. She’s something I’m not used to, something that almost doesn’t seem real. She is light in this pit of blackness. She’s an angel surrendering to the unforgiving flames of hell, and in no way is that right.
She sighs and tosses
in her sleep. She is so much more than what she’s been reduced to. She’s in my bed because she’s afraid to be anywhere else; really, because she has nowhere else to go. She’s been given freedom, but she’s chosen to remain captive. She’s that wounded that a heartless bastard like myself seems like a haven. I draw in a heavy breath, the scent of her drowning me.
I am all she has.
Having one person, that’s a shitty destiny.
I will keep her safe, and I will fucking slaughter Joe. For my mother, for my sister, for Tor. Right or wrong, I don’t fucking care.
Oh, my fucking God. What the hell happened last night? My head feels like somebody just smashed it into a wall. I groan as I roll over, and my stomach follows suit. Ugh, my mouth feels like a badger took a shit in it. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. Holy shit, I think I’m actually blind! Maybe I’ve had a stroke. Oh, God. Why is the bed moving? Wait, that’s not the bed. I rub at my eyes and blink. My vision is blurry, but I seem to have an in-depth knowledge of Jude’s chest now, and I know that’s exactly what is moving beneath me.
I manage to pull away from him without yesterday’s limpet display. I groan when I stand up, swaying slightly. I feel gross. I can practically smell the tequila seeping from my pores. Ugh, tequila. Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn.
I wobble to the bathroom and lean over the loo for a few minutes because I’m pretty sure I’m going to hurl. Eventually, though, my stomach calms its shit. A shower, that’s what I need. Everything will seem better then. Hell, at least I don’t have anywhere to be. Silver lining and all that.
I turn the shower on and let the water warm. I glance at the vanity. I should look awful this morning, but I don’t. As always, my eyes drop to the long scar across my throat, only this time, there are two purple marks to the side of it. I touch them gingerly and step closer to the mirror to get a better look. Bite marks, they’re bite marks! I remember Jude’s body pressed against mine, his lips at my neck, his teeth...My lips are swollen, and my bottom lip is raw.
