Wrong

by LP Lovell

  While part of me is screaming what the fuck, there’s another part that’s like a giddy bloody girl. What the hell is with that? This is Jude I’m talking about here. Giddy should not even be a possibility around that man. He’s a killer, a criminal, a man with no morals and few loyalties.

  What happened last night should never have happened, so why, when I think of it now, does it make my skin flush and my stomach tighten? I’m so fucked.

  I jump into the shower, hoping that the water will strengthen my resolve and give me the will power I need to face Jude this morning…think of the devil, and he shall appear. I hear the bathroom door open, and he steps in. For one awful yet somehow hopeful second I think he might try to get in the shower with me, but he doesn’t. I hear the taps turn on, and I think he’s brushing his teeth. Then there’s the unmistakable sound of him pissing. I roll my eyes. Really? Why can that man not urinate somewhere away from me? I’m really hoping our drunken bonding hasn’t dropped some weird barrier whereby we’re suddenly into communal pissing. Some things are just sacred.

  The entire time he’s in here, he never says a word. Oh, my God. Maybe he’s ashamed too. I stay in here for a long time, trying to wash away my shame. There’s not enough water or soap in the world for that, though.

  I eventually step out and wrap a towel around me. Okay, be brave, Ria. It’s no worse than a one night stand...except for the fact that I have to spend every minute of every day with him.

  I push the handle down and open the door, stepping into the room nervously.

  I pretty much define awkward right now. I glance up to see Jude lounging on the bed. The TV is on and he’s leant against the headboard, watching it. I can’t for the life of me tell you what is on the screen because he’s almost naked, except for his boxers. His hands are behind his head, and every muscle in his torso seems to be popping out in the morning light. Shit. Look up! I scream at myself.

  His eyes stray away from the television and land on me. He grabs the remote and switches the TV off. In the sudden silence, all I can hear is my own heavy breathing.

  He clears his throat. “I’m going to go handle some things while Caleb gets you breakfast. Oh, and we need to dye your hair.”

  “My hair?” The fuck?

  He moves off the bed and pulls a t-shirt out of the chest of drawers. “Yeah, your hair. You’re dead, remember? Which means the hair is gonna have to be dyed or something. Sorry.”

  “I thought I was only supposed to be here for three weeks?”

  He frowns. “You are. It’s just a precaution.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “For what? I’m dead, remember? I’m hours from home. No one here knows who I am or gives a shit what colour my hair is.”

  “Joe knows what you look like.” He cocks an eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes and move to the bed. I sit in the middle with my legs crossed, watching him. “Great. Well, my old life is ruined. What the hell, I suppose you might as well just destroy my identity.”

  “Really?” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps straining and stretching the thick ink over his muscles. “Get off the fucking cross.” I feel my temper rise to the surface instantly. He has screwed up every aspect of my life.

  “Fuck you, Jude! You’re a cunt!” I snap.

  He laughs humourlessly. “I can’t fucking win. I try to kill you, I’m an asshole; I try to save you, I’m a cunt. You want to leave, I let you, and then you come back. What the fuck do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing, I want you to do nothing. Just go and take your illegal bets, beat the shit out of some poor unsuspecting bastard, fuck some dirty, AIDSy stripper, hell, drown a kitten…”

  He crosses his arms, staring at me with a raised eyebrow. “Drown a fucking kitten? Really?”

  “Why do I have to get stuck with you anyway? I want Caleb back. He’s nice. He’s the only person in this house that isn’t a total bloody psycho!”

  He taps his foot over the floor as he narrows his gaze on me. “Is this some hormonal female shit? Get that shit under control, would you?” Oh, he did not.

  “You!” I scream, crawling onto my knees and moving to the edge of the bed. “Fuck you!” I stab a finger against his bare chest. My boobs are brushing against his stomach, and his eyes instantly drop to my chest. His lips pull up in a smirk, which makes me even more irate. He makes me so bloody angry. I slap his chest, the sound ricocheting around the room.

  His eyes narrow, the only warning I get before he grabs my wrists and pushes me back on the bed, pinning my hands above my head. He kneels over me, his face inches from mine. “You done yet?” He growls. I don’t answer him. “I would have thought you’d have learned by now not to slap me.” He comes even closer to me. “Don’t fucking do it again.” His voice is a deep rumble that has my skin breaking out in goose bumps, even as it feels like I’m over-heating.

  “Or what?” I challenge, before I can even stop myself.

  He growls, and one by one the fingers of his free hand move around my throat. He stares at me, his breathing ragged. “Don’t test me, Tor.”

  There’s a moment of silence. A moment where I should be scared. A moment where I should apologise, try and get him off me, but I don’t. I don’t, because some warped part of me wants Jude. A dark, twisted corner of my mind revels in the danger that he represents and rises to the challenge. I’m all too aware of how wrong that is. I have lost everything, and in having nothing to lose, the danger he promises has become an adrenaline shot to my broken and dying soul.

  His thumb brushes against my skin as his eyes lock with mine. I can feel his even breath on my lips, his warm fingers tightening around my throat. “Or maybe you want to test me? You like being strangled, Tor?” His voice is husky and raw, sex, laced with danger and possibility.

  His lips are so close to mine. My eyes flick to his mouth as a blush creeps over my cheeks. I can remember the way his lips felt on mine last night, his teeth nipping at my throat, his tongue skimming my lips. Our eyes lock, and I watch as that familiar volatile anger gives way to a very male lust. My pulse skitters wildly as he releases my throat and grips my jaw, tracing his thumb over my bottom lip. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured these lips wrapped around my cock,” he grates.

  I should be repulsed. I should be offended, but I’m not. My breath hitches and my lips part as I try to drag more oxygen into my ailing lungs. A small smile pulls at his lips before he leans forward, his lips brushing mine as he talks. “I want to corrupt all this innocence right here.”

  And I want him to corrupt me.

  I can’t take his teasing. I move, pressing my lips against his like the wanton slut that I’ve apparently become. He releases my chin, his fingers winding into my hair and pulling at the roots hard as his tongue dives into my mouth. My back bows off the bed, trying to get closer to him as my legs spread shamelessly, inviting him between them.

  He releases my wrists, moving down my arm and over my body, leaving a trail of fire. His teeth nip at my lip, leaving a sting. I moan against his mouth and he lets out a throaty chuckle as he grabs my knee, hitching it over his hip. He rolls his hips, grinding his hard cock against my pussy, and even the thin pair of lace knickers I’m wearing feel like a fucking chastity belt right now. His lips, his hands, his cock; he uses every weapon in his arsenal to wind me so tight that I’m sure I’m going to snap.

  My hands work over his chest, his back, his arms, clawing at the thick muscles. I want more. I need more. He rolls his hips again and my nails dig into his skin, making him hiss.

  “You want me?” he rumbles.

  I can barely form words. “Yes,” I choke out.

  “Then fucking beg me for it, Tor,” he growls against my ear.

  “Please,” I moan like a dirty whore.

  I can’t see his lips, but I can tell from his eyes he’s smiling. “Please what, doll?” His voice is a mixture of lust and amusement.

  I slap at his chest. “Jude!” His lips cut me off as
his tongue dives into my mouth.

  His lips have barely touched mine when he tears away from me, rearing up onto his knees. “That’s not begging, Tor,” he says as he jerks my legs further apart, dragging me down the bed to him. “Beg me!” he demands.

  “Fuck you!” I snap. I’m so turned on I can barely function, and he wants me to beg! He’s a sick bastard.

  “Oh, I intend to,” he laughs as he rips my knickers from my body, the material biting into my skin. His eyes move between my legs, and he bites his lip. “Goddamn.” I can feel my cheeks heating as my vagina gets the third degree. I’m almost as embarrassed as I am turned on. His hands grip the insides of my thighs, spreading them wide.

  “I have pictured fucking this pussy so many times.” His expression is pure sex and sin. The devil himself, luring me into hell. At this stage I want to dance around the fucking fire with him.

  “Every damn time you run that smart mouth, it makes me want to fuck you raw.” He growls as he traces a finger over me before plunging inside. He leans forward, dragging his tongue over my throat. “I’m gonna fuck you until you’re so raw, you won’t be able to sit down without feeling me,” he breathes, thrusting another finger into me.

  My hips buck uncontrollably as a ragged groan breaks from my lips. He’s brutal and unforgiving, as he is with everything. He pulls his finger out of me, immediately placing it to his lips and slowly sucking it in. He holds my gaze the entire time. Oh, dear God. I throw my head back against the mattress, my chest heaving.

  “Fuck me!” I hear myself say. I hear his throaty laugh before he grabs me by my hips, his hold almost bruising. I hear a rustle of material, followed by the ripping of foil, and then he’s there, the head of his cock probing at my pussy, begging for entrance. I’ve never felt this all-encompassing need to have a man inside me, but right now, I just want him, all of him, everything he has to give and more. He lights a fire in me that cannot be extinguished, and in this moment I’m consumed by it.

  I press my heels into the bed, pushing up against him. He hisses as he slides inside me. He feels so good, so right.

  “Careful. I promised I’d fuck you raw, and I will,” he growls, grabbing both my hips and slamming into me. I cry out as he hits the pleasure pain barrier. My body tightens and contracts around him, adjusting to the intrusion. He hovers over me, panting through gritted teeth. “God-fucking-damn, your pussy is something else.” He shakes his head.

  He stays still for a few seconds before he moves. There’s no slow build-up, this is primal and dominant. He rears back on his heels, lifting my hips with one hand and holding me down by my throat with the other. His big body moves over mine with powerful thrusts. He fucks me like his life depends on it, as though he is fucking out all his frustrations.

  My head falls back and my eyes flutter closed as waves of pleasure start to ripple through my body. His grip on my neck tightens. “Look at me,” he snarls. “Watch me fuck you.” My eyes lock with his, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. He fucks me until I’m writhing underneath him, sweating and moaning his name, and when my body tightens and I’m so bloody close, he stops.

  “What the fu—”

  He leans over me, lowering his lips to mine. “Beg. Me,” he whispers.

  I’m so tightly wound, so desperate. He’s a bastard. I glare at him and defiantly roll my hips against him. He smirks, and starts to move again. He thrusts in and out of me until again, I’m about to come, and again, he stops.

  “I swear to fucking God, Jude!” I shout.

  “Beg me.” He smiles like the devil that he is.

  Fuck it, I’ll take one for the team, and when I say team, I mean me and my vagina. I throw as much sex into my voice as I can whilst flashing him a smug smile. “Please, Jude. Please fuck me until I come all over you.”

  That does it. His eyes darken as a guttural growl rips from his throat and he pounds into me. Holy shit, he’s like a rabid animal. Everything tightens, and this time he doesn’t stop. His fingers tighten around my neck and pleasure explodes across my body. I scream his name as my vision threatens to black out. I feel his fingers dig hard into the flesh of my hip as he lets out a long groan and stiffens between my thighs before falling on top of me.

  I can’t breathe, and I can barely see as stars dot my vision. Jude rests his forehead between my breasts, still covered in his shirt. Holy shit, he fucks like he does everything else, with total volition and brutal control.

  He sits up and pulls out of me, rising to his feet. He says nothing, simply discards the condom and pulls up his boxers before putting on a shirt and a pair of jeans.

  “You are dying your hair,” he says before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  I sit up and wince. As promised, he did indeed fuck me raw.

  What the hell just happened? Since when did the man I hate become the man I want? He’s an arsehole, a criminal. I should feel ashamed and yet I don’t, I can’t. Maybe because every ounce of decency has been stripped from me in this place. Ria never would have fucked Jude, but Ria is gone. The person I was has been taken from me. I’m now the product of what they have made me, what Jude has made me. Ria wouldn’t have fucked Jude, because she was scared of him, but Tor would, I would, because I’m a woman without a cause.

  As soon as I shut the door, I shake my head. What in the fuck was that?

  All I can manage to do is stand in the hallway. My head is spinning. My breath is ragged. No woman has ever made me feel like that. I couldn’t possibly get deep enough in her, touch her enough. That felt right, and it shouldn’t. Not one thing about that should come close to feeling right because she’s been completely fucked in the head. She doesn’t know her ass from her elbow right now. She’s been ripped from everything she knows and left with nothing but me. I’m the fucking devil and god at the same time to her because I am the only person who even knows she exists. It’s nothingness, or me.

  I want to be angry, but I can’t. Part of me wants to turn back around and fuck her until she can’t fucking see straight. I want to fuck her until she begs me to stop. Fuck, I feel like she just bled into me, and that’s not good. The last thing I want is for her to end up believing she belongs here with me. No woman belongs with me, or in this lifestyle. None. Especially not one like her.

  I inhale, gripping the railing tightly as I wind my way down the stairs. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and go into the den, plopping on the couch next to Caleb.

  “Georgia’s winning,” Caleb mutters.

  I glance at the screen and nod. “Yeah.”

  “John Duglas hasn’t paid. Richard said John told you to fuck off.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble, staring blankly at the screen.

  “Yeah? He told you to fuck off, and you say ‘yeah.’” I glance at him and he lifts a brow, waiting for me to respond. “What the hell’s wrong with you? She getting to you that bad?” He laughs, not the slightest idea of how much she’s getting to me.

  I toss my head back against the cushion and reach for a cigarette. “Not ever met a woman with a temper like hers,” I say, pinching the smoke between my lips to light it. That temper makes me want to fuck her into submission every damn time.

  “So, she’s really just gonna stay here?” He stares blankly at me for a second. “It’s nice of you to protect her.” He jumps up from the couch and yells at the TV. “Are you fucking insane? That’s a flag, dipshit. Dumbass ref!”

  I pull in a lungful of smoke. Nice of me? Yeah, I’ve been a fucking charmer to her, and she’s got the psychological and physical scars as a souvenir.

  Caleb falls back into the couch. “So, is Ria just gonna stay locked up in your room for however long she decides to stay?

  I roll my eyes. I hate that damned name. “Her name’s Tor, Caleb. Ria sounds like a fucking bird.”

  “She likes to be called Ria,” he starts to argue, but leans back in the chair and turns his attention back to the TV.

  “I left the fucking door wide open
, but where else is she really gonna go?”

  He’s not paying attention to me. He’s standing, glaring at the television. “Aw, fuck this. There’s no fun in games I’m not betting on.” He grabs his keys from the coffee table.

  “Where are you going?”

  He shrugs. “To the store. Get some food.”

  I point in the direction of my room. “Take Tor with you.”

  “Why?” He tosses his hands up.

  “Because I said to. I left some hair dye for her, make sure she fucking dyes her hair before she goes out. Let’s just say she’s not fucking happy about doing it.” So unhappy that I had to fuck the temper out of her. Jesus, this is so fucked.

  His forehead wrinkles. “What? Why?”

  “Don’t be a dumbass. We can’t take a chance on Joe. It’s to cover our own asses.” I take a long puff from the cigarette. “Just make sure she does it, and take her with you. She needs to get out.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Who the fuck are you? She needs to get out?” He laughs. “See, she gets to you, doesn’t she?” I glare at him, and he holds his hands up. “Hey, I get it. You know I like her. She’s crazy, but I like her.”

  I cover my face with my hands, groaning. This situation I’ve fallen into is not one I ever intended on being in. Ever.

  Caleb holds the door open for me, gesturing for me to get in the car.

  “Tell me again why I have to come to the shop with you?”

  He flashes me his easy smile. “Apparently you’re no longer a prisoner and Jude thinks you need to get out of the house. I knew you’d win him over in the end.” He winks at me. I dip my face as I feel my cheeks heat. Little does he know.

  He slams the door and moves to the driver’s side, sliding behind the steering wheel. “I like the hair, by the way.”

  I pinch a piece of hair between my fingers, staring at the mahogany strands. “Thanks.” I hate it. It’s just one more part of Ria that is now lost, replaced by Tor, the damaged girl that Jude has turned me into. Yet I willingly bask in his corruption, like some desperate junkie embracing my own destruction.