“What?” I ask, glancing at him.
“Nothing,” he says in a quiet voice. But he doesn’t stop staring at me.
“Bullshit,” I respond, not looking at him.
“Fine,” Stone huffs. “I was just thinking about how we were so rudely interrupted.”
I frown and glance at him. Is he playing a game with me? “What?” I ask.
He smiles. “You heard me,” he says, his voice low as he leans toward me. “I was imagining how wet you’d be right now if my fingers were still touching you.”
I feel my throat close and I become lightheaded as he speaks. Determined not to let him see how much he affects me, I ignore his comments and focus on driving. Sometime later, I jump as I feel his long fingers caress the outside of my thigh. I glance over again, and he gives me such a heart-stopping grin that I feel my heart turn over in my chest. “Stop it,” I mumble, turning my attention back to the road. But he doesn’t.
I feel his fingers move higher until they brush the edge of my short skirt and slide beneath. I swallow hard and try to ignore him as his warm hand gently spreads my legs open. Then he’s touching me. My mouth opens slightly, my breathing growing short as his fingers caress me through my panties. He has to stop, or in a matter of minutes we’re going to cause an accident. I try to press my thighs together, but all that succeeds in doing is trapping his hand between my legs. My eyes dart over at him again, his white teeth flashing in the dark as he grins. I shift uncomfortably and open my legs enough for him to slip his hand out and settle back on his side.
Leaning forward I turn on the radio, trying to drown out the sounds from Keets and Ruth in the backseat. How much have they had to drink? Settling back against the seat, both hands grip the wheel as the melodic sounds of Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me” comes through the speakers. My favorite song.
We drive in silence the rest of the way, the only sounds the occasional kiss from the backseat and the music still playing on the radio. I pull up to Keets’ house, not at all surprised when Ruth gets out with him. I hope they know what they’re doing, and won’t regret it later.
“Don’t come into work tomorrow,” I say out the window. “I’ll look after the bar.”
“You sure?” Keets asks, leaning down to look through the window.
“Yeah,” I say. “I haven’t drunk half as much as you guys.”
“I’ll say.” Keets laughs, inclining his head to the passenger seat.
I turn my head, a smile spreading across my face as I see Stone sleeping soundly, his hands curled beneath his head against the window. “Where does he live?” I ask, turning back to Keets with a grin.
“Right near the stables,” he says. “The little blue cottage down the lane.”
I know exactly where it is.
“I’ll see you later.” I laugh, waving out the window to Ruth as Keets steps back and I pull slowly away from the house.
By the time I arrive at Stone’s house, I’m exhausted, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.
Cutting the ignition, I remove my seatbelt and sit there for a minute, staring at Stone as he sleeps. How the hell am I going to get him to drive me home? Can I risk it? Surely my life is worth more than that.
Sitting up a little straighter, I tentatively stretch one index finger out toward him. “Stone?” I say quietly, poking him on the arm. He groans in his sleep and shifts a little, letting his head fall back against the seat. I open the door and step out. Moving around to the passenger side, I carefully open his door and lean in. I draw in a deep, shaky breath and lick my suddenly dry lips. He’s so close, and he smells so damn good. A combination of musky aftershave and cheap beer. I start to feel a little lightheaded. Christ, I could get drunk just on his smell.
I wonder how I’m going to wake him up. I could always try kissing him. He’s so close; it would take just a small movement from me for our lips to connect . . .
I squeal as I feel strong fingers digging into the backs of my thighs, then I’m falling. I swallow hard as I land heavily on Stone’s lap, his hands on my ass as I straddle him.
He buries his face between my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. “You smell so fucking good,” he growls. My breath catches. The feral sound he just let slip past his lips is hotter than anything I’ve ever heard before. His fingers caress the soft skin of my ass and thighs, and I force myself to breathe. To remain calm. “You were asleep,” I whisper.
“I’m awake now,” he retorts.
“And you’re drunk.”
“So?”
He spoke so much with that single word. So what if we barely know each other? So what if he’s drunk? So what if I regret it tomorrow? Why shouldn’t I take this opportunity, tempting as it is, and make the most of tonight?
Because deep down, I know I’m not the sort of girl who indulges in one-night stands. I’m attracted to Stone, but I won’t act on it. Not tonight. “I need you to drive me home,” I say in a small voice, avoiding his eyes as his fingers continue to make lazy circles across my skin.
“Stay.”
My eyes dart up, my mouth open slightly in shock, and he takes advantage of it. Slanting his head, Stone covers my mouth with his own, his tongue probing, searching. It takes just seconds for me to respond, wrapping my arms around his neck as I moan into his mouth. He deepens the kiss, his fingers digging into my soft flesh as I feel his cock harden through his jeans, pressing between my legs. The seam of the denim is in the perfect position, and I rock myself back and forth a few times, feeling a delicious pull low in my stomach. He growls as he grabs my hips, pushing me up so that the edge of my ass rests on the dashboard in front of him, my legs on either side of his head. It’s an awkward position, and I have to lean my back against the cold glass of the windshield, ducking my head down a little. He scoots forward and places a soft kiss against my knee, his fingertips trailing along the sensitive skin of my calf. My breath hitches as he raises his darkened eyes to mine.
“Are these your favorite panties?” he asks, his hand sliding higher to finger the lacy thong I’m wearing beneath the mini skirt.
“N-no,” I stammer, my breath harsh in the quiet car. I gasp as I hear the lace tear. I don’t have time to complain, because a second later his head is between my legs . . . his mouth on me. My head hits the windshield as I lean back and part my lips. His mouth is doing all sorts of wonderful things to me, and I yelp in a combination of pleasure and pain as his teeth lightly graze across my sensitive clit. Stone’s lips latch onto my clit as he grips my thigh with one hand, the other probing at my slick entrance, seeking permission. I groan as I fist my hands in his hair, urging his mouth closer as he presses first one finger deep inside, then another. “Stone,” I whimper, feeling the pressure build low in my stomach. It’s so much . . . too much. His mouth sucks my clit hard, then lets it out with a pop, only to take it once more. His fingers keep a steady rhythm as he makes a ‘come here’ gesture on my insides. I cry out as I contract around his hand and he increases the speed of his fingers, the suction of his mouth. Stone uses his tongue to flick a firm pattern directly on my clit and I explode, calling his name as I come hard.
Stone tears his lips away, resting his forehead against my thigh, breathing hard.
We stay like that for at least two minutes, our breathing harsh in the quiet car, neither one of us wanting to speak first. “Stay,” Stone finally repeats, pulling me down off the dashboard and into his lap. I feel the heat from his arousal against my sensitive core as he brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I can’t,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from his piercing stare.
“I’m not asking you for anything, Shannon,” he assures me, kissing my eyelids. “Just stay for the night. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, but I’m too drunk to drive you home.”
I sit back on his knees and stare at him. A perfect gentleman? He was anything but gentlemanly just a moment ago. He makes an excellent point though; he’s drunk entirely too much, and we took his car to the club. I cou
ld call a cab, but the truth is I’m just exhausted. All I want to do now is curl up and go to sleep. “No funny business?” I ask, though I can’t stop myself from rubbing my clit once more across his hardness, feeling a slight shiver run through my body, like the aftershock of an earthquake.
“No funny business,” Stone promises, flexing against me as he grits his teeth. “Is that a yes?”
I nod slowly. “That’s a yes.”
I gasp as the knife slices through the skin on my abdomen again. I feel the blood trickle down my stomach, and my eyes roll back in my head. Not for the first time since I was captured, I wish for death.
“Tell us what you know,” the masked man says as he presses the tip of the knife against my skin. “You can end this. You just need to tell us.” I grit my teeth and remain silent.
“So be it,” the man sneers, putting more pressure on the knife.
I let out a hoarse yell as the metal scrapes the bone of one of my ribs. My skin burns, and white-hot flashes of pain cause black spots to dance in front of my eyes.
“This is what you get!” the man yells, his eyes dancing with glee, watching the blood pour from me as I’m tied spread-eagle to the table. He puts his face close to me, holding the knife against his cheek through the black cloth mask. “You will die either way,” he taunts. “It’s up to you if you die quickly . . . or slowly.”
I turn my head to the side as I hear a noise. My breathing becomes labored as I see a group of men lifting the body of the young girl into what looks like a large, black garbage bag. I feel my stomach churn as one of them grabs her decapitated head off the ground and holds it up by the hair, laughing as he speaks to the other men in Dari. The man above him chuckles as he sees the look on my face. “You see,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth. “We are what you call . . . information gatherers. We believe you have the information we seek, and you will tell us the truth, or I have no problem cutting the lying tongue from your mouth.”
“I’m not lying,” I choke out, my eyes wide with pleading as I silently beg him to believe me. I watch in horror as one of the men walks over to us, a lit torch in his hand. This can’t be real. Things like this happen in books and the movies, not in real life. Not to me. My screams echo off the walls as the torch touches the sensitive skin on the bottom of my foot . . .
“Stone, wake up!”
I bolt upright, gasping for breath. I feel hands on me and I fight to shake them off, but they’re strong, holding me tight.
“Stone, it’s okay, it’s me.”
The fog slowly starts to lift from my brain and I’m back in my own bed, but I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel okay. I’m fucking terrified.
I look up into Shannon’s worried face, my eyes wide with terror. In desperation, I grab her and pull her down on top of me, kissing her as hard as I can, kissing away the nightmares. She knows. God help me, she fucking understands. Instead of pushing me away like I expect her to, Shannon holds onto me and kisses me with the same ferocity and passion I show her. A million and one sensations pour through me, and for a moment, it’s too much. I try to pull back, stop it before we go too far. She makes it clear that she doesn’t want that as she frees my hardened cock from the confines of my jeans, not bothering to remove our clothes. My hand reaches up and grips her hair, and for just a second I’m so glad she left it out of the tie.
Her mouth opens as I position her on top of me, sitting up slightly so I can pull her hair down her back, forcing her neck backwards to expose the smooth column of her ivory throat. I feel the smooth wetness beneath her skirt, and I growl when I realize she’s not wearing panties. The tip of my cock nudges inside her, and I tear my lips from her throat long enough to sit back and watch her mouth widen in an ‘o’ shape as I fill her for the first time. Christ, she’s so fucking tight I have to grit my teeth to stop from coming too quickly. I try to enter her slowly, but Shannon wants none of that. She surprises me by pulling her hair away from my hand, bracing her palms on my chest through my shirt. She’s trying to take control, to calm me. But right now, that’s not what I need. I need to be the one in control. I need to banish these fears, banish the screams.
I grab her wrists and lift her off me, throwing her onto the bed beside me. Before she can move, I roll over and grab her hips, pulling her up and turning her onto her stomach until she’s on all fours.
Flipping up her mini-skirt, I groan at the sight of her wet pussy as it’s bared to me. I run my fingers over her smooth ass, smiling a little as I see goose bumps appear on the skin. But I don’t want to waste any more time. Gripping her hips, I line up my cock and sink into her with one long thrust. She understands now. She knows what I need. Grunting her approval, she pushes back against me, flipping her hair so it streams down her back in long curls. I take advantage of that, moving one hand into her hair to grip it tightly, forcing her head back until she gasps in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Moving my hand beneath her to find her clit, I roll it around between my thumb and index finger. She cries out and clamps down on me, I can feel her slick heat pulsing around me, and it doesn’t take me long before I’m forced to pull out as I come in long, thick streams across her ass.
I flop down next to her on the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm as my breathing slowly returns to normal. I become aware of the beautiful woman next to me, and I’m filled with regret. After everything she’s been through, I used her. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I apologize? Do I act like it never happened? What’s the protocol for a one-night stand? I grab a box of tissues from the side table and take my time cleaning up the mess I left behind on her perfect ass, not quite ready to stop touching her. I drop the tissues on the table and turn back to her. She rolls over in bed to face me and I look at her, expecting to see regret in her eyes. Instead, I see understanding. This woman, this . . . angel, has come to me in my greatest time of need. I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat, too overcome with emotion to speak.
She doesn’t say anything but leans over to kiss my cheek. I turn my head at the last second, capturing her lips with my own. This kiss is different, though; it’s softer, gentler. I nibble lightly on her bottom lip and feel her smile. Her hand travels down my chest to the waistband of my jeans but instead of pulling them off like I expect, her hand disappears beneath my shirt. I tense, not ready for her to see that vulnerable side of me. I’m too scarred; she’s going to take one look at my body and run. I grab her hand and pull it out of my shirt, but she’s felt them. The scars. I can see the horror on her face. She’s going to leave. I brace myself for the rejection I know is coming.
But it doesn’t.
I flinch as she pushes my shirt up, exposing my scars to her gaze. The light from the lamp casts our shadows on the wall, and I choose to look at that rather than the horror on her face. She’s silent. Too silent. What the hell is she thinking? I risk a glance, and my heart almost stops beating from what I see.
Tears. She’s fucking crying. For me.
“I’m sorry,” she cries, wiping away her tears. I want to fucking laugh. She’s crying for me, and apologizing for doing it.
“Don’t.” I smile, leaning up and capturing her hand in my own. I press my lips against it, tasting the slightly salty tang of her tears on her fingers. “Why are you crying?”
“Look at what they did to you,” she whispers through her tears. “Keets told me you were captured, but he never told me this.”
Keets told her? I should be angry, but I guess a part of me is glad she knew. It would explain why she didn’t run the second she saw the scars.
“Will you tell me?” she asks, but I shake my head. I can’t do it. She’s opened a part of my heart tonight that I thought would lie dormant forever. But this, this past that I come from, this weight that I carry . . . it’s mine. I can’t burden her with it. She understands. I don’t even have to say anything. I swallow past another lump in my throat as she kisses the long, jagged scar on my ribs. I have a tattoo there, covering the worst of i
t. I’m covered in tattoos, actually, most of them on my chest and arms. All designed to hide the imperfect body that lies beneath them. But she makes it bearable. Her kiss is soft, fleeting. Not enough, though. Never enough.
This time, when she tries to take my shirt off, I let her. This time, we make love, it’s gentle, slower. I want to show her the same kindness she’s shown me. She takes me to heights far beyond my fear and insecurities.
This time, I make love to her as Ethan, the man . . . not Stone, the injured soldier.
I can’t believe I slept with him last night! And without protection! Am I crazy? What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I don’t sleep with random men just for the hell of it.
But Stone isn’t some random man, and last night definitely wasn’t just for the hell of it.
He’d been quiet this morning when he dropped me at the bar. Did he regret his actions last night, or was he just hung over? So many questions, but I didn’t have the balls to ask them, so I’d kept silent when he’d pulled the truck up outside Saddles and let me out with nothing more than a brief kiss on my forehead. Stone needed someone. Someone who could look past the alcohol, the anger, the scars and see the tortured man that lay beneath.
No … not someone. Me. Last night, Stone needed me, and the thought rocks me to my core. Am I ready for this? When I left Troy, I swore I’d never get involved with a damaged man again. But it’s not his fault, right? I mean, it’s not as though Stone meant to be captured and tortured. I can help him. I can make him forget about the past. But does he even want that? I’ve heard some people are so used to being messed up that they don’t want to change. But that’s normally for people who have been dealing with their problems for years. As far as I know, Stone’s only been back a few months. But I have no idea how long he was in the hospital before coming home. Maybe he really is beyond my help.
Imperfect Page 7
