Dirty English

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  I sank into him, sighing at the way one of his hands moved to tangle in my hair.

  Deeper. Decadent.

  He became the instigator. His mouth roved over mine, his breathing heavier as he sucked at my lips playfully and then attacked again, his tongue tangling with mine. Owning me. Tendrils of desire curled inside me.

  His hands moved down and tightened around my waist, digging into my hips. Sharp with need. He said my name against my mouth.

  He felt so good, hard against my soft, and I wanted to revel in my success, in the way he wanted me, in the way I wanted him.

  I moaned. This was good. Hot. Erotic. This was progress.

  Until it wasn’t.

  He tore his lips away and rested his forehead against mine. “You make it hard to stay away when you come in here with pink boots and wet knickers—which clearly aren’t granny panties.” His voice was like liquid amber, gold and warm, wrapped in sex.

  “Why would you want to?” I breathed. “Come to my apartment and spend the night with me.” I touched his face, my fingers stroking the softness of his sensuous lips. “Just one night and we can make this shitty world disappear.”

  He exhaled. “A one-night stand?”

  “Yeah.”

  He cupped my chin. “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”

  My lips tightened. No one at Whitman knew about Colby except for Shelley and Blake, and I sure as hell wasn’t telling him. He’d judge me like everyone else had in Petal, North Carolina. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I see.” His eyes searched mine until I felt like a bug under a microscope. “What if I wanted more than just one night?”

  “Then your hands can let go of my hips now.”

  He removed his hands slowly, the tips of his fingers grazing mine. “This may surprise you, but I don’t sleep with every girl I kiss.”

  I’d been rejected. Again. “Blake said you got around, that you used—”

  “And you believed him?” His voice was incredulous. “Dude is in love with you and he saw exactly how we looked at each other tonight—”

  “Looked at each other? What are you talking about? You refused to dance with me and then you ran off with your girlfriend. Not to mention I just kissed you and you didn’t even care.” I threw my hands up.

  “I wanted to fuck you the minute you walked in that party,” he snapped.

  “Then why don’t you,” I bit back, tossing back my shoulders.

  “You think you want me?” he said tightly. “You can’t handle me, Elizabeth. I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared of something, maybe not me, but something.”

  My eyes went to his black eye.

  He let out a harsh laugh. “Ah, that’s what you’re afraid of. You want the real truth? You told me tonight you didn’t like violence, but I’m an arsehole who uses his fists. That’s who I am.”

  I didn’t believe that. I sensed a good guy in him. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze was intense, dark and low, his face struggling as he fought to find the right words. “I’m in a fight club for money. I show up at warehouses and fight other blokes. Sometimes I beat them so bad they need medical attention. A few times, I’ve been beat to unconsciousness. I’m everything you need to stay away from.”

  I inhaled, anger and lust and excitement all riding me. Anger that he was pushing me away, lust for the alpha male in him, and God help me, the fighting thing repelled me and excited me at the same time. “I don’t want to stay away from you. I want you to fuck me and stop making excuses for why you can’t.”

  My words seemed to snap his taut restraint.

  He pulled me back in his arms, his lips fusing with mine unerringly. His tongue plundered me in a sensual way my body had craved for years. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my anger morphing into all-out desire as he turned us and pressed me against the wall.

  Yes, yes, this is what I craved.

  A passion to remind me that I was real, not just some sad excuse of a girl who chose to exist on scraps of love.

  Before I knew it, he’d shoved my robe off, his hands sculpting my shoulders, massaging them as he ravaged my mouth. I reveled in the warmth of his hand on my neck as his mouth skated down, kissing the hollows of my throat, sucking on my collarbone.

  “Like this?” he asked, his voice dark and gravelly. “You want me to take you up against this wall?”

  “Yes,” I moaned. Gone. Past caring as long as he kept his hands on me.

  Out of control, my brain whispered, but I beat back the dark warnings as his warm hand found my breast and squeezed, his fingers rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  I gasped in pleasure and arched my back to get closer to his body, ignoring the fear that pricked at the surface.

  The rules girl in my head stamped her foot and yelled at me. I ignored her.

  But even if I wanted to stop right now, I couldn’t. My tongue tangled wildly with his, my hands pulled at his hair, spurring him on, his hand palming my breast and then tugging. Sharp sensations of need went straight to my core.

  “Is this what you want? Something quick where we just take what we want and forget each other the next day?”

  No. Not that. Not like the way he said it, like it was something dirty.

  “Yes, like that,” I whispered against his shoulder, my mouth on his skin, tasting him as my teeth bit down. I pressed against him and rocked. Friction. More.

  He grunted and hoisted me up until my legs looped around his hips, his shorts and the hard length inside pulsating against my skin. He moved sinuously, his long legs supporting my weight as I squirmed to get his body closer to the place I wanted.

  I clung to him, a fire building under my skin, in my blood. I rocked wildly and reached around to grab his ass and shove him against me.

  Take me.

  Make me forget. Make me feel good.

  “Elizabeth, you’re so hot,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t stop, love.”

  We’d passed the point of no return. He was hungry for me, just as much as I wanted him.

  His mouth skated down with his hands as he took my nipple between his lips and sucked.

  I groaned, the sound primitive and loud in the quiet apartment.

  Hot fingers slipped under the waist of my panties, finding my wet core and massaging the wetness.

  “Yes,” I whispered, gripping his arm and moving him faster, showing him what I wanted. More, more.

  “Slow down, love,” he whispered and played me effortlessly with his fingers, dipping in and then out, finding the sensitive nub and flicking it and then teasing me by darting away.

  But I didn’t want to go slow. I wanted fast and hard and rough before I changed my mind.

  “Declan.” I bit his neck, making him grunt. “Make me come.”

  He kissed me harder, his tongue fucking my mouth like I wanted his cock to. “I want you so bad I can’t think straight,” he whispered between kisses.

  “Me too.”

  I’d gone over the edge when it came to him.

  I’d lost all sense of where I was … who he was … my past.

  Yet …

  Darkness inched in bit by bit. This wasn’t some guy from my calculus class I could control. This wasn’t some nerdy guy who’d thought he’d won the lottery when I propositioned him.

  This was Whitman University’s Sexiest Man on Campus.

  He was part of the beautiful people—just like Colby.

  He was everything I shouldn’t want but did.

  Suddenly there was space between us, and I realized I’d been the one to shove him off me. He obliged readily, I acknowledged thankfully as he panted from a few feet away, his face red, fists clenched tight at his sides.

  My own chest heaved and I looked down at my nightgown, its straps pushed down, exposing my bare breasts still rosy from his ministrations.

  God. Things had gone too far.

  I gazed back at him, but he was already in the kitchen pouring a glass of water a
nd chugging it with his back to me. I studied the taut lines of his shoulders and the tightness in his stance, recognizing he’d let go when I asked.

  No matter who he was, he wasn’t Colby.

  Yet how could I have been so stupid? He was a dangerous fighter with enough sex appeal to blow up a building. He was entirely wrong for me.

  Tension escalated as he still didn’t turn around, but his voice came out rough, like it had been dragged over gravel. “Get out of here, Elizabeth.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry—”

  “Go!” His body heaved.

  I turned, bolted out the door, and slammed it behind me.

  “WHERE’S NADIA? SHE’S usually here with you,” my father said as I stepped into the study where he and Dax already sat in leather club chairs. My stepmum Clara and my stepsister Blythe played on the floor with a puzzle.

  I shrugged noncommittally at my father, knowing it drove him bonkers.

  We’d just finished a five-course dinner with rather stilted conversation in the dining room, where my father had talked about his business projects and the various vacations he and my stepmother, Clara, planned to take in the coming year. My four-year-old stepsister, Blythe, had been fed by the nanny in the kitchen while the adults chatted.

  My family lived a prestigious life, which I guess wasn’t surprising considering he came from a long line of privileged military men and she was the daughter of a real estate mogul.

  My mum, on the other hand, had been a secretary and merely a casual fling that had resulted in a pregnancy. He’d married her when she’d refused to have an abortion and then he’d promptly given her a small house, a lump of money, and divorced her. Most of that had been to save his career and reputation.

  Mum should have been the one living in this huge colonial mansion with a pool, tennis courts, and a stable full of Arabian horses, not the younger version Father had replaced her with.

  The sharp ache of a distant memory touched me, one of Mum lying on her bed. Weak. I’d been upset—even angry—with her, too naïve to see her illness. All I’d focused on was that the giggly woman who’d made the best shepherd’s pie, the woman who’d come to my martial arts classes and cheered me on, was missing.

  God, that cut deep, and I closed my eyes, wishing I could jump back to that one point in time and tell her I was sorry, that I didn’t mean any of the stupid shit I said.

  She hadn’t told us until the very end.

  I’m dying and your father is coming to take you away.

  She died a week later.

  A man I hadn’t seen in nine years had shown up at our house the next day, his face a mask of iron, his eyes dismissive as he took in our small house filled with the belongings of two messy boys. He’d heaved a great sigh and told the packers to forget bringing anything with us. We’d left behind our cozy home in London for a mansion in Raleigh, North Carolina.

  It had been the beginning of my hell.

  “Declan, I asked you about Nadia.”

  Still I didn’t answer, my eyes touching on the huge plate glass window behind my father’s desk, and I recalled how angry he’d got with Dax one summer in high school over his failing grades. He’d shouted loud enough at Dax that I’d heard them and came in to see my father waving his fists at him. A big barrel-chested man, he’d got in our faces plenty of times, but had never used his fists. I don’t know if he would have that day, but I didn’t give him a chance.

  Rage had driven me to use my own fists. We’d wrestled on the floor of the study, his hands connecting with my face more times than I care to remember. Sweat and blood had flown, and when he tossed me off him and I’d stumbled, the force of it sent me straight into that window and right out onto the concrete drive.

  I’d ended up in the hospital with a concussion and over a hundred stitches across my back.

  To say things had been rocky between us since was an understatement.

  I turned to face his hard stare. “We broke up this summer.”

  Wearing a frown, he set down his tumbler on a coaster. “Why? She’s the perfect girl, plus I like the thought of you going to law school settled in a steady relationship.”

  Perfect?

  I’d rather have imperfect.

  It dawned on me that perhaps I’d been drawn to Nadia because dating her had been a small attempt on my part to do one thing to please my old man.

  My father sighed. “What stupid thing did you do to lose her?”

  “Caught her screwing a Ninja Turtle.”

  Clara gasped, her eyes flashing angrily as she looked pointedly at Blythe. “Really, Declan. Have you lost all sense of decorum?”

  I grimaced down at Blythe, who looked up at me with big green eyes, her curly brown hair in angelic ringlets around her face. My dad might be a wanker, but she was innocent and completely unaware that her parents were arseholes. “Sorry, poppet. I forgot you were there. Forgive me?” I grinned and pulled out a pack of gum I’d picked up on the way over. “Look, I brought you a treat. It’s orange sherbet, your favorite.”

  She took the gum in her small hand. “Which Ninja Turtle was it?”

  I laughed. “Donatello.”

  She pursed her lips. “How do you screw a Ninja Turtle? Do you twist his neck?”

  Dax barked out a laugh from across the room.

  I smiled. She was as cute as a button. “Yep, that’s exactly how you do it. Want to sit with me?”

  Truth was I needed a buffer between my father and me.

  She nodded and climbed into my lap as I sat down in one of the chairs.

  He got right to business. “Dax has informed me he isn’t going to graduate on time—I’m not surprised considering his dismal grades—but I hope you will be walking the line this spring, yes?”

  I nodded.

  He sent me a pleased look. “At least someone is studying around here.”

  “Dax’s got other skills,” I reminded him. “He’s the president of Tau and head over so many bloody clubs I can’t keep track of him.”

  “Yes, we’re all aware of Dax’s penchant for social activities.”

  “Right here,” Dax muttered. “I can hear you loud and clear.”

  Our father stiffened and swiveled his cold eyes toward him. I saw the moment Dax drew up, radiating nervousness.

  I patted Blythe’s hair, trying to keep my fists from clenching.

  Dax had always been the weaker one, and Father picked on him the most.

  “I bought a gym,” I announced.

  Dax’s eyes flared wide and he shook his head rapidly back and forth. His eyes said, No dude, no dude, don’t fucking do it! He’s going to flip.

  Too late now, mine said.

  I ignored the flush that started taking up most of my father’s burly neck, easing up to his face.

  I sighed. “I got my half of the inheritance from the barrister that handled Mum’s estate. Law school isn’t going to happen. I know it’s what you had planned, but fighting—training people—it’s what I want to do. Someday I might want my own shot at a UFC championship.”

  Tension ramped up the room.

  Clara fluttered around him. “Now, Winston, don’t get upset. Here, let me get you another Scotch.”

  His gray eyes bored into me. “You wasted your inheritance on a sweaty gym for white trash karate wannabes?”

  I stiffened. “We have all kinds who come in to take classes. Blacks, Hispanics, a few Muslims—”

  He slapped his palm down on his armchair. “Don’t get smart with me, Declan. You will apply for law school at Harvard like you should.”

  I set my cup down. “It’s done. You can’t get money back that I’ve already spent.”

  “No son of mine is going to toss away a first class education and a high IQ to be a common laborer.”

  I let out a resigned sigh and poked Blythe in the side, making her giggle. “You better go see your mum. It’s time for me to go.”

  As usual, I’d made him angry. I just couldn’t be wha
t he wanted.

  I was never good enough just the way I was.

  AN HOUR LATER I was at my gym.

  Built in the late seventies, it had been constructed in the historic part of town that was being revitalized. Several of the neighboring homes had been re-modeled and upgraded with young and hip families moving in.

  No matter what my father said, the gym was a good investment.

  Anybody can pop up a gym and say its MMA qualified, and it didn’t mean shit, but Front Street Gym would have real credentials. Max was one of my trainers, and although he’d got his start in traditional martial arts, he’d transitioned over to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, and Krav Maga in his later years.

  As for me, my mum had put me in classes starting at four. I held a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and a blue belt in Judo.

  Max had taught me everything else I knew.

  I unlocked the double metal doors and stepped inside, my eyes taking in the updates the contractor had been working on for the past week, installing new plumbing in the restrooms and lockers, revamping the front office. The final step would be putting in a flat for me to live in. I was bleeding money to get this place opened—literally. I imagined Front Street with every punch and strike I took, knowing that in a few months this place would be open and running and I’d finally be free of my father.

  I bent down and rubbed my hands across the new red sparring mats that had been delivered last week. Some of the new workout machinery had been installed as well, and I checked out everything carefully. I made the rounds of the building, checking the windows, outside doors, and smoke detectors. Paranoia ran high when I was this close to tasting happiness. And I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was as if something was waiting out there in the darkness, panting its nasty breath, waiting for the right opportunity to yank away my slice of good.

  TWO DAYS AFTER the party, I drove a few miles down the road to meet my mom at a truck stop off the interstate.

  I hadn’t seen her in nearly four months, and we only lived three hours apart.