by L. Steele
I plunge into her with such force, my balls slap against her skin. Lower my head kiss her. The taste of copper, mixed with strawberries and her inherent sweetness—all of it goes to my head. I pull back, then push into her, burying myself inside her to the hilt, impaling her with such force that the entire bed shakes. The headboard thuds against the wall; a crash sounds somewhere in the distance. Fuck that. A grown boils up her throat. I swallow it, then I begin to fuck her in earnest. I thrust into her again and again. Angle my hips, propel forward. I push into her. I want to tear into her pussy, mark her as mine. Mine. The word echoes in my ears, thrums in my veins. I tear my mouth from hers, peer into her face.
"Look at me," I snarl.
Her eyelids flutter.
I click my tongue, "Eyes on me, Gigi."
She snaps her eyelids open. Her gaze locks with mine—pupils blown, the darkness so wide, it overwhelms her eyes. I see myself in them—a frenzied, pushed-to-the-edge, out-of-control male whose only goal in life is to fuck this woman. To make her come. To ensure that her first time is so fucking mind-blowing, that she’ll never glance at another man again.
"You’re mine, Victoria."
Her breath hitches.
"Mine! You feel me?"
She nods
"Say it."
"I am yours."
"To take and to pleasure…"
She swallows.
"Repeat after me," I growl.
"To take and to pleasure." Her chin wobbles.
"To use…"
"To use."
"To rip apart."
She hiccups.
I glare at her.
She pales. "To rip apart." Her lips glisten.
"To piece back together." I scan her features.
A tear slides down her cheek, I lick it up. "Don’t stop, Gigi."
"To piece back together," she whispers.
I lower my forehead to hers, "So help me, God."
"So help me…"
I thrust forward and she screams, "God!"
I close my mouth over hers, absorb the sound. I fuck her, with more intensity than I’ve done anything else before in my life. I pull her close enough that her breasts are flattened against my chest, her nipples hard enough to imprint themselves into my skin.
My balls draw up; the pressure builds at the base of my spine.
I pull back, gaze into her eyes. "Come for me, Gigi," I growl.
Her body bucks, her eyes roll back in her head, her spine arches, the trembling sweeps up her legs, her breasts thrust up, and her mouth opens. She shatters, and so do I. I come, shooting hot gusts of cum inside of her, watching her, matching her, taking her with me, over the edge. Sparks of white flash behind my eyes. My knees seem to buckle under me. I stagger back, still inside of her, holding her to me. Make it around to the bed and sink down on my back, pulling her to me.
Tension drains from my limbs. I cuddle her and she turns her head into my chest. I tuck her head under my chin. Her muscles twitch, her breathing evens out.
I let sleep pull me under, making sure to keep her plastered to me.
* * *
The images swamp me. I know I’m dreaming but I can’t stop myself.
* * *
"Don’t go, Mom."
My mother grips my arms, " I wanted to stay for you, but I can’t. I can’t do this, Saint. I’m sorry."
"So that's it?" Anger suffuses my chest, " You're leaving?" I take a step forward. At thirteen I already tower over her.
Her lips firm. "I tried, Saint, I really did. But it's too hard. You know what they say about ensuring you have your oxygen mask on before you fit it over your child, during turbulence on a flight—?
"What’s that got to do with anything?"
"This is my version of it, Saint." Her lips twist "I need to breathe. I need to make sure I survive, else I'll be of no use to anyone else."
She turns away, wheels her suitcase along as she heads for the door.
"Jasmine," my father calls after her, "if you leave, you'll never get another penny from me."
She pauses at the door. "You think I married you for your money, William? You are wrong. All I wanted was you, a home for us that I could fill with love. But that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more power, more money…more everything. It’s why your son was kidnapped, and even then, you didn’t have the time to negotiate for his release."
"I paid up, didn’t I?"
She whirls around. "Open your eyes, William. Money doesn’t buy everything."
My father prowls forward. "It bought his freedom," he nods at me.
"At what cost?" She asks.
"He's free, isn't he?" my father huffs.
"Is he?" Her eyebrows knit. "Look around yourself, William, you've created a space which suffocates me."
"And whose fault is that?" My father prowls forward. "You couldn't cope with the fallout of his kidnapping. You couldn't be strong enough for him. Don’t push your shortcomings on me, woman."
"Oh, so you want to talk about my shortcomings, do you?" The skin around my mother's lips whitens. "And you think you're perfect, you—"
"Stop!" I bunch my fists at my side, "Both of you, shut up."
Silence, a beat. My mother flips her hair over her shoulder. "This is why I need to leave." She waves a hand in the air. "If I stay, it's only going to get worse, and that's not helping any of us."
Her fingers tighten on her suitcase. "I’m sorry, Killian. I truly am. But you are strong, you’ll get through this."
I won't.
I love you, Ma. Please, don't leave me, is what I want to say. Instead I press my lips together, force myself to swallow the scream that bubbles up inside. My throat hurts, my head feels like it's going to burst. What's wrong with me? Couples divorced all the time, and it happens to be my turn to face the shitstorm. Big fucking deal.
So why the hell do I want to bawl my eyes out right now?
"Let her go." My father prowls forward.
I glare at him, "You could at least pretend to care."
"It's no use." He drags his fingers through his hair. "People fall out of love, Saint."
The band around my chest tightens. "That's a bloody lousy excuse and you know that."
My ma wipes the tear that's rolled down my cheek. "You're hurting, Saint, but this too shall pass."
"What-fucking-ever," I growl.
She frowns at me. Sure, rebuke me for my bad language. Like you actually care. If she did, she’d stay, wouldn't she? I fold my arms over my chest.
She scrutinizes my features.
"What gets broken without being held?" she asks.
What's the answer? What is it? I cast around in my mind...come up blank.
"Well?" She tilts her head.
My heart begins to race. "I... I don't know." I force the words out. Sweat beads my palm.
"A promise." Her lips twist. "Imagine you are in a dark room. How do you get out?" Her chin wobbles.
I swallow, my fingers tremble and I shove them into the pockets of my pants, "I…I don’t know the answer to that either."
"Stop imagining.” She draws in a breath, “You get to imagine your life anyway you want it to be, so stop imagining what you don't want. Get out of the dark room. Face your fears. You, and only you, have the power to save yourself. Remember that, Saint."
She grimaces, then pulls off her ring, hands it over to me.
I stare at it. The fuck am I going to do with that?
She grabs my hand, pries open my fingers and closes them around her ring. "This is for you, Saint."
She brushes past me, down the steps.
My father draws abreast. He places his hand on my shoulder; I shake it off.
"She knew what she was getting into when she married me." His voice is hard, "She knew my business would always come first. She wanted more, and that wasn't part of our bargain."
He meets my gaze, unflinching. His blue eyes, so like mine, are cold. Calculating. A shiver runs down my spine.
; "So this was all a...transaction?"
"You could call it that." His jaw hardens.
"And what about me?" My heart begins to thud.
His expressions forms into a mask. "You were a mistake."
"A mistake; it's all a mistake." I snap open my eyes. It’s that same familiar nightmare that has haunted me for so long. Why has it surfaced now? I glance around the room; it's empty.
30
Victoria
* * *
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
I hunch into the corner of the shower stall. What did I do? Why did I do it? I’d taunted him, until he’d lost control. Oh, he’d called me out on that, all right. He’d known I was manipulating him. Well, to the extent that someone like Saint could be, that is. He hadn’t reached his level of success without learning how to manage his impulses, how to gauge his opponents and move in for the kill when they least expected it.
Bet he hadn’t been expecting the surprise I’d pulled on him.
My sobs well up, the tears flowing down my cheeks. I pull my knees into my naked body as the water pours over me. My hair sticks to my face, my shoulders. I fold my arms over my knees, drop my head onto them, and allow myself to cry. Shit. Why am I falling apart now? Why are my arms and legs shaking? Goosebumps flare on my skin. My heart slams against my ribcage. A ball of emotion chokes my throat. I try to breathe, but my lungs burn. The hell is happening? Am I having a nervous breakdown? And about what? Finally losing my virginity? It’s not a big thing… Not a milestone. Why had it even hurt? Hadn’t I read somewhere that the hymen has been bred out of us?
It was stupid of me to have held onto it so far. Not that I had tried too hard to lose it. I had been too busy working toward a scholarship, and in university I'd focused on my studies. Been too much of a bookworm, and far happier to spend my time with fictional characters than in the real world. If it hadn't been for Nina, her... I'd have never seen much outside of the class room, either.
I hope she’s okay. She has to be… It’s the only thing that makes all this worthwhile... Except, when he’d taken me with that ferocity, it had completely floored me.
When he’d stared into my eyes and made me repeat those words… My sobs intensify. It had felt… Real. Like I was truly wedded to him, joined to him. He’d marked me, the asshole. He’d fucked me with a determination that had cast aside everything else that had happened in my life. It felt like I was starting with a fresh slate…
I left Victoria behind. All that remains is Gigi. His Gigi. Hell, this is insane. The thoughts whirl around in my head and my arms and legs seem to go numb. What is wrong with me? I have to get out of here. Away from him. Before he realizes the extent to which he’s already imprinted on my cells. I draw in a ragged breath, then lurch up to my feet. My legs prickle with pins and needles, then crumple. The ground comes up to meet me. Shit! I brace for impact, and hit something hard…solid…warm...vertical.
"Victoria."
His voice curls around me. His grip on my shoulders is reassuring, familiar… His slippery skin under my cheek…too inviting. I can’t afford to be drawn to him, can’t have him finding out what I am going to do to him. Can’t allow him to realize how our entire encounter has affected me. I shove at his shoulders, "Let me go."
"Not a chance."
He wraps his big arms around me, pulls me into him. One big palm rubs across my back. "Cry as much as you want. I won’t judge."
His voice is soft…so unlike how he’s ever spoken to me before. A fresh burst of sobs wells up. Shit, it’s like everything pent-up inside of me has been building up, waiting until I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A spark to dry wood and it had flared out of control. The tears don’t seem to stop. My cheeks heat, my eyes burn, and I try to pull away from him. He cups the back of my head, presses my face into his shoulder. Then he sinks down onto the bench in the shower stall and pulls me onto his lap, the water flowing over both of us.
Damn it, I don’t want to lose it like this with him. It’s exactly the kind of weakness he’ll exploit to his advantage. I try to speak and hiccup instead. Try to pull away again. He tightens his grip even further.
He cuddles me close enough for his shoulders to block out most of the water. A safe haven in the center of a storm. A shield against the worst that life had thrown at me. Why do I want to believe that he can protect me from what is to come? Why do I want to sink into him, forget about everything that has happened to me and conspired to bring me here, in this shower, in his hotel suite, wrapped around him, crying my eyes out? It makes me sob harder…as if that were possible.
He holds me tightly. Vibrations rumble up his massive chest. I press my ear closer against his ribcage. I sense him move, rock me to and fro. I listen to the purr that thrums up his throat—a low humming, subvocal I recognize. I pick up the notes of a tune that had wafted up the stairs when my mother had played it at night, in our home in LA. I had often fallen asleep to it.
Now I focus on the words of Hey Jude, tune into it, use the familiar melody to ground me. I swallow down my tears. He continues to rock me, singing the words under his breath.
"This is getting to be a habit," my voice cracks. I swallow, "You singing to me."
I sense his lips curve against my hair.
"You seriously do suck at it though," I mumble.
He chuckles. "Should I stop?"
I shake my head, nuzzle into his chest, "It's curiously loveable..." I hesitate, "or maybe I should say loveably curious."
"That's a first," he laughs. "No one's ever called me either one of those. But then I've never acted so out of character as when I am with you."
Wait, what? Every time I want to hate him, he has to go and do something which destroys that resting dick face persona he's cultivated.
He runs his fingers down my arm. Goosebumps flare on my skin and I shiver.
"You’re cold." He shifts his weight under me, and I shake my head.
"Don’t go."
"I wasn’t…" he hesitates. "I was going to run you a bath."
"A bath?" I swallow to clear the scratchiness in my throat.
"Thought that would help ease the soreness."
"Soreness?" Oh, he means…. Right. My cheeks heat, which is stupid, considering everything he’s done to my body already. I’ve never felt this naked, and not just in the physical sense.
I bury my face deeper into his chest.
He chuckles, "Don’t go all shy on me now."
I shake my head. I will not speak. If I do, it will only reveal how, embarrassed I am by my outburst. He rises to his feet, steps out of the shower stall, and walks over to the sunken bath tub. He lowers me to the edge of the tub, keeps a hold of me. Then bends down to open the faucets. Water pours into the tub and steam rises, warm against my back. He wraps my arms around his waist and his thick dick nudges against my neck. If I turn my head, I can open my mouth and take him in, and— He cups my cheek, "There’s time for that later."
Jesus. What? He can read my mind now? Heat flushes my cheeks again. This is not me…really—blushing, crying, collapsing at his feet like a complete idiot. God! The hell is wrong with me? I tip my chin up, "Don’t think that you have broken me."
His lips curve, "Oh! Trust me, you will, and when you do." He kisses my forehead, "I'm going to enjoy building you up again."
I swallow. The warmth in his gaze, OMG... my heart stutters, my core pulses. All the pores on my skin seem to pop.
He whispers his knuckles across my jawline, "You’re one heck of a woman. Has anyone told you that, Gigi?"
I flush even more. My cheeks must be scarlet by now. He has a habit of reducing me to a puddle of gooiness, a trembling mess who has no idea whether she is coming or going, or what the hell her life is all about. Before I met him, it had been easy. I mean, besides losing my best friend to the Mafia.
I had set out to save my friend and had landed directly in his grasp; one I am in no hurry to evade. Not yet. Just for a few hours, a few days, can’t I pretend that all thi
s is real? The way he regards me with tenderness in his eyes, how he scans my features as if to make sure that I am okay. How he rubs his thumb across my lower lip, then bends to kiss me. A brush of his lips—soft, barely there, a feather-light whisper of emotion that dances over my skin, sinks into my blood, warms the space around my heart, melting the barriers I’d built up against him, against the world, against anything that could hurt me. "Saint… I need to tell you something."
"Shh!" He deepens the kiss. Nips on my lower lip, swipes his tongue across my mouth with such intensity that I melt… I ooze into a puddle at his feet.
He leans back and I sway toward him.
"Later," he chuckles. Then leans past me to empty a bottle of something into the tub. The scent of roses, lavender, and something spicy fills the air. I sniff it.
"That’s a very feminine bath product you have there."
"It’s for you."
"Oh?" I squint up at him. "Were you that sure that I’d end up here in your suite?’
He hesitates, then reaches for my left hand. He twines his fingers with mine, rubs his thumb across the wedding ring…my wedding ring, the one he gave me. Which belonged to his mother. My heart stutters. A warmth coils against my rib cage. The pressure builds again behind my eyes and I sniffle.
"Hey." He places his other knuckle under my chin. "Waterworks again?"
"No one’s more surprised about this than me." I swallow down the lump that crowds my throat. "I’ve never once, not in the past many years, broken down like this."
Silence descends. I glance up, survey his features. His face is expressionless.
"You don’t believe me?" I wipe the back of my hand over my nose.
"Oh, but I do." He frowns. "You have a strong will behind that fragile exterior. It’s what attracted me to you from the beginning."
"Because I was a challenge?"
"Not only." He scans my flushed face, my hard nipples, down to the triangle between my legs. "You were a riddle I wanted to solve. Tough, yet hurting; sensitive, yet so prickly. Soft skin that hides a myriad of conflicting emotions." He places his hand over my heart. "That push-pull inside of you, Gigi, it’s a fucking potent force. It makes me want to pull you apart, piece by fucking piece to find out everything about you… Taking my time over it as I tease multiple orgasms out of you, and have you trembling, shivering, pleading with me to stop, and even then I won’t…not until you forget about everything except us; except for the lust that strums between us, the sensations that spark between us when we are together, the pull that ties us when we are apart—when—"
