by S. L. Scott
“You do?” Hope fills her eyes and her fingers tangle with the hem of my shirt.
I’m drawn to her in such a carnal way that’s more than sexual, and I can see it consuming me if I’m not careful. Like Alex with Sara Jane. I understand now. The thing is, standing in front her now, looking into those doe eyes, I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to take it slow. I just want her in so many ways that I open my heart and am willing to bleed for her. Vulnerability is what I fight against. It’s raw and rough. But she deserves all my truths. Taking one of her hands, I open it and kiss her palm. “I do, Dove.”
She lifts up and I lean down and our lips meet in the middle. Those images from the night in her room, of her almost bare before me, come back, waking my body. I kiss her, backing her up until she hits the fridge and my middle is pressed hard into hers. “God, I want you. So much.”
“We can—”
“It kills me to put the brakes on, but I came here to make you dinner. As for dessert, I’m thinking about the taste of your lips, the smell of your—”
“Cruise,” she says, wide-eyed. But I see how her body responds to dirty words. Her nipples are pert against the fabric of her tank top. The long skirt holds all kinds of secrets I want to uncover.
“Baked goods,” I tease. “I was going to say baked goods.”
She bursts out laughing and playfully hits my chest when she returns to the groceries. “Sure you were.” Analyzing the spread in front of her, she asks, “What are you cooking anyway?”
“Chicken Scallopini with roasted vegetables.” Holding up the bottle of white wine, I add, “I’ll use a little of this with the chicken and the rest we can drink. Do you have glasses?”
Reaching into a cabinet behind her, she produces two highball glasses. “Will these work?”
There’s something so endearing about her that everything I was taught, etiquette for blue bloods, doesn’t matter. I’d rather drink wine in red Solo cups than in crystal wine glasses with the supposed upper crust of society. “Yep.”
I twist the cap off and fill the glasses just less than halfway up. She takes hers and a quick sip. “You know I’m not twenty-one, right?”
That catches me off-guard. Shit. I do a double take, this time my eyes going wide. “How old are you?” Maybe that’s why her mother was mad. Please be twenty.
“I’m twenty.”
Thank fuck. “When is your birthday?”
The sun couldn’t shine brighter than the smile on her face. “Three days.”
Even better. “Wait. But you were in the pub drinking.”
“No one ever cards me. Guess I look old enough.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m contributing to the delinquency of a minor?”
“Pretty much.” She sips her wine as if she’s challenging me.
I take a sip of mine before raising my glass. “I can live with that.” Tapping her glass against mine, I say, “From one delinquent to another. Cheers.” Our gazes remain on each other while we drink. When the glass is lowered, I add, “Don’t go getting drunk on me.”
“I can hold my liquor, big boy. Can you?”
“Big boy?” Laughing, I make a move, running my finger under the strap of her shirt. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Her fingers find the belt loops under my shirt, and she tugs me closer. Our bodies come together and she toys with me. “But I’ve felt plenty.”
Fuck me, she’s sexy as all fuck. My whole body reacts to her dirty whispers, my dick wanting free from the confines of these jeans. “I can’t cook in this condition.”
“What condition is that?”
“Horny.” I scoop her into my arms. “How about dessert for dinner?”
What has she done to me?
I can’t believe she made me say that.
Her arms encircle my neck and she kisses the edge of my jaw. “As long as it includes eating my baked goods.”
“Good God, woman. When you go dirty, you go all in.” Angling to look at her, I kiss her mouth as I carry her down the hall.
I bump her feet into the wall accidentally, and angle to fit us through the bedroom door. “Sorry about that.”
She’s too busy laughing to care, which makes me laugh. In my hurry to get to dessert, I toss her on the bed. The black fabric of her skirt billows around her as she lies lifted on her elbows, but I don’t want to miss a single second with her. Standing at the end of the bed, I let my gaze slide over her exposed legs wishing that skirt had landed a little higher. “Show me your panties.”
Tilting her head, she smirks. “I’m not wearing any.”
Fuck. Me. “You can’t say things like that, Dove. Not to a man.”
Some fucked-up emotion—fear, worry, shock—digs into her sweet face. I fucking hate it. She should never feel anything less than true happiness.
“Did I do something wrong? I can put some on. I was trying . . .” Her voice lowers so much that I barely hear her even as I kneel down in front of her to keep her on the bed. Fuck. What did I say to cause her to react like this? “I thought you would think it was sexy, like in the movies.”
She’s so fucking innocent. Yet . . . a little broken.
How is that possible in this day and age?
“I do. That’s what I mean when I said you can’t say things like that.” I palm my cock, readjusting. “You turn me on.” Then I flatten my hands to the outside of her ankles and start a slow slide upward to prove how much.
12
Cruise
“Are you on birth control?” I kiss her neck while my body settles between her legs.
“Yes.”
“I’ll still use a condom.” I blow lightly over the wet trail I’ve left across her skin.
She shivers and I hear her small gasp, her body arching into mine for more. More. God, I want to give her more. Slipping lower on the bed, my knees hit the floor. I slide my hands behind her knees, and then pull her down until her legs are draped over my shoulders. Now she giggles, and as much as I love the sound, I accidentally put an end to it when I say, “I’m going to lick your pussy until you come, baby.”
I’m already burrowing under her skirt, but when she doesn’t react, I peek back up. “Would you like that, Dove?”
Seeming too stunned to speak, she nods, and I find myself nodding along with her. Until I realize how unsexy this must look and dive back under her skirt to tend to the business I started. Dessert is served.
Thank fuck.
Her legs part for me and I kiss the inside of one of her thighs before sucking. The creamy skin on the inside of her legs smells of soap and desire. I lick her, flatten my tongue and glide all the way to where I want to be. Her body starts wriggling so I hold her hips down and dive in tongue first.
Slick and wanton.
My dick aches for her, wanting to claim her all damn day long. As if my fantasy has come to life, she tastes of buttercream and ecstasy come to life. I might get off before I even sink in. Salty sweet lust consumes me while I consume her.
There’s pressure against the top of my head as her hands hold me in place with only the skirt dividing us. I press my erection against the mattress seeking relief. I need Clara to come. I want it. I want to watch her fall apart and taste her broken pieces.
Using the tip of my finger, I run it through her wet lips and finger her entrance. Tempted to feel her tightness around me, I push in just enough to swirl inside her softness. “You’re killing me, Dove.” Flipping the skirt from my head, I look up from between her legs. “I thought I could make love to you. I can’t make that promise.”
“Don’t. Just do what feels good to you.”
“You feel good to me.” I dip back in and tease her hole with my tongue, wanting her to come on me, to cover me in her secrets. She moves the fabric and her fingers thread through my hair, squeezing until my scalp aches. But fuck, she tastes good and feels even better.
Little moans escape her as her body starts to tremble. “That’s it, baby. Come for
me like I’m going to come for you.”
With my finger buried deep inside her, an arching back draws my attention as her pleasure covers me. Closing my eyes, I suck her clit until she bucks in reaction while I devour all she has to give. When she melts to the mattress, I pull a condom from my pocket before dropping my jeans and briefs along with them.
Adoration in her eyes and contentedness of her body are before me as my shirt goes flying. She’s good for my ego, but if I were honest, she’s good for me in so many other ways as well. “Do you want to take off your clothes or do you want me to do it?”
“I think I need you to do it. My body feels like jelly. Delicious jelly.”
Baked goods.
I toss the foil packet on the bed and bend down. “You taste sweet as pie.”
“What flavor am I?”
“Cherry with whipped cream on top.”
“That’s so naughty.”
“What can I say? You bring out the naughty side in me.”
Taking hold of the sides of her skirt, I look her in the eyes as I pull it down. “You’re stunning. Like a flower blooming before my eyes.” Pretty pink petals opening for me.
When she starts to cover herself up, I grab hold of her hands. “No. Let me look at you.”
“You’re staring.”
Cocking a smile, I reply, “Then let me stare.”
She flails back with her hand across her head. “But it’s so embarrassing.”
I crawl onto the bed over her. Peering down into her hazel eyes, I remind her, “I was just eating your . . . baked goods. Now I want to see them.” I catch an eye-roll punctuated with a smile when I slide back off the mattress and peel her knees apart with my hands. Leaning all the way down, I kiss her pussy how I like kissing her mouth. “Do you know how divine you taste? Like a little piece of heaven in my mouth.”
“Show me.”
Dragging the hem of her shirt up when I move over her again, I kiss her mouth this time, letting her taste how amazing she does. She moans while her hands rub my back. Our lips part, and she whispers, “Show me everything.”
“I don’t need to show you, Dove. Do what feels good.” I wink.
“I want to feel you inside me. Make love to me, Cruise.”
I don’t hesitate. I want her. She wants me. I put the condom on and position myself at her entrance not wasting any time. I feel like I should say something, what I’m feeling inside wanting to come out.
Instead, I stay quiet and shut my mind down to focus on feeling and sensations. Dropping my head to her shoulder, I push inside her. “So tight. So little. So right. Fuck, I’m not going to last, baby.”
Her body squeezes around me, swallowing me whole, and I welcome this beautiful abyss. I welcome the darkness because this dark comes with light that sparks like a fuse from my core, coursing through my body.
When I ignite, I fuck. I fuck. I love. I fuck. I thrust until I have nothing left to give and collapse next to her. With my mouth at her ear, I whisper, “Say you’ll be mine. Only mine to savor and devour, to hold until the morning comes.”
“Yours.” Turning to the side, her eyes meet mine in the dim light. “Stay with me.”
“I’m right here with you. Right here with you, Dove.”
Sitting on a stool at the small island, Clara’s got a purple T-shirt and exercise pants on while watching me as I plate the food. Her eyes roam over my bare chest and down to where my jeans hang low. I flex, gripping the edge of the counter tightening my biceps and my abs.
She licks her lips, but I can’t tell if it’s from the food or me. “Where did you learn to cook? Your mom?”
“I picked one of my favorite dishes from the cookbook I bought, and then watched some videos today.”
“You watched videos today and you’re cooking tonight like you’ve made it a million times?”
“What can I say? I’m a quick learner.” Taking the two plates in hand, she grabs the silverware and joins me in the living room. “Mangiamo.”
“What does that mean?”
“‘Let’s eat in Italian.”
“You speak French and Italian?” she asks, bringing a bite to her mouth.
“No. Just picked up a phrase or two.” I start eating. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but doesn’t feel awkward. Watching her enjoy the food, the small bites she takes are so her. “The first bite is always the best.”
“Why is that?” She takes another bite, a little moan following.
“I guess we just get used to the taste after that.”
Setting her fork down, she brings the wine to her lips, but pauses, and looks to me. “You were dating someone recently.”
“Not that recent.”
“Did you get bored or used to her?”
“It’s not the same thing.” I set my knife and fork down and sit up to look at her across the coffee table from me. “Do you really think now that we’ve slept together I’ll be bored?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Her attention spans toward the front window. “This is new to me.”
To both of us. The feelings I have for her are uncomfortable. They make my chest feel tight. I hate it and I love it in equal measure, but I don’t understand how she doesn’t see I’m just as affected as her. “This is new for me, too.” Moving my plate to the center of the table, so I don’t bump it, I stand and come around to sit next to her.
Wrapping my arm around her, she turns into me, leaning her head on my shoulder. The closeness is new too, but I like all of it. All of her. I pull her legs up and across my lap. “Listen, I don’t do this. You see me with rose-colored glasses, but it’s misguided. Your mom was right to warn you. I’ve seen things. I’ve done things. Things that someone like you should never be near, much less be in bed with.”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “You’ve got it wrong. You deserve more than a tainted girl with a fucked-up—” Her hand covers her mouth as she gasps, fear entering her eyes. It’s so fast. Too fast for me to understand what’s happening before she falls to her knees in front of me. Her hands clasp and her head bows, and she begins to pray.
What the fuck?
Alarmed, I grab her wrists, causing her to look up. “What are you doing?”
“I swore. It just came out. I’m sorry,” she pleads. “So sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry.” She starts rocking, her head dipped again, mumbling.
Fuck. “Clara!” Since she won’t get up, I get down on my knees in front of her. Her body is shaking. Tears stream down her cheeks, becoming dark spots on her T-shirt. When she doesn’t respond, I raise my voice, hoping to snap her out of this cycle. “Clara, come back to me.”
Flinching as if I’ve hit her, she covers her head on the couch.
What.
The.
Fuck.
My voice is lower, softer, and calmer this time. “I won’t hurt you, Dove. I promise.”
The name brings her gaze back to mine. Her tears have dried, her pupils wide, taking me in. As if she didn’t just fucking lose her mind, she says, “I think you should go, Cruise.”
“What?”
She sits up, her movements and tone are too controlled. “I think it’s best if you go.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” Getting to her feet, she stands above me. “I’m asking you nicely.”
I stand up, wanting to hold her, to protect her, to tell her it’s going to be okay, but when I take a step, she steps back. The last thing I want is to intimidate her. “I’m saying no. Nicely. I want to know what just happened. I want to know what happened to you just now. Where’d you go? What are your thoughts?”
“Lost. I’m lost to the demons that haunt me.” She walks away from me and I give her the distance she’s craving. When she stops, she looks back at me. It may only be a few feet, but it’s feeling a lot like miles right now. “Please go.”
“Clara, we don’t do what we just did in that bedroom
and then turn on each other like it was wrong.”
I don’t like the way she’s holding on to the wall behind her as though she’ll fall if she doesn’t. “It wasn’t wrong. It was right. So right, but I’m wrong. You think you have things in your past that makes you bad for me. What you don’t see is how bad I am for you.”
Moving slowly so I don’t scare her, I start to close the chasm of darkness between us. “You’re good for me. You’re good to me. You see me as something more than a broken son, friend, or brother. You see me for me. You. See. Me. No one else does.” Standing with our bare feet touching, I reach out and this time she doesn’t flinch. This time she lets me touch her, caress her cheek, and say, “You’re my yellow.”
13
Clara
Intense.
Strong.
Muscle-y.
Hot.
I love Cruise’s arms.
I love the way they hold me like they never want to lose me.
He has visible scars he doesn’t talk about. They’re reflections of the scars he hides inside, and make me feel less alone.
But how? How does he do that when he doesn’t know? He doesn’t know about the abuse.
Or the scars I hide on the inside.
I’m mortified I prayed in front of him like that, a panic attack taking over, from the simple utterance of a swear word. It was easy to restrain at the bookstore in the light of day. But after sex, my emotions are too raw, and the habits too strong for me to fight.
He won’t want me.
Dirty.
He called me dirty for the way I talked to him sexually. He just hasn’t seen that I’m dirty from wear, tear, and abuse.
Filthy girl.
Tainted whore.
Sullied bitch.
Defiled.
That’s what I am. That’s what my father made me.
Will Cruise still want me when he discovers the truth?
No.
Why would he?
But he’s here. He stayed.
Why?
Maybe he sees me more than what my father left behind. Maybe he sees the little fragments left of me. Maybe . . .
