Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  She began to blow him in earnest, wanting to make him come apart under her, to spill into her mouth, to give it all to her. She wanted to own him the way he owned her with his kiss. She chose this. It was what she wanted.

  He began to churn his hips, not a lot, just enough that she knew he was close, that he was trying to rein it in but was failing. She loved that. She sucked harder, jacking him with her hand on the same rhythm until he placed a hand on her neck and pushed her away slightly. “Gonna come.”

  She didn’t stop. She didn’t want to. She wanted him in her mouth, down her throat, and although he warned her again with another shove on her shoulder, she ignored him. On a jerk and a pained grunt, he came. His dick pulsed, and semen filled her mouth, the taste bitter but oh-so-satisfying.

  He twitched a couple more times, until his body relaxed back onto the bed. She let him slip from her mouth, and then she crawled up his body, knowing her mouth was curved into a triumphant grin. He met her with bright eyes and a smile of his own before he cupped her jaw and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fuck, she was beautiful. And not just because she’d made his brain leak out his dick, but because she was Fiona. She was smart and strong, and so damn brave. He was the weak one, the selfish one, because he couldn’t push her away, even though he didn’t deserve her.

  She tasted like him, and he nibbled her lips as her hot body lay on top of him. When she pulled back from his kiss, her face was flushed, eyes a little glassy, and she shifted restlessly, her legs tangling with his. What she’d just done…had turned her on. Fuck, she was perfect.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked, trying to soften his voice as much as he could. He didn’t know what she was comfortable with, if his touch was welcome.

  She bit her lip and uncertainty crossed over her features for a moment. That was enough to cool his sense of urgency, to once again make sure she had the control, that he let her set the pace. “I…yeah, I think I want that. I just…” She winced, like whatever she’d meant to say had hurt her.

  He gripped her biceps. “I’m gonna roll you to your back, okay? Then I’m gonna touch you, and if there’s something you don’t like, you gotta tell me.”

  She blinked at him and then nodded. He rolled her, careful not to settle his weight on top of her in a way that made her feel trapped or caged. It was his turn to explore now, but this wasn’t for fun; this was a fact-finding mission. He planned to study her, listening for every gasp, every inhale, because he wanted to know what made her feel good, what turned her on, what would make her forget all the ways she’d been touched opposite of that.

  She lay on her back, staring up at him a little fearfully as he stretched out beside her on his side. He wasn’t quite sure how to do this…He’d never been slow, or gentle. He paid enough attention to his partners in bed to get them off because it was better for him when they did. That was it. Self-serving. This, with Fiona…this had to be selfless.

  She was shaking slightly, staring up at him with a wary expression he didn’t like. “Are you—”

  “Please, Jock,” she whispered, and her eyes moistened. “Just…please.”

  Her hands were straight at her sides, and so he picked up the one closest to him, sliding his lips from her wrist to her fingers and pressing kisses on each fingernail. She relaxed beneath him before he even got to her ring finger, and a small smile curved her lips. Her legs shifted again, and he could see the damp spot on the fabric between her legs. Fuck, he wanted that. Then he chastised himself. He would only take it if she offered. This wasn’t about him.

  He lifted her T-shirt to below her breasts, careful not to touch them yet. Her stomach was soft and slightly rounded. For a small woman, she had curves and full hips. Her hands fluttered at her sides, but she didn’t stop him as he lowered his head. He pressed a kiss above her belly button and squeezed her hip, running the backs of his fingers down her ribs. She sucked in a breath and the skin shuddered beneath his mouth. He smiled and kissed her more, adding his tongue.

  Her legs were moving constantly now, and he lifted his head to find her mouth open, breaths coming fast. Her hands gripped her shirt where it rested below her breasts, and with a sharp inhale, she lifted slightly and pulled it over her head.

  When she settled back onto the bed, wearing nothing but her underwear, she froze, her wide eyes on him, arms once again stiff and straight at her sides.

  He’d known she had full breasts, but fuck, seeing them in front of him was like nothing else. “Fiona,” he said as he touched the bottom swell of her breast. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, sweetheart.”

  She shivered beneath his touch, and the tension left her body. The trust she was placing in him…he was not worthy. He leaned down, nuzzling between her breasts just as her hand came up and slipped into the hair on the back of his head. She was okay with him at her chest, touching her breasts. Great, because he hoped to spend a lot of time there.

  On her back, her large breasts had fallen a bit to the side, and he lifted one, rubbing his thumb over the stiff peak.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “Jock.”

  He closed his lips around the nipple and sucked. She jerked beneath him, her hand tightening in his hair. He closed his teeth around her, not biting, but letting her feel their edge, and she moaned a high-pitched whine. He pulled off and moved to the next breast, laving attention on that one until she was a trembling mess beneath him, her breasts wet from his mouth, her body a beautiful all-over flush.

  She rubbed her thighs together. “Please, I need—”

  “I know,” he rumbled. Except this part…he was nervous. He knew how to touch a woman, but not Fiona. And he wanted this to be good for her, not so she’d ask him to do it again, but just so that it was good for her. She deserved for this to be good. He always worked well under pressure, but he’d never felt pressure like this.

  He ran his finger along the waistband of her underwear. “Can I take these off?”

  She blinked at him, and her gaze shifted to where he still wore his jeans, although they were hanging off his hips. “Can you—can you be naked too?”

  He grinned. “’Course.” He shucked off his jeans and returned to his place at her side. “Now?”

  She nodded.

  He drew the underwear down her legs and laid them beside her on the bed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the apex of her thighs. A patch of curly blond hair stood out on her pale skin, right above her clit. But the rest of her…she was bare. Bare and glistening with her arousal. Jesus fucking Christ, he could smell how turned on she was, he could see how it had begun to coat the crease of her thighs.

  He hooked a hand around the back of her knee and slowly drew her legs apart, watching her face. She was okay. In fact, she appeared very turned on. There was no wariness there.

  “Gonna touch you, okay? Not inside, just outside, where you’re wet.”

  She blinked rapidly, and it was as if his words released the last of her nervousness because she smiled. “Okay, Jock.”

  He massaged her thighs first and ran his fingers up their inner sides so she could feel when he touched her, when his fingers finally slid over her most sensitive flesh. She jolted but stilled quickly. When he brushed her clit, a beautiful moan left her lips and her hand came up to grip his arm.

  He froze, wondering if she was going to push him away, but she only arched her back and dug her blunt nails into his skin.

  He did it again, dipping between her lips before dragging two fingers to swirl around her clit. “Oh God,” she said this time, her eyes falling closed.

  He continued to touch her, stroke her, careful not to enter her, because he’d told her he wouldn’t—but fuck, it was killing him. She was so wet, wetter than he could remember a woman getting, and hot as fuck. His fingers weren’t enough.

  “Babe,” he said, and her eyes, which had narrowed to mere slits, widened slightly to take him in. He stopped roaming with his fingers and cupped her possessively. “Would you let me put my mouth o
n you?”

  Her eyes popped open, big and round. Her mouth dropped down but she didn’t speak.

  He smiled at her. “Babe, my mouth. My tongue. Between your thighs. I’m dying to taste you.”

  Her eyes fell closed briefly, and her hand flexed where she still held his wrist. “I—yeah,” she said breathlessly.

  He moved slowly, and for once, he didn’t have to will himself to go slow. He wanted to draw this out. This was for her, but he was enjoying the fuck out of it.

  He pressed a kiss to her bellybutton, to her hip, into the hair above her pussy. Then finally, finally, he managed to wedge himself between her legs on his stomach, her thighs over the backs of his shoulders.

  She gripped the bed tightly, and she looked on the verge of flight. “I feel very exposed, vulnerable,” she said, and her honesty flayed him alive.

  “I get that, babe. But this is still your show. You’re in control. I’ll stop, I’ll go slow, I’ll go fast, anything you want. You might feel vulnerable and exposed, but you got all the power.”

  She shivered, and her legs convulsed on his shoulders. Then she smiled and brushed her hand along his temple. “I don’t know what I want right now. I just know I like how it feels when you touch me. And I want this.”

  He blew on her wet lips, and she jerked and then laughed. “Oh my God, that feels weird.”

  “Weird, huh?”

  “Yeah, weird.”

  “Tell me if this feels weird, too.” He cupped her ass, pulled her to his mouth, and licked.

  She cried out and her thighs squeezed his head, hard, smashing his ears, but he didn’t care, not at all. If she wanted to crush his skull in the vice of her thighs while he lost himself in the taste of her, then he didn’t give one single fuck. Her hand tightened in the hair on top of his head, and she gave him one single command. “More.”

  He lapped at her. He sucked her clit and swirled his tongue around it. He moaned into her, knowing the vibrations would drive her insane, and they did. She went wild. She ground into his face, not holding back now as moans and cries and other sounds erupted from her throat. She bucked so hard when he sucked her clit that he nearly rolled off the bed, but she’d given him his orders—more—and he wasn’t going to let her down. He was going to stay down there, his mouth on her, until she came, until she forgot everything, until she knew what it was like to be cherished.

  Her moans turned into words, chants—“More” and “Oh God” and “Jock” and even a whispered “Jamison” that went right to his dick. He was hard again, thrusting into the sheets like an animal, wishing he was fucking into her tight heat. But he didn’t want his mouth off her either. He focused on her clit and massaged her ass, and he could feel the moment the orgasm hit her because her thighs tightened around him to the point of pain, and then she screamed—an actual scream followed by whimpers as her hips churned against him. He lapped at her through it, holding her trembling body until finally her thighs collapsed onto the bed, her body went limp, and she fell silent.

  Her hand hadn’t loosened from his hair, though, and she gave it a sharp tug. Fuck, he loved that.

  He reluctantly let go of his now-favorite place in the whole world—her pussy— and moved up her body. He hoped she didn’t notice his hard dick grazing her thigh as he lay down next to her. Her hair covered her face because of all her thrashing, and he felt a swell of pride at her disheveled bed head. He brushed her hair off her face, eager to see the happiness in her eyes that he’d put there. But then she curled into a ball, tucked herself into his chest, and burst into tears.

  * * *

  He’d broken her. Oh God, he’d broken her. He didn’t know what to do. She was tucked against him, her tears wetting his bare skin, but he had no idea if he was supposed to hug her or…

  He settled his hands at his sides, and then she heaved another sob and he barely repressed a growl. Fuck it. He gathered her into his arms and held her against him. She didn’t push him away so he guessed he’d made the right choice. He was sick to his stomach, and his cock was having no part of this, thankfully. Wouldn’t want to hold a sobbing woman against his chest with a hard-on.

  “I’m sorry, Fiona,” he said into her hair, not sure what he was sorry for, but it had to be something he’d done, right?

  She flung back her head, nearly clocking him as she narrowed a teary glare at him. “You should be!” she spat.

  He jerked back at the force of words, and ice rattled down his spine. Alarm spiked through him. “Did I hurt you? Did—”

  “No!” she hollered on a wail and then clunked her forehead back into his chest. He had no idea what to do now. Completely out of his element. He didn’t do tears, emotions. What had he been thinking? Why had he thought he could handle her on his own? That he could be…some kind of healing force? Like what, if he gave her great head, she’d suddenly forget about what had been done to her?

  He hated himself in that moment, hated what he’d done, that she was still naked and vulnerable on the bed. Had he pushed her into this? He was going to throw up.

  He made to get off the bed, to leave her alone, but as soon as he put several inches between them, she lashed out her hands, fingers digging into his shoulders as she peered up at him with a tear-streaked face. “Where are you going?” she asked on a shriek.

  He froze and then lay on his back. “Thought you wanted to be left alone—”

  “No!” she yelled and then threw an arm and leg over him and clung to him like an octopus. At least her sobbing had stopped. Now she was reduced to small sniffles into his shoulder.

  So he didn’t move. He lay there with his hands pinned to his sides, staring at the ceiling. If this was what made her happy, he’d stay like this for hours. Fuck the fact that he had to piss or that he was hungry or that his calf was cramping. He’d stay.

  Finally she lifted her head, hair in a mess around her blotchy face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said on a sniff.

  She could yell at him all she wanted. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. Or if I did anything you didn’t want.”

  She shook her head. “No, that wasn’t it.” She nibbled her lip and looked away. Was she…embarrassed?

  “Fiona?” he called.

  “I’m mad at you,” she said, but there was no heat in her words. In fact, there was tenderness. He stayed silent because she needed to get something off her chest, and he was more than happy to take some of her burden. “I’m mad because that was single-handedly the best intimate experience of my life.” He still didn’t talk because the words were penetrating his self-loathing, piercing holes in the regret.

  “I’m mad,” she went on, “because all these years, I could have been working on knowing how I like to be touched, and how I like to touch, and I could have made that better for you.”

  He drew her into his arms, pulling her onto his chest so she straddled his stomach. “There was nothing wrong with any of that. It was amazing for me. I wanted it to be amazing for you.”

  “It was.” Her voice trembled, and he saw the tears gathering again. “They denied this to me for so long—”

  He knifed up so he could sit with his back against the headboard, Fiona sitting in his lap. He had important shit to say, and he wanted to be on her level when he said it. He gripped her face, forcing her to look at him. She did, with her hand on the outside of his. “Don’t give them that power, Fiona. Do. Not. They are not here. What happened in this bed was between you and me, and they don’t get to come into this. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head. “But you’re wrong. They are always here. Always. They find me, and they taunt me, and they remind me they can get to me anytime. They do have that power.”

  He wanted to throw something. Like this entire bed. Just take it and toss it against the wall and revel in the destruction of splintered wood. When all he really wanted to do was pummel the faces of the men who’d hurt her. “That’s no more, Fiona,” he said with finality. “No. More. They are not here now. You’ll ge
t that power back. It’ll be yours. And until then, you can have all mine.”

  Her face crumpled like a folded napkin, and she fell forward, tucking her head under his chin, her body once again shaking, but this time with silent tears. He rubbed her back until her breathing evened out. He thought she was asleep until she spoke softly against his neck. “I—think I’m hungry.”

  “Oh thank fuck, because I’m starving,” he said.

  And with that, her body shook again, this time with laughter.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  If someone had told Fiona a month ago that she’d one day be sitting in a hotel room with a man who didn’t speak in full sentences, eating pizza after he’d just gone down on her, and then she’d cried on him, well…she’d have thought they were crazy.

  But yet here she was, sitting cross-legged on the motel bed, a pizza box in front of them, watching TV while Jock sat at the nearby table tapping away at his laptop. That was where he’d been since he’d called for the pizza. He’d also eaten three-quarters of the pizza himself, which was great because her appetite hadn’t been as big as she’d thought it was.

  She didn’t know what to do now. Should she feel awkward? Should she act awkward? The thing was, all she wanted to do right now was walk over and crawl into Jock’s lap, curl up like a cat, and let him hold her and protect her and take care of her.

  And that felt dangerous. Very dangerous. She didn’t know much about Jock’s life at all. He’d warned her not to push him, but she had, and now that he had reciprocated her feelings…she wasn’t sure what to do. Yes, he knew about her past and treated her with kid gloves, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking this was anything but acted-upon attraction. He thought she was beautiful and had a nice body, he’d told her. That didn’t mean he wanted to keep her forever.

  They’d let Sundance out of the bathroom, and now he lay on the bed with her, his head on his paws, eyes on her. She ruffled his ears. Sundance wouldn’t be around forever either. The only person she could count on was herself. And this attachment to Jock…She couldn’t do this, couldn’t rely on him, especially when she knew she could fall for him further so easily.