The Square (Shape of Love Book 2)

by JA Huss

  Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “But I don’t need to know them to love you.”

  I thread my fingers into her hair, palming her head as I gently pull her up. We linger like that—lips not yet touching, but close enough to count. Close enough that even the slightest movement will connect us, mouth to mouth.

  I don’t have anything to say about what she needs to know. There is very little light inside me. Very little. She’s poked me with that stick enough times to understand I’m not blue inside. She knows the truth even if I never explained it to her. But she’s keeping her secrets so I’m keeping mine.

  None of it matters anymore, anyway.

  “So I hope you don’t need to understand my dark side to love me,” she finishes.

  Ah. I get it.

  The betrayal.

  And it goes both ways, right? Alec somehow betrayed her and we all know how she betrayed him.

  “I would never do that to you.”

  “No,” I say. It comes out as agreement but that’s not how I meant it. I meant it as, ‘No?’ Because she already did betray me. When she stayed behind with Alec after I left. Finding that out fucking hurt. Such jealousy. Such rage. So much darkness inside me in that moment.

  I wanted to kill him.

  I still feel the sting of that deception.

  But I let it fade now just like I did back then. There’s no time for regrets. Not tonight.

  This will be the first time I’ll ever have her alone. Truly alone. And I don’t know how long I’ll get to have her to myself.

  Because Alec.

  Because we’ll either get Alec back and be us again… or we’ll die trying..

  CHAPTER THREE - CHRISTINE

  I know what he’s thinking about. That’s why I’m trying my best to make him forget.

  I need this. I need him. Just him, right now.

  “We need each other,” I whisper, lowering my face to his neck. He breathes in. Holds it. My lips flutter against his skin and he breathes out.

  And I don’t know why, but I like that. I sigh as I kiss him, enjoying his reaction as I softly drag my fingernails against the hard muscles of his waist. His shirt is billowing out behind him in the wind. Unfinished. Just like us. And I want it to stay like that forever. I want to capture this moment and hold it tight. Keep it to myself for as long as possible.

  But, inevitably, the wind takes it past that point of no return and it slides the rest of the way down his arms and drops to the deck, leaving him bare from the waist up.

  The sun has been gone for a while but the moon is out and it’s bright and big, its hazy glow spilling out into the navy-blue night like the fog of a dream. Illuminating the hills and valleys of his chest and turning him into some supernatural thing. Some fantastical thing from a legend or a myth. A hero. My hero.

  I lift my head up again and find his mouth, saying, “You have always been my hero,” as we kiss.

  And oh, God. It’s a great kiss. Even though he chuckles about the hero thing.

  “Please,” he breathes back. Kissing me. Little ones. Just lips and no tongue. “I’m no hero.”

  But he is. And even though the kisses are perfect, he’s not touching me. Not the way he should be. His fingers are pressing lightly against my head, threaded into my hair. But there’s no desperation in his touch. We are not panting heavily. We are not in the agony of lust.

  It’s too calm. Too easy. Too perfect.

  So I reach up and take his hands and place them on my hips.

  He gets it, or does the next thing on instinct. Because they slip around to my back, encircling me and tugging me close. My breasts press against his chest and I melt.

  Just melt into him.

  We’ve been together for months now. Alone on this boat. And we have weeks of togetherness left.

  I need those weeks to make up for the months.

  The betrayal is still fresh. The lapse in loyalty still real.

  And I need him to forget.

  But even though he’s not pushing me away, and that’s a good sign, and I know with such certainty that we will be together tonight, he’s not embracing it the way I need him to.

  So I say, “Danny…” Because I need to tell him this. I need to explain everything. But the words leave me in that moment and the whole act is just another bit of unfinished business.

  “Christine,” he says, his voice low and throaty as he kisses me again. His mouth opens up and his tongue slides up against mine. And I expect him to say something like… I want to fuck you now. Or, Everything will be OK. Or, Take off your clothes.

  Or maybe he’ll just rip this little dress off my body, toss it overboard, and throw me down onto the overstuffed pillows of the deck couch and make me obey him.

  But he says, “You need to lower your expectations.”

  And I don’t know why, because this is not the way this night should be going and that should worry me, but I laugh.

  “I’m serious,” he says, his fingertips slipping under the strap of my dress and dragging it over my shoulder, leaving it like that. Unfinished, just like I left his shirt when I started the process of unburdening him. He looks down at me, his blue eyes catching the moonlight, making them sparkle in that supernatural way. Convincing me that he’s wrong. That he is my hero. Even though he says, in the same moment, “I’m no hero. You know what comes out when you poke me. Blackness.”

  I stop breathing and study him. Shaking my head. Because it’s not true. He’s the bluest thing in the entire universe. But I don’t want to waste time explaining why he’s so perfect or how I know he’ll save me—save everyone—when the time comes. So I reach down and grab his cock through his slacks and squeeze.

  Which makes him close his eyes and smile.

  And reach for the other strap of my dress.

  And drag that one over my shoulder too.

  Unfinished.

  But it’s enough to keep things going. Because the dress is loose. Just a simple shift that hides what’s underneath with soft white silk. So when I pull my hand away from his hard cock, it falls. Right down to my hips, exposing the lacy, white, strapless bra that covers my breasts. And one more slight tug from him is all it takes to make the white silk slide over my hips and fall to the deck. It flutters for a second, catching the night breeze the way his shirt did, and then settles at my feet in a puddle of brightness against the dark.

  He stops and looks at me.

  And I wonder what he sees. A beautiful, young woman in matching white lingerie?

  A friend? A lover?

  His goddess who will save him—save everybody—when the time comes?

  Or… does he just see me for who I am? The traitor.

  I wait. Time stops, I swear it does. It gives him the gift of an eternal moment so he can make that decision.

  Why is everything so slow? Why can’t we just go fast?

  But I know why. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

  We are in between things. In the middle of our story. And there’s no way to rush the end that’s coming.

  We shouldn’t even want to because there’s a very high probability that none of us will be saved. That our enemies have another god waiting in the shadows. Some hero who will rip our world apart and tear everything to pieces.

  And I’m just about to give up and turn away, accept this as an inevitable, forgone conclusion, when he reaches around and unfastens my bra.

  It drops to the deck at my feet, joining the dress. I stare at it for a moment, holding my breath again. Because I was wrong.

  And when I look up at him, he’s smiling. Eyes still bright and blue. Still filled with the power to save us.

  I realize in this moment that time, or the universe, or whoever runs this miserable fucking place, is giving me a second chance and I should not waste it.

  So I don’t.

  I reach out, unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip his slacks, and slide my hand inside. Wrapping my palm around the thickness of his cock.

 
He growls a little and that makes the hazy dream world we’ve been stuck in for the last several minutes fade away. Brings reality back into focus.

  And when he responds by palming my breasts, squeezing them with just a little more force than he should, the relief I feel is real.

  He presses up against me so the length of our bodies are touching and now our kissing is what it should be.

  Desperate, and heated, and filled with lust.

  And our breathing is heavy, our excitement coming out in huffs as our tongues twist together. And he’s backing me up. I almost trip over the discarded silk dress, but there’s no chance of me falling. His massive arms hold me tight and carefully until my knees hit the back of the couch and I break our kiss so I can sit.

  I gaze up at him, hoping he sees what I see.

  My Danny. His Christine.

  “Hi,” he says, laughing a little.

  “Hey,” I say back, tugging the front of his pants down so I can pull his hard and ready cock out and hold it in my hands.

  His fingertips are in my hair, then he fists it, tugging my head closer to him.

  I open my mouth, eyes still tracking his, and take in the tip of his cock. Wrapping my lips around it, holding his gaze.

  Then he gives in and sighs.

  And so do I.

  I take him further. Deeper into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat, which makes him tug on my hair and I love that.

  I love that he wants me. Wants more.

  So I give it to him and begin bobbing my head in a back-and-forth rhythm. Taking him deep, then pulling back, letting my tongue slide along the underside of his shaft.

  It’s one of those messy blowjobs and I don’t care. It’s hot. So fucking hot. Saliva is pooling in my mouth until there’s so much it begins to drip down my chin. And when Danny grips my hair again, tugging me backwards, he smiles at the mess.

  This is a side of him I don’t know, I realize. This erotic side wasn’t part of who and what we were before. And for a moment I’m filled with jealousy that he’s done this with other women.

  But I’m stupid. I know I’m stupid. Because I’ve done this with other men. And he could be thinking the same thing right now, and he’s not. I know he’s not.

  He’s smiling at me. He’s enjoying himself.

  And then he’s pushing me back into the couch cushions. A little too hard, but I giggle at that. Because I like it. I like the dark beast inside him. Because I know that beast is blue and no matter how much he wants to lose control, he won’t.

  Maybe I wish he would? Maybe I should push him harder? Make him?

  But before I can finish that thought he’s kneeling down with his hands under my knees, pushing them up towards my breasts, legs open as he lowers his head between them and brings me out of this introspection and places me squarely in the realm of unthinking ecstasy.

  “Oh,” I moan. Because the little flicks of his tongue against my clit are slightly overwhelming. “Oh, God,” I say.

  I can feel his smile too.

  And that’s it. Even if we stopped right now my night would be complete.

  Because this has never happened before. We have never been this alone. Never this together, this excited—while not in the presence of Alec.

  Is that bad? I wonder.

  “Christine,” he says, his words vibrating the soft folds of skin between my legs. “Stop thinking so motherfucking hard.”

  He pulls back, grinning wildly.

  Which makes me grin too. “Sorry,” I say.

  But he just shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, darlin’. You’re too perfect, that’s true. But I don’t mind.”

  A laugh escapes. Because in no possible reality am I the perfect one in this couple.

  He reaches down for his cock, fisting and pumping it a few times, then looks at me and frowns. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says in a gruff, heated voice. “Because I can’t wait another second. But I’m gonna fuck you again later and we’ll do it right next time.”

  And with that he thrusts inside me. Filling me up. So deep it hurts, making me squeak out a little cry of pain.

  But he doesn’t stop or apologize or ask me if I’m OK.

  He doesn’t need to.

  He knows.

  He knows I love every moment of blissful agony when he’s inside me.

  CHAPTER FOUR - DANNY

  I know what she’s thinking.

  Something along the lines of… How did we get here? Who are we? And should we be doing this without Alec?

  Maybe also… how much of me has she missed out on?

  The equal and opposite question can be asked of myself.

  But I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna torture myself with regrets. I don’t regret walking out. I don’t regret letting her grow up into the woman she wanted to be before we got together.

  This… right now… it’s a gift of patience on my part.

  And with that thought I let it all go and just fuck her.

  I lean forward to kiss her mouth. Let her get a little taste of herself on my tongue. She sighs, and it’s a lovely sigh. I cannot imagine a more perfect night.

  She reaches up, placing her hands on my cheeks. Still kissing me. Still letting me pound her. And it’s almost too much. It’s almost too perfect.

  But every one of those thoughts begins to drift away. Just silently drift away as the feeling of being deep inside her takes over. She’s breathing hard now, little squeaks and moans spilling out of her mouth as I thrust inside her with such force, I push her backwards, squishing her head up against the pillow with my forward momentum.

  She drops her hands to my shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscles of my flesh, and pants out, “Yes. Yes. Yes,” each time. And I know she’s close. And I know I said we’d do it again, softer next time.

  But I’m not done with the hard fuck just yet.

  I pull out and she whines, “Danny!”

  But I just take her hand, pull her up, then twirl her around and push her forward. Hell, if we’re gonna fuck hard, might as well… you know. Fuck. Hard.

  Her hands reach out and stop her fall, pushing down on the top of the couch back. Her ass is up, and her back is arched, and even though there’s just the glow of the moon for light and I’m desperate to be inside her again, I have to stop for a second. Stop and enjoy the view of her pussy as she wiggles her ass in anticipation.

  I slide my fingers up and down her folds. Pushing inside just the tiniest bit. Which makes her groan with frustration.

  “Stop teasing me.”

  I laugh.

  “I’m serious. You don’t want to piss me off.”

  “What will you do?” I ask, continuing my tease.

  She looks over her shoulder, grinning at me. “Test me,” she hisses. “Test me and find out.”

  “Maybe I will. Just to get your reaction.”

  “Danny!” she squeals.

  I raise my hand up and drop it down quickly, slapping her ass.

  “Ow!”

  “Behave, Christine.”

  “Make me,” she says, eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I slap her ass again, wishing there was more light so I could watch her skin turn pink.

  “You want this?” I ask, pushing two fingers inside her. She’s so wet they slip right past her tight muscles. She clamps down on them in response and that almost sends me over the edge and I’m not even fucking her right now.

  But I like the tease. I want to drive her wild with anticipation. I want to make her wait. I want to withhold her climax for as long as possible. I want to drag the ecstasy out of her, drip by drip.

  “I want it,” she says. “Please. Give it to me.”

  I want to. Badly. But not enough to give up this power I feel over her. She doesn’t hand over power often. Never to me, in fact. And when we were together with Alec it was a give and take. Had to be or it wouldn’t work.

  But this is different in so many ways.

  I crouch
down, hands gripping her ass cheeks so hard there’ll be bruises tomorrow, and push her forward until her breasts are pressed up against the back of the couch and her chin is resting on the top of the cushion.

  “Yes,” she says, as understanding floods through her. “Yes.”

  And even though I’d like to prove her wrong, do something else and keep her on edge, her pussy smells delicious and I can’t stop myself. My tongue licks her. Pushes inside her, flicking back and forth, trying to get more than just a taste.

  She gives in. Her shoulders drop, and her back goes supple, and her arms, though spread wide and appearing relaxed, aren’t. I can tell because she’s fisting the edge of the pillow. Gripping it with whatever strength she has left in this moment.

  And that thought leads me to why I’m teasing her like this.

  I like her powerless. Christine Keene is all power, all the time.

  I like watching her give in to me.

  “That’s better,” I say, sliding a third finger into her dripping wet pussy. “I like you like this.”

  She huffs out a few unintelligible words that are most likely a litany of fuck-yous.

  I pull my fingers out, waiting for her protest, and when she stays silent I feel more satisfaction than I should.

  And now it’s time for a decision.

  Do I want her to know me like this?

  Do I want to be this guy with her?

  Do I want to risk everything by showing her just now not-blue I am on the inside?

  Probably a bad idea to make this choice when I’m so rock fucking hard I can barely see straight, but whatever.

  And it’s not really a choice anyway, is it?

  We’re here. Doing this. And there’s no Alec to keep me in check.

  I reach out and grab her hair, pulling it so hard she has to sit up and bend backwards. I stand up, pulling until her back is flat against my chest. She’s panting now, probably surprised. Maybe a little off balance.

  “Are you sure?” I growl into her ear. “Are you sure you want this?”

  She breathes in and out three times. And what could’ve been thoughtful consideration or just a heat-of-the-moment yes, turns into hesitation.