by Rina Kent
“Fucking make me,” I tell him through gritted teeth. I say it like it’s a threat and his lips cover mine before I finish getting the words out, shutting me up and forcing me to submit to him.
And submit to him I do.
His hands grip the side of my face while his elbows pin my arms down and he holds my head steady, kissing every inch of me like I’m the most precious thing on this earth, while he slams into me like I’m the most hated.
I moan under my breath because I don’t know whether to plead for mercy, or beg for him to fuck me harder.
But it doesn’t matter, because he goes harder.
I squeeze my eyes shut while he growls into my mouth and all I want to do is come with his cock buried inside me. I want to feel completely and utterly owned by him. I tighten my legs around his hips, trying to grind against him, trying to pull him in closer to me, to make myself come, and he must sense it because he whispers in my ear, “Not yet, little princess. You’re not sorry enough yet.”
He grabs my hips and flips over in the sand, taking me with him. He doesn’t let go while he pushes into me again, fast this time, so fast that my tits are bouncing and I have to hold onto his shoulders else I’d buckle over completely.
“Tommy, please,” I tell him. I’m desperate, doesn’t he see that?
Doesn’t he care?
“Say you’re sorry,” he says, not letting up his pace for a single second.
“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say breathlessly.
He pulls me down close to him and cradles my head and shoulders in his arms, flipping me around again so he’s on top. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
He kisses me, rocking my whole body against his and waves of pleasure wash over me.
His pace is perfect.
The tightness around my head is perfect.
He’s holding me like he fucking loves me, and it’s perfect.
More perfect than I imagined it would be.
“I want you,” he says, grinding slowly into me, pulling my hips up and positioning himself so that he’s hitting places inside me I didn’t even know existed. “You hear me? I only ever want you.”
I try to nod as my head, still in his arms, rocks from side to side in the sand. It’s like being stuck inside a madness and I don’t ever want it to end. I run my fingers through his hair, down his neck, I scratch at his back and I let myself imagine that this is real. A part of me wishes it could be.
Imagine feeling this much for someone, all the fucking time?
Imagine having someone who sees all your flaws, who can hate you for them and love you for them interchangeably. Imagine fucking someone like this every night, someone who can’t keep their hands off you, who whispers in your ear how much they only ever want you.
A tear slides down my cheek because I know it’s not real, and I know it never can be. Because I’ve never been fucked like this in my life before, and I know that after next week, I’ll never be fucked like this again.
His cheek rubs against my own wet one and he must feel it, but he doesn’t let on. Instead, he brings me closer and closer until I think there isn’t a place much higher than this, and when I finally reach it I feel like I’m floating as my muscles clench and wave after wave of pleasure shocks my body.
He moans, holding on to me so tight I think I stop breathing, and then I feel him shudder in my arms as heat erupts between my legs.
“Fuck, babe,” he says, kissing my forehead and pushing my hair back off my face. I lie there, still as the night around us and try not to think about what the fuck I’ve just done.
Chapter Fifteen
TOMMY
I flip her around so she’s not lying there in the cold sand and pull her up onto my chest, covering her back with my arms so the chill doesn’t get to her as much. She lies there for a few moments, panting and sighing under her breath while I try to catch my own.
Fucking hell.
How did that happen?
I wasn’t really going to leave her there all night, I just wanted to hear her beg. I wanted to remind her that she can’t fuck with me and get away with it.
But she ended up begging me for something else, and like a fool, I gave it to her.
Maybe she’s playing me like a fool because I keep fucking acting like one.
She sits up and straddles my body, and my hands go to her hips, feeling her curves and running circles over them with my nails. It feels like we’re having some sort of silent truce, and I wonder if it’s going to last any longer than the aftershocks of her orgasm.
Maybe I am a fool, but in this moment it’s almost as if something has changed between us. I don’t know why I said any of that shit when I was fucking her, it’s not something I’ve ever done before, and neither is fucking a lass without a jonny either. I don’t really know if I meant it, but I felt like she needed to hear it. And I felt the tears in her eyes against my cheek right after I’d fucked her as brutally as I could.
She showed me a little bit of her vulnerability right here in the sand and I don’t feel the urge to poke at it, or break it, or use it against her.
I don’t feel like doing anything other than making sure she’s alright, and if someone had told me that an hour ago I’d have laughed in their faces and probably punched them in the jaw, because I was that fucking raging.
Maybe I should listen to the wee lad between my legs more, and fuck her instead of fighting her.
I sit up, taking her chin in my hands and planting a kiss on her bottom lip. “You okay?”
She nods, and although I can’t see it I feel the hint of a smile play across her lips.
“Come on, you need to get dressed before you catch a chill again,” I tell her, putting my hands under her shoulders and pulling her up with me. She stumbles a wee bit and I chuckle, looking around in the dark trying to remember what the fuck I did with her clothes.
She bends down and finds them, and I stand there while she quickly dresses herself, not really sure what to say.
Her hand comes around my back, trying to find mine in the dark and I take it and give it a squeeze, pulling her in the direction of the car. We only manage a few paces before I remember what we’ve forgotten. “Your wee rabbit.”
She laughs at me while I let go of her hand and head back to the spot we just came from. “You can’t be serious?”
“Deadly serious, darlin,” I shout back. “We’ll give it to that baby I just put in your belly as a reminder of just how good a shot her old man is. We’ll see how many pricks like me she brings home then, won’t we?”
She starts laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
I shrug her off, reaching down beside the post and grabbing a hold of it. “Probably.” I jog back to her and give her the teddy, taking her hand again as we walk back to the car.
We get in and buckle up and I still have not got a fucking clue what to say to her. I don’t know where I stand with her now. It was easy when I didn’t like her, when I knew her but didn’t really know her. It was almost as easy when I knew her and hated her… but now?
Now I’m fucking lost.
“So what do we do now?” She must think the same as me, and I glance over at her while I reverse the car out of the parking space.
“I drop you off home, and I pick you up tomorrow for school,” I tell her.
That was a cunty answer, but I don’t know what else to say.
Fuck.
She nods and looks out of the windows and I try to think of something that might make it better, but the moment soon passes and she flicks the radio on, obviously not wanting to talk anymore.
So we drive home in silence and when I stop the car outside of her house, she has her fingers around the door handle, ready to jump out before I’ve even pulled up the handbrake.
“Shelly?” She turns around and looks at me, expression blank. The make up she did have on is off now, and she looks young and vulnerable. “Come here, darlin.” I nod my head at her and the tiniest of smiles has
her lips curving up at the edges, even though she’s rolling her eyes. She leans over and I grab a hold of her, kissing her on the cheek. “Good night,” I tell her.
“Good night,” she says, wriggling out of my arms. She gets out of the car and I watch her walk over to the door, wondering what the fuck has come over me.
The weird truce we fell into after I put my dick inside her continues, and on Friday we barely exchange a harsh word to one another.
No games, no tricks, no trying to get one up on the other.
It’s kinda nice, if a little uneventful.
On Saturday I’m up at 5am seeing the horses, since I know there isn’t a hope in hell of me making it up tomorrow when I’m lying in my pit hanging out of my arse after the party. I take my favorite, a pure black Shire called Fallacy out for a trek and clear my head.
It’s well past breakfast by the time I return, and I should already be at the club helping get set up for the night, but fuck it, they can wait. Not every day a man turns eighteen.
I slide my phone unlocked and scroll through the social media notifications, birthday wishes from people I wouldn’t know to say hello to in the street, and then the ones from the group chat and the folk I actually talk to.
Fuck all from the wee madam who hasn’t left my thoughts for the last 36 hours straight.
I open up our message folder and start typing, hesitating before pressing send. I don’t want her to think she has me under her thumb, and to be honest a part of me is still fucked off about what she did, but at the same time, what she said about trust hit a nerve with me — even though she didn’t mean any of it.
The more I tighten the collar around her neck, the more she thrashes against it. I’m not about to take the collar off anytime soon, but I figure maybe if she thinks I will, she’ll stop resisting it.
I tell her she can make her own way to the party with Lawrie tonight, and I’ll see her there.
And then I lock my phone and throw it down to the end of the bed, because I don’t want my own foolishness staring me straight in the face if she replies.
It’s 8pm. The party started at 7pm, but only cunts and family arrive at that time. Everyone else starts arriving at 7.30pm.
Michelle is nowhere to be seen.
I’ve been pacing the nightclub like a caged lion, and I know I’m being ridiculous but I have every reason to be. She hasn’t earned a lick of trust from me yet and if she keeps me waiting twenty minutes longer, she’s not going to.
I fiddle with my phone in my pocket, doing my best not to pull it out and demand to know where she is. People are buying me drinks and shoving them into my hand but I don’t feel like it. I take a seat at the table with Jody, Ryan, Stuart and Stubsy, and my eyes flit between the door and the clock behind the bar — which doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Staring at wet paint doesn’t make it dry any faster ya daft bastard,” Stuart says.
I tear my eyes away from the door and focus my attention on him instead. “I see no paint here, mate.”
He laughs and flicks his eyebrows at me. “I see no Michelle, either.”
“You forgetting what she did the last time we were at a party? Tommy, if I was you mate I’d be making sure the windows are locked,” Stubsy joins in, and this time I can’t help laughing. Who the fuck jumps off a pier, at night, in near-freezing temperatures?
Oh aye, my fucking soon to be crazy arsed wife — that’s who.
“That was before she had a piece of wee Tommy, though,” Jody says with a chuckle, nodding down under the table and taking a drink of his… gin.
“Fuck off. What the fuck type of man drinks Gin and Tonic, anyway? You need me to show you a bit of wee Tommy too, remind you what a cock looks like?” I laugh at him, and as much as I’m swearing, I’m glad they’re taking my mind off… other things.
She should be here. I’ll give her until 8.15pm and then I’ll be phoning her.
The lights in the room lower and the place is filling up fast. People come up to the table and I stand up to shake a hand, or to lift a lassie off me who’s just plonked herself down on my knee.
I’m stood up, wondering what the fuck my life has come to when Stacy Andrews demands a selfie with “the birthday boy” and sticks one of those stupid dog faces on it.
And that exact moment, the one where Stacy has her face pressed into my chest and her arm around my waist — that’s the moment Michelle and Lawrie walk through the door.
I see her before she sees me, and my stomach almost falls through my arse.
She looks stunning tonight.
A black dress, not too short and not too revealing, her hair wild and curly, and her tanned skin glowing even from this distance.
She looks over, her eyes narrowing instantly on Stacy. I hadn’t planned this, I wouldn’t ever intentionally mess about with another girl… but the jealous glint in her eye is about the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.
She can say whatever the fuck she wants, her eyes don’t lie half as good as her tongue does.
Chapter Sixteen
MICHELLE
“Michelle McLean.” I give my name to the bouncer on the door and he nods, marking his list.
“He’s got the whole top floor, go through the bar and up the stairs — can’t miss it.”
I smile a thank you while he stamps our hands and we make our way passed the cloakroom and through to the busy bar.
It’s a nice place this, with more of a masculine feel than the Water Lily. Black tufted leather seats are built into alcoves around the room, with black glossy tables and low industrial style stools. Green circular lights create a feature wall in each of the little booths, and neon strips light up the floor from below. The bar is the same black and green theme, and the dance floor — currently empty — is polished dark wood.
“Let’s get a drink down here before we go up?” Lawrie suggests.
I nod, slipping my hand through her arm while we head over to the bar. “Good shout. What you drinking?”
We order a bottle of wine between us and find ourselves a couple of seats on the end of an occupied table. It’s relatively busy for being so early on a Saturday night, but the music hasn’t been turned up yet so it’s still possible to chat.
I steer the conversation towards Lawrie’s love life, because it’s the one thing that’s most guaranteed to have us avoiding my own.
Lawrie is a bit like a peach. Or maybe the opposite of a peach, actually. A coconut? What I’m saying is she has this hard bit to her that can be quite ruthless and impenetrable, but she also has this part that’s so soft it’s almost liquid. She’ll do things that have me tearing my hair out in despair, while simultaneously giving me no-nonsense advice about the things I do. She falls for people easily, and when they inevitably don’t work out, she takes it bad. Really bad. Like, won’t leave her bedroom for days, never talking to men again, bad.
Until she meets the next one.
So asking her about her latest beau, who she met online and who seems to be already on the verge of checking out, ensures we don’t need to talk about Tommy.
I, of course did text her after getting home on Thursday night, telling her I was fine. She asked what happened, and I fobbed her off. She asked again at school yesterday, and I made some excuse not to talk about it. But the secrecy is tearing me up inside, and with my second glass of wine being poured for me, my tongue feels a little looser, and I have the overbearing urge to tell someone. Plus, this new guy she’s bitching about is annoying me already.
“We did it,” I blurt out.
Her eyebrows furrow and she looks at me, confused as fuck. “What?”
“Tommy and me… we… slept together,” I whisper.
She looks around, an amused look on her face. “Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her giggling, and looking around too. “He’s here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
I shake my head, because I don’t really have a good answer. “
I guess saying it out loud would make it… more real.”
“So… what? Are you like, together now?”
I shake my head again, this time vigorously. “Hell no! I have something up my sleeve. But I’m taking your advice and I’m playing nice with him, for now.”
Lawrie takes a drink and eyes me across the table. “You need to be careful, Shell.”
The warning in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed. Bit hypocritical? Fuck Mr Red Flag guy she met online. I’m the one who needs to be careful?
But regardless, her advice is sound. I know I’m playing with fire, and it’s not just the fact that I’m double crossing him. It’s the way that sex seems to so easily blur the lines and muddy the waters. Sex is the most efficient snarer of feelings there ever was.
Sex is dangerous.
But we’re not two normal people with two normal backgrounds. There is so much history between us, and not only that, there is a whole dark and twisted future stretched out before us too.
I don’t think I could just “catch feelings” for Tommy Heenan. I’m too logical for that. And I’ve spent the last ten years planning my escape from him — that doesn’t change after one night on a beach with my legs wrapped around his hips. It doesn’t matter how good the sex is, or how attractive he is, or how I fantasized about it being real.
Fantasy and reality are two completely different things. Fantasy is safe. Reality is dangerous.
“I know what I’m doing,” I assure her. “Just don’t be double taking when we’re not at each other’s throats, okay? In fact, scrap that, maybe you should act surprised… maybe that would make it more believable?”
“I’m not getting myself dragged in to your little schemes,” she says, giggling. “Kidding… what is the scheme?”
I can’t tell her. I want to, but that would put her at risk. The less she knows about the plan to get money, the better. “I’m just going to be nice, like you said, hoping he trusts me. Then I can run when he’s least expecting it.”
