by Quinn, Cari
I had to make her come, fast.
Despite my hand’s insistence on staying right where it was, thank you very much, I lowered it to tug on her zipper. It took some work, but I got her jeans down to just under the swells of her ass. I hated exposing any part of her to the elements in a dirty, grimy alley, but she wasn’t about to let me take her home to wine and dine her. Romance didn’t exist in Mia’s world of violence and desperation and cheap beer. If I didn’t make her see stars before her brain had time to engage, I might never get another chance.
This had to count.
Twining my tongue around hers, I pressed her upward and went to work on my own zipper. She gasped as she realized what I was doing, putting up her first resistance, but I distracted her with long, slow, drugging kisses. Drawing on her tongue, gently razoring my teeth over her sore lip. She moaned and jerked up and down, looking for the friction only my hard cock could give her. Once I’d undone my own jeans and freed my erection, I thrust up into the tight, warm gap between her thighs, realizing at the last second that she wore no panties.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The expletives left me as fast as a flurry of bullets, reverberating in the alley around us. “You aren’t wearing underwear?”
“You pulled down my jeans,” she gasped. “Didn’t you notice?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I thought there was a string between your cheeks or something.” I cursed again at my lack of forethought. I had condoms in my wallet, but I hadn’t wanted tonight to go down like this. Doing her in an alley was below her. Hell, it was even below me. “I’m not a goddamn expert on women’s frilly shit.”
She panted out a laugh and tipped back her head, allowing me to see the long line of her throat. I leaned in to nip her jaw and she made a noise that wasn’t quite a whimper, not quite a sigh.
“Again,” I murmured, jerking against her unintentionally. My dick had a mind of its own, and it wanted into that tight clasp of heat. “Make that sound again.”
She complied, adding a swivel of her hips that lured me close enough to brush her pussy, coating me in her slick warmth. Oh, God, I shouldn’t be doing this. We barely knew each other. No matter how she thought of herself, I didn’t think of her that way, and I didn’t want this for her. For us. A back alley fuck behind a bar wasn’t what we would be about.
No, we’d be about bruising and bloodying and generally trying to kill each other for other people’s entertainment. And their money.
“Get a condom,” she whispered, her frosty breath puffing out between us like vapor.
I stared at her, half-expecting to wake up in my bed with my cock in my hand as I had the other night after she’d teased me to the point of nearly exploding in my pants.
She closed the space between us, her cool lips meeting mine. “If you don’t have any…”
“I do. Of course I do.” I had condoms for every day of the week. And women, though none were like Mia.
I didn’t even know her last name.
She tilted her pelvis against mine, and I forgot that worry like so many others. I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out a foil packet without hesitation. I rolled it down my length, noting the surprising lack of shrinkage considering the inhospitable penis conditions.
Then I was pushing her up the wall again, grateful she had my leather jacket to protect her skin, while I nudged the tip of my hard-on inside. My hips bucked until her snug passage accepted more. “Let me in, baby,” I breathed, thrusting deep as my urgency overtook me.
She cried out and I caught the sound in my mouth, going still for a moment as I made sure she was okay. Shit, she was tight. And wet. And so hot that I couldn’t stay motionless for long, though I wanted to ask questions I probably shouldn’t.
Asking Mia if she was all right, if maybe this was new to her or if it had just been a while—though that didn’t really fit either, taking her earlier behavior into account—would be reason one for her to return my sac to me on a platter, garnished with parsley and water chestnuts.
After pulling out, I inched back in. Again and again. Once her hips started tentatively meeting mine, I picked up the pace.
Sweet hell, she felt incredible.
I decided I’d save the Q&A about the last time she’d had sex for when I wasn’t sliding into her with long, deep strokes that made her shudder and grab my arms. I pushed her up higher on the wall, savoring the angle and the clutch of her legs around my hips, and reached up to free her hair from its braid.
Thick wavy strands tumbled down around us, cloaking me in her darkness, and I pressed my lips to hers, warming them with her name while we fumbled through what had to be the clumsiest, coldest fuck in the history of sex.
Too loud laughter burst out from inside the bar every now and then, competing with the crappy techno rock. And now it was starting to snow. Or sleet. Little pellets of ice bounced off the metal cans and pelted my eyes. She let out another laugh-moan, tipping her head back. Lifting the veil of her hair from us long enough to let in the streetlight before dipping her head to close us in the dark.
Riding me so fast, like a blur. Never losing her rhythm. Never losing mine.
It shouldn’t have been a stolen slice of perfection. But it was. I knew it would end even while I fought to prolong it, drawing back, easing my thrusts, refusing her frantic attempts to kiss me as the bubble of need between us built. So close to bursting.
She chased my mouth, biting my lips with the violence that pulled me toward her even as it pushed me away. We were in the same life, and it had only become one I wanted to continue living when I realized she was part of it too.
She made me want to keep fighting.
If I did, I’d have to fight her. I didn’t know when or how or why I’d become the thing she had to beat, but somehow I was.
With a pained cry, she braced, bouncing unsteadily on my cock as she dug her nails into my shoulders. “Tray…”
She sounded so uncertain, so desperate. I could come just from the husky rasp of her voice. “What do you need?”
Then I knew. I wanted to hit my head on the brick until the pain cracked some sense into me.
I fitted my thumb between our bodies, letting out a hiss at the damp heat that awaited me. It took a while to get her motor running, but man, once it was in gear, she operated at max RPMs.
Jostling her higher, I changed the depth of my penetration and rubbed her stiff clit, unprepared for her abrupt moan and the way she carved her nails into my skin through my shirt. Another minute of this and I’d be bleeding.
Shit, that turned me on too. Everything about her did.
She flexed around me, so wet I could now enter her without trouble. Under my thumb, her clit pulsed. She was close. I took her faster, harder, slamming into her where she held me so tight. Not giving an inch. The wind howled, blocking some of the slap and slide of our bodies. We were both moaning and groaning and grinding like our lives depended on it. My balls slapped her ass, I was going so deep. She clawed me, squeezed me, panted with me. Everything together.
God, I couldn’t hold on much longer.
Without warning, she fisted me and released, her powerful spasms twisting through my system with the same force as the wind at my back. Broken gasps left my throat. My lungs seized and I couldn’t haul in enough oxygen. She surrounded me, drenching me in everything she was…that had somehow become all I wanted.
She trembled in my arms, sliding down my chest while she softened around me. Liquid heaven. I was throbbing so hard that the light pulsed, casting her in a purplish haze. Forget her seeing stars. My head was about to explode.
Then I was coming, and I couldn’t stop myself from launching myself into her body wildly enough to drive her up the wall again. She cried out, and I immediately chastised myself, but I was shaking too much to cushion the blow of my hips ramming into hers. She took it, every bit. Breathing “it’s okay” over and over while she caressed my head.
I chanted her name as we pinned each other in the most erotic m
utual TKO of my life.
Mia.
Mine.
Fourteen
When I was a baby, my mama loved to cradle me on her lap in the afternoon while we waited for my dad to get home from work. She’d rock back and forth in the chair I still had in my living room—the only thing I’d brought with me from my house—and sing all of Johnny Cash’s old songs. “Ring of Fire,” definitely. But her favorite was “Jackson,” so it was mine too.
I’d never been big on metaphors. A fist to the gut instead of the jaw was about as subtle as I got. But all the fire references in those two songs seemed to fit the cauldron I’d somehow fallen into ass first.
Sleeping with Fox was bad enough. I didn’t have sex with guys. But I could’ve explained that away easily enough as just biology. I was twenty-one and I hadn’t had an orgasm since I was fourteen, and never one that had been given freely.
That was one thing. I would’ve forgiven myself for that. He was hot, and I was only human. If I’d been the sort of female to get all excited over a guy, I probably would’ve drooled a little every time he stalked toward me with those ocean-blue eyes fixed on mine.
But going home with him willingly? How could I explain that?
He’d started stomping on my buttons while I was still a shivery, sweaty mess in his arms. A big part of the problem was that I didn’t even really remember what coming felt like. Stupid. Embarrassing. I just knew I had before, and back then, I’d been praised for my body’s betrayal.
This was different. I didn’t know how to categorize this experience.
Was it a good orgasm? How could I tell? It seemed pretty spectacular, but I wasn’t in the position to judge. I wanted to ask Fox, but if he got an inkling about my lack of sexual knowledge, he’d go all caveman on me and offer to show me what I’d been missing.
Better I didn’t know.
Then while I was still confused and kind of lust-drunk and pulsing all over, he hugged me close and rubbed my back with his big, strong hands. He told me I was coming home with him, that he would give me a bath and a massage. Both were practically foreign words. A massage at the gym was not the same as what he was suggesting, I was sure.
And a bath? In an actual tub? I hadn’t had one of those since we’d lived in our first house when I was a little kid.
At Fox’s offer, I’d crumbled like a fresh baked cookie. He melted my chocolate chips and cracked my macadamias with a look. A touch. I’d always shied away from physical contact unless it came in the form of punches and blows. But tonight, I’d liked being held.
Momentary insanity.
Now we were walking toward his place in the falling snow, and he was holding my hand. And I was letting him.
Clearly, I could never have another orgasm again. Ever.
Not even if I really wanted another.
Maybe a couple.
His hand was so cold that our bones were practically rubbing together. As we trudged through the accumulating snow, I pictured my skeleton under my skin. Strange, inappropriate thoughts were nothing new for me, but I didn’t want to be that girl tonight. So I focused on the warmth our clasped palms were creating instead. Neither of us had gloves. I’d lost his sometime since yesterday, which really sucked since I liked them almost as much as the coat.
They’d cost him fifty-nine dollars and sixty-two cents, he’d said, and he was now running me a tab.
He’d be surprised one day, long after all this was over, when he received a check in the mail. By then, he’d be married with beautiful blond babies, probably solid, strapping sons, and he’d open a plain white envelope and see my name.
Would he remember me? Maybe he would just take the check and shove it in a drawer, because he didn’t recall any random female named Mia and didn’t need the cash.
I had a feeling he didn’t need it now either.
“How rich are you?” I asked, as surprised as he seemed to be by the question.
I’d once had control over my mouth. My vocal cords must be somehow connected to my now running rampant hormones. Weird.
He slanted me a look. “What makes you think I am?”
“Where would you like me to start?”
At his arched brow, I sighed. The man really was like a mule sometimes. Most times. Not like me at all.
“The way you talk, for one thing.” I caught myself gesturing and stopped, fast. I had enough nervous habits already. “You usually speak formally. You must be educated.”
“I’m a college dropout,” he said almost smugly.
“From which college?”
He winced. “Cornell.”
“Ivy League. Right.”
“There are scholarships, grants, loans—”
“Did you have any?”
He wisely chose not to answer that question.
“Then there’s your clothes. This coat.” I indicated the leather jacket that had practically molded itself to the contours of my body. I was beginning to think he should add that cost to my tab too, since I doubted I’d ever return it. “The sports car you drive when you’re not slumming it—” Great. I’d just flashed my cards and my ass in one fell swoop.
Yep, orgasms were out for the foreseeable future.
Fox came to a dead stop and tilted his head like a dog cocking one floppy ear. He was just as adorable too. “How do you know what I drive?”
I jerked a shoulder. “People talk.”
“Mia.”
“I did recon on you,” I muttered, darting a look up at him as I dragged my ragged thumbnail to my mouth. I didn’t bite my nails. An occasional cuticle didn’t count.
“Recon? You mean like a spy mission?” He stared at me, his mouth falling open just enough that the tip of his tongue slid between his teeth.
I absolutely did not get wet. Er, wetter, since I was still wet from before. That would’ve been foolish. I was a practical businesswoman who only wanted to clean his clock and make bank.
“A good fighter finds out everything he can about his opponent.” I shrugged again, figuring if I kept acting nonchalant I’d eventually con myself into believing he was nothing more to me than someone to face in the octagon.
It wasn’t a lie if you managed to convince yourself.
“You are not a ‘he.’ You are a woman, a fact I can now vouch for quite intimately.”
There it was, that hint of fussiness to his speech that made me mental. I went toe-to-toe with him, tipping my head back to glare into his eyes. “Women can’t be fighters?”
Ignoring my question, he lowered his lips near my ear. “Is that why you just fucked me? More recon? Now you know my favorite position is woman on top. That’s why I had you above me. When your breasts bounced under your tight T-shirt, I pretended you were naked.” He bit the shell of my ear, offering the soothing swipe of his tongue before he retreated. “Make sure you write all that down, baby.”
“Oops, I forgot my pad.” I tucked his coat around me as we started walking again. He didn’t reach for my hand, and I didn’t care.
Liar.
“Actually, no. I forgot one.” He moved closer and spoke near my temple. “My favorite position is when I put my face between a woman’s legs. I know you said you don’t like oral, but now that we’ve been together, maybe I can change your mind. I bet you taste like a plum. All that sweet, sticky juice…”
Pictures formed in my head. Pictures I did not want there. “You have a filthy mouth.”
“Uh-huh.” He grabbed my hip and pulled me against his side. “And I want to make good use of it with you.”
My heart rocketed in my chest, shooting clear up to my throat. I stared straight ahead, grateful the slippery snow beneath my sneakers gave me something to focus on besides his hand creeping over my ass. Palming it like it was his.
Where was my sense of indignation? I wasn’t some piece of meat for him to drive a stake through. Getting turned on was not a rational response.
“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted silkily.
“Where’s
your Corvette?” I tossed back, pleased when he braced. “Since you think you’re so good in bed, why do you need an old dude’s vehicular Viagra?”
“I didn’t hear you voicing any complaints when you were moaning my name.”
“We weren’t in bed.” I frowned at his sudden burst of laughter.
Had I really done what he’d said? Maybe. Hard to say. It wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.
“You pegged me right the other night,” he said after a moment. “You said I probably kept my sports car in storage, remember?”
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t about pegging. I’d known he had a fancy car for a fact.
He blew out a breath. “I use it now and then, but I usually take the train. What about you?”
“I don’t have a car.” I brought my thumb back to my mouth. “Or a license.”
Abruptly, he stopped walking again, and I stumbled into his side. He gripped my arm to steady me. “You don’t know how to drive?”
I frowned. “I know how to drive. Sort of. I’ve lived here since I was seventeen. Hardly anyone drives in the city.”
“Seventeen? Your parents moved here?”
“No.” And that was all I was saying about that.
As the wind gusted, Fox reached down to pull up the zipper on my jacket. His jacket. I would’ve bitched at him for fussing over me again, except he’d dipped his head to work on the zipper and the breeze chose that moment to express deliver a double shot of his cologne.
The oh-so-male scent zapped straight to my suddenly hyper-bunny clit. Cripes.
Settle down, down there.
“I could teach you,” he said nonchalantly as we started moving again. This time, he pushed his hands into the front of his hoodie, so I dangled mine at my sides.
Since I was still focused on that annoying throb between my legs—I was walking, how could I even feel it?—I didn’t know what he meant at first. “Hmm?”
“To drive. I could show you how. It’s easy.”
“I know enough to get by. Besides, I don’t need to.” Not now anyway. I would when I moved with my sister, but she could give me a refresher course. And on a much cheaper vehicle than a vintage pussy magnet.
