by Roni Loren
He was . . . high.
Sam came back with the water and held it to his lips for him to drink. The cool liquid was shocking against his dry throat at first, and he coughed, but then once it slid down, he gulped and gulped, feeling suddenly parched.
She set the bottle aside, removed her boots, and scooted next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Her scent wrapped around him, the hint of her fruity shampoo but also the unmistakable musk of her arousal. Hunger flared in him. He adjusted his position and laid his head on her stomach, too lethargic to do much else.
She stroked her fingers through his hair and he nuzzled her belly, pressing a kiss there through the thin layer of cotton. “You haven’t come yet. I’m not a very good sub.”
“You have no idea how good you are, Gib. No idea what kind of gift you gave me.”
He pushed up on an elbow and peered down at her, still taken by how right she looked wearing his shirt. “But I didn’t give you anything.”
He wanted to give it all to her right now. Wanted to taste her and kiss her and make her come again and again. To finally see her naked.
“You don’t see it.” She smiled at him, tenderness in her gaze. “You gave me everything.”
“No. Not everything.” He stroked down her belly, finding the juncture between her thighs and cupping her through the shirt. He was crossing boundaries. He was supposed to ask permission to touch, but he couldn’t help himself and she wasn’t stopping him. “Let me make you feel good, mistress.”
She peered at him, those green eyes darkening. “You’re exhausted.”
“Never too exhausted for this. Please?”
She gave the barest nod like she knew she should say no but was having trouble fighting her own urges. He loved that she needed him, too, loved that he could give her what she craved.
He moved the fabric of his shirt out of the way, a ripple of arousal going through his spent body at the sight of her, the slick and swollen state of her sex. He found her heat with his fingers.
Her belly dipped with a sharp breath. Yes. That. That’s what he wanted to hear.
He tried to shift over, lift himself up so he could get his mouth between her legs. He’d give anything to taste her again. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He was lumbering around like a drugged bear, all heavy-limbed and imprecise. “I think my muscles have liquefied.”
Sam chuckled and stroked his hair again. “Here. I’ve got a better idea. On your back.”
He smiled, this satisfied warmth moving through him, and rolled onto his back. “I like how you think, mistress.”
Sam sat up and unbuttoned the shirt, revealing that beautiful, silky body beneath. He groaned at the sight. So much to explore—pert nipples straining hard in the lamplight, the gentle curve of her belly, and that dark triangle of hair that led to the smooth, wet lips beneath.
He reached out and cupped her breast, rubbing a thumb over one hardened nub. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her lips curved at the corner. “Now I know for sure you’re flying. But thank you. I’ll take it. Tell me you want this, Gib. Tell me you’re still here with me.”
He had no idea why she was being so careful. He’d give her whatever she wanted right now as long as he got to touch her, got to hear her come from his touch. “Baby, I’m so with you, I might die if you don’t get over here.”
Pleasure lit her face, and she dragged the back of her hand over his jaw. He shuddered under the simple touch, and she swung her leg over him, straddling his chest. He glanced up her body, taking his fill. He’d never seen such a perfect sight perched above him. He palmed her breasts, squeezing and watching the flesh plump in his hands, and then guided her down to him so he could kiss and suck and lick at them.
This time it was Sam who groaned as she braced her hands on the side of his head. “Shit.”
He smiled against her breast and dragged gentle teeth over her nipple and then sucked hard. Her thighs tightened against his sides with every pull of his mouth. He could spend all night there, teasing the hardened bud until Sam was panting with need. Already he could feel her slickness against his chest, her spread pussy sliding along him as he shifted his attention to the other breast.
Sam’s breath huffed out quicker now, little tight gasps. “Give me your hands.”
The words didn’t register for a second. But when she reached down, grabbed his hair, and tugged him from her breast, he snapped to attention. “What?”
“Give me your hands. As talented as you are with that, I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
The command in her voice made his spent cock flex with newfound interest. “My apologies, mistress.”
He offered his wrists and she tied the shirt she’d taken off around them. She lowered his hands to his sternum and then walked up alongside his body on her knees. When he realized what she was doing, need rumbled through him, and his cock went fully hard.
Sam braced her hands on the headboard and then straddled his head. Her scent and heat enveloped him. Pretty, slick lips and that tight little bud of her clit, all spread open and right there for him to play with. To worship. This was a feast he’d never get tired of.
“You want to hear me scream, sub?”
“More than anything, mistress.”
She shivered above him as if even his breath on her would set her off. “Get to work.”
He’d never been happier for a job in his life.
“Gladly.”
He put his mouth on her and fell into the oblivion that was Sam.
Chapter 9
There were hands holding her down, pinning her in place on the weed-covered ground. Dirt stung her eyes and the taste of blood was copper in her mouth. Sam tried to kick, swing out, something. But the high-pitched voices in her ear cackled—a familiar, terrifying chorus of female voices. Which didn’t make sense because the snarling face that flashed in her vision was male. The redneck from the bar with the voice of a different tormenter.
Hands ripped at her clothes, punches and kicks destroying her even as the cloying scent of wildflowers filled her nose and the spring sun shined down on her battered skin. A beautiful day to die. She didn’t want to die. She rolled in the dirt, covered her head, her neck, tried to curl into a ball, to make herself small. But she couldn’t escape. Claw-like fingers gripped her ankles. “No!” The word ripped out of her. “No!”
“Sam!” More hands grappled for her. She tried to wrench out of the hold.
“No!”
“Sam.”
Her body shook. Her throat felt tight, like all her air was gone. No more wildflowers. No more sun. Panic leached through her.
Then something cold and wet hit her face. She gasped and blinked, trying to figure out what the monsters were doing to her now. Spitting on her? But when her eyes opened and her vision cleared, instead of the face of the guy from the bar or the sound of those hateful female voices or the feel of that wretched field against her back, she just saw inky blackness and the outline of a window. Water droplets rolled down her face.
“Sam.” The voice was a caress right against her ear, arms tight around her. “Baby, are you okay?”
She blinked more rapidly, the voice registering. “Gibson?”
The arm around her softened as he let out a breath. “Yes. Just me. You were having a nightmare.”
Her chest rose and fell like she’d sprinted a mile, and the images from the dream taunted her mind. Hands. Screams. Blood. “Nightmare. Right. Okay.”
He rolled her onto her back and smoothed a hand over her hair. She didn’t want him to see her, wasn’t able to wipe the horror off her face in time, but there was no hiding now.
His concerned gaze landed heavy on her as he stroked her hair. “I couldn’t wake you. I didn’t know what to do, so I splashed water on you. I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes, trying to regain control of her breathing. Adrenaline had flooded her, making everything tremble. Ugh. She hated this feeling, hated the lack of control over her own body. It’d been forever since she’d had a nightmare, but this aftermath was all too familiar. “No, thanks for waking me. Did I . . . did I hurt you?”
He wiped some of the water from her face with his fingers. “You were kicking and trying to fight me off. You got me pretty good in the shin but nothing major. I was scared you were going to hurt yourself.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby.” His voice was tender, like he was afraid he’d spook her if he talked too loudly. “Do you get those often?”
She opened and closed her fists, trying to work the shakes out of her system. “No. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one. Those guys outside the bar probably stirred up old shit.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
She rolled back onto her side, facing away from him. “Not really.”
Gibson let out a breath behind her but didn’t push. “Can I hold you while we go back to sleep?”
She stared at the opposite wall, her eyes fully adjusted to the dark now. No way would she be able to fall back asleep, not when she could tumble right back into the nightmare, but she wasn’t going to tell Gib that. “I’d like that.”
Gibson stretched out behind her, draping an arm over her and tucking her against his naked body, spooning her in a safe cocoon. “Try to think of other things while you fall back asleep. I used to get those kinds of nightmares when I was younger. To go back to sleep I’d play Mario Brothers video games in my head, watching Mario jump on mushrooms and move through worlds. It usually helped me not have the dream again that night. I could hum the music for the game, if that helps. You know, if you’re secretly a dorky preteen boy underneath it all.”
She smiled in the dark. “Don’t think that will help. I was a Tetris fan.”
“Tetris?” He made some sound of disgust. “You’re dead to me.”
She laughed and snuggled against him, the sound of his voice seeping inside her, a balm to her frayed nerves. “What were your nightmares about? Monsters? Aliens?”
She regretted it the instant she asked. The light humor that had entered the room was sucked out in an instant as Gibson went still and quiet behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t have to—”
“A monster,” he said, the same stillness in his body entering his voice.
“Oh.”
He didn’t say anything for a long few seconds, and she thought he was going to leave it at that, but then his quiet voice cut through the silence. “My dad was into more than hurting with words. He was a violent drunk, and I was his favorite target. The nights he didn’t come for me, I dreamt that he did.”
Her belly dipped. Oh, Gib. The man who craved her violence in bed had been a victim of it. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed her hair. “Yeah, me, too. But don’t sound so sad. It was a long time ago. Neither of our nightmares can get us now. We’re both safe. Think about happy things and get some rest, okay? Even if it’s Tetris.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t muster up a smile this time, lost in thought over what Gibson must’ve been through as a kid. Those grim thoughts eventually drifted back to the nightmare she’d had, unsettling her again. She tried to focus on thinking about anything other than that ugly stuff—the to-do list, the wonderful night she’d had with Gibson, the way his heartbeat thumped against her right now.
But after a few minutes, the memories had her fully in their grip again, and Gibson’s breathing hadn’t evened out. They were both lying there awake in the dark, wandering through their own shadows. He didn’t ask her questions or try to talk. And soon she realized what he was doing. He was waiting for her to fall asleep. He was watching over her until he knew she was okay.
The realization sent an aching warmth through her, made her want to cry. When had she ever been watched over like that? Not since her grandmother had slept in a chair next to Sam’s bed when she’d had the flu. Sam stared at a peeling piece of wallpaper, trying to gather her courage. He’d shared part of himself. She should trust him enough to do the same. She wet her dry lips. “I used to get the nightmares all the time. I’d wake up sweating, things knocked over, sheets torn from the bed.”
Gibson’s fingers stroked her arm lightly, letting her know he was listening, but he didn’t say anything.
“They started when I was fifteen. I spent a year in a group home after bouncing from placement to placement because I couldn’t stop causing trouble and generally being difficult. I was angry at everyone, at life, at my fate. No family wanted to deal with that. So after I got caught shoplifting and kicked out of yet another placement, they put me in this group home with a bunch of other girls who’d gotten labeled with behavior problems.” She swallowed hard, remembering how scary it’d been to walk into that place, to see all those new faces. It’d been so much more intimidating than walking into a new family’s house. “I thought I was tough by then, thought I was a badass, but I was freaking clueless. Some of those girls were hard. Scary. They were older, had been in the system longer, had issues far bigger than mine. And they didn’t like newcomers they couldn’t control.”
Gibson was silent behind her, but he gathered her a little closer to him, hooking his leg over hers as if to absorb her or maybe to let her absorb his strength.
“I went in determined not to let them bully me. I’d protected myself for years in foster homes. Most of the foster parents I had were decent people, but there’d been a few incidents where some sibling or random family member tried to take advantage of me. I knew how to put on a front, how to report someone if they tried to hurt me or touch me, how to hold my own in a fight. So when a few of those girls at the group home started to demand I give them things—the money I’d earned at an after-school job, the little things I managed to buy for myself—there was no way in hell I was giving in. I had so little. They weren’t going to take it.
“But one day some of the girls stole my favorite paperbacks, ones I’d saved from my grandmother’s things. Ones that had her highlighted passages and handwriting in the margins. Ones she’d read aloud to me. They ripped the pages out and stuffed them in the toilets. Pissed all over them.”
Gibson made some sound behind her. “God, Sam.”
“I lost it. Those books were one of the few things I had left to remember that there’d been a before. That I’d had a family. That this hell I was living wasn’t the way it’d always been.” That someone out there had loved me once upon a time. She closed her eyes, took a breath. “I didn’t want to report them because it would’ve been a slap on the wrist. I wanted revenge, so I went after what meant the most to Brandi, the ringleader. I went after her boyfriend.
“I’d learned by then that I could get boys to like me, get them to do things for me. I was still a virgin then, but I was becoming an expert at the flirt and tease. It was the only power I could wield. And the guy fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I set it up so that Brandi walked in on us making out.”
Sam smiled bitterly in the darkness, remembering the triumph that moment had given her. Her tormentor left speechless. Too bad it hadn’t been worth what came after.
“What’d she do?” Gibson asked softly.
“She went off on him. They broke up. I thought I’d won. But a week later when I was walking home from work, Brandi and two other girls jumped me.” A chill went through her, the memory still potent after the dream. “They dragged me to this field behind an abandoned store and held me down. Brandi beat the shit out of me, kicking me in the ribs, the head, squeezing my neck like she was going to choke me—all while her friends pinned me on the ground. She was screaming at me. Calling me a whore, telling me I should kill myself because I was so disgusting and no one would ever want me. She w
anted me to say it, to admit how worthless I was. I wouldn’t do it. I figured I’d rather die right there than let her win.”
“Oh, Sam.”
She closed her eyes. “When I wouldn’t give in, she ripped at my clothes, yanked my shorts down, tore my panties. I thought she just wanted to humiliate me, leave me there naked. But then she grabbed a broken bottle off the ground and told me that I’d never be able to fuck someone else’s boyfriend again.”
Gibson stopped breathing behind her, his muscles tensing.
“That was going too far for the other girls. Beating me bloody—fine. Raping me with a broken bottle—they were out. They had standards, ya know?”
Gib seemed too stunned to respond.
“So the others bolted and left me there on the ground with Brandi. I have no idea where the strength came from. I was close to passing out. But I could see her eyes—psychopath eyes—and knew she was really going to do it. Survival instinct kicked in. I grabbed for her and attacked like I was possessed. I fought her, got hold of the bottle, and gashed her face, went for her neck. Someone heard the screams and found us before I could do worse. I would’ve killed her. I wanted to.”
Gibson pressed his face to her hair.
“The way people found us, it made it look like we’d gotten into a mutual fight. I got hauled into the police station—clothes shredded and my body covered in Brandi’s and my blood, in fucking shock. I had a juvenile record, so they treated me like I was the criminal until one of the other girls came forward and admitted what had happened.”
“Christ . . .”
“I couldn’t even talk to them. I couldn’t speak. In the end, I had two cracked ribs and a body of bruises. Not too bad, considering. But I was left with that fear of how much worse it’d almost gotten, how close I’d come to being mutilated or raped or killed, how there really was no one in the world to protect me. That stayed with me for a long damn time. Gave me panic attacks, nightmares. Sometimes it’s still with me, I guess.”
