Текст книги "Rogue"

Автор книги: Callie Hart

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

NINE

SOPHIA

When we get back to the cabin, Rebel puts me in his bed and tells me he’ll be back, and then I watch him through the half open bathroom door as he strips down to his boxers and methodically washes the blood from his body. He’s constructed beautifully, the planes of his muscles twisting and shifting in unison as he moves carefully around the bathroom. I can tell his side is still bothering him. And now he has two angry looking purple bruises planted in the middle of his chest where the prongs of the Taser made contact as well. There’s a lot of grunting and wincing as he cleans himself up. Sloane would tell him to sit his ass down so she could help him, but Rebel…he probably wouldn’t comply. He’s fiercely proud. He’s used to this—I can tell. If I try and interfere, he’ll probably shut down and instead of making progress we’ll be backtracking. I leave him to clean his wound and replace his bandages himself. He throws back what I’m assuming are more pain killers and antibiotics, and then he braces against the counter and stares at himself in the mirror for what feels like a very long time. He doesn’t seem to like what he sees.

When he comes to bed, I’m still intimidated by his performance back at the clubhouse. Intimidated enough that I pretend to be asleep. He sees through the ruse, though, pulling me to him without fear of waking me. He doesn’t say anything. He just strokes his hand over my hair, breathing deeply in the darkness, and I listen to his heart charging underneath his ribcage. He’s running a fever, his skin burning against my cheek as we lay there. I wonder if he’ll be a little better by the morning. Probably not. I mean, it’s going to take longer than a few days to recover from a serious injury like that, especially if he keeps moving around, attacking people with baseball bats and getting shot by DEA agents. I get the impression that tomorrow will be more of the same, somehow.

It doesn’t take long before Rebel’s breathing evens out. I’m chasing sleep myself, but before it can claim me a thought strikes me. An unpleasant one. It takes me a moment to pluck up the courage to speak. When I do, my voice is nothing more than a whisper in the dark.  “Rebel?”

“Mmm?

“That DEA agent? You think she’ll come here? You think…you think she’ll recognize me?”

He inhales, then rests his chin against the top of my head, the same way he did this morning when he comforted me. It all feels too familiar. Too safe. Too right. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “She’ll come here. She’ll probably recognize you.”

“And then what? What do I tell her?”

He’s quiet. Too quiet. I already know I’m not going to like his response. “You tell her one of two things, Sophia. You tell her I kidnapped you and you’ve been held against your will for the past few weeks.”

“Or?”

“Or you tell her you left Seattle of your own free will. That this is where you want to be. That this is your home now. Here with us.”

******

It feels late when I wake up. Sunlight pours in through the window above the bed, warming my skin, though I’m cold. I’ve been used to half-surfacing from sleep throughout the night and feeling Rebel’s body kicking out enough heat to warm me in the dead of winter, but now I can tell I’m alone. I don’t open my eyes. I lie very still, listening. Sure enough, the sound of someone moving around at the other end of the room reaches me, confirming that Rebel’s up and about. Slowly, carefully, I turn over and crack my eyelids, searching him out.

He’s still in his boxers, standing in the open doorway of the cabin, with what looks like a notepad and paper in his hands. There’s a small snow globe at his feet—a snow globe of Chicago’s skyline. Back at his father’s house in Alabama there were at least twenty more of them, from different cities all around the world, collected by his mother. The snow globe from Chicago is the only one he has here with him, though. Not for the first time, I wonder what makes that one in particular so special.

“Sleep okay?” Rebel asks. He hasn’t turned around but he’s figured out that I’m awake. I pull the covers up around my body a little closer, fighting the urge to hide completely.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” He pivots and freezes with the sunlight casting him into silhouette as he faces me, pen in one hand, paper in the other. He’s so damn beautiful. Not jock pretty like Matt was. No, Rebel’s body bears a striking similarity to a vase my mother keeps on her side table at home. Sloane and I were playing when we were kids, soccer inside the house, and we’d knocked the vase off the table. It had shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Mom was devastated. It took Dad a solid three weeks to figure out where each tiny sliver of porcelain belonged and to glue it back into place. I think Mom loved the vase even more once Dad had finished the job. So much painstaking effort had gone into repairing it that it didn’t matter to her if it was riddled with a spider web of fine chips and fractures. I have no idea who has spent so long over fixing all the injuries to Rebel’s body—many people, I’m sure—but his body somehow seems more beautiful for all the scars and imperfections. Matt would whine like a little bitch if he rolled an ankle during football practice. I’m yet to hear Rebel complain once about the fact that his belly was half-ripped open, or that he was shot up with thousands of volts of electricity.

I can just about make his features out as he gives me a grin that would take me out at the knees if I were standing. “You done, or should I come closer and give you a better look?” he asks softly. “You keep peering out of those covers at me and I might just come back to bed.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is. And more. I’ll make good on the promise I made you the other day, if you like?”

It takes me a second to remember what he’s referring to. When I do, my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. He’s referring to making me come. Properly. Showing me that the female orgasm isn’t just a myth. Holy shit…

Rebel stalks into the room like a panther, like now he’s had to chance to think about making me scream and he’s decided it’s a really great idea. I have no idea if he’s just trying to scare me or if this is something more. And I have no idea if I want it to be more. It makes me feel safe to pretend I don’t want him, but it’s exhausting and I’ve never been good at lying. Even to myself.

Truth is, I’m addicted to the man.

I should hate him. I should be scared of him. I shouldn’t want him anywhere near me, and yet…

“You can do what you want,” I whisper. “You normally do.”

He gives me a smirk. “Well, well. I do believe that wasn’t a no.” He walks back into the cabin, holding his torso rigid—I can see he’s already freshly dressed his wounds again this morning—as though he’s trying not to pull his stitches. I never thought I’d be the kind of person to look at a man like this. Like I’m hungry for him. It’s embarrassing, but it’s also freeing in some weird way, too. Sex has never been a big deal for me. It’s never played a huge role in my life. Ever since Matt and I got together, I assumed I just had a low sex drive and that was okay because he was always pretty vanilla about things and would finish up quickly anyway. But now… now I know my sex drive isn’t low. It’s just been dormant, laying in wait for the right person to come and awaken it. As I lay in Rebel’s bed, rubbing my feet together, trying not to think about the building pressure between my legs or the wicked look that’s spreading across his face, I’m pretty sure I’ve found that person. Or rather he found me.

“I’m just saying. Would it matter even if I did say no? You seem to get your own way most of the time, regardless of what anyone else has planned.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “Not all the time, Soph. Not with this. You think I’d force you to fuck me?” He’s lost that playful air to him. It’s vanished in a puff of smoke. Instead, he looks…hurt?

“No. No, that’s not what I meant. I…I just—”

“Think that I would coerce you in some way?” He frowns deeply, those blue eyes of his clouding over. It takes less than the space of a heartbeat to realize that I’ve said the wrong thing. I regret opening my mouth instantly. I should have thought.

“No. I don’t think you would ever coerce me. I really don’t. I shouldn’t have said that. You just…you make me feel like I’m…out of control.”

“You are always in control, Soph. Always. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m at your disposal, day or night. My club members step out of line and they’ll know about it, but you can pretty much get away with murder. I’m not a fan of games, Sophia. I’ve kept my mouth shut since Alabama because you looked terrified at the time, but I told you back in that hallway that you were mine for as long as you wanted to be. And I was yours.  You didn’t take my hand. You were scared by the idea of it, I know. But it’s still true. That hasn’t changed. As long as you’re here, with me, you have nothing to be afraid of. And that includes me.”

I can’t think of the right thing to say. When he looks at me the way he’s looking at me right now, I can’t think straight at the best of times. But coupled with the intensity in his voice and the way my body has just responded to his words, I don’t have a hope in hell of forming a coherent sentence.

He sighs, throwing the notepad and pen down on the end of the bed. “I’m going to figure out how to shower with all of these bandages. You can get some more sleep if you like.” He turns and heads for the bathroom door.

“Rebel, wait!”

He does. Glancing over his shoulder at me, he waits for me to speak. Me being me, I’m hoping that he’ll let me off, cut me some slack, not make me say it, but of course he’s him and that’s not how this thing works. I’m learning that slowly. Frustration courses through my veins. Why can’t he be a gentleman about this and just come get into bed with me? Rebel shakes his head, a small, barely-there smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Be brave, sugar. I know you are. You just gotta prove it,” he says softly.

In a million other situations, I’d get stubborn on his ass. I’d slump down in the bed, hiding under the covers, and I’d let him go take his shower, refusing to step up to the plate. This is different, though. If I did that right now, I wouldn’t be winning. I’d be losing, big time. I let out a shaky breath, pulling myself up a little in the bed. “All right, fine. I don’t want you to go for a shower. I want you to stay here. With me.”

“Oh? And why would that be?”

I could kick him in the shins for being so quietly smug, but it’s actually a very sexy look on him. He pulls it off well enough for me to be squirming in the bed as he slowly faces me again. “You know why,” I tell him.

“You have to tell me.”

“Because…”

“Because?” He takes another step closer to the bed.

“Because…I want you.”

A bright fire burns in Rebel’s eyes. “How?”

“I want to feel you on top of me, pushing my legs apart, pushing your way inside me. I want to get lost in you.”

“You want me to fuck you hard or slow, Soph?” He seems fascinated by the words I’m forcing out of my mouth. He seems to be savoring every last one. He stares at my mouth as he stalks purposefully toward the bed.

“Slow,” I whisper. “I want you to fuck me slow. I want to feel every last movement. Every last second that you’re inside me. I want to feel your arms tight around me, so I can barely breathe. I want to forget.”

He gives me a sharp look. “Forget about what? Bron? Dela Vega?”

Slowly, so slowly, I shake my head. Why is this so damn hard to say? I’ve come this far now—the rest of it should be easy. It isn’t, though. Opening my mouth, telling him what I want, is the hardest thing in the world. I’ve climbed mountains and overcome so many ridiculous obstacles recently, and yet this is where I flounder—here, trying to tell him the truth. He makes me feel small. Vulnerable. Afraid. “No,” I say. “Not about them. I want to forget where you begin and I end. I want to forget what it feels like to exist without you. I don’t want to dance around this anymore. I was scared back in Alabama, you’re right. But now the only thing that scares me? The only thing that scares me is not being with you.”

As he rushes the last few steps to the bed, Rebel doesn’t seem to care about his injuries anymore. I think he’s going to jump on me, rip the covers from my body and devour me, but he doesn’t. He kneels on the bed, sitting back on his heels and bracing his hands on his thighs, staring at me, his chest rising and falling quickly. “You have no idea…” he growls. “You have no idea what I want to do to you, Sophia. But you’re about to find out. Are you ready? Do I have your consent?”

Panic grips me, but I force myself to let go of it. In the past I’d have grabbed hold of this fear with two hands and refused to let go, giving myself an excuse to back out of whatever situation I found intimidating. I can’t afford to be that way, though. Not if I want to find out where all of this leads. Despite every single warning bell going off in my head, that’s exactly what I want. I nod, slowly drawing in a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, you have my consent.”

Rebel eyes glitter. I can see his intention in them, and it’s both thrilling and frightening at the same time. I know he’s going to come for me now, but knowing it and seeing it happen are two very different things. When he bends slowly, placing both hands on the bed in front of him, and begins making his way closer, I feel like I’m about to pass out.

“You want me to come inside you, Sophia?” he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble in the back of his throat.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” He moves so he can peel back the comforter that’s still covering me, and then he takes a second to inspect the length of my naked legs. The t-shirt I’m wearing seems really damn short all of a sudden. As if that bothers Rebel, though. He gently makes contact with my skin, running his hands lightly up the outsides of my thighs. I break out in goose bumps at his touch, sending violent shivers chasing through me. When his hands hit the hem of the t-shirt I’m wearing, he fingers the material, following the stitching along the hem until his hands meet in the middle. I know things are about to get crazy when his eyes meet mine and I can see the lust burning in them. “You know you should be naked right now?” he says. I’m going to respond, going to tell him that I want to be, but I’m not given the opportunity. Rebel grips the bottom of the t-shirt in both hands and pulls, splitting the material right up the middle.

The action is violent and makes me jump, but he doesn’t hurt me. The t-shirt’s in ruins, though. Completely unsalvageable. It’s kind of ridiculous that I’ve been wearing a shirt that says, It’s Not Going To Suck Itself anyway. Rebel removes the rest of the shirt from my body with persuasive hands, but he doesn’t touch my naked breasts. Doesn’t even glance at the rest of my bare flesh. His eyes remain locked onto mine, his breathing growing faster and faster. His skin is still boiling hot. He’s still feverish, though he doesn’t seem likely to let that hinder him in his current activity. Once I’m naked and lying on the bed in front of him, Rebel carefully positions himself in between my legs, kneeling over me.

“You’re a problem, Sophia,” he tells me. “You’re like the most complex, infuriating math problem I’ve ever attempted.”

I curve an eyebrow at him, trying not to look at his increasingly noticeable hard-on. I smile a little, determined not to hide my body from him, even though the effort is killing me. “More complicated than Legendre’s Conjecture?” I ask.

Rebel laughs. I could be wrong, but I get the impression he’s a little impressed. “You remember what it’s called, huh?”

“What it’s called, yes. If you asked me to draw it out, that might be a problem, though.”

“Oh, well, we can solve that.” He leans back and grabs the pen he was using before, pulling the cap off with his teeth. How such an action can be sexy, I have no idea, but he manages it. It’s hot as hell, in fact. He spits out the cap and then holds up the pen—a blue sharpie—giving me a questioning look. “You ready for me to get mathematical on you, sugar?”

“You want to scribble messy equations all over my body?”

When he opens his mouth, he’s switched on the Alabama charm. “Why, I’m a tattoo artist. I ain’t never made a mess on nobody’s skin. And I sure as hell ain’t ever scribbled on anyone, either. Now, please be so kind as to oblige me while I create a work of art on your already perfect body, darlin’.”

The southern accent has always made me cringe, but when Rebel speaks slow and deep the way he just did, I find myself reacting very differently. Very differently indeed. I want to press my knees together again, to stem the building need I’m experiencing, but I can’t because he’s still kneeling in between my legs.

I am frozen marble as he takes the tip of the sharpie and begins to slowly draw on my hipbone. From there, he travels upward toward my belly button in an arcing beautiful cursive that incorporates long, sweeping blue lines and curlicues that dip down low onto my stomach. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time. I feel every hot breath he takes as he works over me, frowning in concentration.

I have no idea what true values the numbers or shapes represent as he marks them onto me, but he was right; this isn’t a scribble, and it’s sure as hell not messy. It’s remarkable. He works for another fifteen minutes, his movements becoming slower, more considered, as the seconds tick by. My nerve endings jump every time tip of the pen makes contact. My heart races a little faster every time he exhales over the expanse of my bare skin. Eventually, I realize he’s noticed my involuntary reactions and he’s taking his time with me on purpose, drawing this out, making it last longer.

His pen travels down, down, down, and I clear my throat. When he looks up, his face is already lit with a savage grin that I haven’t been able to see until now. “Little uncomfortable?” he asks.

“Just wondering if you’re going to color me in entirely is all.”

He laughs again. “I think you’d look great as a smurf. I’ve only just discovered how hot it is to watch you jump and squirm when I do this. It’s made my cock rock solid, Soph. All I can think about is how beautiful you’d look if I were tattooing you for real and this was a gun in my hand. I think watching you writhe around while you were getting inked would have me coming in a heart beat.”

A cold, strange shudder runs through my body—half dread, half excitement. There were lots of girls at school who had tattoos all over their bodies, some of which were real works of art. I never looked at them and thought, ‘yeah, that’s me,’ though. I never planned out what I would look like if I were to have some serious ink going on. It never even crossed my mind, mainly because I knew what my father would say if I came home with a tattoo. He’d lose his freaking mind.

“I’m not letting you tattoo me,” I tell him. “No way in hell.”

“Why?” Rebel puts the cap back on the pen and tosses it over his shoulder, looking devious. “Afraid?”

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m a chicken and it wouldn’t hurt?”

“Oh, no. It can hurt like a bitch, sugar.” Slowly, he ducks down and licks the skin just above my belly button, never taking his eyes off me. “It’s just that some pleasures are worth the pain. You wouldn’t know about that, I’m sure. I’ll show you if you like?”

I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him now. I think he can see that in my eyes, because he smiles. “Are you wet yet, Sophia?” he whispers. “If you’re not ready for me, I can always color you in some more.”

I nod, struggling to keep my hands still beside me. It’s as though they have a mind of their own. I want to touch him. I want to bury my hands in his hair. I want to trace my fingers over the deep purple bruises on his chest, and then I want to gently kiss both of them. I imagine what his skin would taste like if I licked him the same way he just licked me, and my hands curl into fists. “No more coloring,” I whisper.

“As you wish.” Rebel kisses my body, sending wave after wave of pleasure soaring through me as he moves from the very start of the equation he’s just drawn on my hip, up, up, up my ribcage, until he reaches my left breast. It’s far from cold in the cabin, but my nipples have tightened to almost painful proportions already. It’s cruel, cruel torture when he takes my nipple into his mouth and gently sucks, trailing his tongue over my sensitive flesh, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh…oh my god.”

He sucks harder, and my back arches off the bed, curving into his body. I can feel how badly he wants me now. I’ve already seen how big he’s gotten but to feel his erection digging into my belly makes this whole situation seem more…I don’t know. Surreal in some ways? Because this isn’t me. I’m not the girl who grinds her hips up against a guy I barely know as he teases my nipples with his fingers and his mouth.

Rebel palms my right breast with his free hand, kneading lightly, breathing hard down his nose. Every single muscle in his body is tight and tense as he slowly starts to rock against me, pressing his cock against my pussy, creating the most amazing friction. I forget I’m meant to be a timid mouse in this situation.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. Rebel groans as he continues to grind his body against mine, and the sound of his pleasure sends a sharp, demanding shockwave of need through me. I want to hear him make that sound again. I want him to be inside me when he does. My hands are working quickly, then, pulling at the waistband of his boxers.

Rebel takes hold of my left hand first and then the other, pinning them above my head. “I thought you wanted this slow.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t tempt me.”

He slides down my body, and then he’s pulling my legs apart even further, making a pleased humming sound at the back of his throat as he stares at my pussy. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d probably be cringing. Instead I’m biting on my bottom lip like a character out of some trashy romance novel, feeling electrified by the way his eyes travel so slowly over me.

“You want my tongue, sugar?” he growls.

“Yes. Yes, I want it,” I pant. “Please.”

He chuckles under his breath, running his hands down the insides of my thighs. “You’re incredible,” he tells me. “Just…fucking…incredible.” When he dips and teases his tongue over my clit, my head starts spinning. I have no idea how guys learn how to give head, but Matt could have done with some lessons from the school Rebel attended. He knows exactly what to do to set off those fireworks in my brain. It occurs to me that he’s probably so good at it because he’s had years and years of practice with god knows how many women, but the thought is fleeting. Neither my body nor my mind will allow me to think about things like that right now. Not when I could be floating on this cloud, feeling like the tether holding me to this earth could snap any second and I could drown in nothingness. It’s what I want. No, it’s what I need.

Rebel has me on the brink of coming and he must know it. Just as it feels like I’m climbing, lifting, rising to the top of some giant rollercoaster, he slides his index finger and his middle finger inside me and every last synapse in my brain starts firing.

“Jesus, you really do taste like sugar,” he groans. “I can’t get enough of you.” He only has to pump his fingers into three or four more times before he pushes me over the edge and I plummet, heart hammering, hands clinging to the sheets, vision narrowing and my ears ringing.

It takes me a moment to realize my thighs are locked tight around Rebel’s head and his tongue is still working over my clitoris, stretching out the end of my orgasm, making the muscles in my stomach and the backs of my legs twitch and flex.

“Oh, shit. Stop, stop. Please! Stop!” I’m laughing uncontrollably, but it’s manic, pleading. He’s driving me crazy. I’m way too sensitive for him to carry on. He stops, rocking back on his heels, a very smug smile spreading across his face.

“You taste like candy,” he says, as he gets up off the bed and finally removes his boxer shorts. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Sure, we had sex in the hallway at his dad’s place, and, yes, we did it again the other night, but I’ve never seen him. Never had the chance to check out what he’s got going on down there. Rebel seems to know that I want to see him properly. He doesn’t rush back onto the bed. He stands, shoulders back, covered in bruises, favoring his good side, but he doesn’t hide his cock. If anything, he’s pretty damn proud of it as he remains frozen to the spot, allowing me to get a good look. And he has every right to be proud. Matt was pretty straight laced, but he did like to watch porn with me every once in a while. Rebel easily rivals any of the guys we saw in those ‘movies.’ His cock is perfection. It’s actually beautiful. That seems like a strange thought to have about a penis, but it’s true. It makes me want to do weird things…like take a plaster cast of it and make myself a personalized Rebel dildo that I can tease myself with it when he’s not around.

“I take it you like what you see?” he asks. “You’ve got this look on your face. Somewhere between complete carnal lust and overwhelming relief.”

I laugh. “Overwhelming relief?”

He nods, climbing back up onto the bed, back up onto me. “Yes. Like you thought I somehow tricked you before and I was going to have a micro-dick.”

More laughter, though it’s strained now. I can feel him between my legs, pressing against the entrance to my pussy. If he so much as takes a deep breath, he’ll be inside me. And god, I want that. “I’m not…sizeist,” I tell him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Rebel pushes forward just the tiniest little bit, but the feeling of him entering me makes me dizzy in the best possible way. “Even if I had a two inch cocktail sausage for a dick, I could still make you come with it. I could still make you scream my fucking name. I know what I’m doing, sugar, and it makes me seriously fucking hard to bring you pleasure. Now, are you ready for me to make you come?”

His gaze penetrates me deep. The heat from his body on top of me is making my head spin. “I’m ready,” I tell him. And he pushes into me, slowly, with purpose, staring me in the eye, his arms braced either side of my head as he sinks deeper and deeper. He feels…he feels amazing. Before, things have always felt amazing, but this is something else entirely. He doesn’t pull back straight away; he holds himself in place, holding me in his gaze, and it feels like something clicks. That sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. It feels like the last tiny shred of resistance I may have habored concerning this man is gone, banished, destroyed, and now I’m screwed. I won’t be able to hold myself back anymore.

I’m surprised by the look in Rebel’s eyes when he finally pulls back, drawing out of me so he can repeat the motion. He looks surprised. A little shocked even? He shakes his head, grinning a little, and then he really takes my breath away. He supports himself with one hand, and then cups my face with the other, bringing his lips down on mine. Kissing him isn’t something I’ve daydreamed about. I haven’t allowed the thought to cross my mind. We kissed back at his father’s place, but we were both desperate then, fighting to control ourselves. We were ripping and tearing at each other like wild animals. Those kisses were intense and powerful, but our mouths were crashing together, devouring one another. Now, the way he kisses me is purposeful and direct. His mouth is soft on mine, but he’s in control. Lowering his full weight on top of me, he leans on his elbows, which frees up his other hand to brush the hair back out of my face, trace his fingers across the line of my cheekbone, my jaw, my temple. He moves slow just like I asked him to, but he makes sure he’s deep inside me each time before he draws away. I move with him, feeling trapped and safe beneath him at the same time, both scared and whole.

This is nothing like the encounters we’ve shared before. This feels honest. Like a promise somehow. He holds onto me so tight as he fucks me. It’s not long before both of us are shaking with the effort of keeping ourselves together. I lock my legs around his waist and we come at the same time, Rebel growling into my neck, crushing me to him as he climaxes.

We lay together, panting, unable to move as the early morning sunshine shines down on our bodies, and I realize that he gave me what I asked of him. He made me forget. He made me forget where he began and I ended.

And it feels perfect.