Текст книги "The Other Man"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER

THREE

I thought he was going to kiss me.  I wanted him to.  I wanted that and more.  But he didn’t, not then.

Instead, he let me go, and stepped back, nodding his head at the coffee pot that had just finished brewing.  “I know better than to come between a woman and her morning caffeine.”

I smiled wryly, but as I prepared us both a cup, my hands were shaking so hard that I wondered if I should even drink it.  I was already wound up too tight to contain.

“How do you take it?” I asked, my back to him, my shaking hand on the creamer.

Before he even touched me, I felt him getting closer.  I shivered as he pressed his chest against my back, his taller form folding over me until his hands braced on either side of mine, gripping the counter’s edge.

“I’d rather show you than tell you,” his gravelly voice rasped into my ear.

I gasped, then silently cursed at myself.  This was not me.  Men did not make me nervous.  “I was referring to the coffee,” I said archly.  “Cream and sugar?”

“Just cream,” he responded.  “No sugar.  I’m sweet enough.”

That forced a hard laugh out of me, because we both knew that he was about as sweet as a pit bull.

I finished mixing our coffees, him pressed to me all the while, his body dominating mine before he’d ever even kissed me.

He took his cup and moved away.  I was equal parts relieved and disappointed.  I was having a hard time knowing what I was feeling, what I wanted, where he was concerned.  I knew this was moving too fast, was certain of that, but at the same time I wanted more, wanted it to move faster, to go forward with no brakes.

I took a few breaths, then turned to look at him, leaning back to brace my hip against the counter as we both took our first drink.

“How do you feel about restraints?” he asked casually.

I nearly choked on the hot liquid pouring down my throat.

Of course he’s into kink, I thought to myself, eyes narrowed on him.  Any man that young and good looking would have some quirks.

“Like handcuffs?” I asked when I’d finally recovered from the fit of coughing that he had caused.

His arched brow just arched higher, the corner of his lip lifting up in what I thought was amusement.

I shook my head.  “No.  Sorry, no.  I don’t know you that well.”  I set my coffee down, done with it.  I was already too wired.

He set his down, too, and in spite of everything, all I could concentrate on was how his muscles moved under his tight shirt with every movement.

He moved to me slowly, and I had to consciously make an effort not to hold my breath.

“Fair enough,” he told me.  “We’ll work on getting to know each other better.  But in the meantime . . . ” His hands reached down, grabbing both of my wrists.

I watched those hands.  They were so big.  I never saw myself as particularly delicate or small.  I was slender and fit, but not tiny.  But as he grabbed my wrists, circling them with his fingers, I became hyperaware of just how delicate I was compared to him.  How fragile.

A strange thrill moved through me.  Strange because it wasn’t only desire I was feeling.  Mixed in there somewhere was a definite thread of fear.

Why did that only enhance the desire?  I almost didn’t even want to investigate it.  Yes, it was perverse.  But it was also exhilarating.  Exhilarating and so much more.

Exciting.

Compelling.

Intoxicating.

Electrifying.

So many things I hadn’t felt in too long to name, and I didn’t want to pass on any of them.

He squeezed my wrists.  Not to the point of pain, but with just enough pressure to let me know his strength, which was formidable.

“I won’t use restraints,” he said quietly.  “Not until you’re ready.  But I will hold you down.  Can you handle that?”

I found myself nodding jerkily, even as I wondered if I really could.

I didn’t know why I just agreed to that, just like I didn’t know why I was about to have sex with a perfect stranger in the middle of the morning on a Tuesday.

It felt dangerous, yet completely necessary.

It was a while before I could look away from my captive hands and up into his cold stare.

“Any other quirks of yours that you want to tell me about upfront?” I managed to ask him in a somewhat steady voice.

He smiled, and it was colder than ever.  “Not particularly.”

Well hell, that was far from reassuring.

He took a step back, still holding my wrists.  “I don’t even know where to start with you,” he said, voice low, eyes on my body.

That wasn’t reassuring either, but going by my body’s reaction to every alarming thing that came out of his mouth, it was becoming clear to me that maybe I didn’t want to be reassured.

He moved closer again, took one captive hand and pulled it, palm first, to cup him.  I moaned at the feel of him.  The hardness of him, the foreign largeness.  I rubbed him over his sweats, my heavy-lidded eyes on his cold ones.

I suddenly found myself grabbing a handful of bare cock.

I glanced down.  He’d shifted his waistband down, exposing himself.

My jaw nearly dropped, eyes going wide.  He was fully aroused and huge.

Holy shit, I thought.  Oh no, I hadn’t thought that.  I’d said it aloud.

He seemed to get a kick out of it, which I didn’t think was good.  This guy did not need any more strokes to his ego.

“I take it your ex-husband didn’t measure up,” he said.  Arrogant bastard.

“I don’t think many men measure up to that,” just sort of slipped out of me.  But fuck it all, it was only the truth.

I ringed my fingers around his girth experimentally, licking my lips.  My fingers couldn’t touch.  I let him go, watching his heavy cock bob down heavily as I did it.

I’ve always considered myself to be a passionate, sensual woman.  I’ve enjoyed sex, not just the physical release but the intimacy of it, but this was something else entirely, like some new person was suddenly sharing space in my body.

Never in my life before that moment had I felt a need like this.  It was so acute it made my teeth ache.

Never had I felt like a bitch in heat, but I did then.  I stared at that cock, and I wanted it.  Wanted to drop to my knees and beg him for it, any way I could get it, anywhere.

“Your turn,” he said, his rough voice drawing my eyes back to his face.

I licked my lips, mind gone blank, no concept of what he was asking or why.  “E-excuse me?”

He smiled his cold smile and pushed my hand back to his cock.  “I took something off.  Now it’s your turn.  You take something off.”

I glanced down at his sweatpants, hand feeling at him, memorizing his length with hungry fingers.  I tugged at my other arm, but he held it fast, still gripping my wrist.

“You didn’t take anything off,” I pointed out.  “You just pulled something out.”

He chuckled, and I glanced up at his face.  I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed, or more fascinated than ever, that even when he laughed it didn’t reach those eyes of his.

He pushed my hand away, dragging it behind my back, along with the other, gripping both of my wrists in one massive hand.  The other went to my braid, twisting again, wrapping it around his fist, tilting my head back.

My lips parted, eyes closing as I realized that he was finally going to kiss me.

It wasn’t what I expected, that kiss.  After all of his blunt statements, I’d expected him to be rough, to ravage from the start.  He did not.  Instead, his lips were soft, coaxing, easing mine open for the shockingly tender onslaught of his tongue.

His body shifted, crowding mine against the counter, his hardness digging into my leg.

I moved against him, impatient for more contact.

He deepened the kiss until I was moaning.  I tasted and sucked at his driving tongue as it plunged repeatedly to mate with mine.

He groaned, shoving his enormous erection hard, hard, harder into my thigh.  So hard I wondered if I’d have an oversized boner shaped bruise there tomorrow.

He ripped his mouth away from mine, gasping.  “Bedroom,” he said curtly, taking his hands off me and pulling away.

I nodded, then began to move on unsteady legs toward my room.  I could feel him at my back, his breath on my neck every drugging step of the way.

I paused in the doorway to my bedroom, but his hard body nudged me all of the way into the room.  That made me shoot him a glance over my shoulder.

Every line in his face read unapologetic, so I knew it had been deliberate.

“Raise your arms over your head,” he ordered me.

I raised a brow at him, but did it, holding them high, arching my back, my aching breasts thrusting forward.

His nostrils flared, and he stepped close behind me, so close I could no longer crane to see his face.

His big hands settled on my hips, gripping into the fleshy part, testing it in a way that made me tremble.

My arms started to lower, but a rough, “No, keep them up,” in my ear stayed them.

His hands started skimming under my shirt, teasing at my belly.

Abruptly he pulled it up and over my head.

A muscle quivered in my stomach as the skin of my abdomen was bared.

My shoulders drew up tight as, with rather impressive speed, he unsnapped my bra and tore it off my arms, tossing it carelessly to the ground.

His hands ran from my shoulders to my fingertips with a feather light touch.  I could hear my own breath panting out of me as he folded my wrists behind my head, held together close to my nape.

He used that hold to nudge me, moving me closer to the bed.

“All this needs is a bag over my head, and we’d have a perp walk,” I said, my wry tone spoiled by the fact that I couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

He liked that, I could hear it in his voice as he responded, “If this is a perp walk, I need to do a better job of patting you down.”  As he spoke, he shifted my wrists to one hand.

I sucked in a breath as his free hand moved to my collarbone.  I glanced down to watch as he slid it over my skin until it held my breast, watched it move with the rapid rise and fall of my chest.  He ran a rough thumb over my nipple.

“You’re trembling,” he rasped into my ear, making me tremble all the more.  “Fear or excitement?”

I licked my lips and gave him the truth.  “Both.”

“Are you wet?” he asked, hand snaking down my body, pushing into the waistband of my pants and going unerringly, aggressively, for my sex.

“Yes,” I gasped, though he’d already answered his own question, his fingers rubbing over my slick folds.

“You don’t normally do things like this, do you?”

“Bring strange men home and lead them to my bedroom?  Um, no.  This is not a habit of mine.”

“I’ll be sure to make it worth your while, then.”

Somehow, impossibly, I believed that he would.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Abruptly, he released my wrists, and I turned to look at him.

He backed away, one step, and then another, his eyes on my breasts as his hands went to the bottom of his T-shirt.  He shrugged it off, the material straining to the point I thought it’d rip as he dragged it off his shoulders.

I sucked in a shocked breath as I took in the hard flesh he’d exposed.

Scars were painted all across his granite torso.  I don’t know why, I think it may have been his face, which was so handsome and young, and unscarred, but those markings caught me completely off guard.  They were all shapes and sizes, ranging from several little round ones (two of which were still fresh and pink) to long jagged cuts, the worst being a particularly big one that drew up along his side in a way that made it look like someone had literally tried to gut him with a knife.

Somehow, I knew not to ask him the first question that popped into my head, which was, What happened to you? 

Instead I studied him for a long time, his cold eyes on me, his jaw held hard as he studied me back.  Finally I settled for, “You’ve been shot recently.”  It was an understatement.  He’d been shot many times, and knifed, and if I had to guess what some of those marks were, he’d even been branded and burned.

Tortured, I realized.

This man, who was much younger than I was, had been brutally tortured.  Repeatedly.

Something inside of me, my strong maternal side I was sure, went soft for him.

“Yes, I’ve been shot a time or two,” he grumbled out, sounding pissed.  “Is that a problem?”

I shook my head, even while I wondered if it was.  Was he a criminal?  He didn’t strike me as a cop, so what was the alternative?

He seemed to see something in my face, utter shock perhaps, that had him reassuring me in a soft tone I’d never heard him use before, but I loved it and craved more as soon as I heard it.  “I’ve lived a violent life.  But, Lourdes, listen very carefully, because this is a promise:  I’d never hurt you.  Okay?”

I nodded jerkily.

“Aside from rough sex, that is,” he felt the need to add.

I licked my lips and nodded again.

“Very rough,” he continued.  “But you won’t mind that.  In fact, unless my instincts are wrong about you, soon you’ll be begging me for it.”  As he spoke, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a handful of condoms, of the magnum variety.

He was pushing his sweatpants down impatiently when he said, “Get on the bed.  On your back.  Arms above your head.”

I went liquid even as I managed to comply.

He tossed the condoms on the bed by my hip, leaning over me, arms bracing on either side of my ribs, eyes running over my body.

He bit his lip appealingly, blinking languorously.  “Your body . . . “ he began and trailed off.

He shut his eyes, shook his head, and when he opened them again, whatever had come over him, whatever he’d been about to say, seemed to have passed.

I didn’t worry about it for long as his hands flew to the waistband of my pants and started pulling, dragging my sweats and panties down at the same time, taking my socks off as well when he reached my ankles.

He became preoccupied for a moment when he’d freed me from my bottoms.  I squirmed a bit as he separated my lacy panties from my sweats, studying them.

He held up the tiny scrap of material, arching a brow at me.  “This is what you wear under sweats?”

I just nodded.  I didn’t want to talk about my underwear or anything else, really.  Action was required.  Words?  Not so much.

He shook his head, and, as though that settled the matter, he tossed my panties over his shoulder, eyes moving back to my body.

“Spread your legs,” he said gruffly.

I did it, eyes on his cock, wondering how much longer I’d have to wait before I had that inside of me.

He let out a small string of curses, but that didn’t make me stiffen.  On the contrary, it made me melt, each profanity washing over me, because I knew that he was only perturbed because he wanted me.

To the degree that I wanted him.  And that was saying something.

“Any requests before we do this?” he asked.  “I’ll warn you now, there’ll be no stopping once I start.”  As he said this, his eyes moved up my body to devour my chest, taking in my full, straining breasts.

I took them in too, looking down at myself, watching in fascination as my back arched, erect nipples seeking him.

I licked my lower lip, watching how every tiny movement I made seemed to capture him.  “Another kiss would be nice,” I said softly.

His nostrils flared, and he moved to climb on top of me, straddling my hips, his hands holding my wrists firmly above my head.

He bent his face to mine, angling his head as he took my lips.

His kiss was different this time, more like what I’d expected from the first kiss, his tongue demanding, invading, greedy, like he couldn’t get enough, like he wanted to devour me.

I gave him everything he asked for, lips surrendering, body submitting, my hips bucking in reflexive anticipation.

I moaned out a protest when he took his mouth away, but not for long as it stayed attached to my body, moving down along my jaw, then to my neck, licking, sucking, biting as it went.

When his hot mouth reached my breasts, it was like a voltage of electricity to my chest, my back bowing, teeth gritting as he licked and sucked, pushing the ripe globes together to nuzzle from one to the other, then fastening like a suction to my nipple.

I could’ve gotten off just from the sound of his mouth feasting hungrily on my flesh, I was that primed.

Luckily, he was just as primed, and so it didn’t come to that.  There wasn’t time.

Foreplay was not the order of the day.

This was about fucking.  It was that simple.  His cock inside of my cunt, the faster the better.

He tore his mouth away from my skin and reached for a condom.  He ripped the foil on the packet with one hand and his teeth, keeping my wrists captive all the while.  He even rolled it on one-handed, which was rather impressive considering the size of him.

Practice made perfect, I supposed.  And I tried to linger on that as little as possible.

He moved down my body, shoving my legs wide apart to accommodate his hips, and lined us up, breast to groin.

I craned my neck forward to watch as his tip found my entrance, and he nudged in that first delicious inch.

It’s been way too fucking long, I thought to myself.

And that was my last coherent thought for a very long time.

He shoved in, slowly at first, shifting his hips to work himself against my soft flesh.  I heard the noises that left my throat as though they were coming out of somebody else as my soft flesh welcomed him inch by slow inch.

It took forever for him to push inside of me, but I wouldn’t have rushed that part if I could, watching as each delicious centimeter of his shaft disappeared into my sex.

I clenched around him, my cunt sucking him in so earnestly and intensely that he cursed and praised me in equal parts every second that he progressed.

It was a shock as he finally, at last, about fucking time, shoved fully into me, buried to the root.

The air punched hard out of my lungs at the brutal impact as he hit home.

I’d never been so full.  That was a fact.

I took in this new foreign fullness with great heaving breaths that brought my sensitive chest up to rub against his slick hard one, then drop down and away again with each rough inhale, exhale.

“What in the holy fuck,” he muttered succinctly.

I wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement, but regardless, I had nothing to add.  That summed it up for me, as well.

And then, then, oh my God, then, he started to move, dragging out of me with big, jagged pulls, it taking a few of those pulls to have only the tip of him inside of me again.

He paused briefly there, at just the point where I felt so helpless that I lost it.

Just lost it.  Sobbing, pleading, begging him to move, to come back inside of me, to fill me up entirely.

And he was no sadist, thank God.  He obliged right away, ramming back in with one long heave, then yanking out again, faster now, smoother with every movement as my body learned to accommodate his size, accepting the length and girth of him like it’d been made for just this purpose.

There was something so simple and profound about that first mating.  He occupied an empty place inside of me, literally and figuratively, a lonely space that I hadn’t known needed filling.

It was beautiful and riveting.  I didn’t want it to end, but had to fight not to finish too quickly.

He drove into me, again and again, his thrusts rough to the point of brutal.

I’d never been into rough sex.

Well, I’d never tried it, but I hadn’t thought I was into it.

I’d thought wrong.

How could I be so wrong about myself?  How could I not know about a need like that until it was given to me in its entirety?

And that need, that need, it swallowed me whole.

I needed this like I needed air.  Needed someone to fill me so acutely, so completely, mercilessly invading me, over and over, pounding me into the mattress, taking absolute, indisputable ownership of my body until I couldn’t say where he began and I ended.

Needed it so much, I couldn’t stop begging for it.

Loudly.

Repeatedly.

And he gave it to me, everything I begged for and more, rutting into me with mindless abandon, pounding in and out, in and out, faster and faster, harder, and still, impossibly, harder, until screaming, I burst.

My orgasm didn’t just surprise me.  It assaulted me.  Tore through me and broke me into a million twitching pieces.

One big hand clawing at my hips, he pumped into me four, five more times, then planted himself deep, to the root and came.

I watched as the chill at last left his eyes.  So many things rushed in to replace that consuming coldness of his.

Wonderful things.

Addictive things that let me know somewhere deep down he was as affected as I was.

Hunger.  Admiration.  Desperation.  Lust.  Wonder.  Need.  Abandon.  Madness.

It was beautiful to watch, the way he changed in those brief moments of bliss.

Beautiful and dangerous.

I’d do a lot to watch him change like that, to get even the briefest glimpse of that other side of him.  The need was powerful to the point of self-destructive, especially considering the fact that I barely knew him, and what I did know only seemed to point toward the fact that he was a wild thing that was not even close to being tamed.