120 Mph (18 page)

Sara remained straddling his hips. She
leaned her body forward and the instant her warm breasts touched his heated
chest, Christian knew he was a goner. Nothing was going to stop them now.

Her lips found his neck. Her tongue
dragged over his jawline. That sweet velvet appendage seared to his mouth, as
Christian shoved his fingers through her hair to hold onto her for dear life.

They kissed for a minute, no more. Then
each discarded the remainder of any clothing that might have been in the way.
Hands and limbs frantic, the task of taking things slow no longer was in the
equation.

When it looked as though she was going to
straddle his erection, ready and waiting, Christian had other plans. He was
going to make love to her, not the other way around. He was going to go at this
at an exquisitely torturous pace, if at all possible. He was going to make it
last. And he was going to do it again and again, until he could no longer
breathe. This was the plan.

This was not the consequences.

Sara wouldn’t let any lovemaking be slow.
Nor let him even place her on her back. When he suggested they should start at this
as missionary, easy on her, and far easier on him since it had been such a long
time and he might not last, Sara told him no. She wanted it hard, fast, frantic,
and she wanted it from behind. She didn’t care if he lasted. If he did not,
they would just do it again. How could any man with a working penis possible
say no to that?

He hadn’t known it was because she
didn’t want him seeing the tears.

Standing at the side of the bed, she
bent forward, placing both her delicate hands on the mattress. She parted her long
legs as he moved up behind her. His erection was so damn eager to enter her
heat, Christian waited, gritting his teeth. He placed feather-light kisses to the
bumps on her spine, hearing the loud purrs his touch caused.

She likely thought he’d make this quick,
but he wanted to kiss every damn inch of her first. His hands drifted to her
hips, then both slipped forward to her front.

Cupping Sara’s heat with one hand,
Christian used his other to steal the breath from her lungs by clasping the
heavy weight of her left breast into his palm.

Damnit! He wanted to see her eyes, her
face, watch her when he entered her, but Sara wouldn’t agree to this.

“Please, Sara? Let me look at you.”

She shook her head, reaching around to
touch him.  A small catch in her throat, she said, “Not yet.”

Christian slipped a finger into her core,
slick and hot, and she nearly buckled at the knees. Her body leaned forward
even more to accept the invasion.

So hard it was considered painful,
Christian’s eager erection needed to find the source of her moisture all for
itself. He abandoned her breast, withdrew his finger, and bent her forward some
more. A hard thrust and he was deep inside her. For him to want to leave this
place destined only for man . . .?

His hips moving forward and back, and Sara
took the heady thrusts into her body all in stride. Her hands started to slowly
spread out across the mattress until she was about flat to it.

They were fucking at the side of a motel
bed. Not making love to each other. This was not how he wanted it. This was not
how it should be . . . but he wasn’t about to stop doing it.

Lasting long became the impossibility.
He’d been without for far too long. One final thrust and Christian spilled what
he could out of himself into her slick heat. Seconds later, his knees gave out
and he fell atop her sweat-slicked back. A minute to gather his breath, he
backed out and off, rolled Sara over, and saw the tracks of her tears. His
heart felt the pierce, tenfold.

Christian dragged her into his arms
within a single heartbeat because even more of those tears fell the second he
touched her.

“Why?”

She shook her head, denying him any
right to get inside her head.

“This was not how I had wanted our first
time, and you know it,” he stated firmly.

Her hand rose and she placed one slender
finger to his lips. “This was how it had to be. You don’t love me. Don’t
pretend that you do.”

His heart ached by so few words as he
watched a slow path of even more stinging tears made. No. He did not love Sara
Ruby. He wouldn’t lie and say that he did.

“You wanted an easy fuck. I gave you
that. Don’t make it into anything more . . . because it’s not. You and I both
know it’s not.”

Christian used his thumbs to wipe away
her tears, his mouth to kiss away her sadness, and his kindness and compassion
as his only weapon against the shame he saw mirrored in her gaze. Naked and
vulnerable, his cock hung, he didn’t know what to say to make this right. So he
said nothing at all.

 “I had sex with a man who very easily
kicked me out of his life,” she pressured out of her delicate mouth, closing
her eyes. Though the words painful to hear, only a callous soul would not react
to them.

“I never meant to  . . .,” he tried
getting out.

He never meant to hurt her like this.

But Sara wouldn’t listen. She slipped
off the bed, Christian following, and both trying to stop the inevitable from
happening. She wanted to leave him.

With utter fascination he stood stock
still as Sara went down to her knees in front of him. Without pause, she set
her lips to his again hardening cock.

Christian grabbed Sara’s head in both
hands. “Oh, God, Sara! Don’t. You don’t . . .”

Why was she doing this to him? He hadn’t
needed this. It was her turn for such an exquisite pleasure, not the other way
around. About to argue this fact to its bitter end, Sara’s mouth and tongue
contradicted Christian’s every waking idea. She worked her tongue over and
under him as her lips and muscles sucked him hard until he was so damn ready
for round two.

Instead of having him explode orally,
she stood, pushed him onto the bed, and straddled his cock before he could dare
say ‘wait’. Again, she put her finger to his lips to silence his words.

She then arched her back and began moving
back and forth across his pelvis, sinking deeper onto his thickened shaft. Her
splayed hands over his chest, her eyes remained closed . . .

Her climax was so intense, he, for one
brief moment thought she would hurt him. Then it was over.

Damnit! She was making certain he could
not dive into her soul; perhaps catch sight of one small piece of her she’d
never shared with another.

Sara backed away, and within the tiniest
of breaths his blood ran cold.

“There. You got what you wanted. Now get
out.”

Christian pushed to his elbows. She
didn’t look as though her words had been spoken as a jest; it sure as hell
didn’t feel as if one.

 “I mean it, Christian. Get out. I don’t
want you here.”

He watched in utter horror as she
gathered up his clothes and tossed them at his face. Not ready for the impact,
his belt buckle hit him square in the nose. “Damnit, Sara!”

“Get out!” she yelled.

Christian was too dumbfounded to argue, but
when a woman was yelling for him to leave, he had better before any cops were called
into the room. He shoved aside the clothing.

“Sara  . . .”

She set her hands over her ears so as
not to listen to what he would explain—even if he could explain this.

“I know you don’t want me to leave  . .
.” he tried, stuck on the remaining words as her lips quivered.

Christian forced his body to move off
the bed. He surely didn’t want to. He wanted to stay right where he was and fix
this—whatever
this
was—because that was what he was so good at. Fixing
things broken.

“I should toss you out, naked, same as
you did me. But God might not forgive me for it and I’m not willing to take
that chance anymore. It’s bad enough we just did what we . . .Damnit! I am
going to say it only once more, and you had better listen this time. I don’t
want you here. I don’t want you. I want you out of my life. I want you to take
all that—” She waved a hand over the expanse of his body. “—back to your
perfect, Godly world. And if at all possible I would like you to go to Hell.
You should know exactly where that is.”

This made him angry. Christian redressed
in a rush.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head
about any of that, Sara. I am well on my way to Hell at this very moment. You
don’t need to rush the journey upon me.”

He wasn’t going to tell her he’d quit
the church today. He wasn’t going to state he’d been lost, trying to find his
way back over the five agonizing months she’s been missing from his life. He
wasn’t going to apologize for this slip in judgment—as said, whatever this was.
He was, however, going to make damn certain she understood the ramifications of
what they did as perhaps backfiring in her face.

“Fine, I’ll go. And you will not see me
again, ever. You can go on your merry little way, pretend your life is damn perfect,
and pretend I never once mattered to you. But we both know it’ll be hard to do—and
that it’ll be one hell of a lie to come out your mouth. Your life is crap,
Sara. You’re living in a fucking motel, making pennies on the dollar.” His darted
glance at her miniscule piles of coin, then coinciding glare didn’t help the mutiny
aboard this sinking ship. “We both know you are so damn good at lying if it
suits your needs, so you should be just fine without me.”

Naked and not caring, Sara moved to the
motel room door, yanked it open, then said more forcibly, “Get out, now!”

Christian got out quickly. He left, did not
turn around, and dared himself not to go back begging for something that wasn’t
really his.

He pulled his motel key out of his
pocket, shoved it into the lock of his room, stepped inside, slammed the wooden
panel closed, and two hours later found his body still seated on its ass, his
back to the door, and dried tears leaving behind evidence of his sin.

Another ten equally wasted minutes to
pull his thoughts together, Christian left the motel altogether.

He never saw the man who entered Sara’s
room as his car drove away from the parking lot.

Chapter
Twenty

Sara thought Christian dared come back
upon hearing the handle creak to the outside door. Someone was opening up her
motel room door without permission and that someone was going to be in a world
of hurt.

Sara shut off the tap water, sliding
open the shower curtain. If Christian came back just to make her hate him all
the more, he had better not come waltzing into the bathroom, or she’d hate him
for all eternity. She wasn’t in a very forgiving mood right now. In fact, she
was in no mood to confront her regrets.

And every second of every minute there
was a new regret added to the lot and for the time being it was more than she
could take.

She stepped over the side of the tub,
wrapped a scratchy bath towel tight around her body, and firmly set the lock on
the bathroom door. Damn him! If he meant to make love to her again, she would
fight him—tooth and nail until certain she could control her emotions. She’d
had enough of the tears, the heartbreak, and the urge to make things better
when this would certainly be just another pipe dream beyond her reach.

He’d said his peace, she’d said hers.
Everything then came crashing to a head . . . and now she would have to leave,
find another place to hide, and make up another identity.

She lowered her head to the door,
pressing her forehead hard against the wood, then inched her ear closer to
catch any further movement. The distinct sounds of a man rummaging around her
motel room drew her body back. Why would he be rummaging through her room? She
had nothing here that would shame her into turning herself in. Not after Christian
finding her, then having sex with her body, but not making love to her soul.

Oh, there was always that dreaded catch
in the seam of life wasn’t there? She would have to possess a soul worth making
love to, for Christian to care doing it again.

Sara cautiously unlocked the bathroom
door, drawing in deep breath to challenge this newest development head on. The
best that would happen with her confronting their sins directly? She could see
his incredible blue eyes once more before tossing him away. The worst? She
would never want to stop looking at those eyes, or touching his face, or even
touching the man.

What Sara found near her motel bed dropped
the blood from her head straight to her toes, making her head spin. A man she’d
never seen in all her life was digging through her purse. Her pulse quickened
as her hand rose to her mouth to hold back her scream. He’d already ripped
apart her small suitcase, clothes strewn about the floor.

Dressed in all black, head to toe, he
didn’t look the type to confront with any damning questions while dressed in a
bath towel. And foolish was who stated one’s fury aloud.

“What the hell do you think you are
doing?” forcibly slipped out of her mouth, when purse in his hand and he’d been
about to touch her tiny piles of funds set on the table. The only money she had
to her name.

The man’s head whipped up and the sneer
on his lips could not be mistaken, even if blind.

Sara could sense the danger, if not
feeling it, simply by the shift of air temperature inside the motel room. Or
perhaps this was because when shock hits the body so hard, all that can be left
is cold and bitter emptiness to fill the void? Gooseflesh rose to damaging
heights on her arms.

He dropped her purse and took two steps
forward, leering at her. His gaze was languid and beyond disturbing. And since
not the best greeting to make when practically naked, but the most having come past
her lips due to her shock, Sara tried to dart into the safety of the bathroom
as quickly as possible. She never made it in time.

“Well, lookee here. The prize in the
Cracker Jack box has come out to play, has she?”

Just the sound of his deep,
battle-scarred voice made her skin crawl. Sara inched back slowly, her eyes
darting in search of a weapon she could grasp onto.

The most she could do now would be to somehow
get back into the bathroom. Then what? Pommel him with a toilet paper holder?
The shower rod was securely fastened to the wall. Perhaps she could crawl
through a window half her size and get stuck.

She should scream, but over the last
five months she heard a lot of screams and every one of them brought out the
authorities in breakneck speed. She didn’t want anyone to know she was here, or
even who she was. The motel manager thought her to be a woman named Rachael.

The intruder wasn’t armed, by the looks
of it. Even so, Sara never made it into the safety of the bathroom. The man lunged
forward, grabbed her upper arm in a painful, crushing grip, then slammed her
body into his hard, vile-smelling chest; quicker still, pinned both her wrists
in his hands and pushed her up against the wall, stepping along with her.

His mouth descended before she could
take a much needed breath; well before she could react into biting him or
clawing his eyes out.

The punishing kiss made the bile rise
out of desperation, catch in the back of her throat, and gag her until she was ready
to pass out. Stinging tears pooled in her eyes. She struggled, to no avail. But
she would be damned if she passed out.

The creep was twice her size and the
more she fought him, the more her strength dissolved, and the more his
punishing mouth bruised her into dominant submission. He jammed his knee
between her legs and easily forced them apart.

She had no energy left; making love to
Christian used it up. Then again, it hadn’t been love, had it? Sex accomplished
with a man—nothing more. Just violent, unquestionable, treacherous sex only a
whore would share with one who couldn’t or wouldn’t love her back.

No, no, no! A lie if ever told. She’d
seen the hurt in his eyes when she’d told him to ‘go to hell’. The horror he
couldn’t quite hide when she’d called him out as not loving her. Or was it just
mirrored accusations neither would confess too?

Sara could not think of Christian at
this point in time. That near-saintly man was no longer a part of her life. A
past, a distant memory she had to forget.

Oh, if only she hadn’t thrown him out .
. .

The creep’s vile hand reached up and he
used the callous side to caress her neck, leaving a trail of devil-ill along
her skin. The harder she struggled, the less her towel wanted to stay attached
at her breasts. Oh, God, she did not want to be naked in front of him.

Stupid thought. Of course she was going
to be naked. By what he was doing to her now, this was his every intention. He
came in her to rob her. Instead, he was going to rape her.

“So damn beautiful . . . and so damn
willing,” he voiced. “Do you take the fucking as cash, or will an IOU suffice?”

Sara violently shaking, she pressed hard
against the wall and was unable to escape. Her knees so weak, she did not think
they would hold her up much longer.

“No. You’re the kind of girl who
wouldn’t allow any man an IOU. So where is the cash, Bitch?”

Confusion slowed down the urgent need to
vomit on his chest. “Wh-where is wh-what?”

Sara’s hot stinging tears couldn’t be
held back; although, it was so much better that she did not have to look at his
ugly face and those dark eyes boring snake venom into her.

He didn’t answer this, only gave her
more riddles to play with, while his hand lowered from her neck and he set
three disgusting fingers between her breasts, touching her at will.

Sara’s eyes were swimming in tears as
her adrenaline burned the back of her throat. If he was going to rape her she
wanted him to just get it over with. She knew fighting him was a lost cause,
and there wasn’t anyone who would even care, other than her.

Why did she turn into such a fool and
send Christian away?

“I—I have no clue about any money—I
don’t know . . .” she stammered out.

“Oh, you have a clue sweetheart. I’ve
been watching you at the restaurant. Playing your little cat and mouse game
with all those lucky customers, waiting to pounce on just the right man.”

He kissed her again. Then, he viciously bit
her bottom lip drawing blood.

Sara yelped, the pain so unexpected. She
widened her eyes and the tears maintained their steady flow.

“You like it rough, don’t you, Bitch?”

“I—I’ll  . . .”

The word ‘scream’ didn’t make it past
her bleeding lip. The guy bent his elbow, pulled his arm back and punched her right
in the face. Sara dropped to the floor like a sack of bricks, her cheekbone
screaming in pain.

“And you’re gonna get it rough,” he
added, stepping back to undo his belt.

Through the stars in her eyes, Sara inched
nearer the wall, desperate for this horrible man to disappear into thin air. She
wouldn’t ask God for help. He had others to protect, others who needed
Him
more.

She wasn’t even on God’s list of
concerns . . . at all.

She’d never been on
His
list.

Sara gingerly reached out and her
fingers clamped onto the bottom of a wooden chair as the pain knife-sliced
through her skull and cheekbone. By now the man’s pants were at his knees.

He stepped back, laughing at what he’d
done, touching himself with an evil glaze to his eyes.

Oh, Christian . . . please come back . .
.

****

Christian felt the remorse reach its
sharpened claws into his innards and yank harder than ever before. He pulled
over to the side of the road as quickly as possible, wrenching on the vehicles’
door handle, then gaining awaited freedom. A half second later, he was bent
over and puking out a hastily eaten supper onto the blacktop.

Jesus! What had he done? Why did he step
back and simply allow her to throw him out like that?

The putrid mess splattered on the
pavement showed him exactly what he’d done. He’d abandoned someone when they
most needed him to stay strong.

Shaking violently, Christian staggered
back to his car. He then sat on the plush seat for a long while. His eyes
closed, his head tipped back against the rich leather, he dragged in deep
breaths, flaring his nostrils. Surely he wouldn’t be hurting this badly if what
he’d done had been right, even just?

His eyes opened and they darted to the
cell phone lying on the passenger seat. The energy it took to reach over and
grab the small phone was overwhelming.

Christian gathered in another, deeper breath,
and this time he held the air in his lungs for as long as he could. That breath
was filled with the stringent but unusually pleasant smell of pine. Oh, God! Could
he do it? Turn a blind eye? Pretend she meant nothing to him?

Right or wrong, he had too.

With a slide of his finger, he opened
the connection to service. The lump in his throat came back with a vengeance as
his contact list appeared on the small screen. Five agonizing seconds later his
call was answered.

“Here me out first . . .,” he directed
into the miniscule mouthpiece, reclosing his eyes to another jab of pain in his
gut.

“Thought you said enough to me while we
sat on opposite sides of a desk,” the man answered.

“Please, Ceril? Give me the respect our long-time
friendship deserves.”

Chief Berken could be heard sitting down;
the resounding creak of old leather rather loud. “Okay. I’m hearing you out.
But as far as long-time friendship goes . . .”

Christian blew out the last of his
breath, his lungs begging for more. “Ceril, I . . .”

What was stopping him? This was the
right thing to do, wasn’t it? He knew it was; he just didn’t want it to be the
right thing at this point.

“I ain’t got all day, Christian,” the
chief added.

Oddly, Christian felt these words as if
they’d somehow wrapped icy fingers in a death grip around his soul.

“About, um . . .” Damn! Why was this turning
into such a bloody, complicated mess?

“About Ms. Ruby, Reverend Mohr?”

Christian flinched, lowering the phone
from his ear. He’d given up being any savior of any sort, mere hours ago. In
slow motion the phone went back to his ear.

“She’s going to get caught eventually.
So wouldn’t be easier on her, and by the way you’re acting Christian, easier on
you as well, if you just tell me where she is?” drowned out all other thoughts.

Christian swallowed hard, re-lowering
the phone. A heartbeat later he severed the connection. How much easier would
remorse filled with regret feel? The answer to this slapped him in the face.
Hard.

Not easy at all.

He tossed the phone onto the seat and
whipped the car into a U-turn, heading back toward the motel. The cell phone
kept ringing the hour it took to get there, and each time it caught up on
voicemail as he redirected his vehicle into a parking lot suddenly swarming
with police vehicles.

His hands clamped so hard to the steering
wheel, they’d almost cut off the blood flow to the rest of his arms, as he
watched in horror a bruised and obviously beaten woman escorted in handcuffs to
the back of a squad car.