Growing and Kissing (26 page)

With every second, the anticipation built more and more. I’d been a little scared, before. Now I couldn’t wait. I swept my fingertips over his hips, feeling the power of him, and then tentatively ran them around over his ass, thinking of how hard, how fast he’d be able to go at me. I wanted it. I wanted all those ugly words that men use and women aren’t supposed to like: I wanted to be
pounded
and
drilled
and
hammered.
And, before I was even aware I was doing it, I was showing him: digging my fingers lightly into his ass and making little humping motions with my hips towards him. It was only when I heard him give a dark little chuckle that I snapped to awareness...and blushed.

That was when I realized: this is what he’d wanted all along. His need to corrupt me went far beyond simply muscling his way into me. He wanted me to be ready. He wanted me to want it...no,  
need
it. He’d held back so that I’d beg...and lose a little of my innocence along the way.

His hands went back to my hips, pinning me in place. He looked into my eyes again...and drew himself from me, almost all the way. Only when the thick head was teasing the inside of my lips did he stop...and then plunge back into me.

I gave a sharp little cry of pleasure. In this position, he was going up into me and it felt like the heat inside lifted with the movement...and it didn’t drop back down again. He thrust again, fast and smooth and deep, that curling black hair kissing my groin, and the heat ratcheted higher again, compressing and tightening. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, hanging on for support as he started an insistent rhythm, a little deeper on each stroke, his hips pressing my thighs wide. Then, with one long, slow push he finally rooted himself and I clutched at his back, fingers digging in as if trying to climb him, transfixed by the feeling of him so deep.

He eased me back on the table until my back was against the wood and I gasped as he moved within me. My fingertips scampered along the tabletop and found the far edge. I clung to it—I had to grab onto
something,
just to contain the rising, expanding pressure inside me. He hooked my legs over his arms, supporting me, and began to thrust again.

Oh. My. God.
In this position, he could go faster, harder. And there was something about being on my back that made it even better. Being more passive brought all sorts of forbidden fantasies out of the secret places in my head: I was an English maiden, hurled down on a table by a Viking invader, a biker girlfriend, about to be taken in the clubhouse by her brutish boyfriend, a secretary ordered to strip and lie back on the conference table by her dominant boss…

I opened my eyes and looked at the gorgeous Irishman pounding into me...and that was the best fantasy of all. Our eyes met and the helpless need he saw in mine must have inflamed him because suddenly he was going faster, harder, slamming his hips into mine, muscled thighs slapping against my ass. Every thrust was a silken, brutal perfection, smoothly filling me, completing me...
owning
me. And every one pushed the heat higher and higher inside me, squeezing it into a tight ball of fire in my chest.

He leaned forward and began to run his palms over my gleaming body from hips to shoulders, lifting and squeezing my breasts each time he passed. I started to writhe and buck on the table, arching my spine.

The sight of him towering over me, my legs so casually thrown over his arms, his muscled hips powering into me, was hotter than anything I’d ever seen. Like me, he was glistening from the heat, little shining jewels winding their way down the sculpted landscape of his chest to rollercoaster over the ridges of his abs. But it was his eyes, blazing down at me, that made me come.

I’d been scared of him for so long, until I got to know him. Even then, I’d been scared of the idea of him losing control. But seeing him like that, huge and savage and utterly given over to his lust for me…

The pleasure tightened in on itself like a black hole...and exploded, a white-hot starburst that took away any chance of thought. My body went rigid, my legs dragging him into me, heels digging into his ass. His palms were covering my breasts and I arched up into them, crushing them into his hands, each touch against my nipples bringing new waves of pleasure. I could feel myself tightening and spasming around him and then, as he growled and slammed his hips into me a final time, I felt the heat of his release.

He leaned forward, laying breathless kisses down my neck and across my shoulders, and I rode the waves on and on until they finally subsided. It was long minutes before either of us could move, but he eventually carried me over to the mattress, kicked it across the floor so that it lay directly in front of the air conditioning vent, and laid me gently down on it. Only then did we finally separate—but only for a second, and then I felt the pressure of his body against my back as he spooned me.

We lay there with the cool air blowing over us, listening to the rustle of leaves in the breeze as the room returned to normal. Eventually, I had my breathing under control enough to say, “That was….” And then I couldn’t think of a word to do it justice. Not my best speech ever.

His arm slipped around my waist and pulled me tight. “Believe me,” he murmured in my ear. “That was only the beginning.” He pushed a lock of hair off my cheek. “The things I’m going to do to you…”

The way he said it sent a tremor of fear through me...fear and curiosity and a twist of dark heat. “Oh, really?” I asked, trying to sound worldly and nonchalant.

He heard the quaver in my voice and gave another of those dark chuckles that made me squirm. “You’ve got plenty more innocence to lose,” he whispered in my ear.

I squirmed against him, shocked and delighted at the same time. I was already addicted to the feeling of his hard chest against my back. And I really did feel as if I’d lost my virginity all over again—there was that same sense that the whole world had changed forever.

And just like when I was seventeen, there was that stab of fear, as the golden haze of the orgasm faded. What if that’s all it was—just sex? Was that all he wanted? “So, um...you and me,” I said hesitantly.

He didn’t answer with words. He slipped his other arm underneath me and pulled me even tighter back against his chest, then twisted around so that he could lay a kiss on my lips. Not the desperate, breathless kiss of a lover; the slow, gentle kiss of a boyfriend.

He moved back. “Okay?” he asked.

It was better than okay. My whole heart swelled and lifted. “That’s your answer?” I asked, panting a little.

“Best one I can give you.” I could see the sincerity in his eyes...and the pain. “I don’t
do
relationships...until now. So give me a chance...okay?”

I nodded. It felt as if we’d started to build something. It was so fragile it would shatter if you so much as breathed on it...but it was enough.

To try to fill the silence, I asked, “So...where were you, when I sent you the text? You said it was a job. They had you smashing some place up?” The thought of him taking orders from criminals made me sick, not to mention the idea of him in constant danger from men like the two who’d threatened me. But I figured that if we were going to be together, I’d better start getting used to it.

He shifted on the mattress behind me. “No.”

“It wasn’t smashing some place up?”

I heard the pause as he pressed his lips together. “It wasn’t a job. I lied.” His arms tightened around me, as if scared I’d run.

“...oh.” I wasn’t sure how to react—mad that he’d lied or grateful that he was being honest.

“I was taking weed to my foster mom,” he said slowly. “She has MS.”

I twisted around slowly to face him. “That’s why you’re growing the plants on the roof.”

He nodded. “There’s this certain strain that helps with the symptoms...it’s hard to get from the medical growers and it’s expensive. I thought I’d grow her some, but it kept dying on me. Until you came along.”

I looked at him in wonder. He was looking after someone too? This man everyone was so scared of, who was meant to be incapable of mercy or tenderness? I grabbed for his hand. “Why didn’t you say something? I can help. Hell, move the plants in here, we have room. I can turn those scrawny things into freaking
forests.”
I frowned. “Was that where you were that night? When the two guys—” I swallowed and looked away, unable to say it.

His expression hardened and he pulled me into a bear hug. “Yeah. She has times when she’s okay and times when she’s bad. She needed me.” I felt his whole body tense as the guilt hit him. “And so did you.”

I hugged him back, my arms absurdly fragile around that huge back. “You got here in time,” I told him. I ran my hands up and down his back, trying to comfort him, and it gradually worked. I felt his shoulders lower and his muscles relax…

...and then my fingers touched the scars I’d seen, that day when he’d stepped under the lights, and I jerked them back. He leaned back so that he could check my expression and he must have seen me put it together:
Foster parents. Scars. Stuff he won’t talk about….

“It’s not what you think,” he snapped, pulling away from me.

“I didn’t say—”

His look cut me off. I’d been thinking it and that was enough. “Don’t try and fix me,” he said. “I don’t need fucking fixing.” And he grabbed his jockey shorts and started to pull them on.

Shit.
“Wait!” But he ignored me and stood up to pull on his jeans. “Sean!”

He froze. He’d turned away from me but I could see his massive back rising and falling as he panted, fighting down the anger.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—Look, I won’t ask about it again, okay? It’s off-limits. We’ll make it a rule.” I was babbling now because I could sense I was seconds from losing him. “I’m
good
at following rules!”

He slowly turned and looked over his shoulder at me. “You
are
good at following rules,” he said at last, his voice a low rumble

“Yes! So...come on.” I patted the mattress next to me. “Can we make this work?”

The question hung in the air between us. I could see the battle going on in Sean’s eyes as he stood there, torn between heading for the door and returning to me. He looked deep into my eyes...and something changed in his expression—a softening, as if something had just melted inside him. I thought I saw him lean towards me, about to take a step—

The silence was shattered by his cell phone ringing. Both of us jumped. Sean walked over to his jeans and dug his phone out of the pocket. Looked at the screen. Answered.

I could only hear his side of the conversation and even that was mainly muttering. But I saw the way his expression darkened and the way he kept looking at me. I recognized that look from the time we’d gone to see Murray for the loan. He was scared for me.

When he finally ended the call and let the phone hang down by his side, he just stared at me, his lips pressed together.

“What?” I asked nervously.

“It was one of Malone’s people,” he said. “Malone’s the guy we’re going to sell the crop to. He wants to meet. Tonight.”

I sat up. I was still naked but the room was hot—I’d been comfortably warm until he spoke. Now, the tone of his voice made me shiver. “That’s
good
news, right?”

“Yeah,” said Sean. “But he wants to meet
you.”

Louise

“Why?” I asked, my voice coming out high and tight. “Why
me?”

“You’re the grower,” said Sean. “You’re what counts. You’re what’ll make it a good crop. I’m just hired muscle.”

This was the side of things I’d not wanted to touch, the side
he
was meant to handle. Sean had terrified me, when we first met, and he was several rungs below the guy we were talking about. Someone with enough money to buy half a million dollars worth of weed...that was serious gangster territory, find-your-body-face-down-in-the-river stuff. “I can’t,” I said weakly. “I don’t want to meet him.”

“I don’t
want you
to meet him,” he told me. And I saw his hands ball into fists. “I want to keep you as far away from him as possible. But fuckers like Malone, they get what they want. If we say no, the deal’ll be off.”