Hard (6 page)

14

Holland

Jensen is waiting for me at the door, shirtless and barefoot, when I arrive at his house shortly after midnight. His hair is damp and messy, his dark blue jeans are riding low on his narrow hips, and I can smell the clean, crisp scent of his body wash on his skin as I approach. Fresh out of the shower looks very nice on him. I want to start at that thin dark patch of hair low on his stomach and lick all the way up to his mouth. Taste his clean skin. Savor it.

He cocks a brow, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk like he knows what I’m thinking. I’m sure he does. Why else would I be here?

“Hey beautiful,” he drawls, his voice deep, but quiet.

“Hi.”

He leans into the door, giving me room to pass, and as I do, he plucks the clip from my hair, causing it to fall around my shoulders. A smile forms on my lips and I don’t try to fight it. The man knows what he likes and he’s not afraid to let me know. I appreciate that.

His hand smoothes over my hair, his fingers continuing down to the small of my back to guide me into the living room. “Would you like a drink?” he asks casually.

I shake my head. I’ve been thinking about him—about what he’ll do to me—all night. He doesn’t have to be courteous with me. There’s no need to waste time on polite conversation. I’ve decided I like him better when he’s indecent and uncivilized.

“No, thank you,” I breathe.

He sits in the dark leather chair, leaning back and making himself comfortable. His eyes never stray from me.

“I’d like a Whiskey Sour,” he states evenly. “It’s my drink of choice.
Always
. Would you mind making me one?” He tips his head, indicating the corner of the room. “The bar is over there.”

I’m taken aback for a second, but then I remember, this is Jensen’s thing. He’s particular and bossy. He hasn’t said it, but I’m pretty sure if I play by his rules and follow his instructions, he will give me another night like our previous. This is probably just another part of his game, seeing if I will obey him outside of the bedroom.

Without a word, I turn on my heel and make my way behind the counter of the bar, quickly locating the Irish whiskey and maraschino cherries he has waiting for me. I don’t see the sour mix I use at The Pub, however, I find sugar syrup and fresh lemons, so I make my own. I smile while I mix the drink, suspecting this was another one of his tests, and knowing I just passed. His gaze is on me, I can feel it like a second skin. Hot and gripping. My smile fades and my eyes lift, meeting his directly. I don’t look away as I pop two cherries in and scoop up the glass.

My stare shifts down to his chest, remembering how good it felt against me, as I walk the drink over to him. As Jensen takes it from me, his other hand locks around my wrist, just as it did the night before at The Pub.

“I’ve explained to you that I like to look at beautiful things.”

It isn’t a question, but he continues to look up at me expectantly, so I nod. “Yes.”

“Then why are your clothes still on?”

There isn’t time to respond before he’s out of the chair, his naked chest pressed into mine, his warm breath on my ear. His mouth moves against the sensitive skin there, causing me to shiver.

“I’m not Superman, Holland. I do not have X-Ray vision and cannot see through your clothing. Therefore, you will not wear clothing in my home. Ever. You remove them now, or I will.”

I take a step back, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. His words sounded almost angry, but his eyes tell a very different story. He sets his glass down on the coffee table harshly, Whiskey Sour splashing over the rim and coating the wood beneath. I must have hesitated too long or maybe it’s because I hesitated at all. Jensen closes the small amount of space I had put between us, his chest slamming into me as his arms wrap around my waist. The expression on his face is so intense, in all honesty, I don’t know whether he’s pissed or elated that I didn’t do as he said.

His capable fingers drag my zipper down effortlessly. He slides his hands along my legs, pulling the skirt off as he goes. I reach for the front buttons of my white blouse, only getting two opened when he pushes my hands away.

“No,” he growls. Nothing more. No explanation, no reasoning. I can only assume he wants to do it himself. I drop my hands, staying perfectly still. He folds his fingers into the waist of my panties and I open my legs slightly, expecting him to pull them down. He doesn’t. Instead, yanking them until the hem at my hip rips. I gasp, momentarily surprised. He grins wickedly at me as he then does the same on the opposite side, letting my shredded panties fall to the floor, ruined.

He reaches past me, picking up his glass from the table. His other hand flattens into my chest, his fingers splayed just enough that his thumb and pinky slide over both of my nipples at the same time.

“Sit.” Just one word, but it’s full of hunger, matching the look in his eyes. I follow his command immediately, lowering myself onto his coffee table. I feel the cold, sticky liquid of his spilt drink against my desperately heated flesh, the sensation makes me moan shamelessly.

Jensen drops to his knees, his glass still in hand. He dips his finger into the drink and glides it across my bottom lip, then the top. He leans in, flicking his tongue out to lick it off. The soft, slow slide of his warm tongue on my lips elicits another shiver, followed by another moan. I grasp his hair, pulling him into me hard, opening my mouth for him.

He makes a sound deep in his throat. I can’t tell if it’s disapproval or praise. He pulls away and I nearly cry from the loss of his lips.

“Put you hands behind you on the table and keep them there,” he instructs. He looks up at me, verifying that I understand. I lean back, placing my palms flat against the surface, my shirt rising up to expose half of my stomach.

For several seconds, Jensen just stares at me, his eyes moving over my body appreciatively as if I’m fully naked and not just from the waist down. My shirt and heels are still on and somehow, that makes me feel sexy. The fingers of one of his hands circle around my ankle, spreading my legs, one right after the other, until I am straddling his coffee table. Goose bumps break across my skin as he slowly skims his fingertips up my leg, along my inner thigh, stopping just before he reaches the place I’m dying for him to touch. I am so wet and I know he must see it. His thumb caresses back and forth, coming closer and closer with each sweep.

My nails feel like they’re about to snap from the pressure I place on them, fighting against the urge to grab his hand and force him to give me what I need.

When he suddenly stops touching me, my head pops forward, a whimper echoing in my throat. I watch as he sets his glass on the floor, dips his finger back into the cold liquid, and brings the same finger up, letting it drip over me. It’s so cold, almost uncomfortable, but amazing at the same time.

He catches my gaze, holding it and licking his finger. “You make a delicious drink.” His mouth comes down on me, his tongue chasing the trail of alcohol. He reaches back into the glass, digging around until he removes one of the cherries. He places it between my folds, icy cold against my clit. I wiggle on the table, unable to decide if I like this or not, but he leans back in, licking and biting at the sweet little maraschino cherry, making it rub and drag against me. His rough cheeks scratch along the delicate skin the whole time and I decide rather quickly that I don’t just like it. I love it.

I don’t think I will ever get enough of what this man does to me.

15

Jensen

I take my time eating the cherry from her pussy. The sweet mix of Holland, the maraschino, and the Whiskey Sour is delectable. It’s fucking mouthwatering. Hands down, the tastiest thing I have ever eaten. But that’s not the reason I drag this out, making it last as long as possible. The way she responds, panting and squirming above me is such a dazzling sight, it needs to be appreciated.

Once I’ve devoured the cherry, I push my middle finger inside her, circling and pumping while I suck on her clit. She pinches her eyes shut, tossing her head back as she cries my name through gritted teeth. The sound of my name on her lips is almost as good as watching her come.

I stand up, undoing my jeans and letting them fall from my waist. I’m so hard it hurts. The need to have her wrapped around my cock is nearly overwhelming. I pick her up under her arms, bringing her with me as I sit heavily on the sofa, the leather cool under my bare ass. Her arms close around me, embracing me tightly. Without warning, I put Holland down on my lap, thrusting straight up into her. It takes her a few seconds to adjust to my intrusion, pain etched openly on her face. I use every last ounce of self-control I have to stay still and not drive into her in the way I want to—need to—but I do it. Somehow, I do it.

She sits upward, releasing a pained breath and I keep my attention focused on her, waiting to make sure she’s okay. That she’s still with me. I realize in that moment, I don’t want to hurt her, and it startles me. I’m not abusive, not by any means, my partners are always willing, eager participants, and I’d fuck anybody up that tried to mistreat a woman. But having sex and offering pain, for me, have always gone together in the same way photography and Scopophilia works hand in hand. Like the way normal people pair socks with shoes or peanut butter with jelly.

I twist my fingers into her long hair with both hands and yank her into me, my mouth slamming into hers. I kiss her hard. I kiss her long. I kiss her until her breaths are fast and rough and she begins moving against me. Riding me. Taking me all the way.

My head falls back, sinking into the sofa. She feels so damn good, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop this. I know I need to.
Have
to. I don’t have a condom on and I’m not in the market for any kids. Ever.

“Are you on the pill?” I husk, watching her slick pussy slide up and down my length and enjoying every fucking second of it. When I don’t get an answer, I begrudgingly lift my head.

She swallows tightly, her gaze focused somewhere behind me, not on my face. Not on my eyes. Warning bells sound loud and obnoxious in my head, but then she nods confirmation, and I notice her shirt has fallen off her shoulder, exposing the strap of her bra over her porcelain skin, and the alarm fades.

I clutch her shirt between my fingers and jerk, sending pearly white buttons scattering onto the floor.
That will keep her from trying to sneak out on me again
. She shrugs out of the destroyed blouse as I yank her bra down, freeing her breasts. She guides my head toward her, not that I needed any direction. I grasp her tits firmly, kneading them. I run my tongue up her chest, kiss my way back down, and suck her nipple into my mouth.

Holland moves quicker, bounces on me harder. So good. So damn good.

Fuck it. I can pull out. I know I’m clean. The only thing I’ll give her is another orgasm, maybe two. Hopefully three.

My hand floats down her body, finding her swollen clit. I rub, my thumb caressing gentle, but fast. I feel her tense up from inside and then she’s shaking, fresh arousal seeping onto my dick.

I’m close.
Fuck I’m too close
. I shove her sideways, lying her back on the sofa, and kneel over her. Holland knows what I want before I tell her. She grips me in her small hand, lifting her head, and closing her mouth around my cock. I reach back, plunging two fingers back inside her, my thumb clamping down, pressing and massaging her again.

She groans, the vibration too much for me. I come into her mouth, hissing her name. Her pussy contracts around my fingers as she finds her own release. I touch her face, my palm cupping her cheek affectionately. The come is still dripping from my dick and already I want back inside her. I know, right here, with everything inside of me, I’m completely fucked.

16

Holland

“I need to eat,” Jensen says once he’s dressed in his jeans. I’m still on the couch, coming down from my third orgasm, and wondering what the hell I’m going to wear home. He shredded most of my clothes. A skirt and bra isn’t going to cut it. I extend my limbs, stretching my aching muscles out, preparing to ask him for one of his shirts.

“Baby, Holland, you need to stop right now unless you want me crawling back on top of you.”

I roll to my side, peering up at him through my lashes. “Is that supposed to be a threat?” I couldn’t stop the sassy grin that forms on my face even if I tried. “If you want another go at me, you can most certainly have at it. We didn’t even get a chance to play with any of your toys.”

His brows raise in surprise, his eyes moving over me ravenously. “I’m having another go at you,” he confirms. “Many goes. Tonight. That’s not even questionable. And we will be playing with my toys—that’s a given. I’ve been picturing you tied to my bed since I woke up this morning. But I’d like to share a meal with you before we
have at it
.”

“Oh,” I utter. He wants to share a meal. With me. That makes sense. Most people do that.
I
used to do that. Before I settled here. Back before…before my life went to shit.

He extends his hand and I sit up, accepting it. He reaches down, swiftly tugging my bra into place, then leans around me, sweeping up a throw from the end of the couch, draping it over my shoulders.

“I thought I was supposed to be naked at all times.”

He skims his upper teeth over his bottom lip, contemplating. His dark eyes silently search mine. “You better keep this on for now. I really need to fucking eat and that won’t happen if you aren’t covered. As soon as we’re done, I expect it to go, though.” He takes my hand again, towing me in the direction of the kitchen.

“Yes, sir,” I say, teasing.

Jensen pauses, glancing at me over his chiseled shoulder. Already I see the telltale sign of desire heating his gaze. “I kind of like it when you call me that.”

“What? Sir?”

He dips his chin once in a nod. “Mm, yeah, I like that a lot.”

“I like you,” I say before my brain even realizes what it allowed to leave my mouth. I feel my eyes widen in astonishment. His brows pop up, obviously sharing the sentiment. That was unexpected. But I guess it was also honest. How can I not like the man who has provided me with multiple orgasms and a break from my misery? He’s lucky I’m not worshipping at his feet. Actually, on second thought, he would probably like that. A lot.

Still, I’m surprised I told him.

He grins down at me, his shoulders relaxing and eyes softening in a way I haven’t witnessed on him before. “I like you too. But, no offense, I like you even more when you’re naked on your back, so let’s fucking eat and get to it.”

I huff out a shocked laugh. Not because he said he likes me naked on my back, I’m already used to the way he talks so crassly, but because he said he likes me too. Or the expression on his face when he said it, I guess. Open and honest. Sweet and sincere.

Jensen Payne might just have a soft side. That’s good, maybe it can counterbalance my hardened side.

*

When Jensen said he wanted to share a meal, I thought he meant a quick power snack. I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I perched on the counter, happily watching him beat two chicken breasts until they were flat and nearly thin as paper while he sautéed vegetables on the stove simultaneously. He mixed more veggies and spices with feta cheese, and rolled it into the chicken. I’ve never seen this done before, but as it now bakes in the oven, its aroma filling the air and smelling incredible, my stomach growls in anticipation.

Who knew? Not only is he a master in the bedroom, but also the kitchen.

He sets the small table for two and I slide off the counter, continuing to watch him. His body is so tight, so firm, that every one of his movements cause his muscles to bulge and ripple. It’s fascinating. No,
it’s beautiful
. I think I kind of get his obsession with looking at pretty things. I could look at him all night.

“There’s a wine rack in that closet behind you,” he says, breaking the silence. “Would you mind choosing a bottle?”

I tuck the throw around me and open the door, surveying his selection. I’m good at this, pairing wine with meals. I had to learn quickly at The Pub. Chicken typically goes well with red or white, so I know I can’t go wrong either way. It usually just comes down to preference. Because there are a lot of vegetables with our meal, I finally decide on a medium sweet white.

I hand it to Jensen and he examines the label quickly before twisting the corkscrew in and popping the plug out. “You know your wine. How long have you worked at The Pub?”

Since about a week after I fled my old life. Three months, one week, and four days ago
.

“Uh, a few months, I guess.” I press my lips together, waiting impatiently for my drink to settle my quickening pulse.

“And before that?” he prompts as he fills one glass halfway and offers it to me.

I take a large gulp before answering. “I wrote an advice column for a teen magazine.”

His eyes flick to mine, surprised by my admission. “I was unaware they had those in Ohio.”

I take another long drink.  “California,” I correct.

His gaze moves over my face deliberately, as if he’s looking for something. I swallow back the rest of my wine.

“So you’re from California?”

I run my shaking fingers through my hair, working out the tangles and playing with the ends, keeping my hands busy. This is hovering a line I don’t want to cross. “I’m originally from Maine. Moved to California for college. Stayed for work. Moved out here a few months ago when I decided I needed a change.” Honest, but unrevealing. I suck in a breath and keep going, shifting the conversation away from me. “The photography, you do that for a living?”

His eyes narrow, not missing the subject change. I grit my teeth, waiting for him to call me on it, but instead, he refills my glass, and takes a seat. “Photography is a hobby, a passion, and an obsession. I’m lucky to be able to make my living doing what I love. I mean, I’m no millionaire, but I do very well for myself.”

“Who buys them? Like porn sites?”

He scoffs, obviously offended, but I’m not sure why. I’ve seen his photos. He takes pictures of naked woman, consumed with sexual passion. Pornography.

“I sell erotic art, not porn.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask, sipping my drink to keep myself from laughing at his annoyed expression. He must get this question a lot.

“Intent,” he answers simply.

I set my glass down, folding my hands under my chin. “Isn’t your intent to make viewers horny?”

He laughs, shaking his head. He has an amazing smile, and an even better laugh. “If they get hot and bothered, more power to them, but no, that is not
my
intent. I find women beautiful. A naked woman is lovely. A naked woman, uninhibited, in the midst of ecstasy is picturesque. It’s appreciation over stimulation.” He smiles smugly, raising his glass as if he just proved his point.

“But isn’t all art meant to stimulate in some way?” I counter. “What would the point be otherwise? Who would bother to look at it if they felt nothing when they did?”

Jensen’s chest rises and falls quickly with each of his accelerated breaths. The pulse in the side of his neck pounds visibly against his skin. He says nothing for a long time, his stare searing, regarding me with an intensity that makes my heart beat in double time.