Run (2 page)

       He broke the kiss and cradled my head in his hands. More. Please, please more. There had to be more. He backed me up against my car, dipped his head, and kissed me again. It was better than the first one, longer, harder, more certain. Then his tongue darted out, traced over the seam of my mouth, and I was done for. I opened for him and he took my invitation. God, he had a talented tongue. He took control of the kiss, asking for more, giving it back, the heat of it rising between us, his long body strong against mine.

       It was wet and delicious and I wanted to keep doing it, right there in the parking lot. I wanted to keep going until there was nothing between us. No clothes, no boundaries, nothing but wild abandon.

       But he eased away, keeping himself against me. “That what you were looking for?” he asked softly.

       I could have left it there. I couldn’t. He’d broken through that wall. “No names,” I whispered. I kissed him, hard and fierce, stopping him before he could speak. “No names. Your place, mine, I don’t care, though I’d prefer yours. You don’t want to, that’s fine, you turn around and walk back into the bar, and I get in my car and drive off.”

       He locked those intense eyes on mine. “You sure about this? What happens if I say no? You gonna go to another bar, try and get some other man to do the same thing you’re asking here?”

       “No.” I wasn’t lying. If he said no, I was heading straight home. It was him or nothing.

       He stroked his thumb over my jaw. “Just so I’m clear what my role is. You’re wanting to get laid?” I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his. “Playing with fire there.” He rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. “You can follow me. I’m about ten minutes from here.”

       He gave my lip a final stroke and walked away.

       Thirty seconds later I was following his truck out of the parking lot.

Chapter Two

       His apartment was nicer than mine. Pretty much anyone’s apartment would be nicer than mine. He flicked on a table lamp, illuminating the small living room. Blue. His eyes were a darker blue than my own. “You want something to drink?”

       I stepped around the couch, pulse skittering. I wanted to get down to it. I didn’t want small talk. I didn’t want stupid getting to know you questions. I very much wanted to wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Before I lost my nerve for the thirtieth time.

       He snagged my hips and I stumbled into him, winding my arms around his neck. “No drink,” I murmured, trying not to let my voice wobble. I so badly wanted to wobble. Wibble, wobble. Like a top losing momentum. “Just you.”

       He smiled. He had sexy mouth creases. Lines that showed he laughed and grinned and did it often. “Say no anytime, darlin’. Preferably before I get my pants off. Might have a hard time stopping at that point.”

       I chuckled. “Duly noted.” I stroked a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you now?”

       “Don’t need my permission.”

       Yes, yes I did. I needed a million signs this would work, that it would give me oblivion, that I could walk out that door knowing I’d quieted the demons for a while. Long enough to find a better, healthier, longer term solution.

       I started soft, tentative, rubbing my lips over his. Kind of amazing, what mouths can do. Speak, tease, calm, damn, incite. The first flurry of need spun through me as the pressure deepened and changed. My tongue darted out, flicking over his lower lip, seeking entry.

       The clamoring in my head began to subside, the first whisper dying when his tongue curled around mine, long, sure strokes I wanted to feel everywhere. His hands snuck under the hem of my tank. They crept up, a rough, hot brush of skin on skin, and stayed there.

       I waited to see what he’d do next. Dip his fingers under the waistband of my jeans? Stroke up along the line of my spine? He didn’t move them. Didn’t push my shirt up and out of the way. He splayed his hands over my back and pressed me closer. The sweetness of it tripped my heart up, and I was very, very grateful I hadn’t asked him his name. I wouldn’t see him after tonight. I didn’t need to complicate matters by imagining feelings that didn’t exist.

       Another whisper quieted.

       My nerves settled and my mouth moved to his throat, smiling as my teeth scraping over his skin drew a groan. I wanted slow, and thorough, and heat. I’d take the tenderness if he wanted to give it. But I didn’t need it. Not tonight.

       He let me tease him. Let me trail kisses along his jaw. Let me close my teeth around his earlobe and tug. His fingers dug into my back, but they didn’t move. They were a brand, a sign of possession, and my heart tripped again.

       I could hear now, past the guilt. How the street outside was quiet, and how his breathing was not. Little catches, soft susurrations of fabric as we shifted against each other.

       His shirt came off. I walked my fingers up his sternum, his skin hot enough to burn. Lean muscle, a faint dusting of hair, those wicked broad shoulders I needed to see braced above me. He dipped his head and claimed my lips.

       Still no rush. He kept the kiss slow and thorough, exploring every inch of my mouth and turning my knees and brain to mush. God. Whoever landed this man was going to be one lucky woman.

       His hands finally moved from my back, sliding down to grip the hem of my tank top. He drew it up, his gaze tracking the progress, and for a brief moment I wished for the dark. No one needed to see protruding hip bones or rib cages. He traced the line of my hip to the waistband of my jeans, but kept his mouth shut. Then he reversed his path, stopping when he reached the tattoo of Lady Justice peeking out of my jeans. He tugged on the waistband. “Interesting place for justice to hide.”

       I couldn’t explain why I’d hidden the ink in that particular spot. I couldn’t explain why I’d originally gotten the tattoo, since it had taken on an entirely different meaning in the intervening years. And I wasn’t here to talk, anyway. I twisted my arms behind my back, unhooked my bra, and pushed the straps off my shoulders.

       He stroked his hands up to cup my breasts. “Trying to distract me?” He thumbed my nipples, and another voice faded away.

       “Just think there are better things you can do with your mouth besides talking.” I leaned in and wrapped my arms around his neck again. “Want me to show you?”

       He grinned, bringing out those sexy mouth creases. Then he turned and led me to the bedroom.

       The dark was a comfort. I could be anything I wanted in the dark. In this dark, I could open up, abandon myself, push and tease and beg. In the dark, he couldn’t see my hands trembling as the reality of what I was doing hit home. He’d think the shudder wracking my body was the result of his lips on my collarbone.

       And in a way, it was.

       I fumbled with his belt, then the fly of his jeans, tremors rippling through me as his mouth found new spots to torture. Behind my ear. The hollow of my throat. I pushed at his pants, trying to get them past his hips. I was done with languid. I wanted the rush.

       His hands caught my wrists. “You sure about that?” He leaned back, his face shrouded in shadow.

       I
wanted
. “Yeah,” I whispered.

       He rubbed soft circles over the thin skin of my inner wrists, his right thumb unknowingly caressing the tattoo there. “Told you once they came off I’d have a hard time stopping,” he said just as softly. “But you say stop, we will.”

       In answer, I pushed at his jeans again, and this time, he didn’t stop me. He released my wrists, yanked at the button of my jeans, and the war was on.

       
Here
was the rush, the surge of touch and heat and lust, the frenetic movements that carried us to the bed.
Here
was his hurry to get my jeans out of the way, dragging them down my legs, going back for my panties and tearing them off in the process.
Here
was skin on skin. He stretched out on his side, his mouth everywhere, wet, burning kisses searing me. I arched up as he bit a little too hard, nipple trapped between his teeth. “Fuck.” I dug my nails into his back. “Do that again.”

       He lifted his head, gave me a wicked little grin, and proceeded to flick his tongue over my other nipple. “Never was one for following orders,” he murmured.

       I scraped my nails over his abdomen in retaliation, taking advantage of his distraction to push him onto his back. Stretching out on top of him, his cock thick and hot against my thigh, I went for his mouth, his groan more satisfying than I’d thought possible. Stubble scratched my lips, my tongue, and his skin carried a faint hint of soap under the sweat of the day. The scent did funny things to my head and stomach, twisting and swirling and I wanted to stop there, nose buried in the crook of his neck. Hoping he’d hold me close, like I mattered. Like he’d listen if I ever wanted to talk.

       A voice woke, the whisper a saddened hiss.
Your fault. You knew. Your fault
. I shut my eyes, breathed in, and moved on. Teased his nipples with my tongue. Traced the ridges of his stomach with a touch designed to make him squirm. Bit down on the muscle running toward his groin, stroked my hands up his thighs and palmed his erection, testing the weight of him. Swollen and rigid, the tip glistening and slick.

       Reality intruded, and I barely stopped myself from sealing my lips around the crown. A stranger, and I’d no idea where he’d been. Better not to tempt fate. He didn’t seem to notice the hitch in my stride, his hips jumping as I stroked him, twisting my hand from base to tip.

       The voice died down, lowered its head in defeat, and I released him, crawling up the bed to kiss him. “You better have condoms, or I’m going to be real disappointed,” I murmured.

       “Former Boy Scout.” He groped through the dark and came back with a condom. “C’mere.” He slipped a hand between my thighs, no preamble, no fuss. No need. His fingers slid through the growing wetness and circled my clit. Orgasm was a ways off, but I was beyond it. I didn’t need it. I was getting exactly what I’d come for.

       “Now,” I whispered. “Fuck me.”

       His hand stilled. “Last chance.” His fingers plunged, and my hips rocked forward of their own accord.

       “Not saying no. Fuck me.” I pulled his hand away and felt around for the condom he’d dropped. The foil ripped easily, too easily, and I rolled the contents over his cock, squeezing the base.

       He flipped me onto my back and settled himself between my thighs. Slow, slow enough I wanted to moan, he pushed into me, not stopping until hips met hips. I was right. In the blurry dark, his shoulders braced over me were amazing. I wished we’d turned on a light. I wanted to see them move and bunch. I wanted to see them covered in sweat, how they led to the cords of his neck, standing out as he fought the release his body sought.

       I wanted to drive him over the edge. Because as long as I focused on him, my brain shut off. Completely.

       To, fro, to, fro, gentle at first. He took his time, time to find our rhythm. That personal, synchronized undulation. And when we did, I placed my hands on his ass and pushed for speed. I threw everything I had into it, trying to get him to break, driving him up and up and up.

       “Christ.” He dropped his head, his mouth found mine, and I tightened around him. Held him close, felt the sweat gathering between our bodies. “Fuck. Too good. Feels too good.”

       We devolved into a sweaty, slippery mess, all sloppy kisses and flesh striking flesh. There was nothing but fire and lust in this room. No demons sleeping in the corners. No shadows to fight off. There was just
him
, above me, chasing his pleasure.

       I memorized the way his hips rocked into mine, how his breathing hitched as a new spike of pleasure hit him, his gaze locked on mine, even in the dark. It made it more than two strangers fucking. Filled the gaps inside. Gave me something to hold onto.

       He groaned, long and low, and ground himself into me. Panting, he dropped his head to the crook of my neck, and I focused on the thrum of arousal and frustration. It had worked. Even this soon afterward, no release in sight, I was empty. My mind was wonderfully, perfectly blank and calm.

       He shifted and rolled off the bed, stumbling through the dark. The sudden flare of the bathroom light made me squint. Now what? Get up, get dressed, go home, finish myself off? Lie there for a while? I sucked my top lip into my mouth as I considered my options. Safety dictated I leave. I’d gotten what I came for. Clothing it was.

       Before I could slide out of bed, though, he came back and stretched out on his side, propping his head up with his hand. He left the bathroom light on, the glow falling across the bed. “That what you were after?”

       I kissed him softly. “Exactly.” I sat up. “I ought to get going.”

       His hand closed around my wrist. “No names?”

       I could tell him mine. Ask for his. But this was a one-time thing, and names would only complicate matters. It would give hope of a next time, and the next time the guilt and anger and fear wouldn’t shut up, I’d try something else. Because that’s what the point of this year had been. To find that solution I couldn’t find in Bend.

       “No names,” I murmured. He pulled his hand away and settled back on the bed, hands under his head. I found my destroyed panties and held them up. “Trash can in the bathroom?”

       He squinted. “Maybe I wanna keep ’em. Like a trophy.”

       I snorted and tossed them at him. “Knock yourself out.” I dragged on my jeans, found my flip flops, and bent over the bed to kiss him one last time.

       In the living room, I slipped my tank top on, then clutched my bra in one hand while I dug for my keys with the other.

       It was cooler out than when I’d come in, but not by much. I got into my car before the urge to stay grew any stronger and drove out of the parking lot.

       I rolled down the window to let the hot air whip through the car. I felt
amazing.
Like I’d actually sleep well, and in the morning I’d wake up hungry. The sounds of the night grew louder and angrier as I got closer to my apartment, and I ran up the steps and hurried inside, throwing the deadbolt the moment the door was shut.