Seth (Damage Control #3) (23 page)

His hands travel down to my hips, and slip under my dress, finding my naked parts, spread wide. I fall forward, bracing my hands on either side of his head, lightheaded, as his fingers rub over my clit and further down, pushing into me.

“So wet,” he whispers. “Fuck. You’re so hot.”

Lights explode behind my closed eyelids when he strokes me inside, while his thumb presses on my clit. Oh God, I can’t… I’m going to come. This is crazy, he’s just only started touching me, and I can’t hold back.

“Seth!” I cry out as I tighten around his fingers, my hips rocking, the rain a counter-beat to a pulse that’s echoing deep in my core.

“Oh fuck…” He pulls his fingers out slowly, panting as harshly as I am. “Need to feel you around my dick, right now. Shit.”

I blink heavy lids while he fumbles with something one-handed. He’s holding his wallet, and he extracts a condom from it. He tears the foil open with his teeth and reaches down between us.

The sight of his cock, so big and wet, sends another pang of pleasure through me.
Holy crap.
Can’t believe we’re doing this, in the parking lot, a few yards from the zoo entrance.

“Fucking hell,” Seth rasps, rolling the condom over his hard-on, his eyes slits of dark desire. “Want me to put it in you, baby? Can you take it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my pulse speeding up again. “Please put it in me, Seth.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” His breath is now hissing between gritting teeth. He grips his hard-on, the muscles in his chest seizing. “Lift up.”

I rise on my knees, and he guides his cock between my legs, between my folds, into me. The head presses into my passage, slips inside, inch by inch. Big. Hard. Perfect.

A moan catches in my throat. He clasps my hips, his body arching off the seat, his cock slipping deeper, impossibly wide. Stroking every sensitive part of me. Taking my breath away.

The pressure is mounting in my core again. Feels like I’ll come just from this first thrust, just from the blissed-out look on his handsome face. His eyes flutter closed, open once more, gazing down, where our bodies are joined.

Then his hands on my hips tighten, lifting me up—lowering me again on top of his cock, and we both groan at the rush of pleasure.

God help me.
As he does it again, as he fills me up so completely nobody else could ever do it for me, a second orgasm hits me, sharper, sweeter than the first. I grind myself on him, keening his name, unable to keep quiet. I moan with each spasm of pleasure tightening my insides, clenching so hard around his cock I can feel the moment he starts coming.

Can feel his cock surge and jerk, his hold on my hips keeping me down, keeping his hard-on as deep inside me as possible as he groans and stills. His cock is still pulsing inside my pussy, and he pulls on me until I’m lying on his chest, my head tucked between his neck and shoulder.

“I wish,” he mutters against my hair, “that I could stay inside you forever. With you. Like this.”

Not sure what he’s saying, how to interpret his words. Probably just post-sex talk, I think, unable to move or think. I’m a boneless heap on top of him, not caring if anyone passing by can see us, not giving a damn that my breasts are mashed against his chest and his cock is still buried inside me.

Not wanting to accept that soon this will be a crazy memory—the feel of his cock inside me, his arms around me, his warm presence, his boyish grin—and we’ll both go our separate ways.

You think a dreamcatcher can free you from bad dreams. You think bad luck is something that happens to other people. You think things can’t get any worse.

Until the dreamcatcher breaks, bad luck turns worse and your life swirls down the drain. Then you realize you haven’t known misery until now. You haven’t had nightmares before, only bad dreams. You didn’t know.

Now you do, and still you keep fighting.

Because the last thing to go is hope.

Seth

Monday morning and Manon’s not in my arms when I wake up. She left late last night, saying she had to wake up early today to talk to her college advisor.

I fucking hate Mondays.

The weekend I spent with her is a magic memory lodged in my brain, making me grin as I shower and brush my teeth, as I stir some instant coffee and hop into my jeans.

Christ.
It was so good I should stop thinking about it—’cuz it won’t be on repeat. One week, right? Did we agree on that, or did I imagine it? One week to show her how much she means to me, before she leaves me far behind in her rearview mirror.

And of course speaking of rearview mirrors—fucking hell, the sex in her car yesterday was damn hot. She was so fucking sexy, so soft and warm and…

Fuck.
Not mine. She’s not mine. Not for real.

Lucky for her. I’m not who she needs. Can’t take care of her as she deserves. I can barely take care of myself. Need to get my life back on track.

Somehow.

Going back to Damage today. It’s about time. My knee is much better, and I need to ask the guys if anyone can recommend me for a job. Any small gig will do—small enough that nobody will go digging into my records. Now that I can stand on my own two feet, that the dizziness from the concussion has cleared, too, I need to put a patch on my life, regain control.

Zane and Rafe will grill me, for sure. I’ll have to fend their questions, keep them at bay. Bark and bite. Which is so unlike me it’s bound to raise some eyebrows and make them come at me harder, but I’ll hold strong. It’s what I gotta do.

But first… Shivering in my jacket, I wait for the bus. My first stop is an illegal car wash run by the Chinese further north. I’ve worked there before, when I was on the street. The money isn’t enough to buy you more than a cheap meal, but right now it’s all I can think of doing.

Turns out they have a new boss. He doesn’t look too impressed with me and my walking stick, but puts me to work nevertheless.

Five hours later, drenched in sweat and a few bucks richer, I head to Damage. I’m ready. I’m goddamn ready for anything.

I keep repeating the mantra in my head all the way there. I arrive first and settle down to do my cleaning shift for the first time in months. It feels good, although after my stint at the car wash, it leaves me winded, my knee aching, my shoulder throbbing.

Getting better, though. Definitely. Getting there. Hopefully soon I can return to the gym and do some serious weight-lifting and cardio with Rafe and the guys. I missed that.

Jesse arrives first, the newest inker of the shop, and he whoops when he sees me. He shows me the new section of the shop, his work station, and seems mighty pleased that I barely need the walking stick today.

It’s goddamn nice to be back. Maybe it’s gonna work out okay.

Turns out Zane won’t be coming in today. He’s out of town, and Ocean takes over my training. Which is cool, because Ocean is a nice guy, quiet and relaxed and obviously not set on chewing my ears out about missing so much training or getting a job.

By the end of the afternoon, I’m tired but pleased with what I’ve learned. Plus when asked, Ocean says he’ll see if he can find some gig for me with a buddy of his at a small diner nearby, and the others seem genuinely happy to see me and don’t ask questions.

The week has started well.

That should have been the first warning sign, I guess, the first alarm bell.

But after the weekend I had, anything seems possible. Time with the girl I want, awesome sex, and even the zoo.
Christ.
The goddamn zoo. Bringing back memories of a time when I had hopes for myself. For my life.

Manon texts me, asking if I’d go to her place for dinner, and I grin like an idiot as I reply.

Shit, what does that imply, though? Flowers, right? I should at least take flowers. I count the cash in my wallet and my grin fades.

Right. Still no job. Still haven’t paid the landlord what I owe him, and I sure as hell don’t have money for the next rent. What the fuck was I thinking?

I sink in one of the new red leather armchairs inside the entrance to the shop and rub my hands over my face.

Can’t afford to be reckless. Things are bad enough as they are.

But then what, shall I go empty-handed?
Fuck.

I could explain this to her. She may understand. Not what I want for her, though. Not how a boyfriend should treat her, pretend or not.

Shane sits down across in the other chair, scaring the crap out of me. “What’s up, man?” He nods, rolls a cigarette. “Good to see you back.”

“Yeah. Good to be back, cuz.”

“Leg okay?”

“Peachy. Never better.”

“You shitting me, Seffers?”

I lean back. “Leg’s better. But I’m out of job and can’t seem to be able to land any. Got any ideas?”

He scowls at me. “What happened to your bartender job?”

“I got fired.”

“Why?”

I know what he’s asking. “I honestly don’t know, man. Something about policies and sick leave.”

“You think they saw your fucking record.”

I nod.

“Fuck.” Shane bends his head until his long hair hides his face. “Christ, don’t you ever worry that Zane will chuck us back out onto the street when he knows?”

“Yeah.” All the damn time.

“He can’t ever find out, Seth.”

I know.

Like I said before—this isn’t only about me. I’d never drag Shane down with me again. That once fucked him up so bad I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.

Dammit.

“You screwing Cassie’s friend? Manon?”

“And what if I am?” I shove my lean wallet back into my pocket.

“Does Jesse know?”

“None of his goddamn business.”

Shane glares at me and I swallow a curse.

Shit.
I should come clean with J, but Manon isn’t Cassie, and anyway, that’s in the past, right? What happened with her? Now he’s with Amber, and they’re disgustingly happy together. I’m seriously glad for the guy—but he knows I’ve wanted Manon for months now. He never objected to it, and even if he did…

Even if he did, it doesn’t fucking matter, because I can’t be with her, not like I want. Not like he is with Amber.

He’s good for her. She’s awesome for him.

I’m the opposite of what Manon needs, even if she’s the world to me.

Fuck this.

“Heading home.” I push to my feet, grab my walking stick. “See you around, man. Let me know if you hear anything about a job.”

He nods, and I step outside, my mind returning to the flowers I can’t afford and everything Manon deserves, not knowing these will soon prove to be the least of my worries.

***

I stand outside her door, clutching the handle of my walking stick so hard it creaks. No bottle of wine. No flowers. Hell.

No choice, though. Need to save every penny. I’ll have to make it up to her later, one way or another.

Doesn’t stop me from feeling like an asshole, though. This is exactly what I was afraid of—that I’d never be what she needs.

I forget my thoughts of doom when she opens the door and gives me a bright smile, her brilliant eyes locking with mine.

Christ, she’s so pretty. It hits me every single time I look at her. No idea what the hell she’s doing with a loser like me, but I refuse to dwell on that right now. Fuck it, I’ll take what she gives, save it for the cold, lonely days ahead.

She goes on tiptoe to kiss me, and I grab her around the waist, crush our lips together. God, I can’t get enough of her. I lick her mouth, drunk on her taste, and her arms go around my neck, smooth and easy, like they belong there.

Like she belongs here, with me.

She drags me to her kitchen, seats me at her table. She’s cooked thick onion soup with toast and cheese, and despite my awkwardness at my lack of contribution, I inhale everything. It’s damn good, and I’m starving. Meanwhile, she tells me about her day at college, the new classes, the new professors, and I listen avidly.

She lives in a different world from mine.

It’s later, sprawled on her couch with her settled between my legs and the TV playing, the volume set low, that I make my apologies.

“Sorry for not bringing you flowers.” I brush the silky hair from her nape, kiss her there, make her shiver. “As soon as I get a job, I will.”

“I don’t need flowers.” She twists around, reaches for me. “Didn’t expect any.”

“You should. A boyfriend would’ve brought you red roses, a bottle of expensive wine, a gift. You shouldn’t settle for less.”

“I’ll settle for a boyfriend who wants me,” she whispers, stroking my cheek. “Who spends time with me, who listens and tries to make me feel better when I’m down. Who cares for me. Who desires me. I think I’d be lucky if I found a guy like that.”

Don’t know what to say. My throat closes up, because it sounds as if she’s saying...

Fuck no, Seffers, don’t go imagining stuff.
If she finds someone, she says. Not that she’s already found anyone.

But I need her closer, so I kiss her again, and again, until we end up tangled up on the sofa. I roll her underneath me, pressing my hardening dick between her legs. Her nipples tighten under the thin fabric of her blouse, the lace of her bra.

Could I be enough for her? Could I fix my life and be with her? Would she accept me as I am, if she knew everything?

Desperate for her, I push her skirt up, tear her panties off, bury my face between her legs. She yips when I lick her seam, part her folds with my tongue. She’s sweet everywhere, and the sounds she makes… Fuck, I can barely hold on to my control as she writhes under my mouth and hands.

She reaches for me, tugs on my head. “Seth,” she whispers. “Inside me. Please.”

I groan, pulling back, taking out the last condom I have from my wallet. Feels symbolic somehow. It’s as if my time with her is ending.

Not yet, dammit.

As I push into her, as she wraps her long legs around my waist and rolls up to meet my thrusts, as the pressure builds behind my balls and inside my chest, inside my head, I fight the bad feeling, the despair. Let it roll through me, over me, chased away by the pleasure bursting through me, the feel of her body clamping around mine, milking my cock as it pulses again. And again. And again, taking away the last of my breath.