Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (14 page)

She felt his hot come dripping down her leg and the combination of that sensation and the movement of his thumb on her clit was too much. She called out as she came, her body going tight as the climax pulsed through her. She lifted her head, pressing her face into his chest as it rushed through her. It lasted for what felt like a really long time, the intense feelings rocking through her. The strength of the orgasm was a shock, to say the least. She wasn't used to a proper orgasm, she realized as she came down from the high. She'd been cheated out of them for too long.

He let out a deep breath and took a step back, his shoulders hunched like he was in pain. She pulled herself up to sitting, her head swimming. The florescent light above them was suddenly glaring and she blinked, trying to get used to it. He tucked himself back into his jeans like he was in a some kind of hurry. His come was barely cool on her leg, and he was already in a rush to go. She glanced around the room for something to clean up with, needing something to do other than look at him. He was faster than her, grabbing a tissue out of the box on the filing cabinet in the corner. She stiffened as he pressed the tissue to her thigh, softly and thoroughly cleaning up every bit of his come. She watched him do it, her eyes locked on his long fingers as he circled the tissue over her skin. He was being so gentle with her after he'd just fucked her senseless and it made her want him again.

But she wasn't that stupid.

She'd scratched an itch and now she should be satisfied. He'd given her an amazing orgasm and her whole body was still tingling. However, she wasn't satisfied. Watching him clean up all the evidence of what had transpired between them sent a flare of annoyance through her. She flicked her eyes up to his face, not knowing what she was expecting to see. Sensing her eyes on him, he dragged his gaze up to meet hers. His face was blank, schooled, like always. She wondered if it was the cop in him that made it so easy to hide his emotions, or if it was something else. She stared at him for a long minute then grabbed his chin, hard enough to get his attention. He furrowed his brow, surprise rippling across his face.
Good
, she thought, a smile ticking up the sides of her lips. She liked to surprise him and throw him off guard.

“You liked it, didn't you?” she asked, her voice low. The question seemed unnecessary, because she'd seen the evidence that he'd liked it with her own two eyes. She'd felt it, hot and sticky on her leg. However, she didn't care. She still wanted an answer. After a long second, he nodded, not bothering to try to escape her grip on him. For that blip in time, she could see everything in his eyes. He was just as much in shock as she was about what had happened between them. Her heart clenched in her chest because she knew then that it wasn't meaningless. Whatever it meant, it wasn't nothing. Tomorrow they might go back to being enemies, but for now, they had an understanding. Satisfied, she pulled his mouth to hers. He didn't try to stop her as she pressed her lips to his for a messy, sexy kiss that didn't last nearly as long as she wanted it to.

***

“What the hell happened to your back?” Austin asked, then swung his locker door shut. Tate didn't respond, just dug around in his bag for a T-shirt to cover himself with. He didn't answer his friend, but he knew exactly what had happened to his back. Shay Spears and her long-ass nails had happened. He hadn't even noticed that she'd scratched him raw until he'd dropped down in bed that night. At the time, his mind had been too jumbled up to think about anything but escaping the salon after he'd let things get out of hand. He should never have fucked her, but he couldn't take it back now. It had been two days, but it still felt... prickly, like something was crawling under his skin. It was wrong. There was too much history between them, too much bad shit. But it would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about her a million times in the forty-eight hours since she's dragged him into the little room at the back of the salon by his balls.

The fact was, he more than thought about her. He damn neared dreamed about her, even in the middle of the day. He dreamt about her at his desk, he dreamt about her when he was driving, he even dreamt about her when he was standing outside of a crime scene with twenty other cops buzzing around like flies. He dreamt about the impressed, almost worshipful look on her face when she saw his dick. He dreamt about the way her mouth felt on his and the way she pulled him and bent him to her will. She didn't ask for permission to touch him. She didn't wait for him to touch her first. She just did it. He dreamt about how she grabbed his cock and slid it inside of her. He dreamt about how wet she was, and how warm and how good. He'd fucked her without a condom, like a damn kid on prom night. He didn't know what the hell had come over him. It wasn't like him to be so impulsive, but after his long bout of celibacy, it'd been like being fed prime rib after years of cheap hamburgers.

He was still so damn hungry.

“Damn,” Austin said, disrupting Tate's dirty thoughts again. He plopped down on the metal bench between them and began taping his hands. Tate furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what the hell Austin was talking about. Austin held up his hand and bent his fingers like claws to demonstrate his point. “I didn't take Leah for that type.”

“It wasn't Leah,” Tate said before he could stop himself. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, giving himself a distraction. He didn't want to discuss his woman problems or answer any of Austin's questions. The events of the last few days were hard for him to process, let alone talk about. He'd gone from thinking of one woman to lusting after another. Hell, lusting probably wasn't even a strong enough word. 'Obsessing' might be closer. Thoughts of Shay had taken over his brain. It was crazy the way good sex could change a man.

“What the hell do you mean it wasn't Leah?” Austin asked, stopping mid-tape and staring up at Tate. “Did you fuck it up?”

“Yeah,” Tate said, simply, figuring that would be the end of it. Leah was done, over. No use in dwelling on what could've been before Shay Spears came in like a wrecking ball and destroyed his life. Austin sighed and shook his head.

“You want me to talk to her?” Austin offered, dropping his eyes back to his hands.

“No.” Tate shoved his bag in his locker and slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

“I thought Leah would be a good fit,” Austin said, low, almost like he was talking to himself. “But if it isn't meant to be, it isn't meant to be.” Tate didn't respond, just yanked on the hem of his T-shirt. “Still doesn't explain your back, though.” Austin glanced up at him again. His friend was often talkative like this and Tate didn't didn't mind it, usually. The longer he stayed quiet, Austin would eventually get the hint. But today was harder than most days to keep quiet. He didn't really want to talk, but he also did. It didn't make sense, but it was what it was. The situation with Shay was so confusing and frustrating and intoxicating that he almost wanted Austin's advice. He had a good idea what his friend's advice would be, though. Anyone in their right mind would tell him to let it go, to let Shay go, that the situation was too fucked up. The problem was, he didn't want to let it go. He didn't know if he could.

“I have to take a piss,” Tate finally said and headed for the bathroom at the far left corner of the locker room. He had a feeling his friend wasn't going to let up, but Tate needed a breather.

“Uh huh,” Austin grunted in response. Tate walked inside the white-tiled bathroom and told himself to relax. The bathroom was a big open space, with two shower-heads on one wall, three urinals and a toilet on another, and two ancient sinks on the third wall. There were no doors or privacy. Very old school, like the rest of the gym. The original subway tile on the walls was cracked and chipped, but Big Jimmy would never replace it. It was the way it had always been, and that's the way Tate's father liked things. It was the way Tate liked things, too.

Unfortunately, change was inevitable.

Tate went straight to the sink, his focus on the chipped, cloudy mirror that hung above it. He caught his own eyes in the mirror. He looked tired but also jumpy, like he needed to let off steam. He needed to punch something, badly. But first, he couldn't resist. Lifting the hem of his shirt, he turned his back toward the mirror. He twisted his torso so that he could look once again at the red and pink lines that scored his back. The scratches had healed a bit, but they were still very visible on his pale skin. His stomach tightened as he ran his eyes up and down the marks Shay had left on him. He could almost feel her nails digging into him again as he fucked her. He could almost feel her soft thighs clenched around his hips.

She'd wanted his dick, that was for sure. She'd practically attacked him and he'd loved every second of it. He could still hear her moans in his ears. She'd been so fucking tight and wet and he'd promptly lost all sense the second he thrust inside her. But now he was fucked and he had no idea what he was going to do about it. He had no idea if there was anything he could do. So he dropped his shirt and headed out onto the gym floor and did the only thing he could—beat the shit out of a speed bag until the lust in him died down to a manageable level. Unfortunately for him, the feelings didn't go away. Not that night  or the next night or the next night.

Before he knew it, days had passed and, slowly but surely, Tate was going out of his mind. When he woke up on Friday, he realized it had been six days since Shay Spears had fucked the shit out of him and he still didn't know what the hell he was going to do about it. As the days passed and he didn't see or hear from her, he told himself it was a fluke. He went about his life – woke up, fed the cat, went to work, copy and pasted his actions from one day to the next – and tried not to think about her. He'd tried to act like nothing had changed, but it had changed. The world had shifted, just a bit. He'd gotten laid for the first time in awhile, but that wasn't the only thing that had changed. For the first time since he was a teenager, he was jonesing. Jonesing so fucking hard.

But now she was avoiding him.

She hadn't shown up to House of Pain for Gennifer's class. When he'd walked in the door to the gym that night, he just knew somehow that she was going to be in there, in the ring. He knew she'd turn around with a taunting look on her face. He knew she would be there, ready to torture him again. But then she wasn't. He couldn't deny the disappointment that washed over him as an hour passed and the class ended and she still didn't show. He completed his workout, fucked around with Austin and Mikhail like nothing was wrong, and then went home to his empty apartment.

By the end of the week, he was climbing the walls. He was hitting the gym extra hard, his muscles crying out by the end of his workout. He was staying late at work, trying to keep his mind occupied with bullshit so that he didn't have to go home to a cold bed. Nothing was working, though. He was horny as hell and nothing was going to quench the thirst he had except for her.

Six days was too fucking long to be in limbo and on Friday, he found himself driving by her aunt's salon in the middle of the afternoon. He ducked his head as he passed, scouting out the front door like he would really be able to see her. He knew she was in there, sitting behind her desk and fucking around with her nails or something. Maybe plotting on how she was going to torture him more. Or maybe she was done with him. Maybe she'd gotten all that she wanted out of him. Not that she'd acted alone. He'd been right there with her, screwing everything up.

Frustrated, he pulled around the corner and rolled to a stop beside a fire hydrant. He put the car in park and clicked his tongue and cracked his knuckles, trying to get himself under control. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension. But it didn't help. Nothing helped. Until he was buried balls deep in Shay Spears, there would be no relief. He was pathetic and he was fucked up, but he wanted her. No more quickie-back-room bullshit. He wanted her in his bed and he wanted her for a whole night. One whole night, that's all he needed. The thought of it made him close his eyes and sink low in his seat, a hundred fantasies running through his head. He envisioned her on top of him, riding him slowly as she pressed her tits into his face. He imagined her on her back, her legs open and her hair spread out on his pillow and a smile on her face...

An ambulance siren wailed loudly as it zoomed past, jarring him out of his daydream. He scrubbed his hand across his face, feeling like he hadn't slept properly in years.  That's what happened when a man was deprived of good sex for too long, he thought, shaking his head. He was going to do something to rectify the situation, that was for damn sure. Putting the car in drive, he peeled away from the curb and headed back to work.

***

Sex was a powerful drug. One hit and Shay had already become addicted.

The problem was, she had too much time on her hands and, therefore, too much time to think about sex. She spent hours, days, remembering every sordid moment of what had happened with Tate. Every dirty little detail was etched in stone in her mind.

She'd already baked two cakes and one pie that week. During the day, she tried to keep herself busy at work and by looking up new recipes and bookmarking them on her phone. Night time was a different story. At night she would stare at the ceiling and force herself to close her eyes and count sheep and not let her thoughts drift back to Tate.

But it was so hard to not think of him.

Not that anything was going to come out of it. She'd done a shitty thing to Tate and, deep down, she felt badly about it. She'd had no right to interfere in his relationship. She'd had no right to slander him to that woman, either. But it was done and there was nothing she could do about it. The best thing for both of them would be for her to let it go and move on. She'd tortured him long enough and, in the end, she'd only ended up getting herself caught.