Vanquish (22 page)

The grass was cold and damp beneath his forearms where they bracketed her head. He ran his hands through her hair and gathered the thick mass, using it to hold her still while he plunged his tongue between her sweet lips.

The panic hadn't fully tapered, evidenced in the heave of her chest and the jerking of her body against him. She kept her elbows tucked in and her shoulders curled between his as if she truly believed he was shielding her from her biggest fear.

He strengthened the kiss, fucking her mouth with his tongue, stealing her breaths and, hopefully, the noise in her head. The earthy scent of soil and the musk of their mingled sweat bathed his inhalations as he chased her tongue, pinning it and releasing it in a sensual dance.

As her breathing slowed from anxious to aroused, he wedged a hand between their bodies, caressing her belly and lifting his hips to glide lower. When he reached the hood of her clit, he watched with awe as her eyes closed and her chin rose, exposing her neck.

Warmth sifted through him, lifting his broken soul to the surface. Where was the temptation to jump on that vulnerable throat and crush it with a ruthless hand? He wanted to own her, but not if it scarred her. She was his weakness, and with a confidence that punctuated every revelation he'd come to accept since he'd taken her, there wasn't a damned thing he'd do to change it.

Stretching his fingers to slide along her slit, he inhaled her heavy exhale, taking in the minty scent of toothpaste. Each twitch in her body sizzled along his nerve-endings, and his cock throbbed to shove itself inside her hot little cunt.

When his fingers furrowed through her damp flesh, she tensed. He removed his hand and touched her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. As she focused on him, her mouth parted and her expression gentled, but he could see the memory of him raping her straining that sensual, seductive-looking gaze.

Guilt, intense and agonizing, shredded his insides. His stomach hardened, and he dropped his forehead to hers. He'd fucked up when he'd forced himself on her, scaring her in a way he wished he could take back. “I'm sorry.”

Whatever she heard in his voice, perhaps the reedy vulnerability in his otherwise controlled tone, brought her hands out from beneath him to grip his jaw and guide his face into the light.

She stared up at him for a long, terrifying moment, her eyes searching, her lips rolling together. Then her fingers moved to his temples, combing through the hair over his ears, tenderly, lovingly, in a way he didn't deserve. Her gaze didn't waver from his as she swallowed. “I will never forget. But maybe someday, I might be able to forgive.”

A surge of emotion pulled at his jaw and gathered in his throat. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

She tugged on his ears, drawing his mouth to hers, and gave him her assurance in a kiss. He answered it, furiously and passionately, as a fire swept over his skin. Their mouths slid together for a blissful forever, exploring and learning, giving and taking, and still, it wasn't enough.

With her thighs imprisoned between his legs, her chest safely covered by the width of his torso, she seemed stable. Relaxed even. Her hands and arms had returned to their tucked concealment between their bodies, which put her fingers at the perfect position to bump against the swollen bulge in his jeans.

Given all the kissing and foreplay, she had to know where this was leading. Without releasing her mouth, he slipped a hand over her silky abs, sliding downward to the heat of her cunt. She didn't flinch. In fact, her kisses grew hungrier, breathier. Her nipples hardened, dragging against his chest.

A testing reach just inside the folds of her pussy soaked his finger. He pulled back his hand and brushed the hair from her face with steady fingers while his insides shook with profane need. His cock jumped, so fucking painful in its bent position it slammed his teeth together. His whole body seemed to know she was ready. As badly as he wanted to tug himself out and shove inside her, he couldn't.

He should ask first and heed her answer. Fuck, had he ever done such a thing? And open himself to rejection? Hell no. His jaw stiffened.

But if she didn't say ‘No,’ if she accepted him into her body through a will of her own, it would invite trust and maybe a deeper connection.

Which could expose him to a different kind of pain, a hurt far worse than Liv's bullet in his shoulder.

He stroked her cheek, her chin, and her waiting lips. “I want to fuck you, Amber. But I won't take you again without permission.” And there hovered the most frightening thing he'd ever uttered. What if she never gave him permission?

She stared into his eyes, her mouth squeezed shut as if to trap the noisy breaths flaring her nostrils. Christ, the wait was torturous. Her rejection scared him as much as he had scared her. Then she spoke. “I need you inside of me.”

He stilled as her words pinged through him like raindrops striking tin. Steady rain on a rusted tin roof, with his doll safe and unbroken in his lap, his mother sitting beside him, a warm breeze lifting her hair and brushing it against his face. And maybe she patted his leg as if she wasn't bothered by his company. Yeah. Amber's words were as consoling as that, his single happy memory.

He stared back at her, wanting to ask if she was sure and not daring enough to open his mouth. But her expression said it all. Firm eye contact, a soft blush, and parting lips that built into a gentle smile.

With shaky fingers, he fumbled for his buckle, loosening it and tackling the button, the zipper. His breaths caught, impatient and awkward. Holding his body over hers to maintain her veil of security, he tugged a condom from his pocket and rolled it on.

His cock jutted out, hard and ready, nudging the valley of her thighs. The position of her legs, pressed together between his, would limit his thrusts. He didn't care. He wanted to fuck her right there, outside, knowing he would love it, that she would, too.

He pressed the swollen head against her slick pussy, leaned down, and thrust his hips forward, slamming into her tight body. The hot flesh of her sheath rippled around him, squeezing, welcoming, fucking consuming him. His head fell back on his shoulders, a moan sighing from his gaping mouth.

Ah God, nothing was grotesque about her cunt. Its pretty shape, its gripping strength, there was no place he'd rather be.

He stroked in and out, her velvety warmth sucking and releasing him, shooting sparks of electricity over his skin. She flexed her hips upwards to meet his thrusts, pulling a groan from deep inside him.

His hand cupped the fullness of her breast, his palm rolling over the hard bud of her nipple. Too soon, his release rushed forward. He held it off, angling his pelvis to grind against her clit. With a few hard rotations, her breathing changed, growing faster, more shallow.

She didn't cry out as the climax took her, but he felt it throb around his cock, tightening every muscle in her body. Her fingernails scratched at his ribs. Her heels scraped through the grass between his feet.

His overwhelming satisfaction burst into exploding ecstasy. He ejaculated so hard and long stars invaded his vision. He might've thought he died if not for the kisses she peppered over his chest, grounding him.

He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't
move
. When he finally found his voice, he stuttered with stupidity. “I can't even...that was...”

“What mutual pleasure feels like?” Her voice was husky. And bratty.

He sank his teeth into her shoulder, not to break skin but hard enough to leave a pretty bruise.

She screeched and writhed beneath him until he let go. “What was that for?” Her gaze was wide and shiny, glaring up at him, but a smile twinkled at the edges.

“For being a brat.” He grinned, floating on a cloud of lingering bliss, and rolled off to free her of his weight and remove the condom.

Her choking gasps were the first indication of his fuck up. Her hands flew to her chest, her eyes darting wildly around her.

He rolled back, landing atop her and covering her thrashing body as best as he could. But he knew he'd lost her the instant she grew rigid. A scream roared from her throat, cut off, and she bucked in his arms.

Just like that, she was back to square one.

Shadows crept from the woods, inch-by-inch, breath by ragged breath, closing in and swallowing Amber's ability to run, to crawl, to scream. The ground spun beneath her, tossing her body and splintering her chest. Her lungs burned, and her bones melted into icy liquid. Too helpless. Too exposed.
Nowhere to hide.

The earth began to suck her in, twisting oxygen-depriving tendrils around her neck. As she struggled against the chokehold, a heavy presence grabbed her and pulled her into a prison of strength and darkness.

She curled into that shelter. It felt safe, beautiful, and she didn't want to leave it. How could that be? Maybe it stemmed from her belief that every man possessed the ability to cause wonderment—even dangerous, vicious men. As she flailed through her mind, searching for escape, she found Van's wonder, his hand, reaching out through the terrible noise.

It lifted her, yanking her farther away from the horrors of outside and into a quiet cradle of warmth. His arms folded beneath her back and legs, and his chest flexed against her cheek as he carried her, his body propelling forward.

Overhead, the moon shone bright and full. The sight of it was startling, wonderfully overwhelming, and her emotions poured out in a burst of sobs.

He sped up, running now, as fast, as hard as his breaths. Through the door and up the stairs, he held her like glass. Like her aquarium, fragile and transparent, brimming with brokenness.

The world stopped spinning as the mattress caught her limp body, but her mind continued to trip. She tried to organize the mess of her thoughts, floating through them, unsure where to begin. Where had her brain been the last hour? Skipping around in a nutter's wonderland of slippery delusions? She lay there, numb and empty, as if she'd just been ripped from a drunken haze.

The cool conditioned air bit over her skin, intensifying the heat in the lashes on her back and legs. She was grateful he'd brought her inside, but she needed to lay into him for whipping her.

Maybe later. She couldn't find the energy to be pissed. Exhaustion pulled at her muscles and burned her gritty eyes. But something else muted her anger as well. Curiosity? Or shame.

Once the initial shock of his whip had faded, her body had drifted into a strange weightless suspension of time and place, her mind so centered on the next strike, all the threats of outside had evaporated from her senses. The crack of the whip had stung, sure, but the pain had been fleeting, hypnotic. Nothing like the agony of a panic attack. Even more confusing, it had turned her on.

A jolt of remembered pleasure zinged up her inner thighs. All those floaty feelings had orbited around Van. She'd wanted him so badly, she'd fucked him. No, not fucked. She'd welcomed him like a wanton thing, grinding against his erection, begging. And he'd given it to her, a deeply physical and soulful connection, so unlike the cruelty of the rape. In fact, none of her sexual experiences compared. Not even with Brent. Especially not with Brent.

Had Van whipped his other captors? Surely, they hadn't felt the same profound intoxication? Had he fucked them, too? Her neck stiffened, and her chest ached with an irrationally selfish emotion. They had been sex slaves, normal people forced into a horrible situation, where she was...she was just sick.

The mattress jostled with his movements behind her. He kept the light on as he shifted toward her back. When he touched her, it was with cool, wet fingers. Whatever he was rubbing into the welts was tingly, soothing, and there was way too much care in those gentle strokes.

It hurt to swallow, her throat raw from screaming, so she closed her eyes, relaxing into his touch. Her head grew heavy on the pillow, the aftershocks of the last panic attack still trembling through her veins. Too soon, his fingers disappeared. But he replaced them with his body heat as he tugged the covers up and tucked them in.

Two years of shutting off the lights and closing the shades, and she hadn't been able to conquer the fear. Maybe it needed to be whipped out of her.
Inside the house.
No doubt he would do it again. She should just wrap her arms around it and embrace it.

With the same illogical impulse that had propelled her to kiss him in the kitchen, she rolled to face him, first to her belly then to her side. When she met a broad hairless chest, her heart stuttered. Had he removed his pants as well? The wall of muscle an inch from her nose tempted her to follow the dusting of hair below his abs and find out.

His arm slipped around her, and his thumb glided lazily over her nape. He smelled of earth and warmth and virility. His pecs twitched and rippled beneath golden skin, each brawny brick of his torso chiseled in a uniform sculpture of strength. Jesus, the man's body didn't know when to quit.

Apparently, hers didn't either, given the sudden throb of heat between her legs. She clenched her inner muscles and shivered. His unlawful beauty and sneaky moments of tenderness both scared and captivated her, but more than that, he compelled her.