Fight Page 15

  By the time I'd traveled the length from his left shoulder to the little divot between the bones, he was breathing hard and moaning, his fingers tangled in my hair, and clipped curses dropped off his lips.

  “Bed.” It was a command, albeit a whispered one, and I took a moment to suckle his throat and decide how I felt about it. The moment stretched a little long, and he tugged at my hair, lifting my head.

  The pain wasn't intense. Just there. My breath hitched, and my fingers tightened against his back. It took a heartbeat, and a good look into his deep eyes, to identify the scorching sensation racing through my gut as desire, not fear.

  “Bed,” he repeated, a little louder. “Now.” His fingers pressed against the back of my skull until his lips were crushed against mine again, and desire raged into a full-blown hard-on and consuming need.

  I stumbled a bit when he turned me around, propelling me, gently but firmly, toward the hallway and the bedroom at the end of it.

  He pushed the door closed with a foot as we entered, already turning me back for another kiss. One hand left me for long enough to flip on the light switch.

  “I want to see you naked,” he said, eyes raking down my body. He pressed a hand to the bulge between my legs and squeezed.

  “Angh... Vic.”

  “Naked.”

  I nodded and yanked my sweater over my head, tossing it on the floor.

  He watched it fall, and I made a motion to pick it up. He hated mess. For him, I could be not messy.

  His hand clamped around my wrist, though, drawing my attention back to him. He had huge hands.

  “Naked.”

  “'Kay.” My heart hammered as I fumbled, one-handed with my belt, and my fingers slipped on the cold steel of the buckle.

  “Scared?” His voice had lost the hard edge of command, but his eyes still watched me, intense and unrelenting.

  I paused for a breath, considering the question. “No.” The flutter of haste and breathlessness wasn't fear. Not with him. Not this time.

  Finally, the intensity broke and he smiled. “Good.”

  A firm shove sent me back onto the bed and I grunted, but he didn't give me time to find my balance, just shoved again, sprawling me onto my back so he could climb on top of me. As his weight settled over me, I let out a breath and spread a hand over his broad chest, following the line of contrast between my pale skin and his dark with my gaze.

  “You know what I want?” he asked, as his hips ground against mine in a slow, steady rhythm.

  “To make me come in my pants?”

  He blinked, laughed, and kissed me. “No. Well, maybe.” His hand ran up my chest, lingering over my pecs and nipples, and he watched its progress as he talked. “I want to make love to you. A long, slow fuck, watch the way your skin turns pink, and listen to you mutter.”

  “I do not mutter...oh....fuck."

  He was sucking on one nipple and grinding me into the mattress with the pressure of his hips. His cock pressed against mine and, even clothed, the heat and pressure were enough to make me groan.

  “Vic. Fuck. Stop.” I was too close. “Don't...stop. Don't stop.” But then he eased off enough to reach between us and unbutton my jeans.

  “That was you not muttering?”

  I blushed.

  “Yeah. That right there.” He took another long, slow kiss as he pushed at my jeans to get them down past my hips and off my ass. He stopped when they were halfway down my thighs, unable to reach to push them the rest of the way. His weight and the rough scrape of denim over my bare cock, my own jeans trapping my legs, jolted me out of the moment.

  “Paul?”

  “No, it's—” I swallowed, met his gaze, and watched the concern chase away the desire. “I'm okay. It's okay.” I was going to get past this. “Do something for me?”

  “Anything.” His fingers travelled down my cheek and across my lips, distracting me enough so I focused on that light touch and not the roiling, unpleasant memories.

  I wiggled until I had my hands and arms free and stretched over my head.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this some sort of test?”

  “For me, not you.”

  “I don't—”

  “Please. Vic, just do it. Hold them.”

  For a long moment, he studied me. “Why do you want to do this?”

  “Because I used to like it,” I confessed. “I just.” How did I explain? I wanted to be me again. Not a victim. “I want to know.”

  “I won't hurt you.”

  “I know.” I smiled. Or tried to. “I'm not asking you to. Just hold me.”

  Finally, he shifted so he straddled my thighs and leaned forward to grip both my wrists in one big hand.

  I strained, testing the conviction of his hold, and his grip tightened. Every nerve in my body lit up. My chest tightened until I was panting, and still he just sat there, staring down at me.

  “What now?”

  I squirmed, feeling the friction of denim on skin, and my cock twitched. “What do you usually do with naked men under you?” The humor fell a little flat. I could tell he was worried, and tried to bring him back. “Touch me.”

  His head tilted, and he broke eye contact to take in the rest of me. “Naked men this gorgeous?” He glanced up and grinned a slightly sharp, hungry grin. “I tend to devour them.”

  Heat rippled through me, and I groaned, tried to lift my hips, then my head, reaching for him as he sat there and watched me struggle.

  “Where to start,” he murmured, shifting with my movements, but easily compensating, as though my attempts were inconsequential to him getting what he wanted. He had the air of someone who'd played Dom before and knew how.

  “You like it too.” Tension I hadn't realized was there let go inside. I squirmed more vigorously, tried harder to get at him somehow, and he finally took action, separating my arms to take one wrist in each hand so he had a balance point to lean forward.

  When he kissed me this time, there was no hint of hesitation, no holding back. It was possessive and hard, and every bit as aggressive as Carl had ever been, with one difference. He was giving me what I'd asked for. What I wanted, and not take anything I didn't want to give.

  Within seconds, my struggles ceased and the heat between us melted me into submission. One of his hands let go to yank at his own jeans. His weight shifted, the kiss got messy as he kicked and shoved at the constricting fabric, then his hand was back, pulling mine down to his groin and the length of his hard dick.

  “Lube,” he muttered through the kisses. And once again, he let me go to find it.

  The warmth of his body as he got off the bed left, but the heat remained as I watched him saunter over to the nightstand to retrieve the tube. He knew he was built and gorgeous, and he knew I wanted him. He played the aggressive, in-charge top very, very well.

  When he came back, he stood over me where I was still lying on the bed, grinned, and quickly divested me of the remainder of my clothing. He didn't disguise the hunger in his eyes now, and when his head tilted, I knew exactly what he wanted. I lifted my knees and let them drop open. Exposure under that kind of scrutiny was nerve-wracking. He just licked his lips and smiled that same, predatory smile, sending my blood pressure through the roof.

  For a minute, he stood there, watching me, stroking himself, and saying nothing.

  “What?”

  He opened the lube, squeezed some onto his fingers, and again tilted his head. “You want me to fuck that?”

  I nodded, my heart suddenly trapped in my throat, making words impossible. I reached down, cupped my balls and lifted, mostly just to have someone touching me. His eyes glittered, his lips curled into a smug smile, and heat crept up my neck into my cheeks.

  He came closer, finally, one knee on the bed and leaned down, face close to mine, his free hand closing over my wrist again. “That's a very tiny hole, and I have a very big cock.”

  “Yeah.”

  His lips travelled over my jaw, my throat, chin—I
lost track as he sent me spinning.

  “Lots of prep work,” he whispered.

  “Ye—ssss.”

  His finger slid in without warning, the lube cold, the stretch tingling up through my gut and down through my legs. Another finger followed close and fast, and I hissed again as my eyes watered. “Ahh...fuck.”

  “Too much?” His lips were close to my ear, sending goose bumps racing down to meet the tingle of pain. His fingers moved, in and out, and I groaned.

  “More.”

  “Tough guy.”

  “'S'good.”

  “My cock is going to be a big stretch, Paul,” he warned, rather unnecessarily.

  I'd seen it. He wasn't just bragging.

  “Want it.”

  “I know you do.”

  His lips and fingers continued to work. My skin lit on fire, and I squirmed, bucking into his touch, trying to get some friction on my cock

  He pressed his hips down against me, rubbing his long shaft against mine. “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh.” One good thing about my getting shot and his being a cop. Lots of blood tests, lots of proof we were both healthy, and no need for even the thin barrier of latex. I spread a little wider for him and held his gaze while he pushed into me.

  He was careful, doling out the burn in tolerable doses until he was well-seated, propped on his elbows over me and looking down into my face. “Fuck me, you're tight.”

  I laughed. More of the tension flowed away, and his grin answered my mood.

  “That is a big cock.” I wiggled a bit, to better feel the fullness inside, the stretch, and his weight.

  The light in his eyes danced as his hips wagged back and forth in answer to my movement, and we both started to giggle stupidly.

  Free of all the constraints now, both physically, and emotionally, I wrapped arms and legs around him, pressed myself up so my cock dug into his stomach.

  “I do love you.” It didn't matter if he said it back. Some people didn't say it. “Now move.”

  He did. Slowly, methodically, his hands stroking through my hair and his weight grounding me. It wasn't long before the pace quickened, though, and he was thrusting harder, faster, and the stroking fingers stopped, gripped, fingertips pressing against my scalp. His chin dipped, his face nestled against the side of my neck as his hips pistoned.

  I don't think he knew he was about to come. Some garbled, tangled words exploded from about mid-chest range, and he stiffened, every muscle locked tight, his arms squeezing the breath out of me. I heard a tiny whimper from where his face pressed to my neck, and he began to shudder, coming down from a climax so intense he couldn't even lift his head.

  I stroked his hair and waited until his breathing returned, not to normal, but at least stable enough to allow oxygen to his brain.

  “You okay?”

  For a long minute, he lay there, heavy and unmoving.

  “Vic?”

  He sniffled. “Wanted that a long time,” he said, face still averted. “Didn't think.”

  “Vic—”

  “Didn't think you'd let me,” he said over my attempts to soothe him.

  “Well, shit.”

  A soggy gurgle of a laugh issued from him, but he still didn't look up.

  I let him stay there and silently stroked his hair, one leg still slung over his hip, and waited. It was a long wait. At first I kept quiet, waiting for him to say something, some big revelation, but apparently he'd said all he had to. And it was okay. He wasn't a talker. He'd demonstrated how he felt more than adequately over the past eight months, always being there, giving me a home, moving my stuff from my flat when I couldn't bring myself to even go into the building, and never asking anything of me but that I not hide from him.

  It had been a struggle for me to be honest about the guilt and the anger. Fear was easy to admit to, and so were the memories. I'd not wanted to admit how furious I was at Carl, how horrible I felt as the truth about his past slowly came out, or how much it hurt when they came one day to tell us he'd gotten in one fight too many. One he couldn't win. Hell. Vic even came to help me bury him.

  No. He didn't have to say a word. I knew how he felt.

  “Hey.” Vic's voice pulled me back to the present, and I tried to get a look at him, lying half on top of me, his head resting on my chest. “I guess that was a bit of a dud for you, huh?” He ran a hand over my flaccid cock.

  “No. It was perfect.” I pulled him tighter against me and kissed his hair. “I'll just put it in the bank.”

  “I could—”

  I shook my head. “Just hold me. I need to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be hard enough without me staying up all night getting pounded into the mattress.”

  He grinned, but his eyes stayed serious as he looked up at me and stroked my cheek. “If you're not ready, no one will think less of you. It doesn't have to be tomorrow.”

  “It has to be sometime, Vic. Lil's right. I need it as much as the kids do. It'll help.”

  He nodded. “Get some sleep, then.” He shifted around until I was comfortably snuggled against him, head on his shoulder and legs tangled together.

  “Someone should turn off the light,” I mumbled.

  “Yeah.”

  It was still on when I fell asleep.

  * * * *

  I'd somehow pictured a sea of upturned faces awaiting my every word, a bunch of teenagers waiting to soak up my misery and horror and toss it back in jibes and sneering. I wasn't prepared for a small room down the hall from the pool with a handful of frightened children needing someone to tell them it was going to be okay.

  “Shit. Lil—” I turned back from the doorway, but Lil blocked my path.

  “Just go inside. I'll introduce you. Whatever happens, happens. Answer their questions.” He gave me a spin and a little shove, and I stumbled into the room.

  Everyone turned around to look at me.

  “Hey.” I lifted a hand, smiled feebly.

  No one spoke.

  Lil bustled in behind me and clapped his hands. “All right. Listen up. This is Paul.” He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and spun it around to face the small circle. “Sit.”

  Someone giggled nervously.

  I sat.

  “Paul?” Lil motioned to the group. “You're here to talk to them?”

  I nodded. “Hi.”

  Lil rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “Am I late?”

  Vic's deep, soothing voice rolled over me. I turned, and he grinned at me. “Good.” He got his own chair, set it behind mine, and draped an arm over my shoulders. “Hi.” His gaze travelled around the circle. “Name's Vic. I'm moral support.”

  I gripped the hand hanging over my shoulder. Tight.

  “Are you his boyfriend?”

  I wasn't sure which kid asked, but Vic just nodded. “I am.”

  “You have a boyfriend?” This from a girl across from me. “Do you have sex?”

  “Uh...” I glanced at Lil, who shrugged.

  “Do you?” he asked, the question matter-of-fact and bare.

  “Yes,” Vic answered for me. “Now.”

  “Weren't you scared?” The girl's gaze bored into me, waiting.

  “Umm. I—” Vic squeezed my hand. “I was,” I said at last, glancing over my shoulder at him. “Yeah. I was. For a long time.”

  Vic squeezed my hand again. No. He didn't have to say a word.

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  About the Authors

  * * * *

  Sarah Masters

  sarahmasters-charleyoweson.webs.com Sarah writes in many genres. Her love of fantasy and historicals often features in her work, and she leans toward the highly erotic. She lives in England with her adorable husband and children.

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  Jaime Samms

  Jaime has been writing her stories between men long enough to know better, but not nearly long enough to have told all the tales she has to tell. She splits her time between a day job th
at pays the bills and her writing that feeds her soul. She's also a mom, with a saint of a husband who keeps the kids fed and clothed and home schooled, and herself on a schedule that keeps her sane. She also reviews stories between men for the Dark Diva Reviews, and Yaoi novels for Kuriousity. The three cats in residence seem to approve of this arrangement enough to warm her toes at night and keep up a supply of mice from the backyard they think the family needs for survival. Who are we to argue?

  You can find plenty of free reading as well as links to more published works on her website: www.jaime-samms.net . You can read a bit about her writing process when she remembers to blog at the Fictional World of Jaime Samms, and a bit about what she does in all that non-existent spare time on her live journal: dontkickmycane.livejournal.com/

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  Visit www.loveyoudivine.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.