My brother went over the side. A wave came three yards above the bow. Rope caught him around his boot. A slippery deck did the rest.
I screamed for my dad, but he was fighting with the flooded engine. I threw out the life buoy. It danced around in the wild waves, like a bright kite that I had to maneuver.
Rhys couldn’t catch it. He kept reaching, but then his hand didn’t come back up. Or his head. The waves tossed him again, and I could barely see his shadow in the storm.
I jumped in after him. Darkness and chaos. Water in my lungs.
I woke up six weeks later in the hospital. It became a local legend, the way I snapped my brother out of the jaws of death. I didn’t even get hurt, aside from the pneumonia that I caught after. Plenty of girls in high school were ready to visit the back of my truck based on my reputation. Rhys never forgave me for being the hero of that story.
The feeling in the water, of knowing that I’m being tossed and turned by a force much more powerful than myself, being unable to see, to breathe, to think—that’s what it felt like to get custody of Paige. Darkness and chaos. Water in my lungs.
Somewhere in hell Rhys probably doesn’t forgive me for being here, either.
Here in my study—his study—with a beautiful woman.
“Harder,” I tell her, and she listens to me like a good girl, biting at my lips, pounding at my chest with her tiny fists. It’s like being attacked by a hummingbird.
“Why am I doing this?” she asks, breathless.
“Because you’re angry, and I’m the one close to you.”
“I’m not—I can’t be angry.”
She can’t be angry because there’s not enough space in her life for that.
There’s only survival.
The world has a lot to answer for. Reading her file made me angry. Looking at the hospital records made me nauseous. Actually talking to her social worker on the phone made me want to burn everything down. She was raised like a feral cat behind the barn.
I should leave her alone. Send her back to that boy in Houston. Let them get married and have babies. They would live near the poverty line, the two of them, but they’d love their kids. They would be the kind of parents Paige never had.
I should leave her alone, but I won’t. I want her too bad.
“I can’t stop thinking about your pussy,” I murmur.
Her eyes go wide. “I thought we could pretend that didn’t happen.”
What did she think was going to happen? That I was going to feel her swollen, slick pussy and not come back for more? “You can pretend. Pretend to be surprised when I touch you, pretend to be shocked when you come.”
There’s a delicate flush climbing her neck. I touch it with a lazy forefinger, tracing designs into the pink skin. Beautiful, I spell out at the base of her throat.
She swallows hard. “Shouldn’t we—? I think we should be professional.”
“Think some more,” I tell her, leaning close for a kiss.
She tastes as sweet as I remember from that night, like honey and milk and salt. All things nourishment. I drink from her lips, taking my time.
There’s no rush. Not like LA. Not like before. We have the rest of eternity, and I use it to brush my lips against hers. To suck her bottom lip between mine. To bite down gently.
To explore every inch of her, to map out her expressions.
“You taste so good,” I murmur between bites. “But I want something else with that mouth.”
Such a doe, this one. Eyes wide. “I’ve never—”
“You’ve never given a blowjob before?”
That’s a surprise. I would have thought she’d tried that with her cheese counter boy. Or at least with someone else in high school. She’s absolutely gorgeous. A knockout. With that thick mane of black hair and dark eyes, those long lashes and full lips, to look at her is to get hard. How did she evade every horny boy? It’s almost enough to make me think twice. I should let her go back to that boring, wholesome life of hers, but God, that mouth.
“I’ll teach you. Get on your knees.”
She stands very still and very tall. There’s a gentle sway, but no breeze in the room. I’m pushing every one of her boundaries tonight. This is a test. She drops suddenly, one knee to the floor, then the other. Her lips are trembling. It shouldn’t be so sexy, the way she shakes. This is her own personal ocean. Darkness and chaos. Water in her lungs.
I put my thumb to her lips. “Open for me.”
She does, and I push inside. For a moment I only enjoy the heat, the wetness.
My cock is like steel in my slacks, wanting to be where my thumb is. I push deeper, feeling the warmth of her tongue.
She struggles, not knowing what to do, coming to terms with the invasion.
She looks up at me with trust. She may not know that’s what it is, but I know, and it scares the living hell out of me.
“Suck,” I tell her gently, and she closes her lips around me.
The suction is sweet. I enjoy that for a few moments, along with the faint wet sounds. Is there anything hotter than silence with only those faint wet sounds? It means I’m going down on a woman or she’s going down on me.
Then I begin to move my thumb in and out of her mouth, a little forward, a little back. And then again. It’s more than fucking her. It’s teaching her.
Showing her the rhythm my cock will use.
I push my thumb farther back, mostly because I want to see her gag. I want to see what happens when she’s pushed beyond her limit. It’s beautiful. And so wrong of me. I’m not a good man. She should not be kneeling in my office, but I’m not going to make her leave. Tears form at the corners of her eyes and dance a path down her cheeks.
“I made you come,” I murmur, my thumb still on her tongue. “I made you feel good that night. Do you want to make me feel good, too?”
She nods, and the sweet sincerity in her eyes almost unmans me. What a delicious little morsel. How she escaped Houston with this much innocence astounds me. It’s not that she hasn’t seen darkness, because I know she has. Her records are proof of that.
It’s that it hasn’t touched her, marked her, changed her.
Part of me is relieved that I might not change her, either. That she will escape this house unscathed by my secrets. But part of me wants to mark her.
I pull my thumb out and tap it against her lips. “My cock will be bigger than this. Are you ready? I want you to say, Yes, Mr. Rochester.”
Her lips move against my thumb in a kiss as she forms the words. “Yes, Mr. Rochester.”
I open my pants. My cock springs out, heavy and thick for her. She lets out this adorable little gasp. No wonder men like virgins. I can’t remember ever admiring a lack of experience. I thought it would be better if a woman knew how to take me deep, if she knew how to work her tongue, but seeing Jane’s eyes wide makes me ten feet tall.
I fist myself and stroke a couple times. I’m giving her time to get used to the idea. That’s what I tell myself, but in reality I’m giving her time to run away.
She’s far too innocent for what I want to do to her. Even if she acts tough, even if she looks seductive as hell on her knees, she’s soft inside.
My hand speeds up. Maybe I can just come on her face. Maybe that will somehow defile her less than making her suck me. Except she leans forward. A swipe of her tongue across my cock makes me suck in a breath. “Jesus.”