He fingers the last button on my shirt, not quite undoing it. “You really need to know?”
I nod, my body tingling when his hand pulls at my hair, the hold making me arch my neck up. It’s a little commanding and sharp, that motion, but it only sends sizzles of electricity down my spine.
“I like my sex hard and dirty. Does that scare you?”
“As long as you don’t pull out the handcuffs.” I must be drunk because I might not mind those one little bit.
He kisses my collarbone. Barely. “And you didn’t ask for a fourth, but the truth is I may have to jack off in the bathroom before I fuck you, Elena.”
A long breath comes out of me. “Greg . . .”
He winces and drops his hands. “Don’t call me Greg.”
“Okay, Eugene.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Tell me about you.”
“My middle name is Michelle.”
He gives me a long look, his eyes darkening as I undo the last button on my shirt, picking up where he left off. I’m doing this. And the freedom of it, knowing that this man wants me, makes me bold.
“Tell me more,” he murmurs, eyes low, watching me like a wolf might watch its prey.
“I love books—the smell of them, the weight of them in my hands. Before I was a librarian, I used to edit romance books in New York.”
He holds my gaze, his mouth deliciously close to mine. “Nice. What else?”
“When I’m nervous, I spell words.” I blush.
“I make you nervous. Filing that away. What else?” he growls.
“I’ve never had an orgasm with a man.”
His eyes go to half mast. “Sweet Elena, I’m gonna take care of that first thing.”
A long exhalation leaves my chest, part exhilaration, part excitement that licks over me at the way he’s looking at me, as if he’s going to devour me bit by bit. That feeling of confidence roars. With a skilled motion, he slides my blouse off, and it falls to the floor.
He swallows, his throat bobbing as his eyes burn over every inch of me. He takes a step back, his eyes hot flames.
I might be a librarian, but my lingerie screams sex kitten.
I unzip my skirt and step out of it, kicking it to the side. It lands near the kitchen table.
And I know exactly what he sees—a three-piece pink sequin set, a bra and panties with garters featuring handmade Italian lace on the straps.
His chest rises. “Fuck me.”
Oh, I will.
I cup my full C cups, sliding my hands over the material, showing him how the sequins change from pink to silver. “There are little unicorns on my breasts when you move the fabric.” I drift my fingers over the waistband of the panties, feeling brave, oh so brave, by what I see on his face. I touch the top of my mound. “And here, when I move the sequins”—I slide the fabric resting on my small bundle of nerves—“is a little heart.” It’s funny how easy this is with him when I was never able to model for Preston any of my designs. He took one look at the mannequins and dress forms in my sewing room and left the room, chagrined, his face livid. He yelled at me and said I was going to ruin my entire family with my proclivities. I should have seen then that we weren’t the same. That he wasn’t the one.
Because the one is supposed to get you, accept you.
But the man in front of me is not looking at me with distaste at all. He rubs at the scruff on his jawline, a flush on his cheekbones. “Elena, you are not what I expected. Or maybe you are. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Can’t really think straight right now.”
I dance my fingers down to my thighs, to the scraps of lace there, unsnapping the clasp and letting the garter fall.
“More,” he pushes out, palming his slacks.
I unclasp the tiny triangle bra, twirl it for a moment before letting it fall from my fingers and drift to the kitchen tile.
He bites his lip, eyes skating over me before coming back to my face.
I shimmy, and my panties fall to the floor.
Who am I right now? Who is this crazy girl? I don’t know, but I like it.
“Elena.” He says my name with a groan and drops to his knees right there in the kitchen. His hands encircle my waist as he presses an openmouthed kiss to my hip bone, sucking and nipping at my skin as he works his way down to my apex. A finger brushes my nipple, skating from one to the other as his tongue paints me with ownership, with scalding heat and dark promises. My body ripples with desire, clenching, nerves quivering as I shudder and arch into him.
All coherent thought vanishes.
A delicious frenzy spirals inside me, wet and slick, passion wrapped in the feel of his lips and tongue. Every groan he makes, every touch of his hands, every lick is amplified, expanding into an unrestrained ache until I’m lost in this reckless universe that is me and him. He flicks his tongue and moves his fingers in a wicked way inside me, and a star explodes in a bright light somewhere overhead, drenching me with the fallout, glowing sparks and embers bursting around me. Throwing back my head, I cry out, gasping as my entire body undulates, surging and swelling, my skin reveling in this beautiful release.
Moments pass as I grapple with the aftereffects. The room spins as he sweeps me into his arms, then carries me away from the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom. We don’t speak, or maybe he does, but I’m not tracking, limp and loose in his warm embrace. The wolf has caught me, and I couldn’t be happier.
I may not recognize this daring part of myself, but he is what I want right now. This moment. This bliss. This one night.
I’ll worry about tomorrow later.
Chapter 6
JACK
Hours later, I snap awake and stand straight up from the bed, fists raised, heart hammering like a freight train. Fuck. The nightmare again. Slowly I rub at my left shoulder, where my scar is, easing the ache there. I sigh and sit back on the bed with my head in my hands. Deep inhale, long exhale. I close my eyes, hoping to banish the dream from my thoughts, but it doesn’t work . . .
Harvey tosses me against the wall, his hand tight against my throat. He hovers over me, cigarette breath in my face. I’m not a match for him at thirteen, and I flail around, my lanky arms reaching up to pull his meaty paws off me. His road-map eyes glare down at me, and I see darkness there, emptiness that alcohol or Mama can’t fix. He reeks of dissatisfaction, discontent, a grenade that’s itching to be pulled.
My mouth opens, gasping for air. Black spots dance in front of my face.
“Get off him!” Mama yells from behind, but he doesn’t even turn around. He gives me an oily grin and presses harder. My nails scrabble at the old paneling, grasping.
“He smarted off to me, Eugenia. Need to teach this boy some lessons. Might do him some good. Little pussy. Always getting on my nerves.”
I look over his shoulder at Mama as my lids shut. This is it. And maybe I always knew it would come to this, Harvey getting sick of me being around and under his feet, another mouth to feed. Mama can’t quit him. Even after busted lips and cracked ribs on her body. Belt whippings he did to my back.
Dimly I’m aware of Mama running into the bedroom and dashing back. “Let him go, or I’m going to shoot you, Harvey.”
He lets his arms fall, and I sink to the shag carpet, sucking in air, but all I focus on is Mama—and those two trembling hands that clasp the gun.