He wiped the remainder of my juices on my ass and smacked it again. This time, I leapt forward, but didn’t whimper. I think he liked that I didn’t bitch about it. His groan told me so.
When his tip started teasing my entrance from behind, I lolled my head from side to side, waiting for him to plunge in. But he didn’t. He did this for a whole minute, driving me out of my mind, before I begged, “Dean…”
“Mmm?”
“Don’t torture me, please. Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get in.”
“Wrong terminology. Try again.”
Holy hell.
“Fuck me, please.” I gulped.
“Condom?” he inquired. His tone was edgy. Like he was expecting something.
“I’m on the pill.” The lie was bitter in my mouth, and I was already breaking the rules we agreed on yesterday. The honesty part. I didn’t need to be on the pill. But he didn’t need to know that. Not until I was ready to tell him, anyway. Apparently, we both didn’t need to know a lot of things. What a fucked-up start to a relationship that was.
“You are? Because in Vegas, you weren’t.”
Jesus, with this guy.
“I am,” I whimpered, waiting for more. Whatever more entailed.
“If you say so,” he taunted, placing his palm flat against my throat at the same time he thrust himself into me in one go from behind. I cried out as he pounded into me, the blood in my body rushing to my head, my sex, everywhere. Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to hurt me. This time he didn’t hold back. He fucked me so hard, I was sure my inner thighs were going to burn and my insides throb for weeks later.
“Turn around,” he ordered out of nowhere, still riding me, pumping in and out. Was he that drunk that he didn’t know what he was asking me? I managed a little frown between moans.
“I can’t. You’re on top of me.”
“So? Turn. Around.”
“You’re heavy.”
“And you’re strong. Fight me for it.”
Ignoring the tickling sense of orgasm, I placed my palms on his floor and tried to push myself up, but he leaned forward, deliberately putting more of his weight on my back to stop me. The fact that he actively tried to make me fail irritated me, so I pushed harder. Dean was built like a professional rugby player. Six-three on two hundred pounds of lean, defined muscles. I stood no chance. At the same time…I was wired to fight back.
This was what my disease had forced me to do.
What living next to Vicious and his HotHole friends had taught me.
What life made me.
I went slack, allowing him to manhandle me. And when he began to pound into me even harder, punishing me for my defeat, I pushed on my palms in one sudden movement, gaining momentum, and whirling around. His abs were now glued to my chest, and he chuckled as he pulled out of me, still completely hard.
“Push your tits together,” he hissed, and there was no point denying…dude was weird. Usually, it was light that seeped through the cracks of darkness. With him, darkness glimmered through his walls of normality and daylight.
I used my bra to do as I was told. He took his sleek cock in his hand and guided it to the valley between my breasts, coming inside the gap. His thick, white cum pooled inside my cleavage, and he watched it through droopy eyes. My ass was on fire from the smacks, but I still took a moment to forget everything and drown in him.
“Drink it,” he whispered, dipping his forefinger into his arousal and bringing the warm liquid to my lips. “Every single fucking drop.”
I did, and after I was done licking his cum from my fingers, he awarded me with two more orgasms.
I fell asleep in his arms that night, feeling the safest I’d ever been. Safer than I was with Millie, or with my parents. Definitely safer than I had ever felt with Darren.
I fell asleep in the arms of his demons, knowing I’d wake up in the arms of a sweet man.
For Dean ‘Ruckus’ Cole had many faces. And all of them were beautiful. At least to me.
WELL, FUCK.
Rosie was still asleep when I woke up, and guilt swiped through me like an angry earthquake. What the fuck was that all about yesterday? One second I was entertaining her friend in one of Manhattan’s finest joints, the other I was fighting her on the ottoman while smacking her sweet little ass like it had tried to run over my puppy. Apparently, there was no middle ground when it came to her. Either I tried to pull the type of Hugh Grant shit that wasn’t me or I showed her all of me, in all of my fucked-up glory.
Not that this was who I was. But that was the part Nina left behind and I never bothered to fix.
Yesterday drove me insane and right into the arms of the brandy. I wish Rosie hadn’t seen it, but at the same time, I was kind of relieved she stuck around after all.
Peeling myself off of the bed and feeling a blooming headache pounding its way out of my temples, I sauntered to the kitchen to make scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. Fuck if I knew where all the shit I needed for it was, but I had to show her that I could do this. The whole boyfriend mumbo-jumbo.
What was I even saying? If Vicious could do it, I sure as fuck could, too.
Last night’s conversation with Nina played in my head as I cracked the eggs and poured the spicy grains into the coffee machine. She called me from a New York number, so I thought it was one of the many lines from my office and picked up. Totally by accident. Totally a train wreck.
“I’m here,” Nina said when I answered the phone. Fuck my life sideways. Not even the complimentary hello.
“You’re here where? Hell?” I asked-slash-hoped. That was where the bitch belonged. If she ever came there, she would probably take over and become president.
Nina’s flirty laugh assaulted my ears.
“I’m here in New York, silly. I told you I would come for you. You need to meet him.”
“Didn’t I tell you I don’t wanna see his face?” I gritted, walking to the bar and leaving Rosie and her friend, Elle, behind. I’d signaled the bartender to pour me a drink. So she was in town. Of course, she was. Why the fuck not? I gave her the money, after all, right? So why was I even surprised?
“All you have to do is wire me the money and I will leave you alone, Dean.”
“Nina.” I chuckled, loosening my collar. “I’m not going to give you six hundred K just so I can see him. You’re fucking tripping. Babies are usually made by two people, right? Hence, both parents hold the responsibility. You fucked it up,” I ground out. “Now you clean that mess.”
“I’m thinking of pulling this offer off the table, Dean. You’re terribly snarky with me nowadays.”
“When have I ever been anything but a complete asshole to you?” I retorted, downing my drink and pointing at the empty glass, asking for another. “Because I would like to turn back time and rectify that if I was ever anything but.”
“There was a time.” Her sugary voice reminded me. “There was a time when you’d do anything for me.”
Worst part? The bitch was not wrong about that one.
“How’s your husband?” I changed the subject.
“Still alive,” she huffed. “Unfortunately.”