CREED
The woman above him was indeed a goddess. Or a witch. She had him under some sort of spell, something he’d never known before and was powerless to fight. Her lips were a straight shot of adrenaline, right to his frantic heart. He saw stars, literally. It could have been the weakness, the blood loss, the bullet wound, the beating, but he’d been through all of that before and he’d never known an explosion in his brain like the one he experienced when he crushed his mouth to hers.
His eyes flew open and he pulled away. Twin sapphires stared back at him. The woman’s lips were redder than before, swollen from his kiss. The skin around them, down to her jawline, was bright red where his stubble chaffed it raw. His cock was very much alive, very much pressed into her stomach. She’d fallen on top of him, nearly straddling him and he could feel her heart right through those tight little black leggings she had on. The kind of thing women wore to yoga and shit. The kind that rounded out their ass into two twin globes and crawled up their backside in a version of the world’s most sexual wedgie.
“You’re a bastard,” his goddess hissed down at him. Fire sparked in her eyes, but her despite all her protests, he recognized the raw need on her face, the pink in her cheeks, the way desire made her pant.
He reached up and brushed a strand of long, ebony hair away from her temple. “I can be a bastard,” he agreed. “If you tell me your name.”
“My- my name?” Her beautiful brow creased, like she was confused.
“I don’t know it. You never told me. But you know who I am. Wouldn’t you say it’s fair?”
“You’re an asshole.” She tried to push him away, and he let her. She sat up in just the right position to take his cock deep inside of her. If she didn’t have those damn sexy leggings on. If she wasn’t steaming mad. Because he’d tricked her. Again.
“Have you ever heard the fool me twice saying?”
“Fool me twice, fuck you. Fool me twice, I cut your cock off with a kitchen knife?”
“Jesus.” He shuddered. His hands gripped a set of the curviest, sexiest hips he’d ever encountered in his life. The curves of her ass dug into his legs as her spine straightened and he grunted. His cock responded, springing out of the towel which had fallen away. It stood up in the air between them. “So violent with the knives and the guns. And always my cock. Why shoot it off or cut it off when you could enjoy it in so many other ways?”
“You’re sick.”
“Undoubtedly.”
He licked his lips and was honestly a little surprised when he saw what kind of effect it had on her. The woman slowly echoed his motions, her pink tongue darting out to lick at her red, lush lips. Lips that tasted like heaven. He wanted more. He needed more. Heaven was a place he was never going to get to. He might as well take whatever came close while he still had breath in his lungs.
She jerked back, the motion doing nothing to help his aching cock. The light was out in the room, the door was closed. The blinds were open just a crack and a golden glow filtered in from a light on the house somewhere or maybe even from the street. It was just enough light to illuminate his goddess completely. Including her face.
He watched desire war with disgust, hunger battle shame.
“I know I’m going to win,” he whispered, voice like gravel, but that was on purpose. “I know that at the end of thirty minutes, you’re going to be mine. I know that in less than five, you’re going to be grabbing for that pillow to smother your cries of pleasure.”
His goddess choked, but he watched doubt, the most beautiful emotion, flicker in the beautiful pools of her eyes. “You’re pretty fucking confident in yourself.”
Creed wished he could climb into those eyes and drown there. He wished, even more fervently, that he could climb inside of her, seat himself in what he already knew was going to be a tight, beautiful pussy, and let himself burst inside of her.
“Maybe I have a right to be.”
“Why don’t you have any tattoos?”
It wasn’t exactly the question that he was expecting, but Creed grinned. “Why? I don’t know. Never had the urge to get any I guess.”
“I thought all bikers and bad guys had tattoos.”
He snorted. “Oh lord. You sound like my grandma. Scratch that. I never had one. But if I did, you’d sound like her. And she’d be eighty. And fat. And bake chocolate chip cookies and drink tea.”
“What the hell is wrong with tea?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. You must like it. Are you really a granny hiding under all those beautiful layers?”
“Fuck you.” She slapped at his face. Hard.
I wish you would. The blow glanced off his cheekbone, where a bruise was already healing. Pain radiated out from the spot, but it was delicious. He wished she’d hit him again. She obviously got the memo, because she raised her hand and balled it into a fist. She was about to strike him, but he caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, where he peppered her knuckles with kisses.
She got immediately hotter and wetter and she couldn’t stop herself from squirming against him. Which of course sent his cock into overdrive. His balls tightened at the feel of her, writhing away up there. If she was trying to get away, she could at least do it a little less sexually.
But then again, everything his goddess did was sexual. Even just living and breathing.
She was made for sex.
She was made for him.
He tugged on her hand and she pitched forward, so that their faces were only an inch apart. He licked the tip of her pretty little nose. “Why fight it? I know you want me. Your body tells me that you want me. I can smell your sweet, pussy from here.”
“What the fuck? Who says something like that?” she spat out right next to his lips.
She inhaled sharply, probably because she was pissed as hell, but she obviously got a whole lot more than she bargained for. He watched her face change and knowing that the raw desire there was brought on by inhaling his scent, his skin, his body… it did something wicked to his insides.
It did something wicked to his outside too.
“How about you tell me your name and you take those fucking pants off? I can feel you right through them. I know how hot you are, how wet you are. I can feel it all.”
She let out a strangled, anguished sound, deep at the back of her throat. Her desire was so obvious it filled up the room. So was the scent of her. God, she smelled like something pretty and girly, delicate and delicious. It wasn’t that alone that drove him mental. It was the smell of her, the smell of sex. He wasn’t kidding when he said he could smell her pussy and god… he was a man and she was a beautiful woman and whatever control he had left was about to snap completely.
“You’re hurt,” she panted, unable to keep her voice normal. She’d stopped denying that she was turned on. That was a step in the right direction.
“That doesn’t matter.” He was so close he could see a few delicate freckles across the bridge of her nose that he hadn’t noticed before.
“So you didn’t really fall in the hallway?” Her lips pursed. Even without a scrap of makeup, she was so insanely beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“Oh, I did. That wasn’t all an act.”
“And you magically regained your strength right as we got to this bed.”
“Something like that. Right about the same time you fell on top of me. That revived me pretty damn fast.”
“You’re a pig.”
“Well, either you like animals or that’s a good thing.”
She went to stick her tongue out at him, actually stick her tongue out like a four-year-old, and he took the opportunity to grip the back of her head, bury his hands in her soft, ebony hair, and drag her face to him. He captured her lips and he kissed her. She kissed him back like they were going to war, battling each other. It was vicious and feral, biting, licking, sucking.
Her muscles strained below him. For someone who was delicate and utterly feminine, those muscles were long and lean and hard. His cock throbbed between them. She was going to kill him. She’d make good on her threats, or maybe finish what Jim and his cronies started.
Creed pulled back and traced her bottom lip with his tongue. She panted, her breaths hitting his lips, his mouth, his face.
“Would you like me to do that somewhere else?”
She pulled away, shuddering. Creed stared at her, at how her full breasts strained against the fabric of her tight t-shirt. Her nipples peaked right through whatever bra she might have on. He needed her. He needed her more than anything he’d ever known. He needed to taste her, to hear those sexy cries he knew she’d make when he thrust his tongue deep inside of her.
“You’re- a… bastard,” she panted.
“Yes. I know. You’ve said that before. That wasn’t my question. Would you like me to get up and lock that door, peel those fucking leggings off and lick your cunt?”
“God. You’re filthy… who even uses that word anymore?”
“I’m sorry. Vagina. Is that better?” She went to hit him again, but he stopped her fist, just like before. “You might want to be careful what you do with that,” he warned. “Hitting me only makes me harder.”
“I… no. Let me go. I don’t want this. I don’t want any part of this. You’re a sick fucking bastard, coming here, taking advantage of me, tricking me. I’m not joking around. Let. Me. Go.”
Creed sighed. He did as she asked. He might be a hell of a lot of other things, but he’d never take a woman against her will. He released her wrist and moved his arms away. He nearly cried out in pain as she climbed off of him. She pressed her knee to his balls as a warning or one last parting shot, but even that sting felt good. Far too good. Maybe he was a sick bastard. Sick over her.
As his goddess walked to the door, he just about lost it. He’d never, ever, felt anything close to the torturous pain that wracked his body. It had nothing to do with the wounds or the beating or the bullet hole in his shoulder. Absolutely nothing. He’d never felt that way before, like a spark of something deep inside of him had just been extinguished. Like losing her was like losing everything worth living for.
His hands balled into fists and he ground his teeth against the pain, both physical and otherwise. He wasn’t good at feeling shit. Deciphering that feeling, and he wasn’t going to even attempt it at the moment. There’d be time for that later. After he got the hell out of there.
The thought of leaving his goddess behind hurt. It hurt like another bullet, tearing apart his insides, causing a slow, excruciating bleed out.
His goddess reached the door. Her hand hit the handle. She didn’t turn it. Her back and shoulders went completely stiff. She stayed that way for a long, long time.
Creed froze. He hardly dared to breathe, to think, to hope. Somewhere between the time he’d been shot and crawled up onto Jack’s doorstep and now, he’d become one mighty huge pussy.
“You know what?” Dainty fingers turned the lock. “I was just basically accused of being a whore. Which I’m not. Is it so wrong to enjoy this? To want to feel alive?” She spun around, anger twisting her features, but she was still breathtaking. “If I was a guy they’d call me all sorts of names. All sorts of names that have everything to do with being a stud or a champion or a goddamn hero. But because I’m a woman and I like to enjoy myself here and there, I’m a slut? I don’t fucking think so.”
Creed pulled himself up against the pillows. She was trying to prove a point? To herself? To someone else? He was confused as hell, but he’d take being a point. He’d even take being a pity fuck at the moment. He’d take anything. Yup. Definitely a motherfucking pussy over here.
“You’re not a whore,” he said softly as he watched her take her first step back towards the bed. “You’re not a slut. I’ll fucking kill whoever said those words.”
“No one has ever said them exactly. It’s just implied.”
“You’re a goddess. A sweet, sensual, goddess. No one should ever tell you otherwise. You are beautiful. The most beautiful woman on earth.”
She laughed and he didn’t like the sound. It was too bitter, too harsh, too angry. “You’re already going to get laid, so you don’t have to bother with that.”
“What?”
“Trying to tell me the things you think I want to hear.”
Creed swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He didn’t exactly trust himself to stand, but he did it anyway. He only swayed for a second before he righted himself. She was so close, only an arm’s length away.
“Don’t,” he said thickly. “Don’t doubt for a second that every single world I’ve told you is the truth. From the moment I opened my eyes and saw you, I knew you were mine.”
The woman moved her hands her hips in a bossy stance. Humor danced in her eyes and he was thankful to see her happy, even if it was at his expense. “I’m not anyone’s.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He reached out and cupped her face. He bent his head and brought his lips to hers, but stopped just an inch away. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. You were just waiting for the right person, the right moment. That’s why you’re single. It’s why you’re here now. Because you know what you want.”
“If you think having sex makes me yours, you must have taken a few too many blows to the head.”
He grinned and pulled her closer, so that their noses touched. Her breaths came harder, little pants that told him it was all an act. She didn’t leave because she didn’t really want to. Most women wouldn’t have had the courage to stay, but not her. Not his goddess. She did what she wanted and made no excuses to anyone. She was all fire and wilderness and courage combined in one beautiful package.
Above all, she was wrong. She was going to be his, even if she didn’t know it.