“I’M SORRY,” BASH MUMBLES INTO his beer.
We’re sitting in his kitchen with me on the island counter and him leaning against it. One of his hands resting on my upper thigh. My feet swing leisurely as I half-heartedly nurse a beer of my own. “Don’t be.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with that.” He throws back the rest of his beer, placing the empty bottle behind me.
“It’s not your fault,” I reassure him. “You didn’t know she’d say that.”
“I should’ve known better than to have you answer my phone.” He pushes himself off the counter and steps between my legs. Without looking away from my face, he takes my mostly full beer out of my hands and takes a sip. “She was a bitch.”
I nod my agreement as my hands go under his shirt.
“She had no right to say those things about you, Firecracker.”
Again, I nod.
“It just pisses me off,” he all but growls. “But you, babe, you were amazing. You took what she said and brushed it off, no problem. I don’t think you realize how strong of a person you really are.”
This, right now, is my kind of date. Just hanging out. I only wish Bash would stop being hard on himself.
We ate at a cute place by the river, where I spent most of the meal messing with Bash about his fanboying. We were having fun until we were on our way home. Bash’s mom called and since he was driving, he told me to answer it. Thinking it was Dez.
But the feminine voice made of ice and steel on the other end was definitely not Dez. As soon as she heard my voice, she tore into me, calling me names and throwing accusations. Then I went off on her, saying that if she was just going to throw out insults, she can shove her words up her tight ass. In a polite way. Or as polite as I could be with someone calling me a gold digging bitch. Among other things.
Bash looked at me in alarm as he asked what was wrong before taking the phone from me. I’ve never seen Bash as mad as he was when he was on the phone with his mom. He wasn’t even on for long. He said some words, telling her to back off and he’d talk to her later, before hanging up.
He’s been brooding in silence since he ended the call.
“I’m not strong, just resilient.”
“Pretty much the same thing.” He sits the bottle down next to my leg before cupping the back of my neck. His lips graze my cheek before he pulls back. “You were kind of hot when you were defending yourself. Kind of turned me on.”
I smile up at him as my hand moves down his chest to grab his growing erection through his jeans. “Kind of?”
He groans and heat shoots down my body, through my stomach, settling between my legs. Feeling a little bolder, I tighten my grip around him, stroking up, but he pulls away.
Bash’s face is unreadable as he backs up until he presses against the opposite counter. The only sounds to fill the room are our labored breaths and pounding pulses.
The silence in the kitchen is too much. My heart starts to beat faster and louder the more I sit here.
Bash has said I’m resilient, that I’m a fighter, but when it comes to him I feel off balance.
Like there are a million butterflies in the pit of my stomach every time I’m around him. The urge to throw up is also present. I’m a mess around him. It scares me.
The only thing I’ve ever taken seriously is surfing, but even surfing doesn’t feel as dangerous as this. What if he doesn’t feel the same way?
I need a minute. Sixty seconds to pull myself together.
I begin to move away, toward the hallway, when he grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”
“Uh, I was going to—”
“No.”
“No?” I parrot.
“No,” he confirms as he reels me closer to him. “Come swimming with me.”
“What?”
“There’s a pool in the backyard. I want to go swimming and want you to come with me.”
What? I silently repeated in my head. “What—”
Before I finish talking, I’m upside down, staring at Bash’s very nice assets as the room moves in a blur. “Hey! Put me down!”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he chuckles and smacks my ass. The resounding noise of his palm against my butt echoes down the hallway. I try to push away, to push against his lower back, but he’s hardly affected by my movements. “Sebastian Michael Cleaton, put me the fuck down!”
“Nope.” Another ass slap.
I retaliate by pounding my fists on his muscled back.
He laughs. “That’s cute, babe. Thanks for the massage.”
I huff. “Massage, my ass, Caveman!”
“Well, if you insist.” He squeezes a butt cheek before kneading into it.
“UUUGHH!”
“You asked for it.”
“I so did not ask for it!” I pound on his back again. My fists thumping against muscle in a musical drum beat. “Put me down, Cleaton!”
“Okay.” He grabs my waist and throws me off. A scream escapes my lips as I fly through the air and bounce against his soft mattress. Propping myself up with my elbows, I glare at him. “I hate you.”
He laughs as he prowls onto the bed toward me, caging me in with his knees. “No you don’t.”
“I kind of do.”
“Okay.” His tone is riddled with thinly veiled amusement. It’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
“I thought we were going swimming.”
“We are.” He makes no move to get off of me.
“Well,” I look around the room, “This is your bedroom and as far as I can see, there’s not a pool in here. And another flaw to your plan, Surfer Boy, is I don’t have a bathing suit. I’m not going nude,” I add when I see him perk up with an idea.
“This is where I keep the suits.” He smirks that arrogant smirk I like so much on him. I want to lick it. Wipe it away so he stops being so smug.
“I’m not wearing a pair of your swim trunks,” I warn.
“Or you could just wear the one you left here.”
Huh?
He gets off me, pulling his shirt off as he goes.
Really? Is that really necessary?
Hard and sculpted is how I would describe his body, along with sexy and lickable. Pulling out a pair of swim trunks, he flicks the button of his jeans and slowly unzips his fly. His eyes not leaving mine, a challenge as he waits to see what I’ll do next.
I sit further up on my elbows. Daring him.
His expression turns darker, a hunger consuming him, as he pushes the denim down his thighs, taking his boxer briefs with them. His hands move up, slowly grazing his thighs as he grabs his semi-hard dick, giving it a lazy tug.
My focus hones in on his dick, my breath catching at his hand working over it.
I’m fixated on his movements when something smacks me in the face before landing on the bed.
I blink. Bash gives me a look as his hand moves up and down his length, his dick fully hard now. I lift my eyebrow in question at seeing what hit me in the face. I pick up my missing swimsuit. “I’ve been looking for this, you know?”
He laughs darkly before the sound turns to a groan. Forgetting the lost swimsuit, I crawl off the bed and move toward him. He eyes me, his hand still moving at a lazy pace.
I kiss him hard and before he can slip his tongue into the tango, I pull back. I give him a smile as I bite my lip. He watches me with rapt interest as his speed takes on a new vigor.
I drop to my knees, smacking his hand away and replacing his grip with mine. Stroking from base to tip, I watch my hand move over his length with heat pooling in my core. After a few more pumps, I replace my hand with my mouth.
Bash groans, his fingers entangling in my hair as I run my tongue from the base and around the tip before taking him in as far as my mouth allows without gagging.
Bobbing my head, Bash’s hips thrust in tune until he goes too far and I pull back retching.
Really, it’s as sexy as it sounds.
“Sorry,” Bash rumbles, his voice full of lust and need. But even through the haze, his hand goes to the side of my neck, tilting my jaw up. “Are you okay, Firecracker?”
My eyes are watering from the sting as I say, “What a fun way to test your gag reflex.”
Bash’s thumb caresses my jaw. “Em—”
His concern is sweet, but right now I don’t want sweet Bash. I want hungry Bash.
Reassuring him, I slowly run my hand down his stomach until I wrap my hand around the base and wrap my lips around him before going down until my mouth touches my fist.
“Fuck.” Bash pulls at my hair and my free hand grips the back of his thigh as I work him over.
I tease, I taste, I control as I make Bash mumble incoherencies.
My knees dig into his carpet.
I give the underside of his dick one long and thorough lick before tightening my hand around the base.
The movement is enough for Bash, and without warning, he grips my hair so tight he removes my mouth from him before bending down and scooping me up.
“Not a fan?” My voice is like sandpaper. It’s distracting from my pounding heart. The nerves of what’s to come.
Yet those thoughts stop as Bash tosses me back on his bed. My back bounces against his mattress, once, twice, before he climbs over me, spreading my thighs with his knees so I can feel his heat against my aching core.
I shift around and that does nothing to help.
Heat courses throughout my body, igniting fire in my veins as Bash grabs my hands, raising them above my head. My knees bend, hiking up the fabric of the dress, bringing it dangerously close to the starting line of my scars along my thigh.
But Bash doesn’t glance down; he keeps his eyes on mine. Brown eyes so dark with lust they look black. “I need to know my limits.” His voice sounds as scratchy as mine did.
He needs to know if he can see the worst of my scars. If I’m ready to bare all. My throat tightens and it’s a struggle to swallow. It’s been such a long time since anyone has seen me. All of me. Yet, I know what I want to do. Even if the consequences cost me this tomorrow.
“There are no limits.”
Bash nods, bending down to kiss me hard and fast before he drags his teeth along my cheek to nip at my chin, before trailing kisses down my neck and sucking hard at the base where neck and shoulder meet. His tongue swirls around the skin before he applies more pressure and I arch against him.
Jesus, he’s giving me a fucking hickey. It’s like high school all over again, but better. His lips are torture in the purest pleasure. Once he has me thoroughly branded, because Bash is feeling like a caveman tonight, his teeth skim along my shoulder, capturing one of the straps to my dress between his teeth, dragging it down my arm as his hands cup and squeeze my breasts.
My breathing is labored and I truly believe he’s going to kill me tonight.
My nipples are puckered, straining against the cups of my bra.
Bash repeats his movements to my other dress strap, until they’re both hanging around my elbows.
“You’re beautiful, you know?” he says as he kisses the valley between my breasts.
“Well,” I pant, all sweaty and squirmy, “I do try.”
Bash peers up at me, his chin resting on the spot he kissed. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to our friends.” He squeezes each breast like they need reassurance.
Pulling down the cups, he pinches and twists one nipple, while his mouth closes around the other peak, lapping with his tongue and pulling with his teeth.
“Oh fuc—” I flex my arms, bucking up, as he sucks a nipple so hard his cheeks hollow. My breath is reduced to pants.
Bash pins me down. Digging my wrists into the mattress. His hips press against mine.
His straining hard-on pulses between us.
“If you don’t let me move,” I threaten, not sounding intimidating at all as I’m struggling to process words. “I will—”
My words turn into a gasp as he pulls more of my dress down, exposing my stomach. His tongue and hand tracing and following along to the patterns of my scars.
He kisses down my stomach until he reaches the fabric of the dress, which is now pooling around my waist. He doesn’t pull it down any further and kisses the dress, the barrier to my skin, instead. The action is so small, but holds so much weight.
My throat catches and I strain against his hand still keeping me captured. He lets go, somehow knowing I have to touch him for this. My hands go around his neck and his back.
Nails press into the skin as tears well in my eyes at his action, at not pushing. He takes all that I give and doesn’t try for any more.
He kisses down until he can feel the thin strap of my thong. I feel him smile as he grabs it with his teeth, pulls it, and lets it go so it snaps back against my skin.
I jolt.
“Bash.” I dig my nails into the nape of his neck to get his attention. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
My heart drums to the words. A symphony of emotions come over me and now I’m shaking for what is about to happen.
It’s not from being scared, but that doesn’t mean nerves aren’t involved. I’d be concerned if they weren’t. But I’m ready. As fast as my heart is racing, it’s the engine that’s carrying me to a destination that I never fully thought I’d reach.
My man wastes no time getting off me and pulling us both to our feet.
“Strip.”
His words are erotic, but they fill me with power. Power I’ve had this entire time. He’s let me set the pace, controlling, guiding. Bash might take charge, but he’s giving me all the influence. Knowing I need to do this at my pace. Not anyone else’s.
“Can a girl get some music first?” I ask to distract. To take one final breath, knowing that no matter how bad I think others will judge me, Bash won’t see me any differently.
The darkness within you is where beauty shines the brightest.
Bash doesn’t give in to my music joke. He’s standing before me naked.
My arms reach behind me, unclasping my bra and letting it fall to my feet. Bash’s stare feels like I’m standing too close to a bonfire.
As slow as I can, I wiggle my hips as my hands push the dress the rest of the way down. My body bending, following the movements until the dress and myself are crouched over the floor.
Bash’s nostrils flare out as I uncurl my body back up, kicking the dress away, leaving me in nothing but my thong. Before I can register that I’m baring all the scars, Bash pounces. Grasping my waist, he spins me around until I’m facing the full-length mirror. I shiver despite the heat rolling off our naked bodies.
“You.” His nose runs up my neck, tugging at my ear as his hands run over the raised flesh on my thigh. I watch him through the reflection. “These?” He runs a finger over the longer and more raised scars. “Should never be hidden.”
“They’re not,” I whisper as I follow his tracing through the mirror. “Not from you.”