Aerie

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I woke up very, very slowly. I never nap, ever. But I really hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours at a time in days, and I needed the sleep.

I was disoriented, at first.

Then I remembered I was in Seattle, with Canaan.

I was in his arms. He had his arm around me, and his chest was bare under my cheek. He was breathing slowly, evenly, but somehow I didn’t think he was really asleep.

There was no window in this room, so there was no sense of the time. The only light came from a naked Edison bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling, which shed a warm orange glow, dull and soft and intimate.

“Canaan?”

“Mmm.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, if you want real honesty.”

“Been wondering that myself.”

“Why I’m here?”

“Mmm-hmmm. After the way I left, I’d think you’d want to be rid of me for good.”

“Part of me does. But I also deserve more than the way you left. You deserve more. We deserve more.”

“More what?”

“More…I don’t know. Closure, at least.”

“Closure.”

I shifted to my side, levered up on my elbow, head propped in my hand. Canaan opened his eyes and stared at me sidelong. His eyes raked over me, taking in my bedhead—my hair had come loose from my bun as I slept and it was now loose and messy around my face—and my rumpled clothing. My tank top had ridden up as I slept, leaving my stomach bare, showing a hint of the bottom of my black sports bra. I’d chosen this outfit as the most comfortable, and also because it was, to me, the least sexy. It communicated, I thought, that I wasn’t here to mess around, that I wasn’t interested in trying to seduce him or allow us to fall back into chemistry rather than communication.

But the look in Canaan’s eyes told me I had failed. He wanted me. It had been almost a week, now, since we’d last touched each other, and that was way longer than either of us had gone without sex since Tate and I had shown up in Ketchikan.

I was having trouble keeping my own libido under wraps, in all honesty. Especially when he lay there like that, shirtless, wearing nothing but tight, ripped, faded jeans, the button undone, the zipper only partway up. His abs were hard bulges and deep grooves, and his chest was firm and thick. His arms were toned and covered in sexy tattoos, and his hair was loose and messy and in his eyes, which were a deep rich chocolate brown, and wild and heated and hungry and dancing as they met mine.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m something to eat, and you’re starving.”

“If I’m looking at you like that, it’s because it’s how I’m feeling.” He shifted closer to me, and his hand reached out to rest on my hip. “It’s only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity since we were together in Baxter’s bed.” His eyes were sparkling, and his hand was roaming. “Remember?”

I breathed out shakily. “Remember? How could I forget? You blindfolded us. You made me come so many times I thought I was going to die from orgasm overload.”

“That was the goal.”

“Murder via orgasm? A dastardly plan if I’ve ever heard one.” I couldn’t help the banter; it just came so naturally.

And the way he was looking at me? The way his hand was trailing down my thigh, then back up to my hip. His fingertips toyed with the waistband of my yoga pants, rolling the hem down, and then releasing it. As if he was thinking about peeling them off, but couldn’t decide.

“Canaan, we should talk first.”

His gaze narrowed. “We are talking.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Is that what you want? To talk?” He shifted closer yet, so our bodies were almost flush, but not quite. His breath was warm, and his hand warmer yet as he palmed my skin between shirt and yoga pants.

“Don’t you?”

“Why would you come here just to talk? You could have called me. Did you think I was going to stay here forever? I needed some time. I needed to think.” He hooked the fingertips of his index, middle, and ring fingers into the stretchy waistband of my pants. “You came here because you wanted something.”

Bullshit, if I ever heard it. “Yeah, I did, but—”

His mouth trailed across my cheek, and then his lips pressed against mine, and I stopped abruptly, because his mouth has always been intoxicating, the way he kisses.

Like this.

The kiss was slow and delicate at first. A tease. A testing, a questing. Lips on mine, tongue tip sliding across my closed lips. His hand sliding up my back to the strap of my sports bra and then back down. Sticking to skin, palming my waist, then up my back again.

God, his kiss.

Why couldn’t I resist his kiss?

I had things to say—I wasn’t this weak.

Shit, who am I kidding? Yes, I am. For Canaan, yes, I am.

The whole notion of two people having “chemistry” together is overused, and the punch of the phrase has been lost, to a large degree. But have you had chemistry class? Have you ever set up a beaker full of a chemical and poured another chemical into it? Some chemicals react mildly together, some gasses venting and vaporizing, a little bubbling, and then nothing. Some react violently, explosively. Reactionary explosions, boiling, colors changing, instant, volcanic.

People are the same way.

Canaan and me?

It’s the latter. The moment he touches me, the moment he kisses me, the reaction occurs. I can’t stop it. Can’t help it. Can’t change it or lessen it. He kisses me, and I react; he touches me, and I react.

It’s chemistry, pure and simple.

I tried to resist, I really did. There was so, so much more to me showing up here than wanting sex…but when he kissed me, it erased all that. Well, no, not erase; that’s not the right word. Pushed aside. Swept away. I hadn’t come here wanting sex at all, truth be told, but his kiss, his body, the ravenous, eager look in his eyes, the way he touches me…

I palmed his chest, traced the lines of his pecs, the ridges and grooves of his abs, tasting his breath—which wasn’t great, but I didn’t care, because his kiss was intoxicating. His tongue demanded mine, and I gave it to him. His body was hard against mine, and I wanted more. Nothing mattered in this moment, but the feel of Canaan, so familiar and strong and lean and hard and soft and warm.

I gasped into the kiss, shocked, as Canaan rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. He had me pinned, my arms tight against my sides, our hips flush, his hard cock a ridge against my core, his chest heaving, his arms wrapped around me. Holding me against him. His eyes pierced me, and I couldn’t look away. I read him, easily. I knew what this was: distraction. Returning the favor from when I’d coyly avoided a conversation about us with sex.

I knew it, felt the awareness, and even some resentment, but then his hands were on my ass, kneading, palming, caressing, and I lost the train of thought, lost the awareness and resentment. It all boiled away in the reaction to his touch.

I arched on top of him as he played with the taut, round curve of my ass, his palms rubbing in circles, lifting and releasing. I moaned, wanting more. Wanting his skin on mine. Wanting to be bare to his touch.

How can he do this to me?

Same way I do to him: it’s just chemistry. I touch, he needs; he touches, I need.

Simple.

But god, it’s so easy to get swept away. Especially when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants and yanks them down, urging me to lift my hips so he can peel them downward, spurring me to toe them off and kick them away; no panties, just me, bare. A concession, unconsciously, perhaps, to the fact that if I came here, if I saw him, I’d end up naked, fucking him.

I’d known it all along. Counted on it. I chose yoga pants, sports bra, and tank top ostensibly because I didn’t want him to think this was a purely sexual visit, but I’d forgone underwear because deep down, I think I’d known this would happen.

Is that true? I don’t know.

I don’t know anything except his touch. His warm, rough hand on my bare bottom, my thighs straddling his hips. His jeans were open. My arms were pinned to my sides, and I could have easily broken free and taken the touch I wanted, but I didn’t. I liked this, being held like this. He wasn’t kissing me, now. He was just touching.

I arched my spine, grinding my hips against his. The zipper of his jeans scraped harsh and cold against my naked core.

“Canaan…” I murmured.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped the lower hem of my tank and ripped it off, and then made short work of the sports bra, peeling it up, rolling it past my breasts; I lifted up enough that he could slide it free, and then he yanked it roughly over my head and threw it aside.

Leaving me utterly naked.

What was his game?

I thought he’d be inside me by now.

Instead, he gripped each of my wrists in his strong hands and held my arms wide apart, so I was lying fully on top of him. And now…now he kissed me again. I was helpless against the onslaught of his kiss, which wasn’t slow or sweet or delicate or anything like that. It was rough. Wild. Demanding. He growled as he kissed me, and his hips pivoted, teasing me, teasing us.

I yanked my wrists free of his grip, levered myself to kneel above him. Hair loose in a wild blonde cloud, my eyes surely reflecting my burning need for him. My breasts ached. My core throbbed. I knelt above him, staring down at him, fully immersed into this. Knowing it was a delay, a distraction, repayment. Knowing, too, that neither of us were capable of stopping this, now.

Maybe we never were.

Maybe this had to happen before we could talk properly. Maybe I wasn’t capable of expressing my deepest emotions and fears and needs to him until after I’d exorcised the demon of my sexual need for Canaan Badd. Maybe he was incapable of the same, until he’d released his need for me.

I yanked his zipper all the way open, tugged his jeans down, and he kicked them and away. He still had underwear on, tight blue Calvin Klein boxer briefs that were barely equal to the task of containing his massive erection. I knelt around his ankles, leaned forward, slowly slid those underwear off, baring his beautiful member, thick and veined and pink and leaking from the tip, revealing that incredible V-cut.

A momentary tableau, him beneath me, staring up. His cock flat against his belly. My breasts hanging, my hair almost, but not quite, obscuring my nipples. My core aching, needing his touch. I gazed down at him, wondering if I even wanted to know what he was thinking.

And then he sat up. Knelt on the bed, facing me. He took my face in his hands, and kissed me. It was a short, violent kiss; his teeth clacking against mine, bruising my lips. And then he slid past me, off the bed. I had no chance to think, to try to figure out his next move; I had no chance to even think about what I wanted, how I wanted him. It didn’t matter. He grabbed my ankle and hauled me toward him, then pinioned my hips in his hands and tugged me off the bed, so I was standing up, facing away from him. His front was to my back, his breath on the nape of my neck as he lifted my hair in both hands, pulling it to one side, and then his lips were touching my neck, and I felt his cock against my butt. He stood flush against me, his chest at my back, nestling his cock between the globes of my ass. His palms carved over my hips and grazed my belly, and then his fingers were delving into my core; I shifted my feet apart to offer him access, and he took it. A single fingertip tracing up the seam of my pussy. Nudging into the keyhole hiding my clit, circling there until I gasped, and my knees shook. I reached up behind my head, found his hair, buried my fingers in the soft cool mass, clutching at him as he slid a finger of one hand into me, circling my clit with the other, his mouth pressed against my nape as he used both hands in synch to work me to a swift, shocking orgasm. I groaned, biting my lip, grinding against his finger.

And then he did something unexpected—with a rough, commanding shove, he pressed me forward, bending me over the bed.

“Canaan?” I queried, my voice shaky.

He gathered my hair into his fist and spread it out behind me, my cheek to the mattress, so I could see only glimpses of him behind me. His palm covered one side of my ass, pulling the cheek aside. Then his other hand gathered my other butt cheek, tugging the globes apart. What was he doing? God, god. I ached, throbbed. The orgasm had only served to whet my appetite, and now with his hands toying with my ass, pulling the cheeks apart to bare all of me for him, giving him access to every part of me, I wondered if he was going to take my asshole. I’d never been touched there, and had always secretly wanted to be. But I was afraid. I wasn’t ready. If he tried to, what would I do?

Oh god, oh god. I had no idea what he was going to do, in that moment. No clue. And I liked it. God, I relished the uncertainty.

I was breathing hard, gasping in breathless anticipation.

He held my ass cheeks apart, and I craned my neck to watch as he dipped at the knees, nudging his cock against my core. Oh—oh god. Was it disappointment or relief I was feeling? Not sure. A little of both.

He said nothing, and his expression was a complicated mask, a million emotions reflected in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

“Canaan…” I breathed again.

“Yeah, babe.” His voice was low, a rough growl of need.

I reached my hands across the bed and gripped the bedspread, lifted up on my toes to press myself harder against him. Urging him. Begging him silently.

He hesitated still, the firm, broad head of his cock nestled against the lips of my pussy. He released my ass, sliding his touch up my back, bending over me to press his lips against my ear.

“You want me?” he whispered.

“Yes—” I gasped it, a breathless admission.

He slid his hands up my arms, pressed his palms to the backs of my hands, and then his fingers tangled in between mine; it was an unexpected gesture of intimacy and affection, and it made my heart twist and melt, and burgeon with hope.

And then he brought my hands around, gently but firmly pulling them behind me, until my shoulder blades were pressed together. “You told me, the last time we fucked, that you wanted more craziness out of me. You told me to let go, to not be so gentle, to not be so sweet or careful.” He pinioned my wrists in one hand. “You remember?”

I nodded, too breathless to speak.

“Well…here you go.”

And with that, he drove into me, sudden, hard. His cock filled me all at once, a sharp piercing burning stretching ache, and his hips slapped against my ass, and his hand held my wrists pinned behind my back, just shy of painful. With his free hand, he gripped my hip and tugged me backward into his thrusts, which were rough and hard and demanding, taking me, using me.

My scream of surprise was loud, shrill, and hoarse. My whole body rocked forward with the force of his thrusts, and he used his grip on my wrists to yank me backward, pulling my arms upward just a little, so I was forced to lift off the bed. God, it was so…rough, the way he was fucking me. He was just taking me. He’d given me an orgasm, and now he was just using me for his own pleasure, giving me nothing except the rough pound of his cock.

And holy shit, was it incredible.

My heart pounded as he fucked me. Would he gentle at the end? Would he stop or slow down long enough to give me another orgasm? He usually—always, until now—made sure I came at least twice before he did.

He was grunting, holding my wrists in his strong, harsh grip; I twisted to watch him, watching the rictus of his face as he lost himself in his pleasure. His hand, the one gripping my hipbone, spasmed, releasing my hip. Palming my ass, he pushed me away as he pulled his thrust backward and then, as he drove into me, he slapped my ass with a sudden, shocking blow that stunned another scream out of me.

It wasn’t a gentle, playful smack. It was a rough, hard spank that left my ass stinging and my lungs spasming and my head spinning.

“Canaan!” It was a plea, but I wasn’t sure for what. To do it again? To stop?

It had hurt, and not just a little. But it had also sent a dark thrill through me. He slowed the pace of his fucking. Slow, deliberate. He let go of my wrists, and I clawed at the bed, arching my spine, pressing my upper torso off the bed, lifting up onto my toes. Staring over my shoulder at him. My eyes were wild, my heart crashing, pulse thundering.

Smack!

He spanked the other cheek now, just as hard. A resounding, echoing crack of his hand across my ass, jolting me forward, the spank coming in the exact moment he slammed into me. His cock filled me and his hand spanked me in the same instant, and I screamed. I thrashed in pain and excitement and pleasure, the stinging ache on my ass cheeks morphing and throbbing through me. I felt him pulling back, felt his cock sliding out of me, and I gripped the bedsheet and arched forward to draw away, watching over my shoulder, and now he palmed both cheeks in his hands, and instead of spanking as he thrust, he met my gaze and feathered a few short shallow thrusts, teasing me, kneading my ass as he toyed with my expectations.

“Again!” I breathed, slapping my ass back into his body, filling myself with him.

“You want more? You want me to spank you again?”

I nodded. “Fuck yes.”

“You want me to really spank you?” His eyes were dark with lust, need.

I wasn’t at all sure. “That wasn’t really spanking me?”

He shook his head. “That was just…a few smacks as I fuck you.”

“Holy shit.” I gasped as he filled me with slow, deep thrusts. “Yes. Yes, Canaan. Spank me.”

He pulled out of me, left me aching and gasping and whimpering in surprise. “Stay like that. Bend over the bed. Get that beautiful ass as high as you can.”

I complied, shifting forward to bend fully over the bed, presenting my ass high, feet together. “Like this?”

“Exactly.” He caressed my ass. “Now I’m going to spank you.”

“While you fuck me?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m going to spank you, and you’re going to masturbate while I do it.”

I throbbed, ached. “Oh.”

“So let me see you touch yourself.”

I slid one hand between my thighs, hesitantly touching my clit. Anticipating his hand cracking across my ass. Instead, he just gently caressed me, one side, the other, again and again, in slow alternating circles, soothing where he’d spanked before. My fingers found my clit and I gasped at my own touch, my clit swollen with need. His fucking had left me aching, needing, and his spanking had turned me on, and now I was left with only my own touch to alleviate the need, and I was trembling with anticipation of him spanking me again, and thus it took only a few slow circling touches to bring myself to the quaking edge of orgasm; I slowed my touch, wanting to make it last, wanting to draw it out, make it intense. I gasped, though, aching, and then I couldn’t help a whimper of ecstasy as Canaan gripped my ass in both hands again, spreading the globes apart.

“Oh—oh god,” I gasped. “Why—why do you keep doing that?” I asked, as I shook, as I touched myself, as I quavered on the edge of a swelling orgasm.

“Do what?”

“Pull my ass cheeks apart like that.”

He did it again. “This?”

I nodded, whimpering. “Uh-huh. Why do you do that?”

“Because your ass drives me wild. I love the feel of it. I love holding it, jiggling it—” and here, he clutched the cheeks and shook them until they jiggled like Jell-O, “and I love…I just love your ass.” He let go, and then gripped them again, spreading them apart again.

“Is that…is that all?” I asked. “Is that the only reason?”

“You want another reason?” He kept one side tugged away, letting go of the other, and used his finger to trace down the crack, teasing the knot of muscle. “I want this. I want to put my finger inside you and see how loud you’ll scream.”

I slid my fingers inside myself, backing away from a clitoral orgasm, massaging myself inside, working toward a vaginal orgasm. Needing more. Aching. I blinked over my shoulder, twisted a little so I could fully look at him. I said nothing, only drew my fingers out and returned my touch to my clit, gasping shrill and breathless as I neared the unavoidable edge of climax.

That was the only invitation he needed, my lack of a demurral, and the gasp, the obvious arousal in my voice, in my expression.

I watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, letting a pool of saliva coat his fingers, which he then touched to my asshole, warm and wet and darkly thrilling.

“Oh—god, oh god—” I whimpered.

“I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“I’m already so close.”

“I know.”

I held his gaze. “Your touch, there—that’s the first time for me, ever.”

“For me too.” He spread the saliva against the knotty tissue, and then I felt his fingertip pressing, pressing. “Talk to me, Aerie. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling like I thought you were going to spank me, not finger my asshole.”

“You complaining?”

“No.”

“What if I’m planning on doing both? Spanking you while I finger you?”

“That would be…” My eyes crossed and I trailed off as he pressed more firmly, until his fingertip pierced me, sliding in ever so slightly. “Oh god, oh fuck!”

“Good?”

I nodded, whimpering. “Weird. But good.”

It was weird, too. A strange, dark, dirty intrusion into a secret place that had never felt such a touch. But it made my stomach clench, and my pussy throb, and my head spin, and my thighs quake, and my fingers flew around my clit now, and the orgasm rocked and teetered, shaking me, threatening to explode through me.

“I’m gonna come, Canaan,” I breathed, as he slid his finger a little deeper yet.

“Now?”

“Almost.”

I felt his other hand palm my ass cheek, and I gasped, expecting a slap. Instead, he just caressed. And his finger slid deeper. How much? Up to the first knuckle, maybe? It felt like so much inside me, so much, too much, but it was so slow, a deep stretch, a burning that throbbed in strange, explosive, expansive ways.

My hips rocked, and I felt the climax begin to break through me. “Now! Canaan, god, god, god, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

The instant the words left me, as the orgasm started to shatter, he brought his hand down on my ass, hard and sudden and sharp, and the stinging pain blazed through me and turned to a glory of ecstatic thrill, and I felt his finger inside me, more and more as I came and came, and now I heard myself screaming, and I was helpless against the bashing white-hot wave of orgasm, wave after wave, and now I felt another smack to the other side, and the orgasm shattered again, breaking apart into something more.

“Canaan!” I wanted more. I wanted him. I wanted his orgasm. I wanted his cum. “Fuck me, Canaan! Please, now! While I’m coming. Please…fuck me.”

He filled me, his cock sliding deep, his cock hard and thick and warm and bare.

He fucked me.

Hard.

His hips slapped, and his finger was deep, his knuckles bumping my ass cheeks, and I was touching my clit and now my climax became another one, hard on the heels of the first, the second one making me scream so loud my throat hurt, the wrenching agony of ecstasy too much to bear as I clenched around his slamming cock, around his finger, and he slapped my ass, harder and harder, the smacks and cracks stinging and becoming deeper aches of exploding pleasure.

I felt him shuddering, slowing. Heard him growling, cursing.

“Don’t come, don’t come—” I gasped. “Canaan, don’t—don’t!”

My orgasm was a spasmodic, quavering, wracking thing, alive, shaking me to pieces, but I knew I couldn’t let him come inside me like this, no matter how much I wanted him to.

As the waves of climax rocked through me, I reached behind and pushed at his wrist, and he slowly, slowly withdrew his finger. My ass stung. As his finger popped free, a fresh wave of something dark and intense slammed through me, and I nearly collapsed from it, but he was there, holding me by the hips, and his cock wasn’t inside me, and I ached for the need of him. From the absence of him. I went from being full of Canaan to being empty in an instant, and it was too much, too much of not enough.

I collapsed to my knees, and then fell to my ass, turning around to sit on the floor facing Canaan, who stood over me, staring down, his expression hard and fierce and pained.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he said.

“Neither do I.” I gazed up at him. “But…I need to feel you come the way you made me come.”

“Then we have to go get some.”

He turned away and went to the bureau, yanked open a drawer, withdrew a pair of gym shorts and stepped into them, and then from another drawer he produced an oversized hoodie, which he put on over his bare chest, the bottom of the hoodie long enough to hide the evidence of his straining arousal still tenting the shorts.

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Put on something. We’re gonna go together.”

I reached over and snagged my backpack, dug through it, and found what I was looking for—the loose, comfy, knee-length maxi dress I’d packed; I stood up, tugged it on, and then bent to look for underwear and a bra. Canaan grabbed my wrist and pulled me away.

“Let’s go.”

“I need a bra and underwear.”

He pulled me to the door. “No, you don’t.”

“Canaan—”

“I’m one wrong move away from coming everywhere, Aerie. We’ll be quick, there and back as fast as possible. Okay? So you don’t need ’em. Let’s go.”

So I went. I walked beside him as he strode intently down the street; it was late afternoon on a Saturday, and the streets were busy, the slight drizzle not slowing down the weekend foot traffic. I felt intensely self-conscious as I tried to keep up with Canaan—my tits were bouncing and swaying, as was my ass—which was still stinging and throbbing from the spanking—and I felt the cool breeze wafting up my dress and skimming across my bare, damp core, still aching from the post-orgasm shocks that were only now beginning to fade. I felt Canaan’s eyes on me, glanced at him to see that he was taking a lot of longing, aroused glances at my jouncing cleavage, which the V-neck of the dress was only barely concealing.

We reached a convenience store within a couple blocks, and Canaan prowled through the aisles to the “family planning” section, grabbed a box of condoms, and took it to the register. He had my hand in a death grip, and his breathing was ragged. As he let go of my hand to dig cash out of his wallet, I surreptitiously slid my hand to the front of his shorts and under the hoodie, trying to find out if he was still hard or if he’d lost it.

Ohhhh god; he was still hard as a rock.

He glanced at me in warning as he counted out the correct amount cash—the warning was because I had his erection in my hand through the material of his shorts, palm sliding down the thick length. The warning was obvious—keep doing that, and we’d have an embarrassing mess on our hands.

He was nearly running as we left the store, and I had to jog to keep up.

“Canaan, I’m in flats, with no bra—I can’t run like this.”

He slowed down. “Sorry. But it fucking hurts.” He glanced at me, his gaze rife with arousal. “I need to finish inside you.”

“We’re almost there,” I said.

But then we hit a snag—a street musician had set up at the mouth of an alley less than a block from the warehouse. He had a bass drum set up with a kick pedal, and an electric guitar in his hands; he was really, really good, and a crowd had gathered. It was nearly impossible to wade through the crowd, thick as it was, jostling to get closer to the musician as he punctuated his riffs with a thumping, pounding rhythm on the drum.

The crowd was spilling across the sidewalk, blocking the alley that led to the side door of Mike’s building, where we were planning on entering. The alley was long and dark, deeply shadowed by the buildings towering on every side—it was surprisingly clean for an alley, with a dumpster full of broken-down cardboard boxes on one side, and a stack of wooden pallets on the other. The alley ended in a T at another alley that was more of a tiny side street, just barely wide enough for a car.

Canaan, somewhat rudely, pushed his way through the crowd, hauling me by the hand so we didn’t get separated. Once past the bulk of the crowd, we hustled into the alley, making for the plain steel door leading into Mike’s warehouse. We reached the door, and Canaan yanked it open; it squealed on protesting hinges, banged against the wall, and shuddered to a halt, partly open.

I expected Canaan to lead me up the stairs to the bedroom, but instead he stopped in the open doorway and turned around to eye me with mischievous speculation.

“Remember when we talked about fucking in public?”

“Yeah.” I glanced around the side of the door at the crowd and the musician, less than fifty feet away. “Canaan, you’re not thinking about—”

He had the box of condoms open, a square ripped off of the string. He tossed the box onto the floor inside and handed me the condom. “Put it on me, babe.”

“Here?” I asked, hesitating.

He tugged his shorts down a few inches, revealing the straining head of his erection. “Here. Now.”

“Canaan, I don’t know.” I did, though. My heart was pounding; my hands were trembling, excitement thrilling through me.

“Yes, you do.” He sidled closer, reached for the hem of my maxi dress. “You want this.”

“How do you know?” Was I playing coy? Drawing him out? Or genuinely hesitating? I wasn’t sure of the answer, only that I was getting wet with arousal at the thought of doing this here, sheltered and hidden, but still in the open, in a public place.

He slid his fingers up my slit, dragging my wetness and smearing it over my clit, his smirk knowing. “You want this, Aerie. Don’t act like you don’t.”

“Oh fuck,” I whispered, as he circled my clit with his fingers, once again bringing me to the quaking edge of climax in no time at all.

He tugged down the sleeves of my dress, and then reached into the V-neck to lift out my breasts, one and then the other, caressing them as he freed them to the cool, damp Seattle evening air. His fingers kept circling as he did this, making me weak in the knees, making me gasp, making me tremble.

He pressed me backward so I was leaning against the frame of the door with the hinges at my spine, his hand under my dress, my breasts hanging in the open, and now I was toppling over the edge as Canaan bent to suckle my nipple, stretching it taut and letting it pop free before turning his attention to the other. I was biting my lip to stifle my need to cry out as the orgasm shook me, and even with my lip caught between my teeth, I still whimpered and gasped and shrieked, spasming under his touch.

He was relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure—he curled his fingers inside me, massaging my G-spot and rubbing his palm against my clit, tongue flicking my nipples, pushing me to a second orgasm, and this time I cried out even louder.

As I gasped and shuddered, breathless from the second orgasm, Canaan grabbed me by the wrists and pressed my hands against the front of his shorts, and I moaned at the feel of his thick erection behind the slippery material of his gym shorts. I slid my hand into his shorts and wrapped my fingers around him, stroking slowly.

He growled, leaning against me, forehead touching mine. “Need you, Aerie.”

I rubbed my thumb over the tip of him, smearing his pre-cum. “Need you too, Cane.”

He took the condom from me, ripped it open, and rolled the latex over himself. I pushed his shorts down, and he reached up to tear off his sweatshirt.

The musician was still playing, and we could hear the crowd, voices talking, chatting.

A light drizzle was falling, cooling the air even further, and now my bare nipples, already hard from arousal and orgasm, hardened further to diamond peaks.

“I want to hear you scream, Aerie,” Canaan murmured.

And then he did something else unexpected: instead of merely pushing my dress up around my hips, he took me by the waist, spun me around to face the doorframe, and ripped my dress off of me entirely, tossing it inside to the floor, out of reach.

Leaving me utterly naked.

This was a public alley, and there was foot traffic, if infrequently. Anyone could walk by at any moment. One of the gathered crowd, so close by, could hear us and be curious and come to investigate the noises.

My pulse was thundering in my ears as Canaan slid up behind me, pressing his erection against me. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “If I’m naked, you have to be too.”

He didn’t miss a beat, only kicked his shorts away. He grabbed me by the hipbones and pulled me backward so I was bent forward, one hand on the doorframe, the other reaching between my thighs to guide his cock to my entrance. I fitted the thick, broad head against my slit, gasping as he slowly drove into me, a ragged groan escaping him. When he was buried as deep as he could go, Canaan palmed my ass in both hands, kneading and gripping, and then withdrew slowly. When he drove back in, he spanked me…even harder than the last time, so hard the crack echoed in the alley. A scream of surprise flew out of me, and then I had no breath left for screams, because he was spanking me and fucking me, rocking me forward with every pounding thrust, his hand smacking the left side and then the right, and then both hands clapping hard, his hips slapping against me as he drove in with raw, ragged, gasping grunts. My fingers circled and my tits swayed back and forth, and I felt him filling me, stretching me, the aching sting of being spanked translating yet again into throbbing pleasure that seared deep inside me, bringing me to an orgasm that shook me and left me breathless, and yet, as Canaan’s cock slid through the clamping, spasming walls of my pussy, I couldn’t help another scream, loud enough to echo, a wanton, desperate, erotic scream unmistakable for anything but the sound of a woman being good and properly fucked, and loving it.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—” Canaan snarled, his driving thrusts going harder and faster, now, as he finally neared his release.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I screamed, still climaxing, my fingers flying. “Come inside me, Cane…come now!”

“Oh god, Aerie—I’m…fuck, fuck, I’m coming—”

And then I felt him come. He bent over me, cupping my breasts in both hands and using them for leverage as he thrust deep and ground against me, his forehead resting on my nape, breath on my skin, groans and grunts huffing hot on my flesh, his cock driving deeper and deeper.

We climaxed at the same time, his coming at the tail end of mine. I screamed again, and his thrust drove me against the doorframe, forcing me to slam a hand against the door to retain my balance, which slammed open to bang against the wall.

Revealing us.

The crowd had heard us, even over the musician, and when the door slammed open, all eyes went to us. To me, bent forward in the doorway, half visible, Canaan behind me, clutching my breasts, still thrusting. A stunned moment, many pairs of eyes on us, and then I reached, stretching, and snagged the doorknob, tugging the door closed. Canaan pulled away, then, bringing us into the building, and the door latched closed.

We stared at each other a moment, and we both laughed in disbelief.

“Did we really just do that?” I asked, breathless with the rush.

Canaan laughed again, reaching for my hand. “Yeah, we did.”

I glanced down at his cock, still sheathed in the condom, now filled with his cum. “We just fucked in public.”

“And we got caught.”

I stared up at him. “You know, you also promised me dirty poetry while fucking me in public.”

He palmed my hips and tugged me against him. “The sound of my hand across your ass was poetry. The way you screamed as I fucked you, the smack of my hips as I fucked you, that was poetry. The sounds we make as we fuck, that’s the music.”

“I literally just came, and I’m getting turned on again.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

Canaan gathered the box of condoms and his shorts and hoodie, and I grabbed the empty wrapper and my dress, and we headed up the stairs to the room Canaan was temporarily staying in.

My heart was still thudding hard in my chest, and now that the rush of adrenaline was fading to a heady buzz, I realized there was a maelstrom of emotions whirling inside me.

Canaan was in the bathroom, and I heard the sink going as he washed up. I lay on my stomach on the bed, the cool air soothing my stinging butt, which I was rubbing with one hand.

The further away from the heat of the moment, the more my emotions began to take over, replacing the raging inferno of my libido.

That had been…honestly, the hottest sex of my life, Canaan fucking me from behind in an open doorway. The rough way he used me, took me, the way we’d come at the same time, and even being caught…even though nothing had come of it except some strangers getting a quick glimpse of me in a compromising position…it had been erotic and thrilling and wild, and I’d loved it.

I wanted it again.

I wanted more—more daring, more thrill, more rush of forbidden exhibitionism. I wanted to do something really crazy, really public, just for the rush of it.

But beneath that, there was a deeper, knottier thorn bush of emotions.

Canaan had used sex to distract me from the conversation we both knew we needed to have. I’d known he was doing it, and I’d let him get away with it.

Why?

Because I was still scared? Because having sex was easier than dealing with the possibility of being hurt, and the sense of betrayal and rejection?

It was all of it.

Because, no matter my emotional state, Canaan could always get my sex drive screaming hot in seconds flat, and then I just lost my head and stopped caring…

Until after.

Like now.

I heard his footsteps padding across the hall, and the bed dipped as he sat on the edge, beside me. His touch was warm and soothing, gently massaging my stinging butt. “You’re all pinked up back here, babe.”

I snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, you spanked me hard, Canaan.”

“And you loved it, admit it.”

I didn’t answer that. “Canaan, you can’t just—” I broke off with a sigh of frustration.

How could I be mad at him for doing the same thing I’d done—avoid reality in favor of crazy sex? I couldn’t.

I started over. “We can’t keep doing this, Canaan.”

His palm rested on one cheek, his thumb gently grazing back and forth. “Doing what?”

“Using sex as a way to avoid talking about things.”

He blew out a breath. “We’ve both done it, more than once now.”

“We’ve been doing it. Maybe even since the cabin.” I rolled onto my back and sat up, but my butt still stung so bad I had to shift from side to side. “Damn, you really got me good, Cane,” I said, with a wince as I wiggled side to side.

He frowned at me. “Did I actually hurt you?”

I shrugged. “It does sting a lot, still.”

He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m sorry, Aerie. It seemed like you liked it, and I may have gotten a little carried away.” Another kiss, this one to my palm. “I didn’t mean to really cause lasting pain.”

I felt my tear ducts pricking, for some dumb reason. “Canaan, I—” I tugged my hand away and went back to lying on my stomach. “I can’t honestly say that I didn’t enjoy the hell out of it, in the moment, because I did. So…no regrets. I’m just a little sensitive, still.”

He bent over me, and his lips brushed the stinging flesh of my buttocks, kissing, kissing, palms rubbing and soothing. “I’ll make it all better.”

God, that felt good; I groaned. “Stop, stop…Canaan, you have to stop.”

He kept doing it. “Why?”

“Because that feels too good.”

“That’s the point.”

“No…no, we have to talk.”

But his lips were traveling up my spine, sending shivers racing through me, and somehow the stinging wasn’t so bad now, and his breath was in my ear, and his words were dirty secrets.

“I can make you feel so good, Aerie. Kiss every inch of you, tease you, lick you, make you beg.” He was murmuring, making the words almost into a chant. “Touch you everywhere, kiss your lips, kiss your thighs, make you quiver, make you plead for more. Make you plead for me.”

“Canaan…”

“We make music together, Aerie. The way you sigh, the wet sounds as I slide into you. The way you beg me to come, the way your voice breaks when you come so hard you can’t handle it.” He was everywhere, kissing everywhere, touching everywhere, and I was trembling, aching, my skin tingling, my heart thudding all over again. “You and me, baby, the music we make together is so beautiful. I whisper your name, and it’s music. You cry out and you sob as I make you feel so good, and it’s poetry.”

“God, Canaan…”

“Yeah, honey. That’s the music. This is the poetry.”

“The way our bodies slap together. The way we move so perfectly.” I couldn’t help getting caught up in it, and now I was on my back and he was above me, and his lips were everywhere, and his voice bathed my skin, and his words sent fire in my veins, and my own words thrummed with power, with need. “You groan as I fuck you, and it makes me crazy. I ride you, and my body moves above you and you watch me and every move and every sound is art, and poetry.”

I was clutching at him, feeling him hard and hot in my hand, and he was wedged between my thighs, and all I knew was the sound of his voice and the heat and hardness of his body, the way we fit together like pieces of a puzzle, just like this, his body against mine, filling me, hot and bare.

“Say my name,” he murmured.

“Canaan.”

“Tell me how this feels.”

“So good. Too good.”

“You make me crazy, Aerie. You make me lose all control.”

“I never have any control around you. It’s like you own me, like you…like you just hot-wire something inside me, with a single touch—ohhhh, oh god, Canaan—and I just can’t control myself. I need you.”

Movement was instinct. I needed this. I gave into it. There just wasn’t anything else but this, like this.

We rolled and now Canaan was beneath me and I was riding him, straddling him, my hips rolling wildly, desperately, and he was staring up at me with so much need in his eyes, everything we both knew and both felt boiling just beneath the surface, everything we knew but couldn’t say, didn’t know how to say.

I lost my breath, staring down at him as I moved above him, taking myself there, needing no extra stimulation, just the way he filled me, just the way his shaft rubbed against me so perfectly, making me lose myself, sobbing, collapsing onto his chest, impaled by him, my hips rising and falling through my climax, and I felt him throbbing and thickening inside me, felt him tense and felt his thrusts stutter and falter.

“Aerie, I—fuck, god, I—I can’t—” His voice was ragged, helpless. “You have to stop, I can’t—we can’t, but I—fuck, fuck, god, Aerie…”

I realized, then, what he was saying: he was bare inside me, and moments from exploding.

I dismounted him, pulling him out of me with a groan of loss, and slid down his body. My cheek was against his warm, hard belly and his hands were in my hair. I took him in my hands, cradling his thick length, still wet and slick from my body. Caressed him gently, tip to root. His hips pivoted, flexing him upward, and I wrapped my lips around the broad head and stroked him, tasting my own essence, tongue swirling as he growled and his hips drove up off the bed, fell, and then lifted again.

“Aerie!” He snarled my name as he exploded, filling my mouth with his tangy, salty, smoky essence.

I took it all, brought him to a cursing, gasping finish, tasting our mixed flavors in my mouth.

Tasting as well the anger at both us of us for what we just did.

I slid off him, tears starting down my face. “Goddammit, Canaan.” I backed away from him. “Again. We did it again.”

“Aerie, I can’t help it. I can’t help what you do to me.”

“You have to be able to help it! So do I!” I caught up against the door, sobbing, everything too much, too much. “Dammit, Canaan. Just…dammit.”