Vandal

My heart sinks a little. I like touching him and feeling his muscles. I love how strong and solid he feels.

“I’ll fall over,” I protest.

He bites my lip. “I won’t let you fall. Ever.”

I drop my hands and clasp them together behind me at my lower back.

“Good girl.” He puts his arm around me and holds me against him while he finger-fucks me with his other hand, pistoning in and out while his thumb rubs circles over my clit. My legs quake and weaken as he brings me close to orgasm. His fingers are like magic, knowing exactly where and how to touch me. I can’t stop my body from grinding against him. I have to focus on keeping my hands behind me, and not grabbing onto him.

“You want to come, don’t you?” His voice is a sexy, raspy whisper in my ear. He slows his hand down, barely moving inside me. I press my sex against him, needing him to keep going, but he doesn’t move, and holds me back from riding on his hand.

“Yes …” I try to kiss him but he moves his lips away from mine, teasing me, taking everything away. I struggle not to whimper with want.

“Beg.”

All pride goes out the window. “Please …”

“Again.”

God, he’s a cruel bastard. “Please, let me come.”

He groans and thrusts his fingers inside me, swirling them around my core, his thumb working my clit as if his life depends on it. His lips find mine again and he kisses me so deeply, so passionately and so demandingly, it’s as if we have to kiss just to breathe and survive. I’ve never felt such intensity in a man’s kiss before and it drives me further to the brink and then pushes me over the edge. I’m tumbling into orgasm, my muscles clenching around his fingers buried deep inside me. He holds me tight as my body quivers against him, my legs threatening to give out. His kisses slow until they are soft and lingering, his lips just barely touching mine, our breathing slowing together.

Gently lowering me down onto the bed, he holds me while I come down from the orgasm high.

“I think dinner is ready,” he says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go eat and then I can play with you some more.”

Damn, is he serious? I don’t think I can take any more.

“Be right back,” he says, and disappears down the hall. He returns with the clothes he bought for me and lays them on the bed.

“Get dressed and come join me for dinner.” He kisses me once more. “That was perfect, by the way. I love making you beg and come.”

My limbs are wobbly, like wet noodles, as I get dressed. I really feel like I need a nap to recover after that escapade, but the smell of the food is making my stomach grumble so much that for the first time in months I actually want to eat.

I find him in the kitchen, and he looks so out of place to me with his long hair and tattooed muscles standing over the island stove. Sterling is at his feet, literally howling at the top of his tiny lungs.

“Oh my, what’s up with him?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It seems he is yelling at the smells. I think it woke up his tapeworm or something.” He looks down at the kitten, who’s rubbing at his ankles. “I don’t know what the fuck Evelyn was thinking, giving me this cat. I don’t know what to do with him.”

“That girl who was here gave him to you?”

“Yeah. She volunteers at some pet rescue or something. I don’t really pay attention.”

“Why would she give you a blind kitten?” I wonder again if maybe something is going on between them. Giving someone a pet is kind of an intimate gift.

He fills two plates with rice and chicken and carries them over to the table. “She thought he would help me. At least, that’s what she said.”

“Help you with what?”

“Grief, I think. Go sit down.” I know he’s dismissing the conversation to avoid talking about it. I want him to tell me who he’s grieving and how long it’s been for him. I want to dig deep into him, as he plans to do to me. I wonder if he feels the endless agony of loss that I do and if it tears his heart out every time he thinks of her.

I want to know if he views the future as an empty pit of darkness like I do now.

Vandal

She’s staring off into space and doesn’t even look at me when I sit down at the table. From the expression in her eyes I can tell she’s thinking about him. Not me. She’s slipped away from me again, even without walking off.

I cut the chicken on her plate into small pieces. “Your eyes should always be on me when I enter the room,” I tell her. “And I should be the only man you think about.”

She turns her head suddenly, as if she just realized I was there. “Huh?”

“I’m telling you what I expect and need.”

She nods absently and looks down at her plate. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“Don’t thank me until you try it.”

She smiles a little and takes a bite. I like watching her mouth as she chews and swallows. There are so many things I want to do with her mouth.

“This is delicious.” She takes another bite. “I haven’t eaten real food in so long.”

“What have you been eating?”

She shrugs her tiny shoulders. “Coffee and crackers. Sometimes a milkshake.”

I have to laugh at her answer. “Coffee, crackers and milkshakes?” I repeat. “That’s the most bizarre combo of food I’ve ever heard.”

“I lost my lust for food when Nick died.”

Christ. The accident I caused forced this girl into starving herself. Just great.

“What do you usually like to eat?” I ask.

“Hmmm … vanilla lattes, chocolate mousse, salad, homemade chicken noodle soup, cookies, pumpkin ice cream—”

“Whoa, what? Did you say pumpkin ice cream?” I almost choke on my food.

She nods and takes a sip of water. “Yup. It’s amazing.”

“It sounds disgusting.”

“Dude, you have to try it. I could eat it forever.”

“Don’t call me dude. Maybe we’ll get some if you’re good.”

She almost squeals with happiness over that. Who knew ice cream would be the thing to finally get some real happiness out of her?

“What do you like?” She tilts her head at me as she waits for my answer, and I love how she’s looking at me as if she really wants to hear what I’m going to say. I chew my food and swallow while I think.

“To eat?”

“Yeah … or anything else you want to tell me.”

I cut up some more chicken and think about how I want to answer her. “As far as food goes, I like meat and vegetables. I’m not into all that sweet stuff you mentioned. I like rough sex, fast cars, loud bikes, pain, music, ink, and little blondes on their knees.”

She almost spits her food out. “Well, that’s an interesting list,” she says.

“Your turn.”

“My list is much more boring than yours. I like soft music, reading, art, angels, nature, photography … and big long-haired guys with control issues.” She says the last part with a shy smile that fuckin’ makes my heart leap. I put my fork down and push my plate away.

“Come over here,” I command.

She blinks at me. “What?”

I grab her hand, tug her until she stands, and pull her onto my lap.

“I thought we were eating.” The slight nervousness in her voice fuels the fire growing in me.

My hand is already down her pants, seeking the heat between her legs. “You’re going to be dessert.” I lift her up effortlessly and sit her on the table in front of me, yanking the sweatpants and panties off her, spreading her legs wide.

“Are you crazy? We can’t do this on the dining room table—”

I lift her legs onto my shoulders and lap at her open pussy, immediately shutting her up. Her head falls back, knocking her water over. She tries to sit up and I push her down, keeping my hand in the middle of her chest to keep her still. I caress her soft folds with my tongue and suck her clit into my mouth, gently biting. She squirms and pushes her hips up against my face. She gets turned on so quickly, I’m going to have to teach her to slow down and savor every moment. I grab her hand and guide it down between her legs, coaxing her to touch herself. She pulls away but I hold her wrist there until she catches on and starts to finger herself as I plunge my tongue deep into her. Her legs tighten around my neck and I stop moving, and let her fuck herself on my tongue while her fingers rub her clit. I feel her coming instantly and grab her hips, pulling her half off the table and pushing my tongue deeper into her. She yanks at my hair. “Stop! Please … I can’t take anymore,” she begs.

I pull her back onto my lap, her legs spread over my waist.

“You’re delicious. Much better than pumpkin ice cream,” I tease. Her face is flushed, her hair sticking to her damp forehead.

“You’re exhausting. I’ve had more orgasms in the past twenty-four hours than I’ve had in a year.” She quickly covers her mouth and closes her eyes, shaking her head back and forth as the words leave her lips and she tries to move off me. I put my hands on her waist and hold her.

“Don’t do that,” I say, noticing the tears brimming in her eyes. She looks away from me. “You don’t have to feel guilt for enjoying what we do.”

“I shouldn’t have said that … it’s disrespectful to him.”

Once again I lift her chin to look at me. “One, don’t break eye contact with me. And two, I want you to say whatever you’re thinking. You’re allowed to feel. I need you to feel.”

She’s quiet for a few moments and plays with my necklace, turning it over in her fingers.

“I’ve never been fucked on a table before.”

“You still haven’t been. I licked you, but I didn’t fuck you.”

She gives me a crooked smile. “Same thing.”

“Not at all. I can demonstrate the differences if you want.”