Dissent (22 page)

He
didn't pause. He didn't ease me into it. His eyes stayed on the
mirror as he slammed into me hard and fast, making me bite into my
bottom lip to keep from moaning. He pushed me upward fast: with his
punishing pace, with the forbidden-ness of our actions, that I felt
seconds away from fracturing into a million pieces.

Then
he pulled suddenly out of me, making my hands slam down on the
porcelain in objection. He pulled my hair back harder, bringing me up
toward his ear as he watched me in the mirror. “I'm going to
fuck your ass now,” he growled.

Mother
fucker.

He
was right.

It
worked.

“Okay,”
I said, looking into his eyes as his hand went between us, bringing
his cock toward the entrance and pushing hard against it. His eyes
shifted from mine as he released my hair, one hand clamping hard over
my mouth, the other grabbing my neck. There was a long pause, his
face impassive. Then he pushed fully into me. I gasped against his
palm, the sensation somewhere between discomfort and outright pain as
he buried all the way inside me in one thrust.

He
waited a second, his hips still, his cock un-moving inside me, giving
me a moment to adjust, to get over the shock.

It
wasn't the first time. I had tried it once before, finding it
uncomfortable and awkward. But this felt different. This felt racy
and hot and the right kind of perverted and all I wanted was to see
what else he had in store for me. I rocked my hips slightly back
against him and his eyes got smaller in the mirror.

He
leaned slightly forward, putting his face next to my ear, as his
hands pressed harder against my mouth and throat. Then he started
thrusting into me, fast and needy, the feeling foreign but good at
the same time and I found myself whimpering against his palm.

“What
would your parents think if they knew I was up here fucking you up
your ass, you little slut?” he asked, slamming harder into me,
losing what little self control he had had to begin with. “You
like it like this, don't you?” he asked, thrusting into me so
hard he kept pushing me onto my tiptoes with each slam forward.

My
hands moved to the sides of the sink, holding on for dear life as I
watched his face in the mirror and nodded. Yes. A million times yes.
I liked him whatever way I could get him.

He
offered me a victorious smile, his hand pressing into my throat and
cutting off my air supply. “You're going to come,” he
told me, smiling at the choking sound I made at not being able to
breathe. And then he was right. I just... shattered. The sensation
familiar yet not, my pussy pulsating though the pleasure wasn't
coming from there. His hand pressed harder as I struggled to draw a
breath as the waves kept crashing and crashing. He lessened his grip,
grabbing my hips, then slamming into me insanely hard until he came,
a silent catch of breath the only indication of his release.

I
went down on my elbows on the sink, afraid I was going to fall if I
didn't support myself. Isaiah straightened, slapping my ass hard.

“You
choked me,” I said quietly.

“And
it made you come harder, didn't it?” he asked, sounding cocky
as he slid out of me, disposing of the condom, and fixing his
clothes. He slapped my ass hard again, unlocked the door, and left.

I
reached for the lock and put it back into place, pulling up my
panties and leaning against the wall. What the fuck? I mean...
seriously. I'd had sex plenty before. Mediocre sex. Fetishistic sex.
Great sex. But sex with Isaiah was different. It was so... primal.
Raw. It completely overpowered me. It was like he was trying to lose
himself in me.

Maybe
he was.

But
I couldn't shake the realization that even with my face in full view
in the mirror, as soon as his cock was inside me, he refused to look
at me. He looked past me. Occasionally, through me. Just never in my
eyes.

I
sighed, pulling up my panties and straightening my dress, taking a
deep breath, then going downstairs.

The
rest of the party had been tame. Isaiah kept a formal distance,
talking to all the men my father kept bringing around him, but being
a doting escort at the same time: refilling my drink, including me in
conversation, occasionally putting a hand on my back or hip or arm.
We left around ten and made our way back to the hotel, where he
handed me my room key, chucked my chin, then let himself into his own
room.

I
kicked out of my shoes and laid down on my bed, fully clothed,
staring at the ceiling until I saw the light start to break through
the sky outside the windows. Because something was going on with me
and Isaiah. Something that I wasn't familiar with. Something that
wasn't quite casual, but wasn't serious either. Something that was
going to, no matter how much I tried to prevent it, throw the careful
balance of our tour off balance.

Because
I didn't want to be in a limbo with him. I didn't want sneaking
around and lying. I didn't want stolen moments in hotel rooms and
random bathrooms. I didn't want him leaving.

I
wanted him around. Because, well, I just... liked him. With all his
damage. His baggage. His coolness. His complete disinterest in being
with me.

I
was maybe, just possibly, a teensy bit falling for him.

And
it was the most fucking terrifying thing I had ever experienced.

Eighteen

Burt
assured us the next morning that the bus was secure. And also, none
too gently, insisted we hit the road since we were already a day
behind. A part of me was glad to get back to the bus, to work, to a
sense of normalcy. I needed the distraction. I needed to stop
fantasizing about freaking Isaiah Meyers. I needed to stop obsessing
over why he didn't come back to my room the night before.

To
put it into layman's terms: I needed to stop being such a bitch about
it.

Poe
barreled at me when I let him out of the bathroom, running in and out
from between my feet and purring frantically. At least he was
something I could cuddle up with. Even if he wasn't quite what I
wanted.

“Alright,”
Burt yelled from the cab. “We ain't got no time to lose. Sit
down and strap in.”

I
couldn't bring myself to go to my bunk and lay a few feet above
Isaiah who hadn't so much as said a word to be all morning. I took
Poe into the back lounge which was usually vacant while we drove
because it bounced horrendously and made everyone queasy. I was
willing to settle for a little nausea if it meant I didn't have to
feel like I needed to made mindless small talk with the guys to keep
them from noticing I was moody.

We
hit the road a few minutes later and I tried to keep a squirming Poe
on my lap, but he eventually clawed his way away and ran back to the
front where he could pester Jay. I curled up on my side, facing away
from the doorway and closed my eyes, intent on catching up on the
sleep I lost the night before and hoping it put things into better
perspective when I woke up. Because it wasn't like me to be wishy
washy. To be overly sentimental. To have a fucking girly crush for
Christ's sake.

“Being
anti-social?” Isaiah's voice asked, sitting down. He took my
feet in his lap and started massaging one of them like he had the
first time we met.

I
rolled onto my back, looking at him, and shaking my head. “Man
do you blow hot and cold.”

“What?”
he asked, looking up at me, brows drawn together.

And
I realized he genuinely didn't know what I was talking about. He
didn't see his behavior as being abnormal. Because maybe, for him, it
wasn't. Maybe it was the result of his sheltered upbringing. Maybe it
was his innate misunderstanding of women. But he didn't think it was
weird to fuck me, then ignore me, then expect me to be happy when he
looked my way again.

“Nothing,”
I said, shaking my head.

He
shrugged, releasing my foot. “Come here,” he said,
patting his lap.

And,
really, it would be useless to pretend I didn't want to, that I
wasn't going to, so I pushed myself up and moved over toward him,
bringing my leg up to straddle his waist. But he grabbed it, and
pushed it away, taking my hips and turning me, sitting me down on
him, my back to his chest.

His
hands slid up my sides, moving across and taking my breasts through
the thin material of my t-shirt dress, tweaking my nipples hard. They
moved downward, grabbing the hem of my skirt and pulling it upward.

Always
away, I remembered with a start. He only ever wanted to fuck me when
he didn't have to look in my face. I grabbed his hand as it snaked up
my thigh, “No,” I said, shaking my head.

“No?”
he asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Not
like this,” I clarified, standing up and turning around. “I
want to look at you for once.”

“You
looked at me at your parent's...”

“In
a mirror. And you didn't look back at me,” I said, rolling my
eyes. I reached for my panties, dropping them down on the floor and
moving to straddle his waist. His eyes were wary, guarded, as his
hands settled on my hips. I reached between us, unzipping his pants
and reaching in for his cock, stroking my hand up and down it for a
minute, watching his face. But his eyes dropped from mine and I felt
a rush of disappointment. “Do you have...”

He
nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a condom, keeping
his eyes downward as he slipped it on.

I
moved my hips upward, reaching for him and guiding him toward my
entrance, pausing as he started to penetrate me. “Isaiah,”
I said, hating the needy sound of my voice. “Please look at
me.”

Maybe
it was the please, or the tone of my voice, but he took a breath and
let his eyes find mine and I quickly lowered myself down on him,
whimpering softly, grabbing his shoulder. His brows drew together as
his hand slid up my arm, up the side of my neck, then settling on the
side of my face and holding there. I started riding him slowly, lost
in the soft sweetness of that moment, something I hadn't ever
realized I wanted from a man. Especially a man like Isaiah. But I
wanted it then, more than anything.

But
soon the urgency of my need won out and I started moving faster,
driving myself upward, looking down at Isaiah. His eyes stayed on
mine as he started thrusting his hips upward into me. I bit into my
lip to keep my groans inside as I started to rock against him as he
thrust. Faster and faster, making my hands reach for his shoulders
and dig in. Isaiah's hand slid around to the back of my neck, pulling
my face down to him, his lips taking mine.

“Oh
my god,” I ground out. “Oh, fuck. Isaiah,” I
whimpered against his lips.

“Let
me feel you come, baby,” he said back, his voice low and
gravely.

I
wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my lips into his, feeling
him press deep and falling, crashing, into my orgasm. Isaiah crushed
his lips into mine, swallowing the sound of my moan and thrusting up
into me over and over before suddenly pushing me backward so he could
see my face. And then he came, a low growling sound tearing out of
his throat as he watched me.

I
collapsed back against him, feeling his arms going around me. “That
was good,” I mumbled against his neck, perfectly happy to just
fall asleep just like that. I didn't even care if someone walked in.
I just wanted to stay there wrapped up with him.

“Nuh
uh, Sleeping Beauty,” he chuckled, patting my butt. “Come
on. Up you get.”

I
grumbled, sliding off his lap and falling down on the seat next to
him. “Fine.”

“Here,”
he said, grabbing my panties and tossing them at me as he zipped back
up. “Why don't you go get some sleep,” he suggested,
standing up, slipping his mask back on, pushing me away. And then he
turned, and walked up back toward the galley.

I
was going to have my hands full with him. I slipped into my panties
and made my way back toward the bunks. He was right, though. I was
exhausted. I had just reached for the ladder when the Burt made a
sharp turn, sending me face first into Isaiah's bed instead, slamming
hard against the back wall.

“Sorry
guys, some jackoff cut me off,” Burt yelled.

I
laughed, rubbing the top of my head and pushing myself up. My hand
got stuck on a piece of paper and I reached to pull it off when I
noticed the bold, red permanent marker writing.