Forever (8 page)

“You want to drive away?” Sandra eased her foot off the brake as she spoke.

Having visions of a high speed chase, the winner heavily weighted by the size and power of a vehicle driven by someone who likely practiced NASCAR techniques since childhood, Amy croaked out a negative. It was too soon to see Dean Chambray again. She wasn’t ready. The fact
that she wasn’t surprised to see him flitted through her thoughts with the zip of a hummingbird’s wings. This felt different, whatever it was she sensed between them.

“Just drop me off. You said it, Sandra. Something different.” It didn’t feel too much like an
I told you so
as she warred with a myriad of emotions.

“I’m not so sure I was thinking of
him
, honey, when I went all psychological on you.”

“Yah, well,
I
think I’ll see what Mr. Fuck ’Em and Leave ’Em wants.”

“Amy,” Sandra warned. “He’s both the same and different than those other men, and in some ways that makes him worse.”

Not questioning how Sandra knew that, Amy shrugged. She knew it too, but she was dangerous in her own right. Dean Chambray had no idea. “And I’m self destructive. I know. But I’m going to see what happens. I have to. I’m not afraid of him.”
Just of what he makes me feel.

Her mouth a straight line, visibly containing what was doubtless a lecture filled with sage and wonderful advice, Sandra nodded. “Call me if you aren’t coming for dinner.”

“I will, Sandra. Love you.”

“Love you too, girl. You take care.”

****

Watching Amy uncoil her tall, curvaceous form out of the little car was, in itself, foreplay. Her long legs swung out, feet shod in glittery sandals landing side by each on the pavement. His gaze tracked up over her trim ankles and past her defined calves, lingering on the expanse of thigh exposed by the short skirt. The top of her head ducked out from beneath the doorframe, thick hair restrained by one of those clip things women
used, and Dean’s fingers twitched, wanting to release it and let that mane fall free to frame her face and drift over her shoulders. She straightened up in one lithe movement, her height notable, and he studied the jut of her breasts above the narrow waist swelling into the hips he wanted to set his hands on. Fuck. His cock filled and strained against its confinement and he shifted to accommodate the reminder that it knew her far better than he did. Something he planned to remedy before introducing it to her again. Or maybe the “getting to know you” could wait until after that particular introduction.

That hot, greedy pussy, full breasts with tight, suckable nipples
, and her talented mouth were just part of the whole package, though, and while he suspected she was as fucked up as he was, the pull was undeniable.

“You have something you want to say to me?” Seeing her saunter up to him in that confident, loose stride, her features set in an amused mask, challenged his dominance, but he tamped it down, held his stance. The friend’s car idled at the curb, then pulled slowly away, and Amy’s affect crumbled, infinitesimally, but he caught it. And exploited it.

“You want to take this inside, sweetheart? Or give your neighbor an earful?”

The involuntary flinch was also minute. Dean pushed up and moved into her space, forcing her to walk along with him, their strides close to matching. There was a lot about her in sync with him. She unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Amy pushed buttons on her security panel. Déjà vu. All rational thought of merely talking with her fled as he pinned her against the wall, the thud of her purse hitting the floor counterpoint to the pound
ing of the blood in his cock.

Amy wound her arms around his neck, hands clutching the back of his head, tugging at his hair. He ravaged her mouth with the same intensity of the previous night, mindless in his desire. The heat of her warmed the center of him as he registered the way she melted against his body, hips flexing beneath his hands. The skirt of the little dress was easy to drag up, removing one barrier to his questing fingers. They found the scrap of silk at her apex, wet with her need, and he slipped them past the elastic, shoving two digits up hard inside her, the ascent eased by her cream. Feeling her rise up on her toes he pulled out and pushed back in again, hooking to search out her Gspot, rewarded with a drench of hot liquid, her sheath pulsing around his digits.

“Put your legs around me.”

Responding to his growled command, muffled as it was by her mouth, she hopped up and complied, the strength and flexibility of those limbs apparent right through his clothing. One hand moved to clasp her waist, the other he shoved under her ass. She moaned and ground her pelvis against his cock. He managed to turn and make his legs carry them both to the bedroom, hollow with the anticipation of burying his aching shaft deep, clear up to her throat.

Tumbling them down to the yielding mattress, the springs groaning beneath their combined weight, refusing to release her mouth, Dean planted a knee and reached to free his cock. Amy’s hand was already there, scrabbling at the zipper, then gently easing him out, guiding him. He hissed at her touch and she sucked on his tongue. Pulling her panties aside by feel, he felt Amy fit him at her entrance. He thrust forward, fighting to get inside, his body blanketing hers, knees spreading her legs wide. She arched to meet him and whimpered as he fully pierced her, bottoming out at her cervix. Immediately stilling, he lifted his head and studied her face, ignoring the clamor of his cock for more, more, more.

Violet eyes opened and he fell in, willingly. “You okay?”

Her hair, loosened from the clip, drifted in waves around her head, and a fine dew misted her forehead. She shivered and he felt the tiny movement in his balls. “I’m good. God, Dean.”

Was this
tenderness
he felt? Possessiveness for sure. He wanted to fuck this woman senseless but wanted to make it mean something more. Jesus.

“Please. Don’t hold back. Please.”

Pulling back a little, thrusting forward, he established a rhythm that tested the very bounds of his control, the feel of her liquid heat surrounding him nearly too much to bear. She lay, acquiescent beneath him, this time holding on loosely and taking what he gave her, eyes again closed, full lips parted. He worked harder above her, building it, never wanting it to end, not yet knowing what
it
was, seeing to both their pleasure. He insanely wanted her to tighten her hold and assert possession. Feeling her hands tense on his back, he sought her engorged clit, rubbing in concentric circles over the soaked fabric of her panties, holding his own orgasm back.

“Look at me.” He needed to see her, right down to her soul.

Lashes fluttering, she focused and stared back into him, then bit her lip, the moan of release escaping anyway. Her pupils dilated and Dean filled her with his seed, the scald of it pushing her eyes wide. He let his weight drop on her, unable to do anything else in the immediate aftermath, their clothing a jumbled barrier between them. Gaining control over his breathing, he lifted up, slipping from her on a gush of fluids. No condom. Fucked her bareback. Jesus Christ.

Flopping over onto his back, tucking his cock back into his jeans, Dean became aware they lay on a stripped mattress, no sheets, no pillows, nothing. He instantly caught the symbolism and smiled to himself. Well, his Amazon hadn’t expunged him so easily. As soon as his strength returned they’d be having a talk. A discussion. Something he never had with women, unless they were in the business. He tested a few ideas out in his head, some statements and questions. He should have brought a fucking notepad. The newness, the unfamiliarity of this
thing, it
, was goddamn unsettling but he never backed down from a challenge.

Amy stirred and he got up on one elbow to study her. She stared back solemnly and spoke. “We didn’t use a condom.”

Shrugging, probably not the best gesture to judge by the way she narrowed her eyes at him, he said, “Didn’t seem to be a lot of time, and I told you I was safe. Never been that spontaneous before. You were helping.”

Her gaze softened. “I was. I don’t remember being that spontaneous
, either. And I’m clean, but not on birth control, remember.” The soft look was pushed aside by faint anxiety.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” Her dress was rumpled, the skirt folded upon itself and he supposed it
, too, would be stained. She let him pull her up and preceded him into the bathroom, casting a glance back over her shoulder and looking startled when he followed. Her eyes widened and she bit down on that full bottom lip.

“What
… I mean, there’s only one sink.”

“Don’t need more than one sink.” He found the little zipper and released it, gaining enough looseness to tug the dress up and over her head. Amy tensed, then stood passively while he stripped her, unhooking her bra with practised ease, pushing the panties down over her hips where they slithered down her legs. He knelt at her feet, tapping either ankle for her to step out of them, gathering the little pile up to toss them into the hamper. She watched his every move with the intent stare of a cornered animal, a hint of fear darkening the blue-violent of those amazing eyes, but a lot of speculation
, too.

Taking a washcloth from the little pile in the basket on the shelf, he dampened it, waiting for the water to run warm, sudsing with a dollop of body wash he located in the shower. He sat on the closed toilet seat.

“I can do it.” A hint of panic, or maybe anxiety, tinged her voice.

“I’ll take care of you.” Dean knew he sounded implacable, and he meant to. He’d fucked this woman without protection, and while washing her wouldn’t prevent a pregnancy, he wanted to do it. Part of him regretted knowing her cunt and thighs wouldn’t bear his stamp, but he had plans for this pussy.

It was intimate, and something he hadn’t done before. He insinuated a hand between her thighs and she grudgingly parted them. Her pussy was swollen and wet with the evidence of their joining. He gently cleaned her with the washcloth, reaching to rinse the material and return to his task. Amy trembled and set a hand on his shoulder to support herself, or maybe just to touch him.

“I like the lack of hair, sweetheart.” He leaned in to press a kiss on her mound and she drew away, not responding to his comment.

“Are you done?” Her voice was nearly shrill and he looked up to see the sheen of tears in her eyes.

There it was again,
tenderness,
compressing his chest. He threw the cloth into the sink and stood to pull her tightly against him, one hand stroking the length of her back. “Done, sweetheart. S’okay. Where’s your robe?”

A little hiccup. “In the wash.”

Well, very real symbolism. Dean released her and shrugged out of his shirt, helping her into it, carefully fastening the buttons from hem to collar. It draped over her full, high breasts enticingly, the manner in which it flirted around the top of her thighs kicking his libido into gear. He throttled it back. “We need to talk.”

****

Oh, boy. She was better at the sex stuff. Probably he was, too. Definitely he was good at that. She avoided his stare, still trying to assimilate somebody taking care of her so intimately, let alone that somebody being Dean Chambray. Amy wanted to bawl some more like a baby, crawl onto his lap and let him hug her, soothe her. Scary shit. And it had to be foreign to him too, Mr. Fuck ’Em and Leave ’Em.

“I’ll go make coffee. You do have coffee?” At her nod he walked out, clad in those tight, worn jeans, the denim lovingly cupping his ass, that amazing cock tucked away from view. The play of long muscles in his back made her fingers itch to run over them.
She opened the door to the laundry and quickly transferred the contents of the washer to the dryer, setting the timer for an hour. Her sun dress joined her underwear from today and last night in the washer, and it occurred to her men always created more laundry. They’d fucked like animals, not taking the time to get their clothes off. That was new for her.

Smoothing Dean’s shirt, tugging it down at little further in the back, she went to join him for their little
talk
. The fact she wasn’t wearing any panties made her pussy tighten. And wasn’t she some kind of slut, hoping for more…

“You drink this shit?” Back to macho Dean. Amy noted the chemical creamer he set by the cups on the countertop.

“I like it.”
No need to defend yourself, Amy. He’s not the boss of you.
Part of her wished he was her boss. Lord knew, he seemed confident and competent. She’d never had that, ever. Benign neglect, for sure. Ruthless, misguided authority. Reward or punishment without the inherent kindness. But no one had ever given her the sense of simply
knowing
what was best for her, someone she could respect and trust with herself. Sandra tried, and for the most part did a good job, had made solid inroads, but she lacked the
presence.
And she wasn’t having sex with Sandra, so that influence was also lacking.

“It’s bad for you. I’ll see you get some cream, half and half.” It was hard to argue with that
, and the inference was there, that he’d be around to see to it.

She slipped onto one of the stools at the island, tucking the flap of his shirt under her bottom, feeling the cool faux leather against her thighs. He poured her a cup of coffee, hustling to get the carafe back under the drip before it streamed onto the element. She added some of the creamer under his jaundiced eye.