Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (15 page)

She found herself looking for him on the streets of Harlem. When she had to make a quick coffee run for the girls, she would be scouring the corners, looking for the unmarked black cars that the cops rode around in. She would be checking alleyways for a crime bust. She was truly going out of her mind. She ignored the urges for as long as she could. But by Friday night, she was climbing the walls. She needed a way to distract herself from the growing Tate problem. Fortunately, Gina was on a date with Thalia, so the apartment was blissfully quiet when she got home. She tossed off her coat and shoes and made a bee-line straight for the bathroom, her mind on one thing.

A moan escaped her lips as she sunk down into the hot, steamy water. A soak in Gina's deep pre-war bathtub was her bright solution for a sex-less Friday night. She lay back against the smooth porcelain of the tub and closed her eyes, her muscles relaxing instantly.  She wasn't going to think about him, she told herself, but it was almost impossible to keep him out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him all week and he seemed to be avoiding her, or maybe she was just thinking too much about it.

She'd been thinking too much about it all, honestly. It was a growing problem.

She didn't need him—she didn't need any man—but she knew now that she definitely needed sex. She couldn't imagine going back to being celibate. She was young, reasonably attractive, and free. Seeing her aunt and Thalia so happy together made her ache for that kind of connection, as well. But the thought of a relationship was also terrifying. She didn't even know how she would begin to broach the subject of her past. “Hi. I'm a convicted felon. What about you?” didn't seem like a great way to start any kind of relationship.

Annoyed at herself for being so negative, she decided she was allowed a treat. She deserved it. So she let her hand drift along with her mind, raising her right knee as she slid it between her legs. After six years in prison, she'd learned that masterbation was sometimes a girl's best friend. In times of hardship, it had never failed her.

After a good hour in the bath, accompanied only by her slow jam mix blasting from her phone, she forced herself to get out. She wrapped herself in one of the big fluffy bath towels she'd bought with her first paycheck and made her way back to her little bedroom. Sheapplied baby oil to her freshly shaved legs, loving how smooth and luxurious her skin felt afterwards. She lay back on her bed, naked, her whole body loose and warm. She felt almost as good as she had after the orgasm Tate had given her. Almost.

After throwing on one of Gina's brightly colored satin kimonos over a bra and a pair of panties, Shay padded out into the kitchen and turned on the light. She had a recipe for a triple layer carrot cake at the top of her to-do list, so she pulled out her phone and glanced over the list of ingredients. Then she opened the fridge and scanned the contents, making a note of what she needed to pick up at the store the next day. Then she checked the cabinets, realizing that she was running low on both flour and confectioner's sugar. She found an old electric bill, flipped it over, and jotted down a quick shopping list, so immersed in her task that she nearly jumped a mile when the buzzer rang out, echoing through the empty apartment. She wasn't expecting anyone. Figuring it was a delivery guy with the wrong apartment number, she made her way to the buzzer and pressed the intercom button. “Yeah, who is it?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice just in case it was some bum or creep.

“Hi, Shay,” was all he had to say and she knew it was him immediately. Her heart jumped into her throat and for a minute she couldn't breathe. She wondered how he knew where she lived, but then she wanted to slap herself for being so stupid. She should've known he would find her. After what she'd put him through, it should have been expected that he would've done some sleuthing of his own. He'd probably checked her file or followed her home; there was no way for him to know where she lived otherwise. She knew she should be angry with him about it, but that would be like the pot calling the kettle black. It didn't help that she also knew exactly why he was there.

She knew exactly what he wanted.

Chapter Ten

“C
an I come up?” Tate asked, his voice close and intimate, like he was standing an inch away from the intercom. For a long second, Shay mulled it over, trying to think of all the reasons why she shouldn't let him up. It was late. She didn't really know him that well. She hadn't invited him over. But then she buzzed him in anyway.

She had exactly one minute to attempt to collect herself before he was knocking lightly on the door. Shay flipped open the latch to the peephole and pressed her face to the door. Her throat squeezed shut when she saw Tate's hulking form on the other side. To be separated by several inches of metal door after what she had done to him a week before... well, that was an interesting feeling. Her pussy clenched at the thought of him being so near. His presence was dangerous. She knew she shouldn't open the door. But her hand acted on its own volition and closed around the knob. Tate leaned in at the slight clinking of the metal knob, and she knew her cover was blown.

“Shay,” he said, his voice low but deep enough to reverberate through the barrier between them. “Open the door.” She let out a slow breath and pressed her forehead to the door, willing her heart to stop banging against her ribs. She was the one in control, she reminded herself. She was the one who had the power. She'd literally had his balls in the palm of her hand a week before. She'd brought him to his knees and she'd loved every minute of it.

But that was the problem. The sex had been too good. After her long-ass drought, sex with Tate Grayson had been like a damn exorcism. He'd fucked and thrashed and panted and forced all of her demons right out of her. Her anger felt like a distant memory. Now she was left with only lust. But she couldn't afford to forget that it was all his fault. Every problem that she'd had in the last six years was his fault. That was impossible to forgive, no matter how big and skilled his dick was.

“Open the door,” he repeated, his voice so deep and so close that he could have been speaking directly in her ear. Her nipples hardened and her stomach dropped. She took a step back so fast that she almost stumbled over herself. The old wood floor creaked loudly under her feet and she rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of her situation. She knew that she couldn't keep hovering there in limbo. She either had to tell him to go or invite him in. Two choices, two very different outcomes. When he pounded a heavy fist on the door, the sound jolted her into action. She unlatched the two deadbolts and, after a moment of hesitation, she undid the chain as well. With a sigh, she yanked open the door, a mask of cool collectedness on her face.

“What the hell is a cop doing on my doorstep at...” she trailed off, turning her head to glance at the clock on the wall behind her. “Midnight?” She shifted her hips like she was bored. “You got a search warrant or something?” He didn't reply, just leaned his big shoulder against the cement block wall beside the door and stared down at her, his eyes in shadow in the dark hallway. She felt the cool breeze from the hallway on her legs and she realized that she was only wearing the thin kimono that barely covered her ass. She crossed her arms over her tits and straightened up to stand as tall as she could, but she was still nowhere close to looking him in the eye. Why did the sexy motherfucker have to be so goddamn big? He towered over her, his bulk taking up all the breathing room.

“So what do you want?” she asked, even though she knew. His closeness, his scent, the way he was leaning into her, told her all she needed to know. There was only one reason a man like Tate would be standing on her doorstep in the middle of the night. He wanted another taste. She'd been reeling all week, and apparently, he had too. The thought made her feel warm and tingly inside, like it was her birthday or something. He dropped his chin and shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He was wearing all black, like he'd just come from work. He looked good, too. She ran her eyes all over his chest, thinking about how his body felt under hands.

“You know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “You know what I want.” Shay laughed a bit, surprised by his bluntness. She hadn't expected him to beat around the bush, but it was still a slight shock that he was coming to her like a puppy with its tail between its legs. The man had no pride. Either that, or he just wanted her too much to let it get in the way.

“Tell me,” she said without thinking. She wanted to hear the words. He turned his head and glanced down the hallway for a minute, like he wanted to make sure no one was around to hear what he was going to say. A rush of excitement shot down her spine as he turned back to her, his face serious.

“I want you to let me in,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And?” she asked, her eyes finding his in the semi-darkness. “What else?”

“I want to touch you.” He pushed himself off the wall, straightening to his full height, but he kept his hands in his pockets. “I want you to let me touch you.” Down the hallway, a dog barked, the sound echoing in the quiet. She considered his words, wondering if she really knew what she was getting into. Then she turned and walked back into the apartment, the slanted wood floor cold beneath her bare feet. She left the invitation hanging in the air, unsaid, but clear. She wanted him, but she wanted him on her terms. She wasn't going to let herself become too mixed up over him. He had a nice dick, that was all. Well, he had a nice everything, but that was beside the point. She was in control. She just had to keep reminding herself that.

She heard his heavy boots cross the threshold and her heart jumped in her chest. He shut the door softly and locked the deadbolt. She bent and picked up a glass of water from the coffee table with a shaking hand. She put the glass to her lips and took a long slow drink, pretending to ignore him. However, she was very aware of his presence. In fact, the air in the apartment seemed to sizzle with electricity. She set the glass carefully back on the table as he walked slowly down the hallway, each footstep setting her more on edge.

He stopped in the doorway of the living room and she crossed her arms over her chest, He was intruding in her apartment, in her personal space. She had the urge to take control of the situation, and she had the sneaking suspicion that he wanted her to as well. “Take off your jacket,” she demanded, just to test the waters. He stared at her for a long minute, his face partially in shadow from the lamplight. For a split second, she wondered if he was going to do it. She wondered if she was wrong about him.

But then he slid his hands out of his pockets. He rolled his shoulders and let the worn leather jacket fall to the floor with a light thud. “Hoodie, too,” Shay added. This time, he didn't hesitate. He pulled the thick black material over his head and tossed it on the floor. He stood before her in a black cut-off T-shirt and his jeans, his arms chiseled and thick with muscle. She pressed her tongue to the side of her cheek, wondering to herself what she was going to do with him. How she was going to play with him. She wanted to fuck him, true. But it would be better the longer she could draw it out. Better for both of them.

“On your knees,” she said, her voice harder than she intended. He narrowed his eyes and she felt her stomach jump, wondering if he was still going to play her game. “Tate,” she said, softening her tone. “On your knees.” He ran his eyes from her face to her toes and back again, lingering on her legs. Then he sunk down to his knees without a word. He dropped his hands limply to his sides. Pleased with his obedience, she took a step closer to him, the floorboards creaking under her feet. His eyes were trained on her legs as she advanced on him, like he wanted to touch her. His fingers jerked, like he had to keep himself in check. She stopped a foot away from him and set her hands on her hips.

“You can't show up here like this,” she said. “I don't live alone.” He clenched his jaw, but he didn't say anything. She reached out and ran her fingernails through his hair, because she couldn't resist. The short blond strands caught the light, and she liked the way his hair looked against the hot pink of her nails. She liked a lot of things about him, she had to admit. Mostly superficial things. Like his big, crooked nose and his chipped front tooth. Like his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. She dragged her fingernail lightly down the side of his face, then traced his jaw.

“Should I punish you?” she asked. She stepped around to his backside, sliding her thigh across his bare shoulder. She dropped her hand to his neck, dragging her nails from the front to the back. Not hard enough to leave marks. Lightly. Teasing. He swallowed hard, but he still didn't answer. She cupped his chin and tipped his head back, the back of his skull bouncing lightly off her stomach. She ran her hands over his shoulders, feeling all the hard muscle he had hidden under his shirt.

“Take this off,” she said, pinching her fingers in the shirt. He grabbed the shirt at the hem and lifted it over his head. She helped him get it off and then tossed it on the floor with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then she leaned forward, running her hands down his chest, over all the ridges and dips of his hard body. She didn't ignore the thick scars on his left side. When she ran her nails over them, he hissed in a sharp breath between his teeth. She wondered if the skin there was more sensitive. She made a note to explore the theory later. After she'd made her point.

“Answer me,” she said, tweaking his right nipple. He jumped, but he kept his hands at his sides. Obediently. “Should I punish you?”

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You stopped coming to me,” he responded. “You forced me to come to you.”

“You could have called.”

“I don't have your number.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, realizing that it was the truth. She'd had sex with the man before they'd even exchanged numbers.

“But you wouldn't have answered, even if I did call,” he said.

“You think you know me that well?” She drew her hand up to his neck again, her fingertips finding his Adams apple.

“It's a hunch.” His throat vibrated under her touch.  She slid her hand up and covered his mouth with her palm.

“Shhh.” She had a silly thought then, and smiled to herself. “Give me your phone,” she demanded softly. He didn't hesitate—he slid his hand around to his back pocket and pulled out his phone, then held it up. She took it and untangled herself from around him. She stepped back, turning it on by pressing the bottom key. “What's your lock code?” she asked.

“Seven eight five nine,” he said. She punched it in and felt a little pang of triumph when his home screen appeared. It was blank, no personal pictures or extraneous apps. How boring of you, Sgt Tate Grayson, she mused. Taking her time, she found his contacts and typed her contact information in. Then, chuckling to herself, she bent and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“Now you have my number,” she murmured in his ear, slipping her arms around his neck. He turned his face toward her and she didn't think before she acted. She leaned in and kissed his lips, softly, barely touching them with her own. She still wanted to tease him. Teasing and control was the name of the game. She wanted him to want her more than he'd wanted anyone. She wanted his dick so hard for her that only her body would satisfy him.

And then she would win.

She didn't know exactly what the prize would be, other than good sex. Maybe that was prize enough. There was too much bad blood between them for it to be anything else. It didn't matter how long she'd been out of prison. Two months, two years, it wouldn't matter. And that was the bottom line. She broke the kiss and he moaned lightly, like he wanted her to keep going. Shoot, she wanted to keep going too. But she had something else in mind for him, something a little more cruel.

“Don't move from this spot,” she whispered. “Not an inch.” He nodded, licking his full lips like he still wanted to taste her. Her thighs clenched, but she stayed strong. She stood and stepped around in front of him. She put a decent amount of space between them and then dropped her hands to the sash tying her kimono closed. She untied the knot, slowly, and then let the thin sash fall to the floor. She opened the sides of the satiny kimono, revealing that she was only wearing a pair of panties underneath. The cool air in the room hit the bare skin of her breasts and she stood up a little straighter, pushing her shoulders back to give him a good look. She kept her eyes on the floor for a minute until she found the courage to look him in the face.

He was staring at her body, clenching and unclenching his jaw. She wasn't exactly a master at the art of seduction, but she could tell he definitely liked what he saw. They'd already had sex, true, but she hadn't been naked in front of a person of the opposite sex in so long, it was strange. But also, the burning look in his eyes made her stomach tighten, her nipples harden and her pussy wet, so she went with it. Slipping her fingers into the string waistband of her purple bikini panties, she worked them  down over her round hips and she could hear his breath catch in his throat.

Feeling emboldened, she bent forward, sliding her panties down her thighs to her calves. Her legs were smooth from the bath and the baby oil, the skin ultra-sensitive to the touch. His gaze followed her movements, his eyes dark and deep. She kicked off the panties and stood upright again. She swept her hair over her shoulder and, without over-thinking it, she let her hand roam down her chest, over the swells of her breasts and down between her ribs and past her bellybutton. She didn't stop until she reached the apex of her thighs. Her body was still sensitive from the bath and when she slid her index finger across her clit, she gasped lightly as an almost painful pang of lust shot through her.