Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (20 page)

If she'd ever been in love with a man, it was at that moment.

She felt her abdominal muscles contract and she clenched her jaw, throwing her head to the side as her whole body seemed to harden like a rock. Then the orgasm swept over her like a fog, not intense and destructive, but soft and caressing. She dropped to the mattress, the infection of pure bliss making it hard to think. Moving in slow motion, she raised her arms over her head and let them drop limply. Her whole body was limp and fluid. She took a deep breath, feeling like a change had come over her. She wasn't the same girl who'd come over to fuck around. Nope. She'd experienced something completely new. Any other time, that might have concerned her, especially considering that she wasn't supposed to be anything but apathetic to Tate. Sex was supposed to be simple, easy, like an itch being scratched. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He raised up, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. She couldn't do anything but lay there and watch as he pulled a condom out of the dresser drawer and put it on. Before she could even register what was happening, he was on top of her, pulling her sweater over her head in a single motion. She moaned in approval when his warm bare chest settled on hers. It felt incredible to be skin to skin with him, like all of her nerves were crying out in satisfaction at once. When he slid himself inside of her, liquid smooth, she couldn't help but smile.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing out the word until it became a hiss. She felt high, like the fog of pleasure had taken up permanent residence in her head. She dragged her mouth across his chest, from his collarbone to his shoulder, loving the clean taste of his skin. He fucked her slow, like his body was made to fit hers. He swerved and rolled his hips, grinding against her as they found a steady rhythm. His dick felt bigger and bigger with every movement. She was so wet that she didn't care. She didn't care how he fucked her or what he did. She just wanted him to come. She wanted to see the look on his face as he felt the same bliss he'd given her.

She pressed her hands against his back, loving the way his muscles flexed under her palms. He dragged a hand between them, cupping her right breast. He ran his thumb over her nipple and she arched her back, wanting more. As if he could read her body language, he dipped his head and licked her nipple before sucking it between his lips. She tilted her hips at the sensation and he bucked against her, thrusting inside of her even deeper. She didn't realize he could go that deep inside of her. She drew her knees higher, rubbing the sensitive skin of thighs against his sides. She wanted as much of her skin touching his as possible. She ran her toes up his calves and she felt him shiver against her. He dragged his bottom teeth across her sensitive skin and she clenched her pussy around him. Everything he did was killing her.

“Fuck, it's so good,” he whispered so low she almost didn't hear him.

“Tell me,” she said, grabbing his chin and lifting his face. She wanted to look him in the eye, but he didn't oblige her. Instead, he threw his head back and clenched his jaw as he shivered against her. She raised her head and bit his chin lightly, because she wanted him in her mouth. “I want to hear it.” She ran her tongue over the smooth line of his jaw, realizing that he must've shaved in the shower. The thought of him shaving, even the thought of him in the shower, made her clench her pussy again around his big dick. God, the man would be sexy doing anything. He gasped roughly and then he bucked against her, grinding into her like he couldn't control himself.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he said, his voice strained, deep thrusts punctuating each dirty word. She groaned at his words and buried her face in his neck. She dragged her nails down his back and he made a growling sound deep in his throat. He dropped all of his weight onto her, holding her down. Then he dug his knees in and thrust hard, again and again. She could barely breathe as he fucked her into the mattress like a man possessed. But she was so wet and so into him that she didn't even care what he did. Her body was ready and pliant. She just wanted him to do whatever he wanted. She wanted whatever he wanted. So she clenched herself around him and scored her nails up and down his back, like she knew he liked. She liked the way he felt. She liked that there was nothing in the world that mattered right then other than the way he felt.

He threw his head back and she knew he was close. She forced her eyes open and watched as he dropped his mouth open in a silent scream, the chords of muscle on his neck tensing. He  made a strangled sound and bucked into her, and she knew he'd hit his wall. He dropped his head and opened his eyes. He looked drunk, hazy, and out of it, but as his gaze met hers, something changed. Everything seemed to come into focus. He thrust into her twice more and neither of them blinked. She couldn't take her eyes off of his until she felt her own body tense. All of a sudden, an unexpected wave crashed into her and she lost all control. She arched her back, pressing her stomach against his as the climax took over. She felt him jerk against her and she felt his ribs expand against her thighs as he took a deep breath like he was drowning. Another almost-painful tremor of pleasure run through her as she realized they were coming together. She tightened her hold on him, milking both of their orgasms for as long as she could. She liked having the power over him. It was as all-consuming as being pinned under him and filled to the brim with him. Overflowing and overwhelming.

And she loved every second of it.

Chapter Twelve

T
ate was surprised that he couldn't sleep.

His body was tingling with bliss and relaxed after the multiple orgasms he'd had. His eyes were heavy and Shay's warm, soft body was against his, but he still couldn't fall asleep. He rolled over onto his side as the light outside the windows shifted from dark to a hazy blue, signaling that the day was ready to begin. He didn't know how long he'd been laying there next to her, but it felt like both a long time and a short time. He was going to be dead on his feet on his day off, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the fact that she was still naked in his bed.

The night wasn't quite over.

He pulled her closer, pressing his cheek against her shoulder. He knew he probably shouldn't be holding her like that, but he also didn't really care. After everything they'd done, he just wanted to feel her body close to his. He was used to sleeping alone, so he should've wanted space. But when she was in his bed, he couldn't keep his hands off of her. He ran his fingertips up her thigh and over the swell of her hip, unable to stop himself. Her skin practically begged to be explored. She smelled so good and she felt even better.

His sheets were going to smell like her when she was gone, he realized. Moaning to himself, he lightly rolled her over onto her back. She sighed lightly and scrunched her nose up in a cute way, but didn't wake. He ran his hands over the swells of her tits, deciding that they were perfect.
He loved the way her skin smelled in the valley between her breasts too, like all of her natural, womanly scent was concentrated right there. She smelled like vanilla and coconut and something vaguely floral.
He dragged his lips across her smooth brown skin and peppered kisses down to her belly button. He shoved the blanket low on her hips, exposing more of her body to him. He'd already explored her once that night, when he'd buried his face in her pussy and made her moan his name, but he wasn't done. He ran his tongue down the soft dip in her stomach, tasting her arousal and sweat. She stirred against him, her hand finding his cheek in the semi-darkness.

"What are you doing?" she murmured. He didn't respond with words because he didn't feel like talking. Instead, he cupped her left breast and brought it to his mouth. Yeah, he liked her tits. A lot. They were heavy and full and soft. He liked the way they felt in his mouth, against his tongue. He snaked his tongue out, tracing a circle around her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his attentions. He shivered a bit when her fingernail brushed his earlobe - fuck, he liked that - and then he dove in, sucking her tit in earnest. She moaned and pressed her palms into his shoulders. He released her from his mouth with a soft 'pop' then flicked his tongue against her already wet flesh. "What time is it?" she whispered. He shrugged. He didn't know and he didn't care. He grabbed her left hand and brought it to his mouth. He pressed his lips to her palm and she moaned again.

“How do you do anything with these?” he asked, running his cheek across the tips of her nails.

“Hmm?” she murmured, opening her eyes and staring down at him.

“Your nails. They're too long. They aren't practical.”

“I don't care if they're practical or not,” she said, pulling her hand free of his grasp. Then she dragged her hand through his hair and he groaned at the feel of her nails against his scalp. “You like them don't you?” He didn't respond, just dropped his chin to her stomach and closed his eyes as she continued to stroke his hair, almost as if she was petting him like a dog. But he didn't mind. Not at all. “When I was locked up, I couldn't have them. I felt like my hands were naked all the time. And boring,” she said, her voice low and husky. “That's what happens when you grow up in a beauty salon. Everything has to be colorful all the time or it feels wrong.”

“And what about the ring?” he said, his eyes still closed. Her hand paused in his hair and only then did he open them to look at her. He closed his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand down closer to his face. The small diamond caught the light and he studied it. The setting looked old, not like a fancy new cut. The band was plated gold, not platinum, which was more common these days. He'd seen Gennifer's queen-sized ring and it looked nothing like the modest one on Shay's finger.

“I'm engaged,” she said and he shot her a sharp look. In the gradually lightening room, her face was still mostly in shadow. He couldn't quite make out if she was fucking with him or not.

“That's not funny,” he said, finally, wanting to pull the ring off her finger and toss it across the room. The thought of her with some other man, smiling and laughing and laying like they were currently laying, all tangled up and warm in a big bed somewhere else, made his stomach turn. He didn't care to think about why he had such a reaction; all he cared to think about was how much he didn't fucking like it.

“You don't have much of a sense of humor, Tate Grayson,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“I can be a goddamn laugh riot,” he said, but she snorted out a laugh like she didn't believe him for a second. “But not when it comes to fucking someone else's woman.”

“Well don't worry. I haven't dishonored your name,” she said, lifting her hand to look at her ring. “So the story goes that my father was broke and didn't have any money. But my mother was pregnant with me, so he didn't really have a choice. So he bought this ring at a pawn shop and asked her to marry him. Since she didn't run screaming down 125
th
street at the sight of such a shitty ring, that's how he knew she was the one. At least that's what he says,” Shay dropped her hand to her stomach lightly. “I never asked my mother her side of the story.” She sniffed and shifted her hips against him, like she was trying to get more comfortable. He didn't move to accommodate her thought. He didn't want to. The mention of her father had killed any bit of good mood he'd had. “They never did get married, though,” she mumbled.

“Why?” he asked, but she didn't answer him. He wondered if she was drifting back to sleep. “Why didn't they get married?” he asked again and she took a deep breath and shrugged lightly.

“Just didn't,” she said. “My mom died when I was twelve. Maybe they ran out of time.” Tate thought about that for a second, and quickly decided that Sam Spears was full of shit. If there was anything Tate knew about people in love, it was that they acted rashly and without thought. If they wanted to get married, they would damn sure get married. He thought back to the way Gennifer and Mikhail had come back from Las Vegas and announced that they'd eloped. Maria had nearly had a heart-attack, but Tate was secretly impressed with his sister and her new husband. It took guts to admit what you wanted and not let yourself back down. Tate had never been in love, but he liked to think that once he was, he wouldn't talk himself out of it or waver. He wouldn't be a coward about it.

“Sorry about your mom,” he said, because he could hear the underlying sadness in her voice. He wondered how life would've been different for her if her mother had lived. She might've avoided a lot of heartbreak with a strong parent there to guide her. Shay didn't respond and he wondered if she was thinking about that too.

“What was that woman's name?” she asked suddenly, switching topics and throwing him off.

“Who?” he asked, even though he  instantly knew who she was talking about. “What woman?”

“The woman at the restaurant. The Asian woman.” She tapped her long nails against her abdomen. He turned his eyes to the window, wondering why she was asking him about Leah. She obviously didn't like talking about her parents. She'd turned the conversation on him, and he didn't know how he felt about it. Especially since he hadn't thought about Leah since the night in the salon with Shay. “Tell me,” she demanded softly when he didn't answer.

“Leah,” he said with a sigh. Suddenly, he was feeling very tired. She shifted her hips again, this time rolling onto her side. He moved to let her have space, but when she put her back to him and closed her eyes, he got the message loud and clear. She was shutting him out. Maybe she was just tired, but he had a feeling it was deeper than that. So he didn't let her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his chest, spooning her tight against him. He was used to sleeping alone; he wasn't going to do it when he had someone next to him. She squirmed against him, rubbing her ass against his dick, but then she went still and accepted it. The important thing was that she didn't fight him, so he closed his eyes and pressed his nose into her hair. It was comfortable, too comfortable, and his eyes drooped shut almost immediately.

“You're so clingy,” she murmured, but she felt so good in his arms that he could only smile lightly. There was no need to pretend that her words weren't true. Her warm body next to him was impossible to resist. He didn't like sleeping alone. He never had. If he had his choice, he would sleep next to a woman every night. A woman as soft and warm and beautiful as Shay, but not as crazy. His smile widened as he thought about how she would react to him calling her crazy. As the room brightened, her steady breathing finally lulled him to sleep.

***

“It's so bright,” Shay grumbled, throwing her arm over her eyes as an errant ray of sunshine hit her across the face. She had no idea what time it was, or how long she'd been asleep. All she knew for sure was that she was still in Tate's apartment. It was strange, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't had the best sleep of her life. His bed was soft and perfect, a lot better than the twin bed in her room at Gina's. His arm was wrapped lightly around her waist, trapping her against him, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

It was far from uncomfortable.

Behind her, Tate moaned in response to her complaint, but didn't wake up. She dropped her arm and threw a dirty look at the offending window. The man didn't have curtains, she realized, and the sunlight was streaming in and disrupting her sleep. The bottom half of the window was covered with an opaque film for privacy, but other than that, the huge window was completely unadorned. She frowned, annoyed. Not only was she annoyed at Tate for not having curtains, but she was also annoyed that the sun was up, which meant the night was officially over. She had to get up and get on with her life. But the longer she stayed in Tate's bed, the harder it was going to be to get out of it.

With her thumb, she absent-mindedly fiddled with her mother's ring on her finger, vaguely remembering a conversation she'd had with Tate in the middle of the night. He'd asked her about the ring and she'd told him about her parents' ill-fated love story. She didn't usually like to talk about her parents. In fact, the ring was the only thing left of their doomed relationship, other than her existence. When Tate had asked why her parents had never married, Shay had answered like she knew the answer, when in reality, she'd asked herself that very question a million times.  She didn't tell Tate that her dad's straying eye and criminal ways were the most likely culprits. She didn't want to talk about any of that stuff with Tate. It would just complicate things even more and she didn't feel like ruining things. Their night together had been good, and she didn't want to ruin it.

However, as much as she didn't want it to be true, the sunlight was undeniable. the night was over and she had to go to work. Being the boss's niece had its perks, but Gina wouldn't let her get away with being too late. She wouldn't want to take advantage of her position like that anyway. Wondering about the time, she tried to sit up to check the clock on Tate's side of the bed, but his big arm was anchoring her to the bed. She attempted to lift the heavy limb off of her, but he moaned again in disagreement and tightened it around her.

“Your arm is heavy,” she said, not able to resist running her fingers up his forearm, teasingly. She could feel his erection against her ass and it was tempting to think about staying in bed with him all day and exploring his body the way he'd explored hers. He had such a beautiful body. She didn't know if she would ever get used to how beautiful he was naked. He was a work of art, plain and simple. She didn't know how it was possible, but every inch of him was attractive.

Including his dick.
Especially
his dick. Never before in her life had she felt such strong urge to suck a man's dick.  It really was a cruel joke the universe had played on her, making Tate Grayson such a wet dream. If someone had told her six years ago she would have ended up lying beside him like this, she would have laughed in their face. However, she knew she had to put up some boundaries. She knew it was just a fling—an ill-advised one, at that—but she couldn't deny that the sex was fire. But she was the one in control; she had to maintain it or she didn't know what would happen.

She might just fall in love with him.

Shivering in horror at the thought, she shoved at his arm again, using more force than before. He still didn't budge. Instead, he snaked his long leg over hers and hooked it around them, pulling her even closer to him. “Hey!” she exclaimed, smacking his knee in protest. He was dragging her back in and she couldn't allow it.

“Go back to sleep,” he grumbled.

“I have to go,” she replied, even though her eyes were already starting to droop closed again, despite the sunniness of the room.

“No,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Which, of course, only made her want to argue.

“Yes,” she said, squirming against him and forcing herself to wake back up. “I have to go to work.”