Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (38 page)

She wanted to fuck him but she wanted it to last, too. She wanted to draw it out as long as possible. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his stomach and he looked down at her, through his eyelashes. He relaxed his arms and goosebumps broke out on his skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine. He was so beautiful. She didn't deserve him, but he wanted her. He'd come to her when she needed him most. When he looked at her, she felt like he was really seeing her. Like he knew all of the shit she'd done and he didn't care. He still wanted her.

She wanted to give him what he wanted.

She pressed another kiss to his rib cage and then crawled up his body. She smashed her mouth against his, pressing her hand against his neck. She rolled her hips, rubbing her clit against him, not able to resist. She moaned into him, clenching her thighs around his ribs. He gripped the headboard, but didn't let go. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling how hard and tight his muscles were. He was straining, trying to keep himself from touching her.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered against his lips.

“You,” he responded. “I want you.”

“You have me,” she said, pulling his lower lip between her teeth. He moaned and bucked his hips and she slipped her tongue between his lips, lightly. He met her tongue with his and she sucked and played with it until he yanked on the headboard again. She pushed his arms flat against the mattress and she could feel how much he wanted to fight her. She wished she had tied him up. She wanted him completely at her mercy. He wanted it too, deep down. She knew him well enough to know that. She broke the kiss and he made pained noise. Lifting up, she crawled up his chest on her knees until she was straddling his face. She pinned his arms down with her knees and he arched his back, trying to throw her off. She leaned forward and grabbed the headboard, trying to get her balance.

He growled again, like an animal, and then raised his head and dragged his rough tongue across her clit. She pinched her face, the pleasure so sharp it was almost painful. She rolled her hips, dragging her wet pussy across his lips, and he licked between her slit, his tongue delving deep. He didn't have to be told what to do. He didn't need a command. He was hearing her loud and clear.

She gasped, her thighs clenching around him. He flicked his tongue against her clit and then sucked on it, just like she liked. She ground against him and he flicked his tongue faster and then lapped at all of her sweet cream, not caring one bit that she was completely mastering him. He would do anything she wanted and he would do it better than anyone else. He would lick her clit forever, if that's what she wanted. He attacked her pussy with a vengeance, sucking and licking and nipping at her sensitive flesh, making sure that she would never want another man.

No other man could do what he could do for her. No other man would be able to fuck her the way he did, in just the way she liked. It took a certain type of man to let a woman take control. She loved to be in control, craved it, in fact. And he gave her that. He craved it just as much as she did. She'd known from the first time they'd ever been together that sex with him was going to ruin her for anyone else.

And he had.

She let out a ragged cry as he ran his bottom teeth along her clit, her fingers digging into the wood of the headboard. He sucked in a breath through his nose and then pressed his mouth against her, thrusting his tongue in and out of her since he couldn't use his fingers. She cried out again, jerking and clenching her hips. She knew she was going to come. She was so close. But she wanted to come with him inside of her. She wanted to fuck him until they both screamed. Shoving her hair out of her face, she reared back. He met her half-way, levering up and wrapping his arms around her as she sunk down on his erection. One thrust and he slid deep inside of her wet tightness.

She threw her head back and called out, loving the way that her body stretched to fit him. She was slick and wet for him, but she wasn't prepared for how big he felt after weeks of celibacy. She loved it. She wanted to savor it, but there was no time. She ground her hips into his as he kissed and sucked her neck, his hands roaming all over her back. Her breasts were smashed against his chest, every thrust sending shockwaves through her sensitive nipples. He shoved at his jeans and she helped him, pushing down the stubborn fabric with her thighs. Finally they slid down to his knees and he kicked them off. Every movement jolted his dick inside of her and she moaned each time.

After a minute he was as naked as she was and she kissed him hard, stilling on top of his dick. She was impatient, but she also wanted to go slow. She didn't want to rush their reunion. She also didn't want to rush the distraction he was giving her. They both knew he was applying salve to her wounds; it wouldn't last forever, but he was the only one on Earth who could do it. She tightened her legs around him, locking him against her. She ran her teeth across his shoulder and he hissed out a sharp breath.

“I missed you so goddamn much,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Did you miss me?” he asked, She nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. She felt like her lungs were squeezing all the air out. She felt lightheaded, in the best way possible. It was almost like a dream. She was with her man again and nothing felt more right. His bed was the one place in her life where she had complete control. The beautiful man she loved put his full trust in her and it made her feel like herself again, like the world wasn't completely going to shit. She still had Tate and right then, he felt like the only thing that mattered. “Tell me what you want,” he said. “Please.” She shivered at the word and rolled her hips again.

“Slow,” she breathed. He winced and he dropped one hand to her hip, like it was taking all of his control to not fuck her hard and fast. “Then I want you to come inside me.”

“Shay,” he hissed, jerking his hips up into her. She called out again as the pleasure shot through her body. There was no condom between them, nothing in the way. She could only feel the natural warmth of him and it was addicting. She took his chin and guided his mouth to hers. When she kissed him, she put every last bit of emotion she had into it. He responded, slanting his mouth over hers and deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing across hers. She flung an arm around his neck and sucked on him, harder. She opened her thighs wider, spreading herself fully for him. He moaned in response and bucked his hips, finally giving her what she wanted.

He grunted like he was in pain, but the best kind of pain possible. He broke the kiss and ran his prickly chin down her exposed throat, sending shivers of delight down her spine. Her legs jerked around him and she dug her knees into the mattress. He rolled his hips, finding a smooth, blissful rhythm as he ran his teeth across the ridge of her jaw. She let out a jagged sound, between a scream and a moan. They were making love to each other. It was agonizing and it was perfect. Every movement made her arch her back and clench her body around him, anticipating the next. He was too much. Too goddamn much.

“Let me make you feel good,” he whispered in her ear, his lips teasing and barely touching her. “Let me take care of you.” He ground his hips into her and the air was forced out of her lungs. He was taking her over. He was filling up every bit of her that was empty before. All the parts of her that craved love and companionship and safety and stability. He was the human embodiment of all of those intangible things. Tate was everything she'd needed and he'd been right in front of her face all this time. She was beyond pride. She was beyond fear of rejection, and it was freeing.

“Take care of me,” she breathed. “Love me.” He stiffened against her, his arms tightening around her. He pulled back to look at her.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I want you to love me,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his. “Can you do that?” He didn't say anything. He just stared at her. Then he raised his hand and brushed a strand of her hair off her shoulder. He swerved his hips, his big dick filling her all the way up in all the best ways, and her vision went blurry. She realized she was crying when she felt a hot tear roll down her cheek and onto her chest. “Please,” she whispered, her throat thickening as another tear fell. “Please love me.” She gasped as he rolled her over onto her back. He gritted his teeth as his cock pulled out of her and she lifted her hips involuntarily, wanting it back. He threw her legs open wide and positioned himself against her, the tip of his erection slipping inside.

“Don't beg me to love you,” he said softly. “Ever.” He dragged his hand down to the valley between her breasts, right over her heart. She arched her back, letting his warmth pass into her. Then he bucked into her, hard. She cried out, dragging her nails down his back. His words repeated over and over in her mind, sending shockwaves down her spine. He thrust into her, hard, like he couldn't control himself anymore. She opened her mouth in a silent scream and another tear escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. He pressed his mouth to her ear, his breathing jagged. “Don't you know how much I love you?” he whispered hoarsely. “I love you so goddamn much it hurts.”

“Say it again,” she moaned, feeling like she was going to explode if she didn't come. She wanted to squeeze around his cock and never let go. She wanted him to spill all of his come inside of her and she wanted to feel it. She wanted every last bit of him. She was desperate. With her chest pressed against his, she could feel his heart pounding, in tune with hers.

“I love you,” he repeated, accentuating each word with a thrust.  He grabbed her knee, positioning it high on his ribs again. He ran his hand down her side, dipping into the curve of her waist and over her hip. Then he gripped the soft skin of her ass, his fingers massaging the sensitive skin. “You're everything,” he whispered, his voice husky in her ear. “Don't you know that?” He bucked again, picking up his pace. “Everything.”

With his words, he shoved her over the edge. Her orgasm exploded everything around her into bits and pieces. Then he came as well, calling out something incoherent as he went stiff and then spilled his come deep inside of her. She didn't know what happened after that, but it wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was his body on top of hers and the look on his face. He was just as shellshocked as she was. His declaration of love still hung in the air, but all the heaviness had gone. The room was filled with sunlight and she was wrapped around her man in his big warm bed. She didn't want to be anywhere but right where she was. She wouldn't mind if she spent the rest of her life right there.

“Tate,” she mumbled, not even sure what there was to say, but wanting his name on her lips anyway. As soon as the word left her mouth, she fell into a dreamless sleep, not unlike falling into a dark hole. Later, she wouldn't remember if he'd answered her or not, but it didn't really matter, either way.

Chapter Twenty-Two

H
e loved her.

It felt good to say the words out loud. It felt unreal to make love to her and look her in her big brown eyes and say the words that he'd wanted to say for so long. She knew now exactly how he felt and what he was willing to do for her. It was a shitty time for her, but he was there to make it better. He would take a bullet for her if it meant that she wouldn't feel pain, but he couldn't take her grief away, he knew. Right about then, all he could do was hold her.

Tate rolled over onto his back, taking Shay with him. He settled her on his chest, loving the way her sleeping body conformed around his. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and  draped her arm over his ribs. That's when the sunlight caught the ring on her finger. He lifted her hand to his mouth, grazing her knuckles across his lips. He was going to give her a real ring, he decided. Something as beautiful as her, but most importantly, something that she would cherish as much as her memories of her parents. Her parents would always be with her, but she deserved her own love story. A happy love story. Shit, she could wear the two rings side-by-side, if she wanted. She could do whatever the hell she wanted as long as she said yes.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because when he cracked his eyes open again, the light outside was a golden orange. The sun was going down. He didn't have to look at the clock to know it was around 5:00. His stomach was empty and he had to take a piss. He sat up and rolled his shoulders, stretching out his back. She had moved away from him in her sleep, and, like a child, he didn't like it. She was on her back, her lips lightly parted and one hand curled next to her face on the pillow. Her neck was exposed to him, so he rolled over and  pressed a kiss there, because he couldn't resist. Then he grabbed her empty water glass and slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

After relieving himself, he padded nude into the kitchen and fed the cat. Char hopped down off her perch on the living room window and headed straight for the food, completely ignoring him. He returned the favor, opening the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice. He took a big sugary gulp then put it back. Licking his lips, he filled up her water glass and then he headed back to the bedroom and crawled back inside their cocoon. She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and rolled onto her side and he wrapped himself around her, burying his nose in the mess of her purple hair on his pillow.

“You're warm,” she murmured after a few minutes, letting him know she was awake.

“You hungry?” he asked softly.

“Mmm,” she murmured. She dropped her hand to his and dragged it onto her tit. He cupped the handful of swollen flesh, running his thumb over her hard nipple. He licked his lips, remembering the feel and the taste of her on his tongue. His dick was already getting hard at the thought.

“I'll fix you something,” he said, taking his hand back and  allowing himself only a chaste kiss on her shoulder. With a heavy sigh, she sat up. She slid out of grasp and stood and padded over to the dresser, her hands in her hair. She stopped in front of the mirror and examined herself. After a moment, she shook her head.

“I look like shit,” she murmured, more to herself than him. Then she turned back to look at him. His heart stuttered in his chest at her expression, somewhere between blank and exhausted. “I'm going to take a shower,” she announced, her voice flat. He nodded, his eyes dropping to the apex of her thighs. She followed his look, spreading her legs to reveal his thick come smeared and dried between her thighs. “We made a mess,” she said and a small smile crossed over her lips. That small smile was all he needed. All was still right with the world.

“I'll make something to eat,” he said, because he had to say something.

“I'm not hungry,” she said, vaguely, turning and walking into the bathroom. She shut the door firmly behind her and he brought his knees up and draped his arms over them. She was shutting him out again, but it was okay. At least that's what he told himself. She needed time and he understood that. If she wanted to fuck him and then go cry by herself in the shower, he supposed it would be her prerogative. He would hold her either way, even if she tried to push him away. So he got out of bed, put on a pair of loose workout pants, and went out to the kitchen. He flicked on the lights and opened the fridge. He eyed the contents and quickly decided on bacon and eggs. A cured pork product was the cure for a lot of ills, at least temporarily. He laid it out on a sheet and stuck it in the microwave. The smoky smell of bacon began to seep through the apartment and his stomach growled with anticipation.

With the bacon cooking, he pulled out butter, green onions, and shaved parmesan cheese and got to work on the eggs, cracking them one by one into a big ceramic bowl. It gave him something to do to occupy his mind while he waited for Shay to emerge from the shower. He had a feeling she wasn't going to be very talkative and he wondered if he should say something to break up the silence, or if he should just give her space. He hated feeling awkward around her because he wasn't used to it. Usually, being with Shay was the easiest thing in the world. But when she was quiet and hurting, he felt like he had to make it better. Like it was his mission in life to make it better.

He dropped a slab of butter in his big cast iron pan and turned on the burner. He adjusted the flame to low heat, and the savory scent of melting butter gradually began to fill the air. He seasoned the eggs with salt and pepper and sprinkled parmesan in the mixture. As he dug around for his whisk, Shay emerged from the bedroom, her hair tied up in a multi-colored scarf and one of his off-white thermal shirts on. Her face was scrubbed clean and she looked somewhat refreshed, although there were still dark circles under her eyes. She shoved the big sleeves up and joined him in the kitchen, silently. He finally found the whisk, hidden at the back of the utensils drawer. He had a sneaking suspicion that Shay had something to do with it being at the back of the drawer, but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to try and be funny when he felt anything but. That would only end in disaster.

“I can do that,” she piped up, reaching around him for the whisk. He handed it to her without a word, then scooted the bowl down the counter toward her. She began beating the eggs, focusing all of her concentration on the frothy yellow mixture. He grabbed a wooden spatula and pushed the butter around the pan, waiting for it to sizzle. “Do you want me to cook?” she asked from behind him and he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. He held his hand out for the bowl and she narrowed her eyes at him. Just when he thought she might fight him on it, she gave it to him with no complaints. He poured the eggs into the pan and they sizzled and popped upon contact with the hot surface. He turned down the heat again and set the bowl on the counter. She surprised him then, wrapping her arms around his bare midsection and hugging him from behind. She pressed her cheek to his back and locked her arms, hugging him tight. He didn't protest. He liked having her close. So he didn't say anything. He just cooked the eggs like Maria taught him, low and slow, running his spatula through the pan occasionally.

“Tate,” she said, her voice reverberating through her chest. “Let me do something,” she said, squeezing him tighter.

“You can't handle me cooking these eggs, can you?” he said, lightly. “I fed myself before you came around, you know.” He put his hand over hers on his stomach. He actually didn't mind being there like that with her, clinging to him like she needed him to keep standing.

“Idle hands are the devil's playthings,” she replied and he snorted out a laugh despite himself.

“You can slice up those green onions,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the bunch of green onions on the counter.

“Okay,” she nodded, loosening her arms. He didn't drop his hand though, and he held her in place for a few seconds. Then she pulled away and went to the counter. She dug underneath for a cutting board and went to work on the onions, slicing them thin just like how he wanted them. The rhythmic chopping, the hum of the microwave, and the low sizzling of the eggs in the pan made up for the silence between them. Tate took the pan off the burner when the eggs were done. “Is this good?” she asked, motioning to the pile of bright green onions on the wood cutting board. Then she cocked her head and stared at his chest. Then she dropped the knife with a clatter and stepped close to him.

“I hurt you,” she said.

“What?”

“I hurt you,” she repeated, placing her hand on his stomach. He glanced down at his chest and noticed there were several purplish bruises on his chest, along with faint smears of red lipstick. “I did that.” She traced one of the bruises with her fingertip. She furrowed her brow and glanced up at him.

“I don't mind,” he said and that was the truth. Every time she bit him or scratched his back he only got harder for her. He liked seeing her marks all over him after she was gone. He ran his thumb over the small bruise on his rib, remembering how it felt when she'd given it to him. He'd never had a better foreplay in his life. “It's good,” he said, reaching around her, he grabbed the cutting board and sprinkled the thin onions over the eggs. She pressed herself against him, her cheek to his shoulder, watching him add the finishing touches to the food.

“So you like it?” she asked, her fingers on his back. His skin felt sensitive under her touch, and he knew there were probably nail marks all up and down his back. He ran the spatula around the edge of the pan, wondering if he should tell her the truth. It only took him a second to decide.

“Yes,” he said, turning off the heat to the burner. “Anything you want to do to me, I'll like it.”

“Anything?” she asked, softly, like she was thinking about the all the possibilities contained in that statement.

“Anything,” he repeated.
You can hurt me everyday
, he wanted to say.
Just don't leave me.
He stopped himself from saying that though, because he didn't want to scare her. “Go sit. I'll make you a plate.” he said, opening the microwave and pulling out the bacon. She nodded and wandered around the island. She perched on a stool and he slid the plates across the countertop, the scraping sound of the ceramic against the granite bringing her back to life.

“It smells good,” she said, like she was surprised.

“Don't be shocked,” he said, handing her a fork and leaning on the counter, wanting to watch her eat a few bites at least. She stuck the tines of her fork in the yellow mass of eggs, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “I didn't starve before I had you to cook for me,” he said. “Just eat a little bit,” he prodded. She nodded and took a small bite, and then another. She smiled up at him, a little bit of life coming back to her eyes.

“It's good,” she said.

“No shit,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You should trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said, nibbling on a crispy slice of bacon. He clicked his tongue and went to work on his own plate. They ate quietly, but Tate didn't care that she wasn't talking. He just cared that she was eating. She finished her slice of bacon and made a small dent in her eggs.

“You like the green onion?” he asked, just to get her talking.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured. She set her fork down and stretched her arms over her head. He heard the bones crack in her back and she moaned like it felt good. Then she leaned forward, reaching out a hand towards him. He took it with his free hand, entwining his big fingers with her smaller ones.

“You're full?” he asked, nodding toward the food still on her plate. She nodded, working her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I'm so tired,” she said. “All I want to do is sleep.” She clenched her fingers around his. “Or bake a cake. Maybe I want to bake a cake.”

“I just used all the eggs,” he said.

“Oh.” Her face fell.

“I'll go out and get more,” he said quickly, immediately pissed at himself for speaking so quickly. “What kind of a cake do you want to make?”

“I don't know...” she trailed off, then glanced around like she was looking for something. “Where's my purse? I should call Gina.”

“On the couch,” he said. She nodded and stood, her eyes on the living room. He held her hand for a moment too long before letting her go. She headed for the couch without another look at him. He watched her as she plopped on the couch and dragged the heavy bag over to her. She rifled through until she found her phone and then she scrolled through the long list of messages and missed calls. Then she dialed a number and put the phone to her ear.

“Hey,” she said after a moment and stood, wandering back into the bedroom. “It's me.” He chewed another bite of eggs, slowly, although the food had lost all flavor. He kept his ears pricked, even though he knew he should give her privacy. It was an old detective habit, and besides, when it came to her, he was nosy as hell. He just wanted to make sure she was talking to someone, even if it wasn't him. “I'm doing okay,” she was saying, her voice muffled by the walls between them. She sniffled a bit as she paced past the open doorway, her head down and her eyes on the ground. “I'm in Washington Heights.” A brief pause. “Mm-hmm. He came and got me at the station.” She glanced up and he didn't bother dropping his eyes. He didn't care if she caught him staring and she did, stopping as she was framed in the doorway. “He's been taking care of me,” she said, the glance between them seeming to last forever.