Vanquish (17 page)

A fuckstorm of conflicting emotions pounded in Van's chest. He sat back on the couch and stared at the gorgeous, complicated woman beneath him. All it had taken was a swift punch to the cluster of nerves below her ear, and the panic attack went
poof
. Lights out. But every time he hit her, it cut open a squishy, remorseful spot inside him, one he didn't know existed.

This wasn't discipline training. It wasn't kinksual pain play. He wasn't experiencing any of the violent, fist-swinging rage Liv used to bring out in him. This was Amber, and hurting her when she was scared felt so goddamned unforgivable.

He rubbed a hand through his hair and jerked at the strands. Fuck, he needed to tread more delicately. Just like the others, the abduction and the sex had pissed her off, but the windows? He shifted to take in the peaceful landscape of wilderness, a view that soothed him on his worst days but terrified the fucking sense out of her.

If she were just dealing with the trauma of captivity, he wouldn't have been second-guessing himself. But the agoraphobic and OCD triggers added layers of complexity. Once upon a time, it might've been an interesting experiment to play with—tormenting her with sex and pain then forcing her outside—just to see which would break her first. But the appeal wasn't there. In its place coiled something else. He wanted her whole.

He climbed off the couch and yanked the drapes shut, buttoning up all the windows on the first story. He glanced at the top row of glass and sighed. Nothing he could do about those.

The open-plan cabin included a kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and loft. The bathroom was the only windowless space. Except the garage... No, he wasn't ready for her to see his little hobby.

He returned to the couch where she lay exquisitely nude and lost in her dreams. The point of her stubborn chin softened in sleep. Her lips parted seductively, sloping into a small, slender nose. Collarbones pressed against delicate skin, and the fullness of her tits rose and fell with even breaths.

Her ribs were too sharply visible, but he'd fix that with a heartier diet. Despite being underweight, her sleek curves would've filled any man's spank bank. And other than her implants, there were no scars, no abnormalities, which made her poor self-image completely unfathomable. Time to reconcile that.

He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. With her limp body perched on the counter, he slapped her face. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her eyes fluttered, and a scowl bent her lips.

God, how he ached for her to smile at him with those captivating eyes all lit up and dimples denting her pretty cheeks. But why?

His chest tightened. He knew why, and it surfaced a childhood pang, the old starving need to see his mother gaze upon him with the same kind of smile, just once. Just a hint that she might've loved him. But all that memory offered was a boy's squashed hope and a dead mother.

He grunted deep in his chest just to hear the masculine sound of his very adult voice. He wasn't that needy boy anymore. He didn't have to depend on his mother or look to Liv for happiness. He could take what he needed from whomever he wanted.

He shook her, and her head rolled on her shoulders.

“Stop fucking hitting me.” Her voice growled with grogginess, her hostile look lost through heavy blinks.

He supported her neck with a hand and softly traced her frowning lips. “When was the last time you smiled, Amber? A real smile?” Liv used to smile at him. When she was plotting his death.

Sitting on the counter, she glanced around the bathroom, orienting herself, as the tension in her body awakened beneath his fingers. When her startled gaze locked on the covered windows beyond the door, her shoulders relaxed, but her hands jumped to cover her tits and lap—and the dried come that coated her skin beautifully. Did she really think she could hide from him?

Gripping her wrists, he pinned them to the counter behind her and wedged his denim-clad hips between her thighs.

Strands of blond hair stuck to the tracks of dried tears on her face. Her brown eyes were so light beneath the glare of the vertical sconces they burned a golden hue. Even tinged pink from exhaustion, they radiated a blinding energy. Absolutely stunning.

Her brows pulled together as she regarded him. “My last smile?”

He nodded, and because her lips were so fucking tempting, he leaned in and kissed them. Just a tease of warm, gliding flesh.

She didn't kiss back but didn't pull away either as she spoke against his mouth. “You were on my porch and asked me if I was going to give you herpes.”

The race of his heart drummed in his ears. She'd smiled at that?
He
had made her smile?

She cleared her throat and put an inch between them. “I should thank you for wearing a condom, but I'm not feeling very thankful at the moment.”

Shifting her wrists to one hand and pressing them against her back, he opened the drawers beneath the vanity. “I'm clean of STDs, checked regularly. I'll show you the bloodwork later.” He leaned back and gave her a few moments to scan the contents of the drawers.

One held six shades of brown hair dye and multiple boxes of each. Her eyebrows and lashes were dark, but since her cunt was shaved and her roots didn't show, he wasn't sure which was closest to her natural color. A home STD test kit waited in the other drawer.

Fascinating how her eyes dismissed the test and instead studied the boxes of dye like they held all the mysteries of the world.

He bent his knees so their faces were level. “I'm going to release your arms. You are
not
to cover yourself.”

Her jerky nod didn't tear her eyes from the drawer. When he let go, her hands flew to her hair, her fingers dragging and catching on the tangled length. “You want to change the color.” Her combing fingers sped up, shaking and restless. “You don't like it blond?”

Jesus. Her question was unexpected, but he should’ve seen it coming. It was her nature to please. To please him. And fuck no, he didn't like the bleached-out look against her warm skin. He wanted it the same dark brown as Liv's. And his mother's. Which was way too fucked up to admit out loud, even for him. “
You
don't like it.”

Her eyes flashed to his, and her mouth formed a beautiful, gasping
O
. “I don't...” Her brows furrowed. Then her nostrils flared on an inhale, and her gaze hardened. “Why would you assume that?”

“You fuss with your hair like it's the bane of your existence.” He shifted forward, sharing her breaths. “What you really want is to be accepted the way you are.”

He'd pulled that last part out of his ass, but given the sharp jerk of her shoulders, he hadn't been off the mark.

“Which one is your natural color, Amber?” He tapped on the boxes.

“It'll take at least two boxes.” She pointed to the deep brown black. “That one.”

His mother's color.

He pretended his stomach didn't just drop to the floor as he gathered the packages. He didn't let her wear a towel as she bent over the sink. Didn't fluster her with questions as she silently rubbed the dye into her hair. But he couldn't stop his fingers from tracing the bumps along her arched spine and watching her skin prickle beneath his touch.

While the dye set on her hair, she peed on the test stick and let him take her blood and swab her mouth and pussy. When he told her to turn around so he could swab her rectum, she backed into the wall, her eyes round and fearful. “No. Please. That's...that's...just no.”

He stepped into her space, using his bulk to crowd her. “Ever had a dick in your ass?”

“No!” Her tone was furious and her eyes blazed, but her chin shifted subtly up then down.

He rested a forearm on the wall beside her head. “Did you know body language betrays a lie? For example, the liar might nod while denying she enjoys getting her ass stretched by a cock.”

A swallow bobbed in her throat as she stared up at him with glassy eyes. She licked her lips. “It's been two years. I'm clean...there.”

“Let's let the lab decide that. Turn around.”

“I'll do it myself.” A ragged whisper.

He glowered down at her, giving her an eternity of strained silence to contemplate the consequences if she continued to push him. With black dye smearing her forehead and her hair in a lump of wet mess on her head, she looked deliciously vulnerable. Her chin quivered for a breathless moment; then finally, she released her lungs and faced the wall.

Squatting behind her with the swab in hand, he pried her firm cheeks apart. She was so damned tense, and he refused to fight her. “Tell me about your autographed books.”

The muscles in her ass twitched and relaxed. “They're just signatures.”

“Personalized to other people. Widen your stance.”

After a stubborn moment, her feet shifted apart.

He caressed the crease between her thigh and cheek, thrilling in the responsive quiver. “How did you get them?”

“I bought them on Ebay. I like the stories. And the sentimental signatures. The little notes for other people. Normal people.”

Ah. “But you don't know them. They may very well be more fucked up than you and me combined.” He slid two fingers between her now slightly less tense cheeks, exposed the sweet little pucker of her anus, and swabbed.

Enough time had lapsed between preparing the test swabs, reading the instructions, and collecting the cultures. The color should be set. He patted her hip and stood. “Jump in the shower and rinse your hair while I package up the samples.”

Still pressed against the wall, she looked over her shoulder at him with a strange expression on her face. Dark shadows bruised her eyes, her posture slumping. No doubt she was exhausted, hungry, and still working through her shock of the last couple hours.

He turned toward the vanity and listened to her footsteps shuffle to the shower.

Thirty minutes later, he stood behind her as she stared into the mirror. He'd used the hairdryer on her hair and let her keep the towel tied around her chest. Rich deep brown fell like a waterfall around her shoulders and curled damned near to her waist over the white terrycloth. The color highlighted the dark lashes fringing her eyes and illuminated the glow of her honey skin tone.

She was even more beautiful than his mother. Mesmerized, he couldn't look away. “What do you think?”

She glanced at his eyes reflected in the mirror, her fists clenched around the top edge of the towel. “What do you—?”

“No.” He gripped the counter's edge beside her hips and pressed his chest against her back, glaring at her. “I asked what
you
thought of it.”

A noise squeaked in her throat, and she took a long moment to study her reflection. “It's...me.”

His chest pinched. “And
you
outshine any ideal you try to cover yourself with.” Her jaw tightened but he didn't miss the catch in her breath. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “Let's go eat.”

“Where's my robe?” Her hands flew between her legs, covering the gap in the towel with a fan of trembling fingers. “Dammit, Van. Eyes up here.” She bent forward, trying to further hide her cunt.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was such bullshit. Obviously, he wasn't getting through to her. Fine. He would just force her to show him what the problem was. He dug beneath the sink, removed a large handheld mirror and set it on the wide space of counter beside the sink. Then he patted the oval of reflective glass. “Hop up. Legs spread. Knees that way.” He pointed at the mirrored wall behind the vanity.

Her head instantly started shaking side to side.

He grabbed her jaw, cupping her cheeks and stilling her. “If you don't hop when I say hop, we're going for a walk.” He jerked his head toward the door and the windows beyond. “Out there.”

When he released her, she climbed onto the vanity, her limbs shaking and the cords taut in her neck. With her ass on the handheld mirror and her legs spread, her bent knees pressed against the wall mirror. It was an awkward position, but she'd just have to deal with it. He yanked away the towel and tossed it behind him.

Her hands started to move to her pussy, but she caught herself and clutched her knees instead. Good girl.

Leaning against her back, he trailed his fingers around her ribs, beneath her tits, crossed his arms around her waist, and hugged her to him. “How long have you been a shut in?”

“Two years, three months, and five days.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.

He scraped his stubble against her cheek. “What happened?”

Her finger tapped restlessly on her knee. “I got scared.”

“More scared than you are now?”

She nodded, swiftly and passionately.

Damn. He was no psychiatrist. But he knew how to manipulate to get what he wanted. “Does this” —he cupped her pussy— “have something to do with it?”

Her breaths quickened, and her face contorted in pain. Fuck, if she had a meltdown, he'd get nowhere. He moved his hand, placing it over her breastbone, and touched his lips to her ear. “I won't touch your pussy, but I want you to look at it and tell me what you see.”

“Why?” Her eyes roamed his face in the mirror, pleading. “What are we doing?”

He was digging too deep, too fast, but he wasn't a patient man. “Let's call it an exorcism. I'm not officially trained, but I'm well-versed in demons.”

She watched him, maybe hoping he'd change his mind. Or stalling. But she was a smart girl. She'd make the right choice.

Slowly, her eyes shifted, wandering the room. Then breath by breath, they lowered. Down, down, a little hitch in her chest brought them up before they lowered all the way.

He didn't prompt her, didn't move. He simply took in the splendor of the view between her legs.

Swollen, juicy lips formed a deep crevice of dark flesh, hiding the opening that had felt so fucking tight around his cock. Heat rushed to his groin, hardening him against his jeans and tightening his balls. The hood of her clit was still a beautiful shade of red from his teeth. He wanted to keep it that way.

Her voice shattered his reflective thoughts. “It's grotesque.”

What the fuck? He bit down on his tongue to keep his roar from escaping. After a few deep inhales, he asked softly, “Who told you that?”