Chapter 6 #2
The thought of being discovered with my pants around my thighs, bent over in an alley while being fucked by a stranger should horrify me. Instead, it sends another spike of arousal through my body.
Rowan’s grip tightens. “Are you turned on by the thought of someone walking by, seeing you take my cock so well?” His hips swivel, stirring up my insides. “Seeing what a perfect little slut you are for me?”
I whimper into his palm, the words sending electric currents down my spine. His free hand snakes around to stroke my weeping dick in time with his thrusts, thumb swiping over the tip where pre-cum has gathered.
“That’s it,” he croons, words falling hot and heavy into my ear. “Take it all. Show me how bad you need this. How bad you need me.”
His rhythm never falters, his massive cock slamming into me, the thick ridge of his crown catching on my rim with each savage withdrawal before he rams back in, splitting me open.
He works my length with punishing strokes. My thighs quiver, barely keeping me upright as he impales me over and over, his balls slapping my ass. I moan into his palm, saliva drooling from my mouth to coat his skin.
“Come for me,” he says, grinding into me, “or I’ll fuck it out of you.”
Pleasure explodes through me, my dick jerking as I shoot thick ropes of cum into his fist. My ass spasms around his massive shaft, inner muscles milking him.
Rowan’s cock head batters my prostate as he bottoms out. He bites down on my shoulder through my shirt, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to leave a bruise as he pumps me full of his release, flooding my insides until I’m saturated by him.
For several heartbeats, we remain frozen in place, connected and panting in the cold air.
His hand drops from my mouth, leaving my lips tingling.
Reality seeps back in by degrees, the brick rough beneath my cheek, the chill where sweat cools on my skin, and the distant wash of traffic reminding me we’re still outside.
As Rowan pulls out, I wince, hypersensitive now that the passion is cooling. He tucks himself away before helping me adjust my clothing. His hands are gentle now, brushing brick dust from my palms and straightening my jacket.
He turns me around. “You back with me?”
I blink, struggling to process the shift from desperate need to this strange, floating sensation. The wild energy that drove me into the alley flickers out, leaving me disoriented.
“Yeah,” I manage, feeling raw inside. “I’m here.”
Rowan steps back, giving me space while staying close enough that his body heat still reaches me. The loss of contact leaves me unbalanced, as if I might drift away without his touch.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You good?”
I nod, the motion knocking more thoughts into place.
The fog of desperate need lifts, replaced by a strange clarity that illuminates everything in too-bright detail.
The rough texture of brick under my palms. The scent of garbage from the dumpster a few yards away.
The sticky residue on my stomach beneath my clothes.
“Here.” Rowan pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and passes it to me. “Clean yourself up.”
I wipe myself, fold the cloth, and try to hand it back.
Rowan huffs a laugh. “Keep it, precious. Consider it a souvenir.”
His words pull me further back into my body. I just had sex in public with a man I met an hour ago. A man who walked in on me murdering someone and decided to help.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Rowan leans in, nostrils flaring as he inhales near my neck. “You smell like me now.”
His possessiveness should repel me, but my treacherous body responds with another pulse of heat. I stuff the handkerchief into my pocket and push off the wall, testing my wobbly legs.
I bend, still feeling shaky, and grab my backpack and hat off the ground. “We need to get out of here.”
The street beyond the alley remains empty, but the paranoia returns, prickling along my spine.
Rowan catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face back to him. “Come home with me.”
He caresses my bottom lip, still sensitive from where his hand pressed too hard, and a needy whine escapes me.
“We’re not finished yet.” His thumb pushes into my mouth to massage my tongue before withdrawing to smear my lips with fluid. “Not even close.”
The residual pleasure clouding my judgment whispers yes before my brain can catch up. “Okay.”
With a satisfied rumble, he pulls me forward by the front of my jacket, crushing his mouth to mine in a bruising kiss. His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging hard enough to send another jolt of desire through me.
When he releases me, my lips throb, and my breath comes faster.
“Stay right here.” His hand slides down my arm to squeeze my wrist. “I’ll bring my car around. Two minutes.”
Before I can respond, he strides out of the alley, disappearing around the corner. The absence of his overwhelming presence leaves me cold in the narrow space between buildings.
The distant wail of sirens floats on the night air, and my heart rate spikes.
They’re not coming for us, I remind myself. No one has discovered what happened in that apartment. Not yet.
But they will.
The thought crashes into me with sudden, terrible clarity. I killed a man tonight, and then I fucked a stranger like an animal, high on adrenaline and violence.
Who am I?
My hands begin to shake in a delayed reaction as the chemical cocktail of sex and murder drains from my system. I stare at my palms in the dim light, half-expecting to see blood, but finding only brick dust and dirt.
What was I thinking? What am I still thinking? Going home with Rowan means extending this insanity, this complete loss of control.
Control is all I have. Control is what keeps Lena safe.
Lena.
My sister’s face flashes in my mind, pale but determined as she announced she’d return to school on Monday.
And here I am, considering going home with a stranger and leaving her to wake up alone?
Bile rises. What kind of brother am I? What kind of guardian?
I stagger to the mouth of the alley, peering around the corner. No sign of Rowan yet, but the street won’t stay empty forever.
The air stings my lungs as I inhale deeply, trying to clear my head. Two options stretch before me.
The first is to wait for Rowan and follow this strange, dangerous connection wherever it leads.
The second is to walk away now, returning to the life I’ve built and the responsibility I’ve accepted.
It’s not a choice at all.
I straighten my clothes, tuck in my shirt, and zip my jacket to hide any evidence of what happened. But I can’t ignore the way my body aches with the aftereffects of Rowan inside me, or the proof of it dripping down my thighs.
I’ll just have to work to contain that, too, once I’m home. I’ve lived years without giving in to desire. This was a stumble I can recover from.
My feet carry me away from the alley before my brain has committed to the decision. Left foot, then right, establishing a rhythm to carry me to the bus stop two blocks away.
If I hurry, I can catch the last bus to Brickwell.
Each step puts distance between me and the alley, between me and Rowan, between me and the man I killed. Each step brings me closer to home, to Lena, and to the version of myself I need to be.
I don’t look back. Doing so would mean acknowledging the possibility of a connection I can’t let myself have.