Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Armando
I’m hungry, and the timing worked out the way I’d planned, but I’m still pissed to have to answer the door.
I reach up and break the tape holding her wrists and pull her up to sitting, tugging her shirt back down over her rumpled bra. I don’t want the delivery guy to see her like this.
I don’t want the delivery guy to see her, period.
I’m feeling extremely fucking possessive of her right now. I help her to stand and steer her toward the bathroom. “You go get cleaned up. I’ll get the door,” I give her ass a slap.
I swear to Christ, that ass was made for slapping. I could seriously punctuate every sentence with a slap to that ass and never get tired of it.
She scoots off to the bathroom, and something shifts in my chest.
Her surrender does something to me. She’s not weak or stupid or even scared.
At least not too scared. I think she’s genuinely submissive.
It explains her sexual response to getting tied up and handled.
I haven’t experienced a woman like her before.
Her trust feels like a gift. One that makes me feel strong and weak at once. Humbled.
Highly protective.
I wait until the bathroom door is closed before I open the front door and pay the delivery guy.
I drop the food on the tiny two-person table by the window and look for plates and wine glasses.
Her place is tiny, but it’s cute. She has plants in colorful pots everywhere.
Some are flowering, some are wrapped in bright bows.
Her furnishings are rustic—white washed shit.
Probably flea market finds, but it has the look of purposeful design.
Rich people pay a lot of money for this kind of look.
She’s definitely artistic. She has a real eye for this stuff.
I was going to put the calzones on plates and open the wine, but the sound of the shower running makes my dick throb. My balls are so fucking blue from licking her pussy, I can barely walk.
I should leave her alone. Let her shower.
Instead, I find myself testing the bathroom door. And when I find it open, I take it as an invitation. My clothes drop to her floor before the thought to strip even forms. I pull back the shower curtain and step in.
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t recoil. She stares at my body.
I look down. I’ve been so damn disconnected from it, I don’t even know what I look like anymore.
My chest is hairy, and I lack any color from the sun.
I was bigger when I went into prison. The extra layer of meat has hardened into sinew and muscle.
She doesn’t seem to mind what she sees because her lips part like she wants to taste me. I take my time running my gaze all over her luscious form.
It’s perfect. She’s short but curvy, with a narrow waist, round breasts and heart-shaped ass.
A chain of flowers is tattooed around her upper arm with a small, winged fairy sitting on the top of one of the buds.
Her skin is a smooth brown. She’s nothing like the kind of girls I’ve been with before. She’s real. Beautiful.
I watch the rivulets of water stream over her dark nipples. I want to lick the droplets from them. Scratch that. I’m going to lick the droplets from her skin. I pull the curtain closed behind me and pin her against the tile wall, my mouth moving over hers with all the force of pent-up aggression.
I don’t know if it’s going nearly five years without sex or because Hannah does something special to me, but I can’t seem to dial back my sexual aggression with her.
Fortunately, she’s willing. Her arms loop around my shoulders, and she lifts one leg around my waist to give me the angle I need to get inside her.
“Condom,” she gasps between kisses.
Condom. Fuck. How could I forget it?
“Don’t fucking move,” I growl, pinning her back against the wall with my hand between her tits and waiting a beat for my order to set in.
Then I yank back the shower curtain and fish in my pants pocket for a condom out of my wallet. I rip it open and stand, rolling it over my length.
“Good girl,” I say because she hasn’t moved an inch from where I left her. “Come here.” I pick up her thigh and find her entrance with the sheathed head of my cock, prodding it until I find the sweet spot where it starts to slide in. “That’s right,” I murmur as I feed the head in slowly. “Take it.”
She grips my shoulders, pulling me closer.
“Take every inch.” I keep pushing forward, all the way, until I’m fully seated. Then I prop one foot on the tub, her thigh draped over the top of mine, and start thrusting.
It’s pure heaven. The last time I fucked her, I was out of my mind with need. This time, I savor every sweet thrust. The slick of our skin sliding together, the heat of her tight welcoming channel.
I take her hands from my shoulders and pin them up against the tile.
Not for me—I like the feel of her nails scoring my skin—but for her.
Because I’m testing what she likes. How she likes it.
It works—maybe too well because her eyes roll back, foot slips.
I hold her wrists with one hand and use the other to hoist her ass up, holding her in place.
I should say something—praise her. Tell her how much I like it.
I used to know how to dirty talk up one side of a building and down the other.
Now I’m so fucking rusty at speaking to another human being.
I force my lips to move. “So good, Hannah.” It comes out like gravel.
Or sandpaper. Deep and ragged. “You feel so good.”
She moans softly, and I take it as encouragement.
I don’t want it to end, but my hips have a mind of their own, snapping hard, pumping deeper.
She starts making those sexy noises again, and my brain short-circuits. I get too hot from the warm water and steam and my blood pumping straight to my cock. My head’s getting light, which isn’t good, since I’m the one holding us up.
I pull the shower curtain open by a foot to let in some air and fuck her harder. I forget to hold her wrists because my hands are roaming her body, squeezing her breast, gripping her waist, kneading her ass.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” I moan, my voice breathy and hoarse. She arches her back, pressing her chest against my own, and I swear I feel her heart beating in rhythm with mine.
I’m lost in the sensation of our slick skin sliding against each other and the warmth and pressure from her tight grip around me. I’m so close... just a few more thrusts, and I’ll go over the edge.
But before I do, I reach one hand around and slip my fingers between us, finding her clit and circling it softly. She gasps, and I feel her walls quiver around me as she comes.
I brush my lips against her neck, sending trails of tingling sensation down her spine as I continue to thrust into her.
My breathing gets faster as I feel my climax approaching, and I grab onto her hips tightly as I plunge deeper and deeper into her, wanting to savor every moment. She cries out as her body convulses around mine.
My balls draw up and pump. I shout and grip her ass with both hands and then bury myself deep as I come. She tips her pelvis to take me deeper, rubbing her clit over my root until she comes, too. Her muscles squeeze my dick in quick pulses, and I come even harder, filling the condom.
I lean my forehead against hers, breathing with her, my dick pulsing and twitching inside her.
Our mingled breaths slow. The water’s turning cold.
I don’t want to ever pull out, but I do.
I ease out and turn off the water, then step out of the shower to dispose of the condom.
The water ran all over the floor because I opened the curtain, so I drop the hand towel down on it and wrap Hannah in the other one.
She’s still leaning up against the tile looking dazed, so I help her out of the tub, supporting her in case her legs don’t work.
She points shakily at the cabinet, murmuring something unintelligible. I open it and find another towel, which I use to dry off.
“Wow,” she murmurs.
I turn to face her as I towel off my hair. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“So… Are you going to let me go now? Are we cool?”
I go still. Blink. The room swoops around me. I drop the towel on the floor. What the fuck is she saying?
A rushing sound starts up in my ears.
Did I just… rape a girl?
Did she think she had to do that for me to set her free?
“Is that what this was?” I choke, not even realizing I’m advancing on her. Not conscious of my hand caging her throat and pushing her back. “Is that why…is that... fuck! ” I roar and punch the wall beside her. The plaster caves, and my knuckles go through it.
“Fuck.” I release her and turn away.
Did she just offer herself up to me in hopes I’ll set her free? What kind of monster am I?
I can’t even tell when a girl wants me or not. I’ve gotten so confused, stuck in the modes of violence and survival, I don’t even know what’s real.
I thought I could manage this situation with Hannah. Had some vague idea about how to keep her from getting hurt by me or the organization, and instead I did the most unforgivable thing.
I pick up my clothes from the floor and pull them on, my chest cracking open as Hannah opens the bathroom door and makes her escape from me.
I follow only because the steam in the bathroom’s making me dizzy, and I really fucking need to think.
I hear a stifled sob, and bombs explode in my chest, down my arms, in my gut. Hannah’s got her back to me at her dresser, trying to get her second foot in a pair of panties and missing. I should give her space. I definitely shouldn’t go to her.
But I do.
In a second, I have an arm banded around her waist to support her wobble, and I reach down to hold the waistband of the panties for her. I slide them up when she gets her leg in and just hold her from behind.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her hair.
Her chest shudders on a sob. She stands still for a moment, like she’s listening. “Sorry for what?” There’s a quietness to the question.
It’s some kind of test, but I don’t know what it means. Like there’s some answer I need to give that will make this all better. All I fucking know is the sound of her stuttered breath kills me.
Because all emotional intelligence I once had—if I ever had any—is long gone, I mutter, “Whatever made you cry.”
It’s the wrong answer. I know as soon as I say it. I know it even better when she squirms away from me, whirls and slaps my face. It’s a wimpy slap and half-misses me. It clearly didn’t give her the satisfaction she was going for because she curls her fingers into a fist and throws a punch instead.
I dodge it, catch her wrist and wrap her arm in front of her waist. With my other arm, I scoop under her knees and lift her into a baby-carry.
She gasps and struggles. “What are you doing?”
I don’t know what I’m doing—why I picked her up or what I’m going to do with her now. All I know is that I don’t like the chaos in my chest. In my head.
I carry her to the bed and set her on it, yanking the sheet off the corners to cover her bare breasts.
I sit beside her on the bed. I want to hold her, but my touch is obviously not welcome.
“I just—” I try to unravel what just happened.
She’s more pissed now than she has been throughout this whole thing.
Which must mean it was something I said…
I review what just transpired between us and. .. ah .
I’m an idiot. I asked if she had sex with me, so I’d let her go.
She glares at me, lower lip trembling with obvious offense.
“Hang on, Hannah. Let’s straighten this out. I wasn’t calling you a whore. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Not at all. I was—” I draw a breath, trying to find words to explain the rage inside me. “I was pissed at myself.”
The rage settles. Like identifying its source was what it needed.
“Did you feel like you...had to? With me? I didn’t—did I force you?”
“No, asshole.” She shoves my chest.
I welcome the touch. It’s still a connection—something I’ve lacked for ages.
And she didn’t try to punch me this time.
I catch her hand and hold it there. “Talk to me.” I’m practically begging.
The words are rusty in my mouth, but I keep pushing them out.
“I’m so outta touch with this shit, Hannah. ”
I watch a tear track down her smooth, flawless brown skin. “I’m trying to stay on this ride with you and not freak out, but....” She takes a shuddering breath and holds it then releases it slowly. “You can’t touch me when you’re angry like that.”
White horror blankets through me. Cristo , did I hurt her?
I reach out to tip her chin back, examining her neck for bruising, but I see nothing—no fingerprints, no marks.
I swear I didn’t hurt her—I wouldn’t. Not even out of my mind as I was.
It’s just not in me to hurt a woman. “I didn’t hurt you—did I, Hannah? ”
She shakes her head.
“I scared you,” I guess. Of course, I fucking scared her. I held her by the throat and broke the wall beside her head.
“No.” She pushes my hand off her neck and looks away. “It’s not that.” Her voice is tight. Frustrated.
I am so fucking lost here.
“I don’t know if I can explain. Just don’t do that again.”
My heart beats faster like my body knows this conversation is gonna be important if I can just figure out what the hell we’re talking about. “Try me. Try to explain.”
She turns her gold-flecked brown eyes back on me, considering. “I’m one of those people who…” Her eyelids flutter down like she’s embarrassed. “I don’t know—it’s like I sense everybody else’s emotions. In my body.” She gestures with her hand up and down the center of her trunk.
I cock my head. “An empath.” Like from Star Trek . Is it a real thing?
Apparently.
The flicker of hope that sparks in her expression tells me I finally said something right. “Yeah, I guess. If someone in the room cries, I cry. If someone’s upset, I get upset. So just… don’t touch me when you’re mad. It’s too much for me.”
Shit.
I finally get it. I channeled the shame and anger I felt straight into her body. Or she experienced it that way.
“Fuck.” I reach for her, and she doesn’t flinch away. I pull her closer to me and lift her onto my lap, adjusting the sheet to keep her covered. “Okay, Flowers. I won’t touch you when I’m mad. Swear to Christ.”
She tucks her face against my neck. After a moment, her lips move, kissing me softly.
I can’t explain what happens in my body. It’s like all my organs sort of lift a half-inch. Like I’ve been in a pressure cooker, and it pushed everything down. And now my insides regained form.
I resist the urge to tighten my arms around her. The need to stand up and shake off all these foreign emotions is too strong. “Let’s eat,” I say gruffly, lifting her from my lap to her feet and squeezing her ass.