Chapter 11 Dean #2
We hung there for a minute, bodies still joined, sweat slicking us together. I set her down, careful, and she leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, a wild grin on her face.
The cut had slipped off the chair in the commotion. It lay on the floor, leather dark and soft, the patch visible in the hall light. I picked it up, brushed it off, and hung it back on the chair.
She watched me, then crossed the room and pressed her body to mine, naked now and unafraid. She kissed me, soft this time, lips lingering.
“Next time,” she whispered, “we make it to the bed.”
The next time came thirty minutes later.
We made it to the bed with all the subtlety of a car wreck. Emily pushed me down, a hand on my chest, surprising me with the force. I let myself fall, the mattress springs shrieking under my weight. She straddled me, her knees pinning my hips, hair still wild, eyes sharp as surgical steel.
The room was low-lit by a single lamp on the dresser, its shade cocked at an angle.
The walls were papered with photos of rescue dogs—some smiling, some scarred, all of them looking straight at the camera like they dared you to find them wanting.
The bedspread was a mess, corners pulled loose, sheets tangled.
It felt more honest than anything I’d seen in years.
Emily leaned down, her hair curtaining our faces, and kissed me slowly this time, the kind of kiss that doesn’t need to prove anything.
I let my hands roam: up the outside of her thighs, over the curve of her ass, up to her waist. She grabbed my wrists, pinned them to the mattress above my head, and held me there, her grip bruising and steady.
“You’re not in charge tonight,” she said, soft but unyielding. Her mouth brushed my ear, teeth nipping the lobe.
I wanted to laugh, or maybe challenge her, but the look in her eyes shut me up. Instead, I nodded, letting her have it.
She slid down my body, never breaking contact, her lips following a line from my throat to my collarbone, then down the center of my chest. She licked the sweat from my skin, then sucked a bruise into my left pec. I felt my heart hammering under her mouth, each beat louder than the last.
Her nails traced every line of tattoo: the compass on my forearm, the script across my ribs, the old scar on my side. She stopped at the scar, pressed her lips to it, and held there a moment. It felt like a benediction, a laying on of hands. I closed my eyes and let her map me.
She worked my jeans the rest of the way off, then sat back, taking in all of me.
For a second, I wanted to cover myself, the way you do when a new lover sees you for the first time.
But her gaze wasn’t judgmental—it was greedy, curious, appreciative.
She leaned down and kissed my stomach, then lower, her tongue leaving a wet trail that made my muscles jump.
When she took me in her mouth, it was slow, like she wanted to taste every inch.
Her hand cupped my balls, squeezed just enough to make my hips twitch.
I watched her, the dark fall of her hair, the soft curve of her back, the way her ass lifted when she shifted for leverage. The sight made my breath stutter.
I reached for her, needing to touch, but she slapped my hand away—gentle, playful, but firm. “Not yet,” she said, her voice a growl. “Let me.”
I let my head fall back, eyes on the ceiling, and tried to focus on not losing it. She took me deeper, tongue swirling, then let me slip out, stroking me with her hand while she licked the tip. I felt myself start to shake, the urge to come almost unbearable.
She stopped, then climbed back up, grinding her cunt against my thigh. She was soaked, slick, and hot against my skin. She kissed me again, her mouth messy with spit and want. I tasted myself on her lips.
This time, I didn’t ask. I rolled us over, pinning her to the bed.
She let me, her thighs wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my ass.
I kissed down her body, slow, memorizing every inch: the freckle on her left breast, the birthmark at her hip, the small tattoo of paw prints behind her ear.
I spread her legs, hands under her knees, and buried my face in her cunt.
She was already shaking, hips lifting to meet me.
I licked her, slow at first, then faster, sucking the clit between my lips and flicking it with my tongue.
Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling, then shoving me deeper.
She made these noises—small, frantic, pleading.
I kept at it, tongue fucking her until she was right at the edge, then pulled back, letting her beg.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she said, voice raw.
I didn’t. I went harder, licking and sucking until she came, her whole body going rigid, her heels digging bruises into my back. She gasped, then sobbed, then laughed, the sound half-mad. I licked her through it, not stopping until she pushed my head away, too sensitive to take another second.
I crawled back up, kissed her cheek, then her mouth. She grabbed my face, pulled me in, and kissed me with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs.
She rolled me onto my back again, straddling me, lining me up with a hand. She sank down, letting me feel every inch. Her eyes locked on mine, challenging, daring me to look away. I didn’t.
She rode me hard, her hands braced on my chest, nails leaving crescents. Her tits bounced with each thrust, her hair wild, her lips parted in a snarl of pleasure. I reached up, gripped her hips, and helped her set the pace.
I felt her come again, her walls clamping around me, her whole body shivering with it. She threw her head back and screamed, raw and beautiful.
That pushed me over. I grabbed her ass and thrust up, fucking her from below, the slap of our bodies loud in the small room. I came, biting my own lip to keep from yelling.
We collapsed together, tangled and sticky, our bodies slick with sweat and come. I held her close, her head on my chest, her hair damp against my skin.
For a long time, we didn’t move. I traced circles on her back, felt the rise and fall of her breath, the slow return to earth.
She looked up at me, eyes soft but unguarded. “That was…”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
She nestled in closer, her hand resting over my heart.
I’d never felt so exposed, or so seen. It was terrifying and perfect.
We fell asleep like that, skin to skin, the lamp burning low and the world outside as far away as the other side of the moon.
***
I woke with her hair in my mouth, and her arm slung heavy across my chest, as if she’d staked a claim in her sleep. The room was still warm from us, but outside the open window, the world was dark and muffled. Somewhere, a dog barked—a lonely, one-note wail that sounded like the end of a bad day.
Emily slept with her cheek pillowed on my shoulder, mouth open, breath slow and even.
She looked younger like this, less the hard-edged woman who’d yanked me down the hallway and more like the kid I imagined she once was—freckled, stubborn, always bracing for the next thing to go wrong.
I traced the curve of her spine with my finger, counting each bump, until my hand landed on the paw print tattoo behind her ear.
I stroked it, gentle, and she woke, blinking. Her eyes were cloudy, pupils blown wide from sleep. For a second, neither of us said anything, just watched each other in the amber light from the crooked lamp.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, voice frayed with sleep.
I thumbed the tattoo. “Tell me about it.”
She shrugged, a subtle ripple of her whole body. “It’s for the first dog I ever saved. She bit a chunk out of my calf, but I couldn’t stay mad.”
I thought about scars and the stories they told. “You ever regret it? Getting close?”
She rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet up to her chin, even though she’d spent the last hour naked and draped over me like a safety blanket. “Every time. But it’s worth it when it works.” She looked over, eyes searching. “Was it worth it for you?”
I wanted to make a joke, but the words lined up too honest to dodge. “I haven’t felt like this since… before my dad died.” I kept my eyes on the ceiling, not trusting myself to look at her. “Not just the sex. All of it.”
She traced a finger down my chest, found the compass tattoo, and tapped it twice. “I thought I was broken,” she said, the words hanging between us. “Or maybe just welded shut. But you…” She stopped, the admission too raw. “You get it.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I get it.”
We lay there a long time, letting the air settle, sweat drying on our skin. The only sound was the far-off hum of a refrigerator cycling on and off.
Then, inevitably, my phone vibrated on the nightstand, bright and urgent against the quiet. I tensed, and Emily noticed, because she noticed everything.
“You can get it,” she said, not moving. “It’s not going away.”
I reached for the phone. The screen glowed with a half-dozen texts, all from Damron.
SULTANS MOVING ON 285. THREE CARS. LOOKS LIKE THEY’RE ARMED.
NEED YOU AT THE SHOP, ASAP.
Emily watched my face, reading the lines. She didn’t flinch, just propped herself on an elbow, sheets still tangled at her waist.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
I thumbed out a reply—OMW, give me ten—and set the phone down. “It’s never good,” I said, turning to face her. “You want me to go, or stay until it blows over?”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t be here if I wanted you to run from your life.” She touched my jaw, turning my face to hers. “Just promise you’ll come back.”
The words hit harder than the last punch I’d taken to the ribs. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
She sat up, naked and unselfconscious, and started collecting her clothes from the floor. She handed me my jeans, then tossed my t-shirt at my head, grinning when it landed over my face.
“Don’t get shot,” she said, voice bright and brittle. “I’ll be pissed if you die before breakfast.”
I got dressed, my body still carrying the echo of her on my skin. The cut was on the back of the chair, leather cooled to room temp. I shrugged it on, felt the familiar weight settle over my shoulders. The helmet waited by the door.
At the threshold, I paused, looking back at her. She watched me, arms folded, hair a wild snarl, mouth set in a stubborn line.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “Go,” she said. “Handle your shit.”
I wanted to say something big, something to match the surge in my chest, but all I managed was, “I’ll see you soon.”
She stepped forward, pressed a kiss to the side of my neck, then pushed me out the door.
The ride back to the club was different. The wind was cold, but I barely felt it. The engine’s roar was a lullaby compared to the noise in my head. I replayed the night in her bed, the small kindnesses, the way she let me in without demanding anything in return.
At a red light, I glanced at my reflection in a shop window. For the first time in years, I didn’t look like a man running from his own shadow. I looked like a man who had something to lose.
The light changed. I gunned the throttle, tearing down the empty street, feeling every mile of the road, every ghost, every hope for a future that didn’t end in blood or regret.
I thought about Emily, and for once, the thought didn’t make me afraid.
It made me want to live.