Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
SHAWN
My head falls backward, my back arches and Elvis’s fingers grip my hips. He slams me down. Digging my nails into his chest, I let him have control. I’ve already come, but he’s moving me the way he wants, and it’s so damn sexy that I can feel myself climbing toward another release.
It’s so much, too much, almost, and I can’t help but whimper as I climb higher and higher toward another release. I want to come. I can feel it, my body on the edge, and I don’t know how it’s possible. I’ve already come, yet I want it again.
I need it like I need my next breath.
I grip his chest tighter, my nails no doubt on the verge of drawing blood, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t say anything. He uses my body to jack himself, and I’ve never felt sexier than in this moment. I don’t understand it, but I’m trying not to get lost in my head. I want to feel.
I want to feel him.
I want to feel us.
Then one of his hands leaves my hip and slides up the center of my chest, his fingers curling around the front of my throat.
“Fuck me, Shawn,” he growls.
And I do.
My hips roll. I take over the motion and rhythm he’s set.
Then his other hand slides across my hip and I feel his fingers between us, and that’s when his thumb presses against my clit.
He doesn’t move it, just holds it still while I fuck him, shamelessly rubbing my clit against his finger as I bring myself closer and closer to the edge.
When I’m so close that I can taste it, he flips me onto my back, his hands leaving the front of my throat and my clit as he takes that moment to fuck me—hard.
His hips move, he thrusts, and his pelvis grinds against my clit once, twice, three times, and I come.
Hard.
So hard that my vision blurs as tears fill my eyes.
My body jerks. It bucks as the orgasm pulses throughout my entire body.
If Elvis notices that I’m completely losing my shit, he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he stays buried inside of me and lowers his head to touch his lips to mine, and then he begins to move in and out of me… lazily, beautifully.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his hips, I hold him to me. When he stops moving, he stays planted inside of me, lifting his head, his blue eyes looking into mine. It feels like he’s gazing into my soul.
“Yes, I was jealous,” I confess. “But I want you to unwind with me.” Then I decide to get vulnerable with him, although I feel as if I’ve been pretty open in the short time I’ve known him already. “I don’t want to be my mother,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything, but he does frown slightly and arch a brow as he waits for me to explain my words a bit more. So I decide that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll hurt nobody by telling him the truth, not even myself. Because if I’m rejected, I know it will be a “him” problem, not “me.”
“I don’t want to be completely obsessed with a man, crawl for him, only to be treated like shit and look like an idiot. I respect myself more than that.”
I’m not sure what expression he’s wearing, but it is not joy. Instead, he rears back and pulls out of me, forcing my arms and legs to unwrap from his body. He lies beside me, and I feel his eyes on my profile, but I don’t look at him.
“You don’t know me well enough yet, but trust me when I tell you I’m not going to treat you like shit, and when you crawl for me, it will end with you coming.”
Slowly, I turn my head so I can look into his eyes. He’s staring at me, that blue gaze of his instantly consuming me in ways I don’t think are healthy. Reaching out, I extend my fingers and slide the tips of them down his clipped-short, bearded face.
“You’ll hurt me, Elvis,” I whisper. “You’re a man who lives a certain kind of way, and I want someone who will be faithful, monogamous. I don’t think that’s who you are, and I’m not going to change you. I don’t want to.”
He frowns, his lips pressing together in a thin line, and those pretty blue eyes of his turn almost black. He leans forward, wrapping his hand around my wrist, his fingers flexing and squeezing hard as he does.
“I’m going to hurt you, sweetness. That’s fuckin’ life. This goes good with us, you’ll get what you need, and so will I. There will be no steamrolling someone’s wants and desires. We’re together, and neither of us is more important than the other.”
God.
I absolutely love the sound of that.
He shifts so that he’s on top of me, and he slams my arm above my head, pushing it into the pillow. Elvis lowers his head until his lips touch mine, but he doesn’t deepen the kiss. He lifts his head slightly, his eyes searching mine again, and then his lips curve up into a grin.
“You’re mine, sweetness. There’s no out on this. My woman, my old lady, my fuckin’ cunt.”
I should hate the sound of that.
All of it.
I don’t.
In fact, I really like it. Then he says something else, and my entire body stiffens. “I took care of your mother and brother. They even sneeze in your direction, you tell me, and I’ll remind them of today.”
My eyes widen, and I suck in a breath, holding it as I stare at him. I don’t know what that means. What did he do? But instead of asking him, I just stare at him, unable to speak. That’s when he bursts out laughing and drops to the side of the bed, this time in laughter instead of anger.
Turning to face him, I am very aware of my nakedness, but I’m also so shocked by his words that I can’t do anything about it, so I continue to just stare at him. He also continues to think that this is funny when I’m not sure I do.
“I just went to their house. Scared them. I didn’t do anything, even though I really wanted to.”
“You did that?” I ask. “For me?”
He hums, reaching out to wrap his fingers around the side of my throat, his eyes focused on mine. They’ve returned to their pretty blue color, and I don’t know why, but that makes my heart slam against my chest. They’re so gorgeous, and he’s just so damn beautiful.
“Yeah, Shawn. I did that for you. You’ll see that I’ll do a hell of a lot more for you, too. Just wait. You know why?” he asks.
I hold my breath. I can’t speak. My eyes fill with wetness again, except this time, it isn’t from an epic orgasm. It’s from this epic man across from me.
“Because you’re worth it.”
My heart stops.
My breath stops.
The entire world stops.
Oh my god.
“Now, let’s go have some beers, and you can meet my brothers officially. Right now, they just think of you as the cupcake girl.”
I think about the people having sex when I walked down there the last time and my nose wrinkles. He lets out a laugh, no doubt understanding my nose wrinkle.
“Gonna have to get used to it, sweetness.”
“That Poison woman explained things to me, something I didn’t really care for.”
Wrong.
Thing.
To.
Say.
Elvis sits straight up, his eyes widening, and his expression is… wild. “She did what?” he growls.
“Poison explained things. How she’s a clubwhore and she is available to you and everyone else, and there’s nothing that I can do about it.”
Reaching for the sheet, I pull it up my chest as he throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands. I watch as he grabs his jeans sans underwear and pulls them up, only zipping the zipper. Then he grabs the leather vest from the hook on the wall and pulls it on over his bare chest.
I’m mesmerized by the bare chest for a moment and stare speechlessly at his dark tattoos and muscles… so many muscles. Shaking my head, I try to get myself out of the stupor that his sexy body put me in, and I reach out for him, grabbing his belt loop before he walks away.
He stops, turning his head and tipping his chin as he looks down at me. “Babe?” he asks.
“What’s wrong?”
He turns to face me fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest, dipping his chin to look down at me. “She doesn’t talk to you. In fact, she doesn’t exist to you, do you understand me?”
“I don’t,” I whisper.
“She’s a whore. You are an old lady. The two do not fucking intersect.”
Narrowing my eyes, I am trying to make sense of his words, but nothing about them makes any sense to me at all.
“Old lady?” I ask, my brain picking out those two words and wanting to know more about them more than anything.
He lets out a sigh as if he’s annoyed with me, which he probably is because it seemed like he was on a mission to be angry with that woman. She was kind of a bitch to me, so I wouldn’t be opposed to her being yelled at, but at the same time, I want to understand what’s happening here.
“It means you’re my woman. It’s your label.”
“I’m not sure…”
He chuckles, the anger having left his face. “It doesn’t mean I think you’re old. It’s just tradition.”
“Okay,” I exhale. “But I don’t understand why she isn’t allowed to talk to me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Whores and old ladies do not mix. It’s not done. She knows her place, and even if she didn’t know exactly who you were, she shouldn’t have said shit about shit.”
“Is this one of those things that I’m just going to have to accept that I probably will never understand, kind of like the whole concept of… whores?” I ask, whispering the word because there is something icky about saying it aloud.
I don’t even know why.
I usually don’t give words even a second thought. They don’t mean anything unless you attach a meaning. I’m sure it’s something deep-seated, though. And I have no doubt that seed was planted by my mother.
“That’s exactly what it is,” he says, giving me a wink.
Against my better judgment, I suck in a deep breath and release his loops. “I’ll go with you. Just let me get dressed.”
His lips curve up into a huge smile, and he nods his head, his gaze searching mine.
Then he chuckles as I throw my legs over the side of the bed and grab my clothes from the floor.
Putting them on, I make my way over to my bag and root around for the outfit that I brought for the party.
It’s a black pair of shorts and an off-the-shoulder satin top that is probably too dressy for this crew, but I don’t think any of them would care what I have on.
In fact, I don’t think they would even blink if I was completely naked.