Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DELLA
He wasn’t supposed to feel like being home, but here I am, in his arms, feeling like I’m back in my little holler and everything is right with the world. It’s breaking my damn heart.
His hand slides down to the small of my back. Leland used to hold me there, controlling me when we’d leave the house.
It doesn’t feel like that with Jensen. No, his hands feel like if I woke up from a bad dream, his touch might send me back to sleep, all firm, strong, and steady. I turn my head, the band blurry in my vision. His chin shifts, his mustache tickling my temple.
“You all good, baby?” he murmurs.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’m just perfect.”
He’s breaking my already-cracked heart. If we dance any longer, I’m going to spill everything out here right now. Reluctantly, I pull back, and he releases me.
“I’m getting tired,” I say.
“You were up all night.” He takes my hand, pulling me against his side. “Let’s get back, fuck a little, and get some sleep.”
I nod, and the lump of guilt stays in my throat all the way back to the truck.
The moon is out, reflecting off the mountain peaks in the distance.
It blows my mind how vast Montana looks in comparison to the close set hills of Kentucky.
At home, I’m used to being tucked away, but out here, I can see for miles when we get on the highway.
“You like living out west?” I ask.
He puts his hand on my thigh, shifting up my short skirt. His middle finger touches right below my panties, circling like he did that first night in the stockyards.
“Yeah, I do,” he says. “It’s different than what I knew, but I like it pretty good.”
“Where you from? You’ve never told me.”
He glances sideways at me. That’s a look I’m getting used to, and it reminds me he’s a fair bit older than I am. It’s a stern little glance, like I’m stepping on his boundaries, and he doesn’t appreciate it much.
“Here, there,” he says.
“Everywhere?”
He squeezes my thigh. “Something like that.”
We don’t talk again until he pulls up outside his ranch house. I sit tight, knowing he’s circling the truck. And he does, lifting me out and kissing me briefly as he sets me down. Everything tingles. Then, he takes his hat off and puts it on my head, spinning me around and slapping my ass.
“Get yourself inside,” he says.
I flash him a smile, scrambling up the steps. He unlocks the door, and we’re tumbling into the hallway. My body is ready, the guilt forgotten once again. He’s got me pushed up against the wall in a second, hands all up and down my hips, shoving up my skirt, dropping to his knees.
He’s still sweaty from his fight, but I don’t say a thing about it.
“Ride my face, baby,” he breathes.
Palms flat on the wall, I brace my knee on his shoulder and slide my pussy onto his face, right up to his mustache. His eyes flicker, lids drooping with arousal. My legs almost buckle as he starts licking my clit, moaning in his chest like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
My fingers curl in his hair. His eyes are still on me.
That’s when I see something I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes, but I don’t think I’ve been treated well enough to know what to call that expression. It’s one that better, more fortunate people get to see. I don’t think Leland would have thought me deserving of it.
He was always quick to remind me what I am.
Never good enough. A charity case who should be grateful for the way he pulled me up.
Jensen breaks me out of my spiral by pushing his face in harder and shoving his tongue into my pussy. A little yelp breaks from my lips. My spine recoils. Fuck, I can feel him moving inside me, slow, deliberate thrusts.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
He curls it, and I think he’s hitting my g-spot, or he’s very close.
Shaking, I grind my clit down against his mustache, letting him tongue-fuck me while I’m at it.
Maybe it’s the combination. Maybe it’s the way he rolls his eyes.
But I come hard, a slight burning I’m not used to flowing through me.
My body goes limp, and his hands come up to keep me from falling.
I shake, pleasure moving through my body in stronger waves than I felt last night. They wring me dry, leaving me weak.
He keeps going, tongue pulling from my pussy and heading back to my clit. My toes curl as he starts licking. This is too much. I’m going to crawl out of my skin from overstimulation.
“Jensen, please,” I gasp.
He keeps going, pale eyes locked on mine. Desperate, I pull at his hair, and he moans before nipping my pussy gently.
“Please.” I’m trying to wrestle his head up by his hair, fingernails in his jaw.
He lifts his mouth, my arousal dripping down his neck. “You looking to get put over my knee, baby?” he says.
Oh, well. Fuck me, I wasn’t, but maybe I am now.
I shake my head, cowed and so turned on, my breasts ache in my bra.
He flicks my clit hard with his tongue. “Cause I don’t mind making that happen.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He stands, the front of his shirt absolutely doused.
Did I do that? I don’t have time to think about it, because he picks me up and carries me into the kitchen.
The way he manhandles me is thrilling. It’s so rough but still gentle, like he’s fully aware of how much I can take.
He flips me onto my belly and lays me down, bent over the table.
My heart pounds. Oh God, he’s going to do it. My fingers grip the edge in front of me, and my toes barely reach the floor.
“You want it to stop, you give me the red light,” he says gruffly from up above.
“The red light?” I whisper.
“Just say red,” he says. “That way, if you want to beg and struggle, you can, but you’re still safe. You understand?”
It clicks into place what he’s saying. He’s giving me a safety lever to pull, but he’s letting me have the fantasy of brute force. It’s controlled violence.
No, that’s not the right word.
Careful violence is a better way to describe it. Contained but still raw, visceral. My body responds to the idea so hard, it’s embarrassing. There’s something dripping down the inside of my right thigh.
I need this.
“I understand,” I whisper, turning my head and laying my cheek down so I can see him.
The kitchen light is off, making him a shadow. My skirt has slipped down over my ass, but my thighs are out. Can he see they’re wet?
Why do I want this?
It feels like I shouldn’t, but there’s this deep hole inside me that feels like it was scooped out with a serrated spoon.
I’ve had it for the last five years. It’s the inside voice that cried out for someone to do something when Leland appeared, the same one he starved out by stonewalling my every need.
I need. I need so badly, it hurts.
A firm hand, a gentle word. A guide through the things that terrify me. A lighthouse in the dark.
Clink.
He’s unfastening his belt, stained with sweat and dust from the ring. It slides through rough fingers. Then—crack—he snaps it so loud, I jump, biting my lip to keep from gasping.
Between my legs is swollen, so sensitive, I can make out the rhythmic throb of desire where I’m soaked. His hand cups the back of my thighs. His inhale is so sweet, I have to close my eyes while he trails his fingertips through my arousal.
I had no idea it could be like this.
“You’re a wet little bitch, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
Heat floods through me, making my ears roar. His tone is soft, reverent, but his words are filthy. I don’t know if I should be offended, or if I should grind back on his hand and come.
Before I can decide, he pulls back, almost flicking me as he does, bringing his palm down across my ass.
Pain ripples, followed by heat.
“Oh God,” I whimper.
“I asked you a question, baby,” he says, the hand holding the belt pressing on the middle of my back.
He slaps the back of my right thigh hard.
“Yes,” I manage. “Anything you want.”
He comes down on my other thigh. “Anything?”
I’m pretty sure he could ask me to sign my soul away, and I’d do it for him. Delirious, I nod. “Yes, just don’t stop.”
He shifts, crouching behind me. He pushes my skirt up over my ass and starts eating me from the back, licking me from clit to pussy in long, hungry strokes, sucking, biting. My nails scrape into his table. I hope he doesn’t care that much about it.
“I think I can answer my own question,” he murmurs, scraping his teeth against my inner thigh.
“What?” I whisper, floating.
“You are a wet little bitch,” he says, slapping my ass again.
My pussy throbs. Never in my life did I think I’d get off on being called that word, but Lord, the way he says it, just all dirty and sweet, is too much. He bends in, flicking my clit, and I come again.
He’s on his feet, and I hear the belt whistle. White heat bursts, followed by pain so intense, I cry out.
Everything is a mess of pleasure and agony. It’s two flavors that shouldn’t work together, but they do, like fireworks ripping through every inch of me. Shutting off my brain. Turning everything else on. Lighting me up.
I’ve never burned this bright.
The belt comes down across the backs of my thighs. Something wet drips on the floor between my feet. His hand slides beneath my throat, cupping the underbelly. His hands are so big and firm, holding my head steady, thumb on my jaw, pointer and middle beneath my opposite ear.
The belt whistles again. It cracks across my upper thighs.
I whimper, tears stinging my eyes. The belt comes down again, then one more time, on the same place, right where my ass meets my thighs. Then, it hits the floor. The dull thud of leather and clink of metal makes me open my eyes.
He’s circling to my head, chest heaving, shirt stained with my arousal. The muscles in his forearms flex as he unzips his pants, unleashing his cock.
“You hit my side if you want out,” he murmurs.
One handed, he flips me onto my back on the table.
That’s when I realize what he wants, and my stomach flutters.
He’s putting God knows how many inches in my mouth.
My nerves hum—I think I can take this. I want to at least try.
I’ve done this many times for Leland before, but this is the first time I’ve wanted it.
Wanted is a weak word.
Crave is better.
My lips part. He pulls me closer until my head hangs off the table.
“Open for me, baby,” he rasps.
The table is the perfect height. My tongue flicks out, wetting my lips, although I don’t know if that will do anything to help.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs, cupping my right breast, teasing the nipple with his worn fingers. “Open your mouth and reach between your legs. Touch that pussy for me, baby.”
I’m done, laid out and weak on his kitchen table. My fingers slide down my stomach to my clit, gathering my arousal, stroking myself the way he just did with his tongue. I close my eyes and part my lips, ready for him.
“Good girl,” he praises.
The table creaks. I think he’s bracing himself. Then, the big, hard head of his cock pushes past my lips. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I can feel the lines of the tattoo. I keep my throat slack, letting him feed the barrel of his Ruger into my mouth, pushing all the way to his groin.
My head spins.
I can’t breathe. That’s fine with me.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you go.”
He touches my throat like he’s trying to feel himself through it. Then, he pulls back.
“Breathe,” he orders.
Obediently, I inhale. He ruts his hips gently, filling me past the bend of my throat. Then, he pulls back until the head is on my tongue.
“Exhale for me.”
I exhale.
“That’s my girl,” he says, voice hushed. “You keep touching that pretty, wet cunt.”
Right now, I would do anything for him. He cradles my head, fucking my mouth with just enough force. The tension is perfect. The pleasure is buried somewhere beneath the pain, just enough so I’m dripping on the table as I stroke my clit.
“Fuck yourself, you pretty little bitch,” he pants. “Put your fingers in your cunt and fuck them hard while you swallow my cum. I want to hear how wet you are for me.”
Distantly, I feel myself obeying. My two fingers delve inside. It’s loud, soaked, slipping down my ass.
“Fuck,” he groans, shoving himself so deep, I can’t breathe. His hips stutter, his finger and thumb pinching hard on my nipple. A final orgasm, like an afterthought, ripples through my hips as he comes. The taste of him, visceral as falling into saltwater, floods my senses.
I squirm. He pulls out and flips me onto my knees on the table, holding me steady. I’m shaking, swallowing the spit and cum pooled in my mouth. His thumb runs over my lips, wiping them clean, licking it off. He bends, eyes hovering over mine.
“Hey, baby,” he says. “Look at me.”
Dazed, I obey, tumbling into those beautiful mountain eyes that only come from one place on Earth.
“You’re safe,” he says. “And you were so fucking good for me.”
My head spins, but slowly, I start feeling my limbs again. He bends in, his mustache tickling as he kisses my forehead. I melt, and he takes me in his arms, lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me like he loves me, even though we barely know each other.
Now that I’m not high on him, reality comes back in full force.
The guilt is too much. I can’t keep this secret any longer. I have to tell him the truth. Before I knew him, I thought it would be so easy to seduce him, con him into helping me. But now that he’s holding me, close against his skin, there’s no part of me that can hurt him.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
But here I am, falling for him.