Chapter 17
TALIN
Ireally hate to admit it, but I liked sneaking around with Brenden.
Setting aside the terror, it was kind of fun.
I felt proud thinking of using Annie as a distraction. It wasn’t even hard to convince her. She immediately grabbed the microphone like of course this party needed her singing to liven it up, why hadn’t she been asked sooner?
And there was the look on Brenden’s face when he found out that I had what he wanted the whole time.
Pure freaking poetry.
The only problem is, now I want more. He gave me a taste of what it’s like to be him, and I keep thinking about it.
The sneaking, the risk, that’s never been me.
I follow rules. I’m always watched. I’ve never been able to disappear in my life, not really.
While he’s the total opposite: he lives like he’s entirely wrapped in shadow.
I ambush him two days later when he comes back from one of his random trips away from the house.
He never says where he’s going and I know better than to ask.
I’ll only get that hard glare in return like I’m crazy for even opening my mouth.
But this time, I’m patient; I linger near the steps until I hear the front door open, and then I pounce. It’s past ten at night.
“I’m ready for another lesson,” I announce once he’s inside and I’m between him and escape.
He looks around in a mild panic like he might find a waiting open door ready to embrace him. “Must be nice,” he grunts, quickly gathering himself and heading to pour a glass of bourbon. “But it’s late now.”
“It’s always either too late or too early with you. I think now’s a great time.” I stand with hands on hips. If I give him an inch, he’ll pry himself a mile and fade into the distance. I have to corner him, and I can’t back down. “Remember how working together got you what you wanted?”
He takes a long sip. “I recall something like that.”
“You need me.”
“Your job is over.”
“Brenden. I want to learn.” A tickle of desperation forces its way up my throat. “If this works… and I’m on my own… I’ll need something, you know? To fall back on?”
His face gives me nothing and it’s infuriating. “You won’t want to fall back on stealing. Trust me, it’s not a great life.”
“Then show me something else. Damn it, I barely see you. Give me something.”
I don’t know why that seems to work. He lowers his glass down to the island, shoulders hunched briefly, before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Lock picking.”
“Really?” I perk up instantly, grinning massively. “You will?”
“I’ll show you the basics, okay? It’s actually not that hard once you understand.”
“Fantastic! Amazing! What should I do? Do I need to get changed?”
He rubs his nose and gestures with his head.
“Come here.” He takes me to the back door and slips out a small black leather satchel.
Inside is a series of small, thin, metal objects, each with a differently-shaped end.
“These are the picks.” He takes one out and a long metal tool that looks like a miniature crowbar.
“This is a tension rod. The goal is to use the pick and the tension rod to move the little tumblers back into position so you can turn the lock and open it.” He opens the back door, locks it, and gets to work with a single pick and a rod under it.
His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he concentrates, and about thirty seconds later, the lock clunks open.
“That looked… kind of hard.”
“It is and it isn’t. You’ll need to develop a feel for it, and which pick works best is down to personal preference, experience, and luck.”
What follows is the most frustrating half hour of my life.
At first it’s fun and I feel like I’m a spy learning forbidden knowledge.
But that quickly turns into me wiggling the picks around wildly and not making any progress over and over as Brenden tries barking orders at me that don’t make any sense.
“You’re a terrible teacher,” I say, exasperated, as I fail to open the lock for the tenth time.
“You’re a worse student. Here, it’s like this.” He takes my wrist and presses his body against me. I go still, trying not to help as my heart thuds wildly in my chest. I like his smell. His breath is smoky alcohol. “Follow with me.”
He manipulates my wrist and fingers. I try to concentrate on the picking, but it’s really hard with him so close.
He’s focused on the task, and I start to feel tumblers fall into place.
The pressure he uses, his raking method, it’s all quick and deft, the product of well-practiced fingers with thousands of failures and thousands of successes.
Another tumbler, and another, and the lock gives way.
He uses the tension bar to turn like a key.
“Holy shit!” The lock opens with the most satisfying thud I’ve ever heard in my life. “I did it!”
“You did,” he agrees, even though it was obviously all him. I whirl around, now encircled by his arms, and slam my mouth to his in a celebratory kiss.
Which is a mistake.
His taste floods me. His hands drop to my hips and a pulse rumbles between us.
It’s the same feeling I always get when he’s this close.
The feeling that ripped into me that day in the office when I first met him, the feeling I got later in my cousin’s house when I showed him the hatch, and now, here, in the house we share together.
It’s lust, but it’s more. There’s a nervous, fizzy, light-and-bubbly energy to it. I know he feels it too. His mouth opens and the happy peck turns into more. I can’t say who initiates, or maybe we go for it at the same time, but we’re making out.
The picks fall to the floor, forgotten in the excitement as my fingers curl in his hair.
“You know what I like?” I don’t know why I’m talking. He turns me, twists me until I’m pressed against the open door’s frame. Cool air blows across my lips as he nibbles at my throat.
“I have some guesses.”
“I like when you’re in bed with me.”
“That was one of them.”
“Not like that. You’re never there when I fall asleep. But sometimes, in the morning…”
“You want me with you more often?”
“Is that weird?”
“We’re married.”
“It’s fake though.”
“Temporary,” he agrees, mouth lingering at my collar bone. Another hand moves up my shirt, grazing over my breasts. I’m in a bra this time, though it’s thin and doesn’t offer much support. My nipples are stiff and he seems to like that.
“But still, when you’re there…” I trail off, and let out a soft whimper as he touches me. “I shouldn’t even say this.”
“Keep talking.”
“When you’re here, I feel safe.”
He pulls my shirt off. I moan as he unhooks my bra, cups my tits, and bends down to lick my nipples. He keeps moving down, dropping to his knees before me, kissing down to my belly button. “More,” he whispers, greedily tugging off my sweats.
“I shouldn’t, right? You’re not safe, but when you’re here, I don’t know, I feel like…” I gasp, arching against his mouth as he kisses my pussy, my panties down around my ankle. “That feels good.”
“You feel like it feels good when I’m with you?”
“Definitely when you do that.” His tongue laps me up and down. “And that. Oh fuck.”
“More, baby.”
“I like… when your arms…” It’s very hard to think. His tongue moves up and down, licking and sucking, working my pussy as I try to form words. Was I using sentences? What was I trying to convey again? I can’t seem to make sense of my own brain, much less form coherent sounds.
He doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue does enough talking for both of us as he licks me, twirling around my clit, hungrily slurping and sucking.
“Baby,” he prompts, fingers gliding inside my aching core. “You were saying?”
“I was?” I look at him, heavy-lidded. “I had words?”
“Guess not anymore.” He kisses my pussy and stands, hand still on my swollen bud, teasing me as his mouth finds mine. My taste is salty and sweet, and I moan into him as he slides fingers deeper inside me, curling them. “My turn to talk then.”
He turns me, forces me against the wall, door still open.
I’m aware a neighbor might see or hear, but I’m unable to stop what’s happening.
I wouldn’t want to even if I could. He grips my hair roughly and I think he’s about to fuck me from behind but instead his hand finds my ass, spanking me with one quick, sharp crack.
“Brenden!” My back arches in surprise. It hurts, but he quickly follows his strike by stroking my pussy, blending pleasure and pain. “Oh what the fuck?”
“You want to know why I’m barely ever here?” There’s real tension in his voice, like he’s struggling with himself. I look over my shoulder and his usual dark mask is slipping. There’s emotion in his expression, almost painful. “This is why.”
Another smack. I moan, wiggling my hips, wanting the good stuff to follow, but it doesn’t. Instead, he spanks again, and again, the anticipation building alongside the stinging pain.
“It isn’t only my life on the line now, baby,” he says, tightening his grip on my hair. “It’s you too, and I’m afraid of how badly I want this… right here… and how much I want to be in bed with you, too.”
“Brenden. It’s okay.”
Smack. Smack. I whimper, but he gives me what I need. One lovely stroke along my soaking lips, lingering on my clit. My knees shake with how good it feels in contrast to the sharp pain of the spanking.
“It’s not fucking okay… looking at you every day, my dick hard, imagining all the filthy ways I can ruin you…”
“But I want that too.”
“Which makes it worse.” He leans over, biting my shoulder, shivering with desire. He’s shaking with how badly he wants me, I realize in a flash, and it sends a jolt of need into my core.
This man, who has made a living erasing himself and making himself invisible, suddenly can’t hide from me.
That must be horrific. And maybe he’s starting to like it too.
I turn, lacing fingers behind his neck and pulling him to my lips.
I kiss him, grinding my bare body against his, as I reach down to unbuckle his belt.
It’s fumbling and awkward but I don’t care.
I want him, every inch of him, all of him between my legs groaning.
I bite and nibble and kiss, sucking and licking until his dick’s free and I’m rolling my hips against his hardness.
“You think I care about anything right now?” I whisper, eyes locked on his so he knows I’m not kidding. “You think anything else but this matters?”
“Tallie…”
“I want you inside of me, Brenden. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think about anything else.”
He lets out an aching groan. “Please, baby.”
“Fuck me Brenden. Forget about what’s out there. Fuck me and feast on me and fill me to the brim and tell me I’m yours. That’s all I need.”
With a moan of relief and relinquishment, he turns me around again, kicks my feet until my legs are spread and my hands are gripping the frame, and sinks himself inside my pussy.
God, it feels incredible. He stretches me to my limits and doesn’t stop.
I woke something in him and now he’s thrusting into me like he can’t control himself anymore.
This man, this unit of stone, a human carefully balanced around the idea of keeping himself restrained at all times, can’t hold back anymore. The floodgates open and I love it.
He’s crumbling for me.
I take him, reaching back to put a hand on his hip as he thrusts hard. He bends it behind my back instead, pinning me roughly. “Fuck Tallie,” he moans in my ear, biting my shoulder. “Fuck baby you feel so good. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”
“Don’t you fucking stop.”
He thrusts deeper and releases my wrist to wrap a hand around my hips, to find my soft, soaking, swollen clit, and to stroke it until my knees shake. Sweat beads my skin as he takes me and I can’t handle him much longer.
“Let it all go to hell,” he whispers. “So long as I get to taste you.”
That breaks me. I shatter on him, begging him to keep going.
His fingers dimple my hips and I feel him finish inside of me, filling me like I’m his vessel, like I’m his toy.
I almost collapse when it’s over, eyes filmy and black, but he catches me and carries me to the couch where he drags me down into his lap.
I curl against him, searching for support and care, and he holds me, kissing me gently and telling me how pretty I am, how good I am, how amazing I feel.
I don’t know when it happened, when Brenden went from nuisance to a need, but it’s aching in me now.
Maybe the process is still ongoing as we get to know each other.
Maybe I need to hide from him his shell some more.
But all my life I’ve been a woman people have seen, stared at, remarked on, compared themselves to, and now I’m with a man who only wants to disappear.
I love it more than I ever thought I could.
Like he gives me permission to be someone else.
“What do you think if I stay here tonight?” He says it offhand, casually, stroking a hand through my hair and breathing my smell. I like that he does it. I’m not even sure he realizes.
“I think that’d be okay.”
“And maybe I can stay here every night. The lease is up next week on my apartment.”
“That would be fine too.” I hide my face so he doesn’t see the tears welling up. I couldn’t explain them even if he asked.
“Are you sure? So far, you’ve only had to get used to half a husband.”
“I’d prefer the full one.”
“We’ll see,” he says like he’s sure I’ll be disappointed, but he’d be surprised at how good it feels, knowing he wants to be here as much as I want him to.