Chapter 28
Stunned, all Miles could do was stare down at Tabitha. She looked almost innocent, sitting on her heels, her head tipped back slightly, the gold of her hair spilling down her back. Almost demure with her free hand resting on her thigh as she looked up at him from under her lashes.
Submissive, kneeling at his feet, her wrist caged by his fingers, her hand inches from his cock.
But there was nothing innocent about the awareness in her eyes. The knowledge she had of him. Of what he was made of.
How terrified he was of how much he wanted her.
Nothing coy about her confidence.
Her courage.
Nothing meek about her testing him this way.
Pushing him.
“You don’t have to fight it anymore,” Tabitha murmured, her voice skimming along his skin like cool silk. “You don’t have to pretend this isn’t exactly what you want. Me, on my knees for you.” She paused, looking up at him with a steadying, knowing gaze. “You don’t have to hold anything back.”
A whooshing sound filled his head as lust roared through him like a tornado, tearing down his defenses. Sweeping away his denial of her words.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His words were quiet. Raw.
True.
“Maybe not. But you do want me to pay for bruising your ego. For hurting your precious pride.”
He shook his head. “Not like this. Never like this.”
“I can take it. Whatever you give me—your anger and pain. I can take them both. I want whatever you’re willing to share with me.”
His fingers tightened on her wrist, his cock twitched.
“I’m stronger than you think,” she continued. “And I’m not afraid of anything that has to do with you. I’ve never, not once, been afraid of you. I trust you, Miles. I’ve always trusted you.” She took a long, deep breath. “But you can’t keep pretending you don’t feel anything for me. You can’t keep hiding behind our past. You need to prove you trust me, too.”
He wasn’t sure he could.
And she knew it. He saw it in the flash of disappointment in her eyes. Heard it in the challenge of her tone. She knew it and was daring him to admit it.
This was her way of forcing his hand. Pushing him to give in.
Or give her up.
Giving in meant losing his pride.
But giving her up meant the death of something bigger. More important. A dream he’d been holding onto for the past decade. Something he hadn’t even realized he’d been wanting until she’d walked up to him a month ago and turned his entire world upside down.
A second chance.
An opportunity to do it right this time. To fix all his mistakes. To convince her to stay.
Instead, he kept fucking it all up. Kept letting his precious pride, his doubts and fears, push her away.
Only to end up right back where he started. Missing her like he’d missed her ten years ago. Wanting her, like he’d wanted her from the first time he’d seen her.
He gave her wrist a gentle squeeze, then let go of her hand.
And began unbuttoning his jeans.
The victory in her eyes nearly undid him. Her entire face glowed with it, her lips curving in a small, satisfied grin.
Triumph looked damn good on her.
Tongue touching her upper lip, she watched him unzip his jeans like she was anticipating some tasty treat. Her eyes darkened to midnight blue as he tugged his jeans and boxer briefs down a few inches. Lifted out his aching cock.
He gave himself a long, slow stroke, and she visibly swallowed.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, low and guttural. “Tell me what you like.”
“That’s not how this is going to go. This isn’t about me. I will not be the one unraveling tonight.”
Her intent was clear.
She meant to ruin him.
For some fucked up reason, his cock liked that idea, going even harder in his hand. Precum beaded at the tip, thick and glossy, and he stroked his thumb over it, spreading it around. Tipped the glistening head of it toward her as he gave himself another slow stroke.
Her eyes flashed with heat and hunger.
But she didn’t move. Made no effort to touch him.
“I won’t beg,” he grumbled. “If that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
“You want me to break.”
She shook her head. “I want what’s true.”
And damn if she wasn’t once again tossing his own words back at him. Forcing him to play by the same rules he’d enacted.
“Show me how much you want me,” she whispered. “Give me everything you’ve always held back from me. If you do break, I promise I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces.”
I’m taking control.
She was taking his control.
More than that, she wanted him to give it to her.
It was the same thing he’d done to her that night at his house. To have it turned on him this way should have him tucking his aching dick back into his pants and storming out.
He should be pissed, but he wasn’t.
He was proud. So fucking proud of the strong, stubborn woman she’d become. So glad she was confident enough to demand the things she deserved, that everyone deserved. Respect. Trust. Honesty.
But he hated the suspicion that the reason she’d come into her own was because she’d walked out on him.
“No holding back,” he promised. “I’m trusting you to stop me any time you want to stop. To walk away any time you want to walk away.”
He had the satisfaction of hearing her breath catch. Of seeing her hungry gaze flick down to his cock before lifting back to his eyes.
“No holding back,” she repeated. Her own promise to him that his trust wasn’t misplaced.
An acknowledgement that even though he was towering over her, bigger and stronger than her, she held all the power.
She’d always held so much power over him.
He just hadn’t been ready to accept that, to surrender to it, to her, until now.
And he couldn’t help but think that was what she wanted most of all.
“You were right,” he admitted, still stroking his cock with one hand. “I have wanted this. You on your knees.”
He reached for her head with his free hand. Combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, the movement releasing the floral scent of her shampoo. He raked his fingers from her temple to the nape of her neck, his nails scratching along her scalp. Cupping the back of her skull, he slowly drew her toward him, forcing her upright, off her heels.
He smoothed his fingers down to the ends of her hair, then wrapped the strands around his fist, again and again, each turn of his hand forcing her head back until her neck was arched. The pulse point beneath her jaw beat hard and fast, like butterfly wings. Her chest rose and fell quickly. The hard points of her nipples were visible through her thin shirt. Her throat and cheeks were flushed pink with arousal.
“Look at you,” he breathed, gaze skimming over her parted lips. Her darkened gaze. “I’m not the only one who wants this, am I?”
She dropped her eyes. Pressed her lips together.
Pushing him, testing him even more.
He nudged her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Am I the only one who wants this?”
Her hands went to the front of his legs—not to push him away, but to hold on. “No,” she admitted, voice husky, fingers curling into his thighs, as if trying to keep him connected to her as much as his hand in her hair kept him tethered to her. “You’re not the only one.”
He hummed in satisfaction but kept that tight grip on her hair because he wanted to. Because she was letting him.
But mostly because she liked it.
He tightened his grip on her hair, tugging her head back farther. Her fingers flexed on his thighs. Her breath shuddered out.
The long, pale line of her neck was a temptation he couldn’t resist, and he edged forward, sliding the length of his dick up that warm, soft skin. Felt her swallow against it as he stroked it along her throat. Slid his dick along the space where her shoulder and neck met.
“Walsh said you come here almost every night. That you come alone, but you’re not often left alone. That there’s always men who join you, hoping to claim your attention or earn one of your smiles. Hoping to take you home. So, I’m going to mark you,” he continued, almost conversationally, as if he were filling her in on the latest weather report or baseball trade rumors, instead of indulging in one of his more animalistic desires. “Right here” –he rubbed the pad of his thumb behind her ear. “Because I want to. And because you’re going to let me.”
He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until she slowly tilted her head to the side, granting him better access to do what he wanted.
Giving him permission for what she wanted, too.
Exhaling roughly, he rubbed the tip of his cock against that spot behind her ear. Dragged it to her hairline, then back again, leaving a wet, sticky trail of precum.
She shivered, her nipples pebbling more.
“I like the idea of you walking through the bar with a part of me on your skin,” he murmured, narrowed eyes taking in the glossy trail on her skin. “I like knowing that no matter what other guy comes up to you, how much he charms you or what he says to make you laugh, that you choose to stay in this closet with me. That tonight, you chose me.”
“I like that, too,” she admitted softly as he continued rubbing the sensitive head of his dick against the slick, wet mess he was making on her skin. “Miles…” She stopped. Licked her lips. “I’ve only chosen you.”
Her words were soft. Breathless. A whispered confession that had him going still, his heart stuttering in the confines of his too-tight chest.
“Tell me,” he demanded, needing her to say it.
“Reed was right. I do come here most nights. And while I’m not often left alone, I always leave alone. Always.” She cleared her throat, her gaze never once wavering from his. “This” —she lifted one hand to gesture between them— “hasn’t happened with anyone else. There hasn’t been anyone else. Not for me. Not since that first night.”
She winced, and he realized he’d tightened his hand on her hair once again, this time too hard, and he immediately loosened his grip.
“Don’t.” She covered his hand with hers, as if afraid he was going to pull away. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. Don’t treat me like that girl you used to know. The one you were so afraid of breaking. The one you were so desperate to save. Treat me like the woman you want so badly you dragged her through a bar and didn’t care who saw.”
She curled her fingers around his thumb and slowly peeled it open from his fist, her hair still wrapped around his palm. Head tipped back, gaze on his, direct and honest, she dragged his hand forward until his thumb pressed against the center of her throat.
“Give me everything,” she whispered.
Letting go of his hand, she laid her palm back on his thigh, then edged forward slightly.
And pressed the delicate line of her throat more firmly against his thumb.
He inhaled sharply. Tried to hold onto some hint of control, but what she was offering him was too tempting to ignore. Too powerful to resist.
Permission to let go.
He turned her head toward his dick. Pressed his thumb lightly against her throat until her head was tipped at the angle he wanted.
“Open,” he grunted, a gruff and greedy command.
Her lips parted immediately, her quick compliance making him even harder.
Letting go of his cock, he fluttered his fingertips across her forehead, gaze tracking her features. Committing the sight of her like this to memory, he traced her eyebrow with the tip of his forefinger before sliding it down her cheek, then along the line of her jaw. Pressing the pad of his thumb against her scar, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her mouth open wider.
Then shoved his cock in with a long, swift stroke.
Her head went back from the force of it, her fingers once more curling into his thighs as if to seek purchase. Pushed lightly against him as if to stop him.
He froze, every muscle tensed with the need to keep going. To take what he wanted.
But he didn’t want to take what she didn’t want to give him. Freely. Willingly.
He waited for what seemed like hours, his hard cock lying against her tongue, pulsing in the warm, wet recesses of her mouth, his heart rate unsteady and too fast from a combination of adrenalin and lust and the fear that he’d already done something to hurt her.
But in reality it was only a few moments, just enough time for her to scoot her knees wider and sit back slightly. To tip her head back a little more and give him an even better angle.
Then she slid her hands around the back of his thighs and pulled, dragging him closer, sliding his cock farther into her mouth.
Lifting her eyes to his face, looking up at him, she curled her tongue around the underside of his cock.
He groaned, the sound dark and guttural and primal. Shut his eyes against the combined rush of lust and relief that went through him.
Then he started to move.
“You look so good like this,” he murmured breathlessly, loving the sight of her pretty, pink lips wrapped around his cock as he slid it in and out of her mouth in slow, easy strokes. Teasing himself. Testing her.
Holding back, even though he’d promised her he wouldn’t.
Afraid of what it would cost him to let go.
So he held on. Despite how amazing it felt to be inside her warm, wet mouth, and the soft, muffled sounds she made. Moans, as if she loved the taste of him. Whimpers, as if she knew he was holding back and wanted more.
She gripped the bunched material of his jeans and yanked them farther down his legs. Dipped her hands under the waistband of his underwear, her touch restless as she scraped her nails against his ass cheeks.
At the same time she lightly, lightly scraped her teeth along his length.
He increased his pace. Was rewarded by another of her sounds, this one a hum that reverberated through his dick. She squeezed his ass, urging him to move faster.
“You take me so good,” he told her, his soft, encouraging words a direct contrast to the way he fucked her mouth with increasingly brutal strokes. “Such a good girl for me.”
She inhaled sharply through her nose, her eyes going the deep, dark blue of a summer sky before a storm. Shifted her legs restlessly, as if trying to ease an ache between them.
He growled like an animal as his focus narrowed to his most basic instincts.
To conquer.
To claim.
To come.
“You like that,” he rumbled. “You like being my good girl.”
Gaze holding his, she nodded, and whatever resolve he’d had disintegrated, turned to ash as a firestorm swept through him.
Curling his free hand around her shoulder, holding her still, he pulled her head back even more with the hand wrapped in her hair and slammed into her. Each stroke harder, faster, and deeper than the one before.
“Deeper,” he muttered, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs, his body trembling with the need for release. “I want to feel it here” —he rubbed his thumb up and down the front of her throat— “I want you to choke on it.”
Her eyes flared and watered but held his, that stormy blue going hazy.
And when he pushed into her mouth even farther, she did choke.
But didn’t pull back.
She dug the nails of her right hand into his left ass cheek, laid her left hand across her own throat, spreading her fingers to accommodate his thumb between her middle and ring fingers.
As if she wanted to feel him there, too.
Control. Gone.
He fucked her mouth like a rutting animal. Taking what she gave him, using her for his own pleasure. Almost as if he was punishing her for her sins.
Or trying to vindicate himself of his.
“Take it, take it, take it,” he chanted, like a man possessed.
He wanted to throw his head back, to shut his eyes and just feel, but he refused to miss a moment of seeing her this way, her face pink with arousal. Her hand on her own throat, her silver rings glinting. Her blown pupils, as if she was getting as much pleasure from this as he was.
“I didn’t mark you well enough,” he growled, his orgasm, building. He slid his hand from her shoulder, laid his palm across her chest, fingers wide, the rapid beat of her heart a frantic drumbeat against his palm. “I should come all over all this smooth, pretty skin. Make you walk out of here wearing my cum for a necklace so everyone will know you’re mine.”
Just the thought of it had him racing toward completion, but when he tried to pull out to make fantasy reality, she grabbed his ass with both hands and held him to her.
Her first refusal.
She trusted him. Enough to let herself be physically vulnerable with him.
Enough to stop him from doing something she didn’t want him to do.
He plunged into her mouth, his movements increasingly frenzied and desperate as he barreled toward his release. Something in the back of his mind told him to slow down. To gentle his movements. To ease back. Warned him that he was being too rough, going at her too hard, taking too much from her.
But then she choked on his dick again and the sound of it, the way she took him so well no matter how hard he went at her had him going even harder. How she looked, flushed pink and so incredibly pleased with herself, as if having his dick in her mouth was some ultimate prize, had him moving faster. How her eyes stayed on his, her hips undulating as if seeking her own relief, had him going deeper.
She trusted him.
And that had his orgasm barreling toward him like a freight train. He slid his hand from her chest around to her nape, caging the back of her neck. Holding her still.
“Swallow it,” he demanded on a rough groan as pleasure surged through him. “Every drop.”
He came long and hard, shooting his release into her mouth over and over, her throat working frantically as she obeyed him, her expression eager, as if her only purpose was to please him, but she couldn’t keep up with his rough movements, with the amount of his release, and when his cock slipped out from between her lips, spent and glistening and still half-hard, cum dribbled out of the corner of her mouth.
Gulping in air, hand shaking, he swiped it up with his thumb then slid his thumb between her lips. “Every drop,” he murmured huskily.
Looking up at him, her breathing as ragged as his, she caught his thumb between her teeth, swirled her tongue around it, then sucked it clean.
The moment he dragged his thumb from her mouth, she licked her lips as if it had been the best thing she’d ever tasted. His cock twitched, like it wanted to start over from the beginning and do it all again.
Hopeful of the little fucker to think it wouldn’t need at least an hour to recover after coming so hard he was still seeing stars.
Arrogant of it to think it’d get another chance when Tabitha reached up and tugged on his wrist still wrapped around her hair.
Blowing out a breath, he gently unwound her hair from his hand. Before he could offer her help, she rose to her feet on her own.
Watching her, he tucked his cock back into his pants. Zipped and buttoned his jeans while she smoothed her hands over her hair.
He could have told her not to bother. She looked like someone who’d been on their knees with a dick shoved down her throat and a hand in her hair. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and red, her lipstick smeared. And even with all the smoothing she was doing, her hair was a poofy, mussed mass of golden waves.
Scrubbing his hand up and down the back of his sweat-dampened neck, he opened his mouth to say something that would prove her trust in him wasn’t unfounded.
Anything that would make her want to stay with him, just a few minutes longer.
Only to mash his lips together when she walked toward him, reaching past him for the door handle.
Like she was done with him.
He moved aside and she unlocked the door. Turned the handle and pulled, then stepped out into the hall.
“Wanting you doesn’t kill me,” he blurted without thought, the words hoarse, like they’d been ripped from his throat.
She stopped, but didn’t turn, just stood in the empty hall, her gaze ahead, shoulders tense.
“It doesn’t kill me,” he repeated, then took in a breath. Let it out slowly. “It scares the shit out of me.”
She faced him, the corners of her mouth pulled down in sympathy. “I know it does. I know what it’s like to be afraid. I know what it’s like to be scared of the people who were supposed to care for me. Of strangers and the dark and raised voices and lifted fists. I know what it’s like to be terrified to trust someone. To be open and honest and show them who I truly am, imperfections, mistakes, faults, and all.”
“I know all of that,” she continued, quietly ruthless in a way he hadn’t realized she was capable of but admired the hell out of just the same. “For a long time, those things were all I knew. But then I realized I deserve more than to hide behind those fears. That I’m strong enough to face them, even if I never conquer them. I’m brave enough to try and to keep trying because I’m worth the effort. I deserve to be trusted. I deserve a second chance. I deserve forgiveness. And I will never again be with someone who can’t, or won’t, give me those things.”