Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance (3 page)

Chapter 5

He wasn't exactly the type to be in bed by 10 pm, but anytime someone came around pounding on his door after midnight, Red figured he had a right to be concerned. Switching off the TV, he carefully lowered the footrest of his armchair, sitting up and eyeing the door. There was a pause between knocks, and when they came again, he crossed the room and darted into kitchen. He kept his gun, a semi-automatic he'd had since he was a teenager, in one of the cupboards—out of sight, inconspicuously placed behind a few boxes of cereal.

As far as he knew, he hadn't pissed anyone off recently, but sometimes there was no real reason why someone would come to another man's house to start a fight. Even if his conscience was clean, he had to be prepared. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he darted back to the front door of his two-storey townhouse. Situated in the downtown core, he knew his neighbors—and probably any random idiot walking along the sidewalk outside—would hear a fight break out, especially if he needed to use the gun.

"Okay, okay, keep your shit together," he barked as he approached the door. Hesitating, he peered through the peephole, but the person on the other side had a black sweater on, the hood pulled up to cover their face. Damn it. Gun in hand, he unbolted the door, took a deep breath, and opened it a few inches.

"Red," Missy whispered, her face shrouded in darkness. He didn't need to hear anymore. Tucking his gun in the back of his jeans, he ushered her in, then did a quick sweep of the street. Aside from the usual city foot traffic, the place was pretty quiet—but you never knew who was watching from the tinted windows of parked street cars. No bikes anywhere. His was secured in his single-car garage beneath the house, and his truck sat where it always had in the driveway.

"You okay?" he asked once he'd shut the door. Normally she called if she wanted to stop by, and those instances were few and far between. More often than not, over these last two months, it had been Red texting her to meet, and they'd usually arrive in separate cars. Like he'd suggested the night of the bonfire, it had been innocent enough: they did their groceries together once a week, sometimes met for lunch or hiked on the nearby trails. She always laughed at him on their hikes: he didn't exactly fit with his biker boots and leather jacket, but he kept wearing them
because
she laughed. Missy's laughter was like air to Red—he needed it to live these days.

Dan hadn't changed since they'd started seeing each other on the sly, but Missy hadn't made any moves to leave him. Red didn't push her. This was innocent, after all. Harmless. In a way, Red thought he was there to keep her from drowning, a job he'd happily do until she could float on her own.

She stood in his front hall, a little damp from the recent rain, pacing.

"I… I… He…" Flustered, she pushed her hood down and yanked her hair out of its messy bun. Red watched, fascinated as always, as the waves tumbled down her back. There'd been talk about cutting her mane lately, and while he always said he never had an opinion, he hoped she'd let grow until it touched the floor.

"Take a breath," he offered, locking the door as quietly as he could before nodding to the kitchen area. "Let me make you some tea or something."

He'd never touched the stuff until Missy made herself a more permanent feature in his life. These days, he tried to have some camomile or green bullshit with breakfast, because, apparently, it was better for his health than commercial orange juice.

"I don't want tea," she announced, grabbing his arm as he stepped by. "I want…"

Her breathed in uneven gasps, and he half wondered if she'd ran all the way here from wherever she and Dan had had their most recent fight. There had to have been a brawl of some kind—she wouldn't turn up at his place looking and acting like she was if there hadn't.

Red waited, patient as ever, and tried not to lose himself in her eyes. Suddenly, her hand left his arm, and he stiffened as it came up to cradle his face. And then, without a word, Missy kissed him.

They'd shared a few kisses since that tentative one the night of the bonfire. Like the first time, he'd always held back, letting her set the pace, thinking she was actually a little shy. This kiss, however, sent all his theories about her sexual prowess flying out the window. It was Missy who nipped at his lower lip, willing him to open his mouth to her—and damn it all, Red didn't need to be asked twice. Mouth slated over hers, he backed her up against the wall, his large hands wrapped around her hips.

Her figure had always struck him as delicate, but in his arms, she was sturdy. While slimmer than his muscular frame certainly, she held her own, taking the force of his kiss in stride. She moaned weakly, and he swallowed the sound whole, keeping it for himself and no one else.

Worried that the wall might be hurting her, Red pulled back, breathing ragged, and let his lips wander her neck. She was cool to the touch, tainted by the stormy weather they'd been having lately, but she soon warmed under his lips. Her body melded to the grooves of his with ease, like they were meant to fit together, and Red felt his cock stiffen.

Slowly, his hands wandered south, smoothing over the gentle swell of her hips and down to cup her pert ass. She inhaled shakily, her fingers buried in his thick black hair, and he glanced up at her after licking from the base of her neck to the tip of her chin. Missy shivered, her head tilted back and eyes a little glazed. He could practically feel the heat beneath her shorts, radiating from the apex of her thighs, and it took every ounce of willpower not to take her right then and there.

Instead, he did as he'd been doing for months now. Slow and steady. Holding her firmly, Red carried her to the living room, where he collapsed onto his beat-up old couch with a grunt. Straddling his lap, Missy leaned back and let her eyes wander his face, down to his chest, then took it upon herself to rid him of his shirt. Off it went, tossed onto the laminate hardwood floor. Still Red waited, worried that any sudden movements might frighten her.

With two fingers, she walked the width of his chest, thick and toned from working on his bike and lifting the few weight sets he had at home. He'd always been quick to build muscle, even as a teenager, and it never failed to impress the women he brought home. But Missy seemed more… fascinated with him. Sure, she was turned on: he could see if in the way her skin flushed, her breath stuttered, her eyes darkened. She wanted him, yes, but she also wanted to know him. Touch him. His hand rested on her lower back, and his eyes drifted closed when she leaned down and kissed his chest, planting small pecks from the base of his pecks up to his Adam's apple.

There was no holding back anymore. With his dick straining to get out of his jeans, Red just went for it. He yanked his hoodie off, then quickly discarded the t-shirt beneath. Of her own volition, Missy removed her bright red bra, tossing it aside with an unreadable expression on her face. He hesitated then, only for a few seconds, before reaching out to cup her breast. Smooth and bright white, it was just enough to fill his palm, and her pale pink nipple begged to be played with. The little bud hardened beneath his palm, and he watched as she grabbed his other hand and placed it on her other breast.

Then ground against him.

He squeezed those perfect mounds, the friction between her hips and his dick just too much to take. She did it again, and again, and again, riding him at her own leisurely pace. Her name tumbled from his lips, a hushed prayer, and much to his surprise, she climbed off and slipped out of her shorts and underwear. Totally naked, she was a fucking goddess not worthy of his touch, but he planned to worship her anyway.

Perched on the edge of the couch, Red tugged her to him and sat up so that his mouth could cover her breast. She leaned in, moaning, her legs spread as his hands wandered her smooth thighs. While she was slim, seeing her without a scrap of fabric showed him that she wasn't thin. Her height spread the majority of her weight, but she was more solid than he thought, a little sturdier. Not thick, but certainly not a waif. A true dancer, like he'd always thought.

He almost came on the spot when he found her drenched for him, her folds slick with arousal. As desperate as he was to slide off the couch and bury his face in what he assumed would be a delicious pussy, Red still wanted to take things slower. So he settled for the touch of his fingers tonight, easing them in and out of her, slowly, carefully, until she started to relax around him. Standing before him now, it was easier to see the way she shook, and he knew it wasn't all from the heat of the moment. She was probably scared too, worried about the outcome if they took things too far.

Red planned to take them as far as she wanted. As soon as she indicated discomfort, he'd back off, whether it was by her verbal protest or merely a pained look. He wouldn't blame her. He wouldn't consider her a tease. The woman in front of him was perfection, and she could allow him assess to her body whenever—if ever—she deemed him fit.

Her knees buckled a little as he fingered her, her hands falling to his broad shoulders as soon as he found that sensitive little spot inside her pussy. Fingers crooked, he rubbed it mercilessly as he lavished her taut stomach with kisses, his spare hand palming her swollen clit. Before he sunk his cock deep in her tight entrance, Red wanted to watch her come undone. From past experience, he knew no two women were the same. What worked on one might not work on another, but he was going to put in a hell of an effort to make sure Missy was pampered. Cherished.

Her fingertips dug in to his skin, and the more he pushed her, the more she leaned on him. He watched carefully, waiting for signs that she was on the verge. A thin layer of perspiration had broken out across both of their bodies. His knees were a little sore from kneeling, but he wasn't about to show it. Instead, he put everything he had into her: her wants, her desires, her pleasure. Her face tinged with an adorable pinkness, one that traveled down her neck and chest. Her breathing shortened, coming out in sharp, swift puffs, and before long, he realized he'd been successful.

Her orgasm made her knees buckle completely, but Red was there to hold her up. Missy came with a cry, her eyes clenched shut, her body clenching around his fingers. Red eased up, but only a little, preferring to prolong the ecstasy as much as he could. She whimpered his name before throwing her head back, moaning.

"Oh my god," she breathed, slowly unsheathing her fingernails from his shoulders. He leaned back, hands hovering on either side of her in case she toppled over, and when their eyes met, he grinned. But the lust hadn't faded from her gaze, his favourite shade of green still soaked in need, and he soon found her pushing him back onto the couch. Well, directing him—even if she tried really hard, he seriously doubted Missy could actually push him anywhere. Not against his will, anyway—and this
definitely
wasn't against his will.

She scrambled onto him again, straddling his hips as she kissed him. There was a feverish quality to her touch now, her mouth parted and tongue tangled with his, and he felt her heat dampen his jeans. His hands roamed the planes of her body, pausing only when she shifted back and yanked open the button of his pants, the zipper following shortly. A part of him wanted to tell her she didn't
have
to do this. There was no mandate saying they had to fuck tonight.

But then he thought better of it. She'd been the one directing this ride so far, and he wasn't about to step in and tell her what to do.

Her grip was firm, confident, and Red's head lolled back as Missy stroked the full length of his dick. Up and down her fist went, pausing here and there to tease the sensitive tip, pre-cum coating them both. He watched her, unable to look away, until he couldn't keep it in anymore. He had to have her—now. Shifting up, he pulled his thin wallet out of his back pocket, from which he produced a condom. The final test. There was no going back from here, no taking away the implications of it all. Missy stared at the green square wrapper for a moment, then plucked it from his hand and ripped it open.

No woman had rolled a condom on before. It had always been that awkward pause between foreplay and sex, but when Missy did it, the transition was seamless. She leaned forward, brushing her breasts against his chest, nipples hard as diamonds over his heated skin, and then slid the rubber on slowly, licking her lips as she did so.

"Fuck," he whispered, his cock just about ready to explode. She grinned, a sense of unease about her, then placed her hands on his shoulders and positioned herself over his painfully erect cock. Their eyes met, both burning with desire, and Red finally grasped her hips and eased her onto him. He hissed at first contact. She was tight—wonderfully so. Her pussy sheathed him, like it was where he was supposed to fit, as she sunk all the way to the hilt. A soft moan escaped her, so sweet and quiet, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.