Hard Time (Hard as Nails #1) (5 page)

This time, she wears nothing and her body is like a painted silhouette standing in the dark, where the moonlight caresses her soft skin. My fantasies have always been vivid with the sensation of teasing her, fucking her. With the feeling of her pussy tight around my cock. Now I hold myself back and simply take in the image of her.

The curve of her breasts against the dark, with a beautiful shadow hanging over her stomach. The way her legs meet at the center, offering her pussy for my taking. The way her eyes beg me to take her right here on the musty motel bed.

* * *

Katie

The hot water continues its assault on my body, while Street stands behind me with his hard cock pressed against the swell of my ass. All the while his slick fingers run along my clit, pressing against me and entering me with reckless abandon.

I lean deeper against the wall of the shower as I stroke against the most vulnerable part of my body. It’s rare that I’m able to find an appropriate moment for release, but after meeting Street again in the bookstore, there’s no way I can wait.

I want to feel him inside me.

And because this is my fantasy, I’m in control.

Or at least I thought I was.

He enters me in one quick motion from behind, and I moan against the laminate wall.

Breathless and full.

* * *

Street

I imagine her lips around me. With every lap of her tongue, and every glide of her mouth over the head of my shaft, my breath quickens.

I stroke my cock furiously, aligning my motions with the way her head bobs up and down.

It’s too soon, but I can feel the explosion building. I want to slow down, but I can’t. I want more than her mouth. I want her cunt. I want to devour her first with my mouth, and then assault her with my cock. I want to feel her pussy tight around me, but I’ve already gone too far on this plane of pleasure.

* * *

Katie

Street pounds me from behind, and I’m unable to ride the waves of pleasure for much longer. He pulls me inside out with every thrust. His wet body smacks against mine, his pelvis slapping against my ass. Quicker and quicker, until I’m crying for release, and release I’m given.

A man has never been able to make me come. This isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed about him doing it, but this is the first time it feels different.

With one last flick of my finger against my clit, my body explodes and I’m left shuddering, fighting a useless fight to breathe as I ride a wave of pleasure I’d long ago forgotten was possible.

* * *

Street

“Fuck,” I scream as white pearls of cum shoot onto my abs. My entire body shakes as I empty my load onto myself, and in my imagination I see Katie smile as the smallest trace of cum drips from her lips. I’m not even mad I didn’t get the chance to throw her on the bed and fuck her raw, because this right here is the best fucking orgasm I’ve ever had.

And I can’t wait to fuck her for real.

To finally own her. God, the thought alone could make me come again if I wasn’t so tired.

* * *

Katie

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my naked body. I could fall asleep right here in the bathroom, but I get dressed in a hurry and make my way out into the living room where I stretch myself out on the couch.

It doesn’t take too long before I slowly begin to drift off to sleep, prepared to start the next day even as I acknowledge this day will never be like any other day, if for no other reason than it is the day I officially met Street.

This is the day our connection, no matter what it’s always been or ever will be, changed.

Chapter Five

Street

Maybe it was because Trevor’s comment about accepting charity stuck in my craw, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to my other friends. After a few days of staying at the motel, Trevor called me and told me he’d cleared out so I went back to my place. On the way, I stopped to turn in my application to work at the bookstore. Unfortunately, Katie wasn’t there. Some other girl was.

She had a nice rack, a beautiful ass, and the kind of curved smile that would have normally sent blood pumping through my dick.

But she wasn’t Katie, and my dick was rendered useless.

She’d introduced herself while leaning over the counter in her tight-cut V-neck shirt, exposing her breasts in a way that should have spoken to me. I didn’t remember her name because it wasn’t important.

Because she wasn’t
her.

Because she wasn’t Katie.

I handed What’s-Her-Name my application with a crooked grin and went on my way. Not even four hours later, some guy named George called my cell and asked me to interview that afternoon. After I agreed, I went out and spent even more cash on a few button down shirts. I’ve worn nothing but T-shirts for years, but I’m a man on a mission with my eyes set on the prize. I’m a man at war and I’m determined to emerge victoriously.

I haven’t won every battle I’ve ever fought, but this is one I can’t afford to lose. The stakes are too damn high.

After I put on my new outfit, I take one look in the mirror and give myself a hell of a smile.
The world is my oyster,
I think to myself.
And Katie is about to be my clam.

It’s a terrible analogy, but I’m just too fucking excited to care.

* * *

Later, in the back room of the bookstore, in what can only be described as an office in a closet, I sit across from George. He is a solidly built man; husky, balding and sporting a thin gray mustache.

He glances down at my application and then back at me. There’s a look in his sunken eyes that screams,
How did I miss this?

This
is the question with the little box check-marked yes, the one that asks “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” I’d considered lying, of course, but I would have been immediately fired from the job if it later came out that I had lied.

Instead, I’d hoped I could reason with my interviewer and convince him I’m a changed man.

“You want to know why I’m a felon, right?”

He grumbles to himself, as if he doesn’t know how to answer the simple question.

“To be honest,” I say, “I was young and stupid. I’ll save you all the intricate details, but the important information is that I was into drugs, and I was addicted for a short period of time.” I clear my throat and press my palm against my knee, trying to stop my leg from shaking. I’m nervous as hell.

If I fuck this up, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Continue,” George says as he lays my paperwork flat on the desk. For the first time, he’s showing an actual interest in me, and not flashing his gaze between me and my application with nervousness in his eyes.

“Anyway, things soon spiraled out of control and I began selling drugs to feed my addiction. It consumed me to the point I stopped being careful and got caught with drugs in the back of my car during a routine traffic stop.”

Nothing I just said is the truth. It’s all an act to pull on his heart strings, and I know the exact musical notes I need to play in order to get what I want.

I had come to the interview prepared.

Before I arrived, I dug for information on the internet. About twenty minutes into my search, I discovered George’s son had previously suffered an addiction to heroin a few years back. After a short stint in Regional, he was released into a halfway house where he soon became sober. George himself, being quite the literate fellow, had written an article on addiction outlining his family’s struggle for an online blog.

But something about the way he looks at me tells me it’s not enough; it tells me that he’s not willing to take a chance on me, and my heart skips a beat here and there while I wait for a response.

I begin to question my reasoning for spinning this tale. Part of me would have loved to be honest, to say
this is who I am
;
but nobody wants to hear the truth, especially from a felon. It’s easier this way, to lie and deceive, but there is the chance George has seen right through me.

A squeaking sound pulls my attention from George and I see Katie’s beautiful hazel eyes. She pushes the door open almost sheepishly, like she’s afraid of George when I don’t know why she’d be afraid of someone like him. He’s harmless; too heavy to make the first move should he attack, and too timid to even ask me a simple question. There’s no reason someone as strong as Katie should be afraid of someone like George.

Unless, of course, Katie isn’t aware of her own strength. That’s probably it. She can’t begin to imagine the things I see in her.

George notices Katie. “Yes?”

“Sorry for interrupting,” she says in the same sheepish way she slowly pushed the door open. “I just wanted to…” Her tongue rolls nervously between her lips.

“Spit it out, Katie.”

“I think you should take a chance on him.”

“Is that so?” George ponders out loud and nods his head before returning his attention to me. “Thomas, can you please give us a moment.”

“Sure thing.” I rise to my feet, and turn to exit the small office, making sure to graze Katie’s arm as I squeeze past her petite frame. The mere friction of our bodies rubbing against each other is enough to spike my blood pressure, and my cock hardens in my jeans. I shut the door behind me and pray for the best as I lean my head gently against the door, trying to overhear the conversation I’m not supposed to be privy to.

Chapter Six

Katie

“What did you say to him?” Street asks in an innocent tone as he leans his elbows against a towering bookshelf, but I can’t shake the feeling that he already knows—like he had his ear pressed to the door the whole time.

“I just told him I had a good feeling about you.”

“We talked about that before.”

“We did.” I smile and pass a short stack of books into his arms. George interviewed and hired him yesterday. I’d spent the entire night spending equal amounts of time cursing myself for my stupidity and trying to tamp down my excitement, knowing he’d be working with me from two to closing every day. I’d spent the first two hours of my shift before he arrived practicing my game face and telling myself to play it cool. So far, I’d managed to do just that. “You think you know me. I think I know you. We both disagree with each other.”

“Then why’d you do it?” he asks with a furrowed brow. “Why’d you take my back?”

“Because I can.” I shrug and hook my finger for him to follow me to a bookshelf into the neighboring aisle. I can feel the heat of his eyes burning into my flesh with every step I take; he’s watching the way my ass shifts my weight as I take one step after another.

And I’m enjoying taunting him as much as I enjoy the thought that my fantasies could become reality. It’s a thought that both scares and thrills me. It’s a thought that has guided my recent actions, even if I’m barely willing to admit it to myself.

I had gone into the back office yesterday without a solid game plan. It had been pure instinct, with no preparation. There had been a voice screaming from the deepest pit of my gut that I needed to stick up for Street, and help him secure a job. It’s that same instinct that tells me I’m playing a dangerous game, and I have no reason to really trust that he’s a good man.

They’re just feelings, nothing more; but it’s exhausting trying to wrangle such inconsistent emotions. The consequences of my actions won’t be negligible. This job is vitally important to the future I’m working toward, and if sticking up for Street comes back to bite me in the ass, I’ll only have myself to blame.

Back in the office, George told me he’d be willing to trust my instincts and give Street a chance; but that was a double-edged sword. He informed me, quite sternly, that if something negative transpired, then I’d be out on the street—a pun I’m sure he hadn’t intended—looking for a job along with “Thomas.”

I should have turned down the deal, but I didn’t.

“You need to be polite at all times,” I instruct Street as I come to a stop at the halfway point of the aisle. “Which shouldn’t be a problem for you since you’re such a personable, charming fellow.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “You’re hilarious.”

“I’m only half joking,” I say and lean back against the shelves, folding my arms one over the other. “When you’re here, you have to be someone else. Like any other mundane job in the world, you check whatever real world problems you’re having at the door.”

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “I’m a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy.”

My eyes trail up his muscular arms. His skin is covered in a mash-up of tattoos where colors bleed into black and white tableaus. His button-up shirt is dark blue, a compelling contrast against his tattooed flesh, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to the crux of his elbows.