Nightfall (8 page)

They walked out the door and ran smack into Matt. Julian metaphorically, but Roxanne had been leading the way, and she really did run into him, bouncing off his chest and falling back against Julian’s. “Oh! Matt, hi,” she said, as Julian steadied her. “How are you?”

Matt wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were blazing, staring at the other man. Matt was shorter than Julian, and his frame was smaller, though he was just as well built. He looked, for all the world, like a puppy trying to stare down a hound.

“Matt,” Roxanne said, her tone firmer. She pushed at his chest a little, trying to catch his attention. “This is my friend, Julian Greer. We’re going for a walk.”

Julian’s eyes were bright green, almost glowing, and he met Matt’s gaze without any apparent discomfort. His body was loose, his posture easy, but she had the feeling that he was making a list in his head of ways to incapacitate the man in front of him. She could almost see his eyes twitch as he counted the attack points, feel his fingers move as he practiced the strikes in his mind, almost without noticing. Behind the counter, she saw Betsy stick her head back into the kitchen, saw Joe come out, the solid black man who ran the kitchen, saw him cross his arms and plant his feet.

“Boys,” she said, hearing the desperation in his tone. “We’re blocking the door. If you two need to compare sizes of your trouser snakes, let’s do that outside where we’re not in everyone’s way, all right?”

The tension increased for another minute, and then Matt caved. He forced a smile and stuck a hand out. Julian shook it, wearing a smile no more real than Matt’s. “Not necessary,” he said. “Any friend of Roxanne’s is a friend of mine. Nice to meet you, Julian.”

She saw Matt try to bear down on Julian’s hand, saw the tiny fraction of a response on Julian’s face. With so little effort that she didn’t notice his fingers tightening, he squeeze Matt’s hand so tightly that the bones creaked, and Matt’s smile cracked. “You lie through your teeth. You smell of shit and lies.” He pushed past Matt, fast and hard. For just a second, Roxanne contemplated pulling free and going back to Matt, making sure he was okay. But she realized that there was almost nothing she wanted to do less. She let Julian lead her away from the diner without looking back.

It didn’t stop her from saying quietly, “I am going to pay for that later.”

Julian’s laugh was too loud and too cold. “If he makes you pay for it, he’s no friend of yours. He was out of line.”

“He was. He’s like a Spaniel; the harder I kick, the more stubborn he gets. It’s frustrating. But he’s not a bad man.”

Julian shrugged. “He shouldn’t have tried to intimidate me. I have height, weight, and experience on him. He’s a fool.”

“He’s my friend,” she said, and her tone was sharp. She yanked her hand free. She felt him choose to let her go, which gave her the willies.

He ran his hands through his already artfully tousled hair and sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was the calmer tone she’d heard in the diner, instead of the harsher and more abrupt tone he’d used with Matt or inside the hospital. “I’m sorry. I should have let you handle that. He made me angry.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Matt has that effect on people. He just… I used him, and he doesn’t believe that I did. He’s convinced that we could work things out if we just tried. He thinks we’re ‘meant for each other.’”

“You don’t believe in destiny.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I don’t worry about destiny,” she said. “I don’t believe in soul mates. It’s a stupid concept. One person in the world who’s meant to be with you?” She made a gagging sound, and Julian chuckled. “Half the people I know who married their soul mate ended up divorced within five years.”

“So what do you look for in a mate?” He took her hand again, tentatively. She tightened her fingers in his, and they walked together towards the park at the end of Main Street.

“I don’t know if I’m even looking for a mate,” she said. “In the sense of one person to be with for the rest of my life. It sounds… boring, really.”

“Are you polyamorous then?”

“I don’t think so? At least not on an ongoing basis.” She shrugged. “Other things have been my focus for so long. Getting my degree, getting a good job, getting off the crappy shifts. I want to be a Charge nurse, too.”

“Ambitious,” he commented.

“Is that a bad thing?”

He grinned, his teeth flashing. “Not to me.”

The park was small, but nice. There was a fountain in the center, and benches, and a little playground area off to the side. Around lunchtime, a couple of old men circled the park with sausage carts and ice cream carts, and she’d always made a point of buying something if she was here when they came around.

Julian led her to a bench and sat down beside her. She found herself leaning into him, and when he put his arm around her shoulders, she felt a wave of exhilaration. That pull was back, and strong. She turned to look up at him, found his face already turned towards hers. “Hi,” she said.

He didn’t smile this time. His eyes were intense, dark with desire, and very full. His hand caressed her cheek, his fingers tracing her cheekbone, and he leaned down towards her. “Hello,” he whispered in the moment before his lips brushed over hers.

The kiss was like nothing else she’d ever felt. It ran through her like an electric shock, setting her nerves on edge, commanding an immediate response from her body. Her nipples tightened, her thighs filled with heat, and she felt wetness surge between her thighs again. “Jesus wept,” she whispered against his mouth, and felt more than heard him laugh. His mouth moved to the corner of her mouth, then traced up her jawline to her ear. He teased at her earlobe with his tongue and his teeth, and her hands clung to his shoulders. She whimpered at the contact, and she felt that low rumble of his laugh again. He abandoned her ear and worked his way down her neck. She dropped her head to the side to give him better access. She was turned towards him, and his hand came up to cup the breast that was closest to him, where the contact was masked from anyone who might be looking by their bodies. His thumb circled around her nipple, never making contact, and she had to force her hips to keep still, to not thrust against the air like this was the fantasy she’d dreamed of the night before. She could straddle him, right here, kiss him until he cried, grind against him until she came. Who cared if she was in jeans or not, who cared if she screamed loud enough for everyone to hear?

No
, she told herself firmly.
Absolutely not. You want to take him up on his offer to go back to his place, fine, but you do not have sex in public.

He must have read her mind; he drew back from her, and took a moment to readjust the sudden bulge in his pants. “Well,” he said. “It seems like the chemistry is still there. So the only question, Roxie, is what you want to do with it.” She was quiet for a moment, and he misunderstood the silence. “If the answer is go home and move forward another time, or even go home and never speak to me again, that’s fine. That’s your choice.”

“I was trying to think of a way to say take me home and fuck me until I scream that wasn’t going to make me sound like a complete slut,” she said.

He laughed, loud and brash. “I’ve never quite decided what I think a slut is,” he said, “But if knowing what you want and asking for it is sluttish behavior, then I think the world needs more of it.” He stood again, tugging her up to her feet. “You tell me you’re done at any point, and it’s all finished. All right?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling excitement pouring through her in a waterfall. She’d never felt like this, never. But the look in his eyes promised so very much to come.

With Julian’s fingers tight around hers, Roxanne walked with him to his house. She’d seen it many times, of course; the old Tyrell place was styled like a farmhouse, with a porch that wrapped around the west and south sides for shade, and had a smaller upper story. No one she knew had ever been inside. There was a caretaking service hired from Houston, but the house had existed almost apart from Sweetwater as long as she’d lived there. Kids told stories about it on Halloween and avoided it after dark. It seemed odd to be walking up the driveway as if she belonged there.

Julian turned toward her and smiled, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

The house inside was too neat and clean for a house that was properly lived in. Everything was neat as a pin and carefully designed. The inside seemed vaguely Colonial, with windows over doors and crown molding everywhere.

“Is it crass,” he asked, “To say that I want to take you straight to the bedroom?”

To answer him, she eased herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him catch her weight, just a little. He grunted happily and swayed slightly from side to side with her. “If it’s crass,” she said. “I don’t much care.” She stood up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips against his.

The shock of electricity jolted through her again. His hands were on her hips. She felt them tremble, felt his mouth move against hers so gently, so carefully. The effort he was expending in holding himself back was huge. And such a waste.

She tightened her grip on his neck, drawing him down to her, and let her mouth fall open, inviting him in. She felt him twitch against her belly, his own heating and tightening taking hold. But still, his control was impeccable. She traced his lower lip with her tongue, and when that didn’t work, nipped him with her teeth.

He snarled, harsh and fast, and between one breath and the next he was suddenly pressing her against the wall. He didn’t have her pinned with anything other than his weight, and she knew that she could slip out from between him and the plaster if she needed to.

“This isn’t like a bad porno flick,” he said, that snarl still running through his voice, his eyes on fire. “There are rules we will play by.”

“Okay,” she said. She took the opportunity to reach down and measure his cock with her hand, stroking him through his jeans. He felt like the biggest man she’d ever been with. She felt a flurry of excitement as she wondered how much she’d have to relax to be able to take him in.

And then her hand was pressed up against her head, fast and hard. She had no more ability to shift it than if she’d been handcuffed there. “Rule number one,” he said. “If I do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or unhappy at all, tell me to stop. I will stop. We will talk, and we will see if you want to stop all together, or you just want me to go no further, or what you need to be comfortable. Yes?”

She nodded.

“Say it if you agree,” he said. “I want to hear it.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice thready and weak. She was so wet she was going to be grinding against air in a minute. She’d never felt like this with someone else, never in her life.

“Okay,” he said, and a small flicker of tension went out of him—not that his grip on her hand relaxed at all. “Next, I need to know what you want from me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she said, “I want you to bury yourself in me—”

He kissed her, hard, and this time his tongue did caress hers, stroking her so that she whimpered, and his fingers came to her breast, teasing over her nipple and making the peak just a little sharper, just a little more intense.

“I’m not looking for dirty talk,” he said, when he pulled back, “Although that’s always nice to hear in the moment. What’s your fantasy? Do you want me to hurt you? Humiliate you? Control you?”

Roxanne shuddered at his words, and tried to breathe enough that some blood would flow back up from her clit and re-enter her brain. “Um. Control, I think. The other stuff—I haven’t tried any of it before, but it seems like that would be the… way to start? Like blindfolds and handcuffs and things?” She felt dirty just saying it, and she forced herself to capture the feeling as it whizzed by. Capture it and change it. Not dirty. Naughty. She was a naughty little angel.

“Like this?” he said. He captured her other hand easily and pinned it up above her head as well. She fought him for a moment, testing her bonds, but even though he only used one hand—the other was still tormenting her breast—she couldn’t budge away from the wall.

For one moment, it was the most terrifying experience of her life. Every caution she’d ever received, every rape warning and abuse poster and domestic violence public service announcement ever flew through her mind, and she wanted to scream for help, to knee him in the balls, to bite his face.

And then, on the other side of that fear, was the intensity of realizing that she was absolutely and utterly in control. He was watching her carefully, his eyes cooler now, and she saw him smile and nod after a bit. “Yes,” he said. “There we are.” He kissed her again, more softly, teasing at her jawline with his tongue and his teeth, bringing out little sighs and whimpers. He was close enough to her that when she writhed, she writhed against him.

“As we play this game,” he whispered between kisses, between her moans, “I’m going to say a lot of things. About how you can’t get free, about how you’re mine. I might call you my little bitch, my little whore. Do either of those names bother you, by the way?”

“Bitch is better than whore,” she whimpered. “But both of them— Feel good. Hot.” His knee slipped between her thighs, and she gasped at the pressure, torn for a moment between maintaining her dignity and riding him until she found some kind of release. Her aching clit won. How had she never known, never
thought
to try this?

“Noted,” he replied, increasing the pressure from her thigh as she rocked back and forth, feeling the intense waves starting to rocket through her core. This was the point. This was the point where things shut down for her, every time. Where her body either pitched her over the wave early, leaving her with a lackluster orgasm that wasn’t worth the bother of washing out her panties, or just stopped entirely, leaving her with aching muscles and frustration through every cell. “I’m going to say all those things, and I’m going to say them like I mean them, but it’s all part of the game, do you see? If you tell me to stop, I will, I swear it.”

“Yes,” she said. “Okay.” Her moans were harder, faster, higher in pitch. She felt her cunt throbbing, pulsing with need, desperate to be full of him. “God,” she whimpered, desperate, eager. Free. Free because she was contained.

“My goodness,” he said, his tone full of amusement. “Are you going to come on my thigh? Are you going to come just from this? How desperate are you?”

“Oh, so much,” she whispered, and she felt the waves crest, pushing forward—and then fall flat, fading out to bubbles and eddies of frustration. She cursed, slammed her head back against the wall once.

“Hey, hey,” he said, putting his free hand between the back of her skull and the wall. “What just happened?”

Roxanne shrugged, too angry with herself to meet his eyes. “What always happens. Everything feels amazing and then—kaput.”

Julian’s hands on her forehead were delicate, soft. He leaned down and kissed her almost delicately. “It’s okay,” he said. “It happens sometimes. We can—”

“I should go.” Her eyes were burning hot and felt far too dry, which meant she was just a couple minutes away from crying. Crying walking down the streets of Sweetwater would be bad enough, but crying in front of this man, this handsome, kind man, would just be too much. She could still see his erection, prominent and heavy in his jeans. He had to be aching, and here he was nursing her feelings like—hell, she had no idea what it was like, but crying was totally T-60 seconds, and she needed to get out, or— “I mean, I can stay, we can still— You’re amazing, I’d love to have sex—”

“Stop,” he said, and he put a finger over her lips. She stopped, but the tears were welling up now, and stopping them wasn’t an option. “You can absolutely go, if you want to. I’ll drive you home myself, but don’t for one second think that you need to go because of what just happened.” His eyes measured her again, and he offered her a small smile. “You really look like you could use a cup of tea.”

Of all the stupid things to push her over the edge. As the tears boiled over, he wrapped her up in his arms, shifting smoothly from sexy into soothing.

* * *

“I feel like an idiot,” Roxanne said as Julian passed her a glass of cold, sweet tea. Her eyes ached from the intensity of her crying, but the ugliness of it had passed after just a few moment. “I’m really sorry you had to see that. Some first date, huh?”

Julian settled himself on the opposite side of the couch, a full cushion away from her. “I’ve had much worse.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for you.” She forced a laugh and sipped at her tea. It settled her stomach and gave her something to do to hide the shaking in her hands.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Have you been spending time somewhere other than Texas?” She asked with a laugh that came more easily. “There’s only one way a Southern girl is allowed to answer that question.”

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then his eyes met hers with an intensity that shocked her again. “Could you answer as just a regular girl then?”

It almost made her laugh. “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never… had much success with another person. On my own, I’m fine, things—you know, work perfectly. But I get all excited, and then it’s like it all just… falls apart.” She ran the glass over her forehead for a moment, relishing the cool sensation against her skin. “I swear, sometimes I think I should just quit all together.”

“That would be a crime,” he said. She glanced at him, but the look in his eyes still seemed even, soft. If he was playing her, he was doing it well, at least.

“I feel bad,” she said. “I got you all hot and bothered, and then started weeping. Not the most sexy thing that’s happened to you ever.”

He looked like he was going to try and make something of it, and then he laughed, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. “No, it was not. But don’t worry about me, please. I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow at him over her glass of tea, and he laughed.

“All right, fine. If you were to leave right now, yes, I would… find my own release. But I would first bring you home, see you safe, and make sure you were all right.”

She was still for a long moment. She circled the tea in her glass, listening to the cubes of ice clinking against each other. She dug deep inside of herself. She’d been closer than she’d ever been before. She’d felt more than she’d ever felt with anyone else. He’d touched her so fluently, so well. “What if seeing if I am all right means— means staying. Means kissing you again?”

“Roxie—”

“I want your rules. I want to try. I— I need to believe that there’s something more than nothing. That it can feel better than this.”

He watched her for an eternity. He traced a finger down her cheek, her jaw, over to her lips. She wanted to see him smile, but the expression didn’t come; his eyes stayed fixed on her, and her expression. “What happens,” he asked, his voice light and careful, “When you close your eyes?”

“What?”

“When you close your eyes. Do you feel restful? Frightened? Panicked?”

“I don’t know?”

“Try it.”

She was tempted to roll her eyes, but it seemed unkind. Instead, she closed them, and stared at the back of her eyelids for a moment. “Nothing,” she said, opening them again.

He raised his eyebrows, giving her an expression that seemed nothing short of tolerant. “Close them again,” he said, and when she did, she felt his hand cover her eyes. The pressure was light, but she could feel the edges of his palm on her forehead and on the bridge of her nose.

The shift in his weight was so delicate she almost didn’t notice it. The heat wrapping around her breast, however, was unmistakable. His mouth moved softly over her nipple, all teasing gentleness, and she found herself sighing again. There was a touch of irritation in her stomach—he wasn’t the first guy to try again once she’d told him she was done—but he truly seemed calm and at ease. And that was something. “How do you feel now?” he asked, as he moved from one side to the other.