Pierced (16 page)

A harsh laugh escapes my lips. How I feel is like shit, what I need is to fuck her until I either pass out or die; either way, I’ll go happy. “Yeah, baby, I need that sweet pussy all over my lips. Just fucking sit on my face and give it to me hard.” When she jerks back as if she has been slapped, I know I’ve actually given voice to my dirty thoughts. Fucking hell, the jig is up. Any illusions she’s been harboring about me being a nice, but horny, guy are over. I’m a dirty motherfucker who thinks about doing equally-dirty things to her pussy most of the damn day and night. After she does a bang-up imitation of an owl for another minute, peals of laughter fill the room.

“Well, I see you are feeling better this morning. You’ve been so sick that, trust me when I say, even if I sat on your face, you’d probably fall asleep before the first lick.”

The fuck? Why wasn’t she running in horror? Most of the rich bitches I’ve slept with want their sex straight up; no kink. Even the cock-gobbler Monique is a fan of plain missionary. The women Aidan and I shared…now, they’re a different story. If you are willing to let two men fuck you at once, you don’t have many hang-ups, but then again, that’s not something that appeals to most women. I’d half-expected Lia to freak out when I had fucked her from behind in my kitchen, especially being as inexperienced as she was, but she seemed to love it.

She’s right about one thing now, though: I’m as weak as a newborn kitten. But I’m not ready to give up. “You could fuck me,” I suggest, curious as to her reaction.

Sitting back on her heels, she nods as if actually considering it. “Yes, I could…but I’m not going to. You’ve been in the bed for two days, Luc, and another day before you flew home. Other than fluids, you haven’t had anything to eat in days, so I know you’re weak. How about I fix you some toast for breakfast?” Toast seems to be code for no pussy.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me. Sickness had hit me like a sledgehammer. I’d woken up in a strange room, too weak to move. How I had even made it to the airport and onto my plane is a mystery. I remember Sam coming on board and half-carrying me to the car. Then I recall only bits and pieces of Lia stroking my forehead with a washcloth or helping me drink. I also vaguely remember holding her to me while I tossed and turned. Shit, she has been taking care of me for days, I assume. The look of tender amusement she is giving me now makes me shift uncomfortably. How have things gotten this far out of hand? She is now officially my longest relationship in eight years. Even if I don’t want to admit it, I know why I was drawn to her; hell, even Aidan knows why. I’d never intended for things to go beyond sex with her. Goddammit, though, she has something none of the other women I’ve dated in years had; she needs protection and that fucking slayed me. Her being my housekeeper is complete bullshit. I allowed her in my home because I want her here, and she needs a reason for it to be acceptable for me to take care of her.

How many women would have spent two days taking care of a virtual stranger? I remember enough to know that not only has she watched over me, she has cared for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed someone to be around me while I’m vulnerable. Well, I didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter since I’d been so fucking sick, but I had let her stay and so had Sam, which certainly said something. Sam, Cindy, and Aidan are not only employees; they are family. We might fight amongst ourselves, but we are also fiercely protective of each other. Sam would never leave some random woman in my house while I’m too out of it to know what’s going on. They all know I don’t bring women here. I should probably fire his ass, but strangely enough, I’m glad. Sometimes there is no replacement for a woman’s touch. At times, I’ve missed having someone around other than my small circle of friends.

I’m abruptly pulled from my thoughts by Lia’s small hand pulling on my toe. “Hello? Are you sleeping with your eyes open or just trying to ignore me?”

Giving her a lazy grin, I let my eyes slide leisurely up and down her body, pausing to admire the way my t-shirt outlines her tits. What man isn’t turned on by a woman wearing his clothes? “I could never ignore you, sweet Lia. I was just working out the details of you sitting on my…”

She sticks her hand up, yelling, “Stop! Don’t finish that sentence. That is not on the menu for you this morning. The only thing I need to know from you is whether you would like scrambled eggs with your toast.”

We both know what I want to say, but I decide to take mercy on her and myself, as well. Unless she is willing to do most of the work, I don’t have it in me yet to fuck her, no matter how much I want to. “Yeah, baby, I’d like some eggs.”

“Coming up. Just stay here, and I’ll bring a tray when everything is ready.” She jumps from the bed, and I bite my lip as the luscious curve of her ass peeks out from under my shirt when she bends to slip what appears to be a pair of my socks on her feet. If she doesn’t leave the room soon, I will be begging her to ride my exhausted body.

Easing to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the floor and stand on shaky legs. The room spins for a moment before righting itself. It takes much longer than usual, but I use the toilet, brush my teeth, and cringe at my reflection in the mirror. Even if I have to crawl, I am taking a shower after breakfast. Maybe I can play on Lia’s sympathy and talk her into taking one with me. There are worse things in the world than having a beautiful woman wash your cock. If the twitching in that region is anything to go by, my cock completely agrees.

The kitchen seems miles away as I make my way slowly there. Lia is humming while scrambling enough eggs to feed an army. My stomach growls in response to the smell of food after days without it. I pull a stool out and slump in it. Damn, am I actually sweating just from that small amount of activity? I must look as washed out as I feel, because Lia turns, giving me a look filled with sympathy. “It’s almost ready. Do you want butter on your toast?” When I nod, she slathers it on several pieces before reaching up to get glasses out of the cabinet. Her shirt once again rides up, and I grit my teeth. It’s no myth; men are horny in the morning, and even sick, the urge to spread her out over this very counter I’m sitting at is strong. Instead, I push my throbbing cock down from where it seems to be trying to break out of the top of my lounge pants.

Lia puts a plate of perfectly-cooked eggs, toast, and bacon before me. She adds a tall glass of orange juice and a jar of strawberry jelly. In what is probably an embarrassing display of table manners, I attack the plate like a starving animal. When I’ve devoured everything in record time, she silently refills it. I grimace as I note her full plate. “Sorry about that; I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” Now that the empty feeling has been sated, I resume my breakfast at a more-leisurely pace. “What day is it?” Man, when was the last time I had to ask that? I wonder if she should be in class this morning instead of cooking for me.

“It’s Sunday. Sam brought you home on Friday evening while I was here cleaning up. Other than me waking you for medicine, fluids, and um…the bathroom, you slept right through until this morning.”

It’s unsettling to think of losing so much time. My last solid memories are of meetings with some of my development team in our New York office. I haven’t had the flu in years, and it completely kicked my ass. Sam had it last year and, truthfully, I’d wondered why it had taken him an entire week to recover. Hell, I understood now.

I look across the counter at Lia, taking in her beautifully mussed appearance. Her long blonde hair is in a lopsided ponytail on the top of her head…in a bread tie? Her face, devoid of makeup, is flawless. Her blue eyes sparkle, framed by thick lashes, and my shirt collar hangs off one side, exposing the creamy flesh of her shoulder. Most women I know would never be seen in front of a man in less-than-perfect condition, but Lia doesn’t act self-conscious at all; actually, she looks completely comfortable. After seeing me at my worst for the last few days, she probably figures it doesn’t really fucking matter anymore, and I like that. Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you for taking care of me. I…hope I didn’t ruin any plans you might have had.”

She takes a sip of her orange juice, seeming pleased by my words. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, and no, I didn’t have any plans. I usually spend the weekend studying, doing laundry, and visiting Debra if I have time.”

“No big parties? Isn’t that the best part of college?” I tease.

She shakes her head, and somehow I already know she isn’t a typical college student. “Nah, that’s not really my thing. I have gone to a few parties with Rose when she refused to take no for an answer, but I don’t enjoy that kind of thing. I’d rather curl up with a good book than watch a bunch of drunks making fools of themselves. I…didn’t have many friends growing up, so crowds kind of bother me.”

The pain that crosses her face is impossible to miss. I find myself wanting to comfort her, wanting to kill the fucker who put that look there. “Tell me about your life growing up, Lia. Were there good times for you?” She looks agitated, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to forget my question when she starts talking.

“Good times? No, there were none of those. There were moments that weren’t as bad as others. My real father was never in my life, and my mother spent her whole life reminding me of how I ruined everything for her. I don’t know why she didn’t just give me away; we would have both been better off.”

Dreading the answer, I ask, “Did she beat you?”

Lia shrugs her slim shoulders saying, “She smacked me around, slapped my face when she was angry, threatened me, insulted me. Just depended on her mood.”

“What about your stepfather? Did he hit you?” I already knew the bastard had scarred her back.

“He, um…threw things at me sometimes. Like beer cans, and he liked to slap my butt and insult me.”

“And he never raped you?” Even though I have asked her this before, I need to clarify it. She is tiny and would have been so easy for someone to take advantage of, especially a drunk bastard like her stepfather.

“No…I told you I took care of that.” She shuts her eyes, and I curse as a tear leaks out.

“How, baby? How did you stop him?” I ask softly.

She wipes her cheeks, turning her head away. “He was constantly insulting women who weren’t stick-thin. He rode my mother about her weight. He had…started making comments to me about my body and touching me in small ways at every opportunity. I knew what was coming unless I did something. So, I started to eat…to gorge, until I gained so much weight I barely recognized myself anymore. Kids at school made fun of me, but it worked. He was completely repulsed. I could handle all of his cruel jokes and insults if it meant he wouldn’t touch me in that way, and he didn’t. Eating myself half to death saved me. He and my mother sat around laughing, calling me every version of fat they could think of, but he wasn’t interested in…anything sexual with me. I saved myself.”

I drop my head into my hands, not wanting her to see how her story moves me. What girl that age has to come up with ways to make sure the people who are supposed to protect her don’t violate her instead? My lonely life growing up without my parents suddenly pales in comparison to what she has faced. “How about the burn? How did that happen?”

She shudders, and I feel like a bastard for making her talk about something so painful. “It was right before my mother kicked me out. They were fighting and I was doing the laundry. He was mad and drunk. I was using the iron when they came in and I set it down, trying to leave before they noticed me. He…somehow burnt his hand on it, and he was so mad. My mom ran out when he turned his attention to me.” A tear slips down her face as she continues. “He told me not to worry about him touching me, but that I needed something to remember who I belonged to. Co—Cows are branded by their owner. Oh, God, I just remember the smell, the awful smell. Then the pain; my whole body was on fire.”

“Fuck,” I spit out, so angry on her behalf that I want to rip someone’s head off. And now her cunt of a mother wants to put her daughter right back in the line of fire again? I’ve already got my lawyer looking into it; now I plan to have my investigator find out more about the fuckers who put a poor, innocent girl through Hell. I pick up her hand, stroking the soft skin. “How did you make it this far on your own, baby?”

She uses her other hand to wipe the moisture from her eyes before answering. “I applied to every college around during my last year of high school. I was offered a full scholarship to St. Claire’s and was just trying to make it at home until school started. I hadn’t really thought of all the other expenses outside of what was covered. When my mom kicked me out, I was lucky enough to meet Debra, who you spoke with on the phone, and get a job at a diner she owns. She and her boyfriend Martin helped me so much. I…worked there and lived in my car to save money for school.”

My stomach flops, and I feel bile rising as I gape at her. “You lived in your car? I thought you said they helped you. How is that help?” I know my voice is rising when she flinches away. I lower it, fighting for control. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Debra asked me to stay with her;” she says quietly, “but I…just didn’t trust anyone at that point. I had the car I had bought from her, and at least it was mine. I spent a lot of time at the library and the break room at work, so I wasn’t really living in the car. When school finally started, all my savings went so fast. Debra tried to loan me money, but again, I just couldn’t take it. My roommate told me about
Date Night
where she was working, and well…you know the rest.”

Indeed, I fucking do, and it makes me furious on her behalf all over again. I am stunned to know all she has gone through. It’s amazing she has made it to her last year in college, all on her own, after living in a fucking car. “Have you seen or heard from your mother since you left, or your stepfather?” She shakes her head slowly.

“No, I don’t know how they found me; I’ve been so careful to stay away from areas I know they frequent. St. Claire’s is miles away from where they live, and I’ve never known them to have any business around here.”