Seth (Damage Control #3) (18 page)

Yeah, I needed some downtime to lick my wounds and discreetly beat my head against the fucking wall.

Somehow, with the sinkhole my life has become and the news of my mom returning from the grave, you’d think driving Manon away would be the least of my worries.

Well, it fucking ain’t. It’s killing me. It’s a fucking huge hole in my chest that won’t let me eat or sleep or think straight. Between beating myself up and remembering how she felt, how she looked, how she sounded, well… It’s a miracle I’m still sane.

Now if only Jesse would just fucking go… He’s been sitting here for well over an hour, trying to get me to go out with him for a bite and to talk, and neither is on today’s list. Especially not the
talking
part.

At least he’s brought me my walking stick.

“Come on, man.” He gives me his best puppy-eyes impression. “You can talk to me. You’re the only one who believed me back when everyone thought I’d cheated on Amber. You stood by me. Let me do the same for you.”

“I appreciate it, bro,” I tell him and mean it. “There’s nothing to talk about, though.”

“Don’t lie to me, Seth. Rafe said your mom’s back and asking you to pay her bail. Said you refused. Said your leg was broken—your other leg, dammit, the good leg—years ago, and you won’t tell him anything about it. And you lost your job because of the beating—a beating you took because of me! Fucking hell.”

Jesus.
“This isn’t on you, J. None of it is.”

“So you say. I know you wouldn’t have been in bed with a broken leg for two months if you hadn’t been there with me.”

Fuck. Guess I’m not the only one beating myself up.

“I’m the one who took you out for drinks that fucking night,” I remind him. “If anything, I’m the reason all of it happened.”

But at least for Jesse it ended well. His girl found him, they talked, realized they were good and got their happy ending.

Unlike me.

Yeah, okay, stop whining, Seffers. Just fucking stop.

“How come you haven’t found a job yet?” Jesse goes on, oblivious. “Anything I can do? I could ask around.”

“That’d be great,” I mutter, wondering why my eyes feel hot. I’m really off my game these days. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Sure. And at least let me get some food into you,” Jesse mutters. “You look like roadkill.”

Yeah, I really have to look like shit for Jesse to insist so much.

“Nah, I’m good. Really. I ate late.” As lies go, it’s not a big one, and yet I feel bad for lying to Jesse, of all people. He doesn’t lie, ever. It’s a matter of principle with him. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight.”

He finally takes the hint and gets up. “Okay, sure thing. I’ll leave you to it. Just…” He rubs at the crease between his brows. “I’m here, buddy, you know that, right? For anything you need. Anything that’s been bothering you. Fuck, I won’t judge. You’re my best friend. Let me help in any way I can.”

“Gotcha, man. Thanks.”

Jeez, my eyes do that burning thing again. Need to get them looked at.

But he’s wrong. He can’t help me. He’ll turn his back when he finds out the truth, like everyone who ever did. He thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t.

See, he was saved, and when you’ve been saved, you think you can save everyone else, too. God, I wish that were true.

We do our fist-bumping, back-thumping thing, and he’s on his way, leaving me alone again in my apartment.

The apartment I can’t afford. The roof I thought was solid until the world started caving in once more.

When the doorbell rings, I open the door automatically, prepared to tell Jesse to go to hell, if that’s the only way to get rid of him tonight.

Should’ve known by now life likes to spring surprises on me just to see me jump out of my fucking skin.

“Manon?” I whisper, my voice choked.
What the fuck?

“Does your offer still stand?” she asks, and that’s when I notice her eyes are red-rimmed and wet.

Oh shit.

I don’t ask what offer she’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. Whatever she needs, I’ll fucking give to her.

I haul her inside, pull her into my arms and let her cry.

***

Somehow we end up on the sofa, curled up together, my arms full of sobbing girl and my T-shirt wet with tears and snot. She’s clinging to me as if she’s drowning, and I won’t let her. I know what it’s like to hit rock-bottom, and nobody should have to do it alone.

I rock her a little, kiss her hair.

Fuck, I told myself I wouldn’t do this again, I wouldn’t set myself up for another soul-crushing disappointment by letting her inside.

Yet here I am. Stupid or not, there’s no other place in the world I’d rather be right now and that, right there, tells you all you need to know about how I feel.

How I fucking
ache
for this girl.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her quietly, rocking her in my arms. “How can I help?”

“Hold me,” she whispers, and I tighten my grip on her, as if she’s made of mist and will vanish the moment I let go.

“I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”

“I want you to show me.”

“Show you?” What the hell is she talking about?

“You said you would.” She’s a soft, warm weight on my legs, on my chest. Her hair has come loose and is spilling like silk over my arms. “Christ, it’s as if I’m just not good enough. For anyone.”

“What the hell are you saying?” I pull her to me, a fierce embrace. She’s mine, and someone hurt her. I’ll kill the motherfucker. “Who told you such things?”

“Nobody did. But I know it.” Her voice cracks. “Mom left when I was little, didn’t take me with her, and Dad wasn’t there often. Said it was his job to travel, playing in concerts, but… I know, all right? When I’m not enough.”

“Shh, don’t say such things.” My heart is pounding. I know too fucking well what she’s talking about. “That doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.”

“And then the dance school cut me loose, and then Fred just…” She shivers.

“He’s a douchebag,” I growl. I don’t know what he did to her this time, what little assholery he cooked up to make her think so low of herself, but now I know what she’s been asking me ever since she came inside. “And I
will
show you. I’ll show you what you deserve. What a man should do for you. Because you’re so fucking beautiful, Manon, and you deserve the best. Give me one week to show you everything.”

Even if it breaks me to pieces when you’re feeling better and leave again.

***

I wake up some time in the early hours, stretched out on the sofa, a girl half-sprawled over me, smelling of sugar and vanilla, the bare skin of her shoulder soft under my hand.

It all comes back to me, bit by bit. Her appearance at my door last night, her tears, her request.

Manon.

Done it again, Seffers, boy.

She feels nothing for you. She’ll take what you give her and move on.

And so the fuck what? Not like I expected more. Not from a girl like her. I bet she’ll soon get over this Freddy and find someone real good for her—someone rich and safe and
sane
, in full contrast to me. Someone who isn’t me—a bum just off the street, with Native blood, tats and an attitude.

Someone without a criminal record. With a job. With knowledge of all the things she likes—ballet, music, art.

All I have are my sketches, and why would she care about those?

The gray dawn light coming in from the window outlines her form in silver. The soft roundness of her cheeks, her small chin, the wide arcs of her dark brows, her long lashes casting long shadows. A dark valley runs down between her tits, their softness ready to spill from her cleavage.

Fuck, I’m hard between our bodies, my dick a steel rod trying to push out of my sweats. She’s so sexy.

I’d draw her. I’d take photos of her. Sculpt her, paint her—hold her, kiss her, touch her until I’ve mapped every inch of her smooth skin.

Shifting helplessly against her, I hiss out in pleasure. My dick throbs, pressed between her belly and mine. I want her so much it hurts. I stroke my hand down her arm, and she buries her face in my shoulder and tightens her hold on me. Her dress hikes higher as she moves her leg over mine, rubbing against me.

Rubbing against my cock and balls, sending bolts of crazy need deep into me.

Shit.
I throw my head back, press my lips together and struggle to keep back a moan, to keep from rutting against her until I come.

Christ.

Then again… I lift my head, look down at her. I’m her boyfriend now, right? Her pretend boyfriend, whatever. I’m down with that. The one who’s gonna show her what it’s really like, having a boyfriend who cares about her, about her pleasure, about her body, about her everything.

Which includes sex. Definitely includes sex, and waking her up with pleasure is part and parcel of it.

Right?
I never had a real girlfriend, either. Prison and homelessness don’t exactly lend themselves to relationships. I’m not boyfriend material, despite my claims, but I’d do anything to try it with her.

Hey, I know how it
should
be. What couples do. I’ve watched the people around me. And I’ve read tons of romance novels while recovering from my injuries.
Tons.
Swear to God.

That should help, right?

As for sex… I’ve had my fair share of that, so at least there I’m on solid ground.

Still my heart hammers fit to burst through my ribcage as I stroke her hair back from her face and tangle my legs with her, so I can roll over her on the couch. She wakes up, then, face scrunching up as I lay her on her back.

She’s still wearing those old-fashioned black pumps, and I caress the length of her legs upward, from her slim ankles, past her knees, under the flared skirt of her dress to reach her panties.

“Seth?” Her voice is smoky with sleep, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth slack. She’s goddamn perfect, and the hot wave of desire that rolls through me threatens to take me under. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you.” I tug on the lacy material with more gentleness than I thought possible, the way my body is arching toward her, impatient to find her. Giving her a chance to stop this before it starts. “If you still want me to.”

Say yes. Fuck, please say yes.

“Kiss me,” she says instead, and I take that as a yes anyway as I stretch on top of her, pressing between her legs, moaning when her lips part under mine and her tongue meets mine boldly.

Fuck. Oh God.
No girl has even turned me on as much as this one. Every part of my body clenches with need. I brace my hands on either side of her face and lick her mouth, her sweet taste setting my blood on fire. Her hands slide under my T-shirt, over my abs, up to my pecs, and her legs fall open, her hips rise to meet mine.

Okay, I won’t fucking last, not like this. Can’t help moving, dragging my hard-on along her seam, and despite the barrier of our clothes, sparks of pleasure fly up my spine.

I break the kiss and arch back, press down on my dick with the heel of my hand to ease the pressure.

“You okay?” she whispers, eyes wide and dark.

“Yeah. Too close.” I grin up at her. “Want you too much. See what you do to me?”

Her gaze dips down to my hard-on, and her eyes widen even more.

Yeah, baby. All for you.

As if my thoughts call to her, she slips her hands over my sweats to cup me through the cloth.

My brain short-circuits and I jerk, heat pooling inside me, spreading like liquid fire. “Wait. Dammit, wait.”

I grip her hand, move it away, struggle to catch my breath and stop the orgasm building behind my balls, inside my dick, rising like a storm about to hit.

About to turn me inside out.

Her hand twitches in mine. Her eyes flare with darkness. “Seth…”

“I’m gonna undress you now,” I whisper, focusing on her, lifting her captured arm and pressing it down by her head. “Take off your pretty shoes, your pretty dress, your pretty bra and panties. Then I will look at you until I can remember every inch of you when I’m alone at night, every curve and every freckle and mole. And then I will kiss you, lick you and touch you everywhere, until you remember
me
every time you close your eyes and shiver.”

She does shiver, then, her nipples peeking through her bra and dress, her hand curling into a fist, tensing in my grip. She sits up a little, leaning back against the cushions.

Without another word, I release her wrist and reach for the small buttons running down the front of her dress. I pop them one by one, tearing two off with my clumsy, big fingers. Damn tiny buttons. Growling, I shove the material apart and…

Fuck, she’s perfect. The lacy black bra cups her tits, pushing them up, toward me, teasing me. Tempting me.

Can hardly believe I’m allowed to fucking touch this time, whatever the price. I run my thumbs over the plump flesh, so satiny soft, and then down, over the scratchy lace, tracing the peaks of her nipples—hard and straining under my touch.

Bending over her, I mouth them through the lace, loving how they tighten more, how her hands find their way to my head and her fingers tug at my short hair.

How she moans my name.

Hell, I’ll show her all right. Show her all I have, all I could fucking
be
for her. All I could give her, if things were different.

How I’d make her mine.

***

Her bra is pretty, but it has to go. I slip my arms behind her back, searching for the mysterious, hidden clasp, and then make my fingers bleed by trying to open it.

Then it comes apart and I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of her, exposed to me like this, her tits round and golden, the nipples dark. I run my hands down her body, parting the dress, and hell, she’s a goddamn wet dream.

I bend over her, licking and tasting, teasing her nipples until she moans and writhes underneath me. She tastes like she smells—of vanilla cream and almonds. Looks like I have a sweet tooth, I think randomly as I lightly bite her nipple and she squeals. Definitely.

Fuck, I need to come. Need to come inside her, mark her, fill her. Take her.

Shuddering, so damn hard my dick could drill through a wall, I kiss a trail between her breasts, down her quivering belly, down, down, until I can rip her panties off and settle between her legs, winking up at her.