Sting (14 page)

“Who am I to deny a friend?” he mutters as he licks and sucks harder at my neck. His stubble causes a long, tortured moan to vibrate up my throat.

“I think we both know we’re not just friends now.”

Ryan chuckles and removes his fingers.
I want them back.
He moves and leans over me. With his knees either side of my hips and his fists beside my shoulders, he leans down and pecks at my lips.

“Well, it’s about time you started to talk some sense,” he says against my mouth.

I flatten my palms against his firm chest and press hard, almost as a warning. “We barely know each other.”

He traces his finger along my jawline. “Open your mouth,” he says.

I comply, and he probes a finger inside. My tongue wraps around his digit. He moves it slowly in and out and groans. The salty taste in my mouth, and knowing that it’s me, has me breathing heavy and ready to jump him. That, and the fact that this delicious man is toying with my body so expertly.

“You taste that?” he asks.

I’m not a prude—at least, I don’t think I am—but I have never tasted myself before. It shocks me, but I like it, particularly the way Ryan’s looking at me right now. Those chocolate pools of desire have never looked sexier.

“I’d say I know you pretty well. Wouldn’t you?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

He returns his hand between my legs, and teases me by pinching my swollen nub and curling his long fingers inside me.

I throw my head back. With one hand I grip a fistful of sheets, with the other I clutch at his bicep. “I’m going to come,” I gasp as the pressure builds to that point of no return.

“Not without me inside you. I wanna feel you.”

His touch disappears, then he turns and rummages through the drawer beside him. Something solid clunks inside.

“Damn,” he mutters. He slams the drawer and pulls open the next. “Oh, thank fuck,” he curses. He holds up a condom in triumph.

“I thought for a second things were gonna end badly. It’s been a while since I’ve had to think of this stuff.”

What, does that mean it’s been a while since he’s slept with someone? Or was his previous girlfriend on the pill or something? I want to know, but now is definitely not the time to ask. If I do ask him, there’ll be questions in return. I hate to lie, and I don’t want to have to lie to him.

“You want me to fuck you into that orgasm, Blondie, or do you wanna stare at my cock some more?”

I was staring?

“Um, the first?”

“You want me to fuck you then?”

When he says it like that, it’s so …
naughty
. No one has ever said it to me like that. There’s only been Jacob. He treated me like I was too delicate, and it was once in a blue moon that we had sex. I guess I was doing it wrong.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Say it, then. Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Huh?

“I don’t swear, Ryan. You should know this by now.”

My mother doesn’t swear. I was never one to swear, maybe the odd curse here or there, but I’d rarely say fuck, and as for the C-bomb, I’ll be happy to go to my grave having never said it. Mum always picked me up on saying rude words when I did. Refraining from swearing is acting like she’s here.

That’s why I don’t.

“It’s just us. Go on,” he dares.

I smirk and shake my head.

“I know you want to.”

I swallow hard as I watch him roll the condom down his rigid length. He spreads my legs wide and kneels between them, positioning himself at my entrance.

“Alright. I will, but only because you’re killing me here. If you breathe a word to—”

He thrusts deep inside me, halting my next words.

“Just between you and me. I swear,” he says, guiding himself in and out, torturing me.

“I want you to f … fuck me.”

He rubs his stubbled jaw against my cheek. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he rasps in my ear. “No need to swear.” He bites down on my lobe and I cry out. He chuckles against the nape of my neck.

The next thing I know, he’s off me and I’m flipped over. His hands grip my hips and I’m pulled against his thighs, his erection probing between my wet folds, the head rubbing against my swollen nub. He pushes my knees out further and I grab the bedhead in front of me to steady myself. He enters me, teasing me inch by heavenly inch, until I swear I can’t take anymore.

Grinding his hips into me, he trails a finger from the middle of my shoulder blades, creating a long line down my spine. Somehow, I become wet between my cheeks. Did he just spit?

He rubs what feels like the pad of his thumb over my puckered hole. I instantly tense up. No. He’s not going to … I’ve never done
that
before.

“Relax,” he says. The soft, soothing tone in his voice helps me to do just that.

In. Out. He slowly builds pace as he fills me over and over.

His thumb swirls with more pressure, and I cry out from the mix of pleasure and pain it brings as he probes inside and massages downwards, intensifying every sensation.

I slide a hand between my legs and pleasure myself, closing my eyes and absorbing the many sensations this man is granting my body.

“Rub it hard,” he orders. I increase pressure and quicken the movement of my hand. I’m so close now that the pleasure almost frightens me.

Ryan slams into me, driving deeper and moving faster. My boobs jiggle with each thrust.

“Oh God,” I cry out as strong ripples of pleasure shoot through me. My back entrance clamps down on his thumb and my inner walls squeeze his length as I come harder than I ever have in my life.

Ryan digs his fingers into my hips and thrusts hard. A guttural moan rumbles up his throat as he twitches inside me. “Oh, man,” he rasps. He pulls out and I collapse into a heap on my stomach. My legs no longer want to cooperate.

Ryan lays down beside me and takes my hand and holds it over his wild beating heart. “So remind me, how did this just happen? One minute I was—”

“You touched me in your sleep, so technically you started it.”

“I can’t be held responsible for shit I do when I’m snoozin’.”

“All I know is, I woke to you using my hand for your own personal pleasure. Don’t get me wrong; I fuckin love it.” He wraps his arm around me and kisses my cheek. “Blondie, you and your sweet body are gonna be the death of me.”

I laugh softly and nuzzle into his side. “I like it when you call me that,” I say as I swirl my fingers through the sprinkling of hair beneath his belly button.

“Blondie?”

“Yeah. No one else calls me that.”

“Really?”

“I haven’t always been blonde.”

“What colour are you naturally?”

“I’ve been a brunette most of my life, until I came here.”

“I can’t imagine you darker, but I know you’d look beautiful either way. Have you got any photos of you with darker hair?”

Sugar.
The last of those were with Jacob, and I burnt every last one of them.

“If I find one I’ll be sure to show you.”

“Well, no matter what the colour, you’ll always be Blondie to me.”

Too sweet.
“Alright. Now this time I’m sleeping, ’kay?” he says quietly.

“Okay, me too.”

I close my eyes and let sleep take me.

****

The tall man in the grey suit opens the door to the apartment. I watch him from around the corner of the hallway as he takes hold of a bunch of wilted red roses. He slams the door and deadbolts it, signalling with a chin lift for the female agent to join him. The colour drains from his cheeks, his deadpan expression causing an assault of unwanted goosebumps over my skin.

He always bought me red roses.

He slams the dead flowers on the table and yanks the card from the bent stems. His beady eyes scan over it, and then he pulls a phone from his pocket and barks something about a breach of security.

He found me. I swallow down to suppress the compelling urge to vomit. I find my feet and storm towards the two agents.

“What is it? Show me,” I demand.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Angel. You need to take yourself to the back room. NOW.”

“No, show me.” I dart around him and snatch the card from his hand, then run into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

Just like today, I’ll find you again, Angel. It’s not a matter of if, but when. When I do, you’ll wish you’d kept your pretty mouth shut. The last word you mutter will be begging me for mercy, and you can rest assured that anyone who gets close to you will also bear the brunt of my wrath.

I need to get out. He knows I’m here.

I open the curtains and am faced with the grim reality of metal bars on the other side of the glass. I might as well be in prison. I bash my fist against the window frame, drawing blood. Tears stream relentlessly down my face as my body wracks with painful sobs.

The door swings wide. The female agent with flaming-red hair stalks to my side, casting a shadow over me.

“You told me I’d be safe,” I scream.

A vision of chocolate-brown eyes flashes before my eyes.

Ryan.

A loud crash comes from the other room, and there are gunshots and a chilling male voice which only days before screamed my name across the courtroom.

Jacob stalks into the room, none too fazed with the commotion. His short raven-black hair is as perfect as the cut of his pin-striped charcoal suit. Two large men dressed in black drag Ryan into the room, gagged, his hands tied behind his back.

They make him kneel in front of me and press the barrel against his temple.

****

I wake with a jolt and gasp for breath. My heart pounds so hard that my pulse beats in my ears. Each terrifying gulp of air brings me out of my dream.

In. Out. In. Out. I take slow measured breaths.

I peel the damp sheet from my chest, and brush the matted hair from my forehead.

He found me once; he’ll do it again.

It’s the same horrid dream, except now with a new twist.
Ryan.

This nightmare is a reminder. I’m still in danger.

No one close to me is safe.

I sneak out of bed and put my clothes on. I have to leave. The fear of losing Ryan, the gravity of this situation becomes real. I’ve opened myself up to someone. I’m putting Ryan’s life at risk.

Face-down, Ryan’s breaths are slow and shallow.

Blurry eyed, I rush out of his apartment and drive home.

Once inside my house I check all the doors and windows, making sure it’s locked up like Fort Knox.

I undress, and turn on the hot water. I can smell him on me. My muscles ache, knowing where he’s been. Ryan made my body sing in ways I’ve only dreamt of. He gave me hope to have some kind of normal.

Is it selfish that I don’t want to walk away? That I’m toying with the fact that I want something with Ryan, despite the risks?

I moved to the other side of Australia. Without leaving the country, I couldn’t get further enough away from my past. I can only hope it’s far enough.

I get dressed in fresh clothes for work and make myself a coffee. I mindlessly flip through a magazine, but don’t take anything in. I need to keep busy for another hour, and then I can go into work.

It’s five a.m. I should be sleeping, but the threat of another nightmare consumes me.

It might be time for
Sweet Home Alabama
again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RYAN

I silence the alarm on my phone after getting the fright of my life. My body is hurting after working yesterday, but my dick is rejoicing. The last thing I want to do today is work, especially when I’m hard as a hammer, and I’ve got a naked cutie in my bed. I’ve got an hour to get my shit together and get down to the docks. Enough time to do what I’ve got in mind.

I reach over to pull her warm body against me. I’m only met with a tangle of cool sheets.

“Willow?” I call out and flick on the bedside light.

I scan the room. There’s no sign of her. No clothes strewn on the floor. The apartment is deadly silent. I get up and palm my boner as I walk past the open bathroom door and through to the kitchen. Not so much as even a note. If she had to leave that badly she could have at least said goodbye. I wouldn’t have given a fuck if she woke me up.

Well, this is a first.

No woman has ever run from my bed. Sure I’ve had to nudge a few out, but never has one packed up and left in the middle of the night. I must have been dead to the world to not hear her. I guess we had worn each other out.

The time on my phone reads 5.10 am. Would she be at the café already or at home getting sorted? I hope she’s okay. The sex last night was mind-blowing.

As I get out of the shower, my phone rings. I run to the bedroom and scramble to answer it.

Mick.

“Hey, man,” I grunt.

“You on your way, Palmer?” he barks. Geez, chill the fuck out. I’m not due for an hour.

“Not yet.”
Because I was thinking of paying Blondie a visit.

“Hurry. We’ve got movement down here.”

Shit
.

I scramble in my drawers for some clothes. “I’m on my way.”

****

WILLOW

“You frightened the bejesus out of me,” Gabs says, clutching at her chest.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“I told you I’d come in early today, seeing’s you worked your arse off yesterday. Did you forget?”

I nod. Yep. I plain forgot.

“No harm done. I’ll make us a coffee to wake us up. We’ll be prepped in no time with the two of us.”

Over the next hour, I focus on the café floor and the fridges while Gabs is in the kitchen making the rolls and salads.

I was excited as anything last night to tell her about Ryan and I, but now I’m stalling. With no one around, I’ve had ample opportunity to tell her. I guess I’m used to holding things back.

I shakily pour a leaf pattern in the flat white and slide the cup towards Gabs to take to our first customer for the day.