Trading Down (Winner Takes All, #1) (3 page)

She drove at little more than walking pace, or that’s how it felt, leaning forward to peer through the rain-slicked windshield. Great gusts of wind repeatedly rocked the little automobile from side to side, and at any moment might easily flip them right over.

The woods gave them a bit of shelter, and the rough track up to Cassie’s cabin was the fastest part of the journey. When they pulled up, Cassie sat back, heaved a big sigh, and said, “Well that was sure the longest mile and a half I’ve ever driven. Hell, I bet you’re not used to traveling in this kind of luxury, are you?”

§

They ran from the car, hand in hand, through the torrent of egg-sized raindrops. Cassie found the lock, got her key in first time, and then they were tumbling into the cabin, the door slamming shut behind them of its own accord.

Neither of them noticed the way the window shutters heaved and slammed in the wind. Or the water running down the inside of the front door. They weren’t aware of the creaking and groaning noises as the whole cabin appeared to shift on its foundations under the onslaught of the gale. Or the steady drip drip drip of water falling from the inside of the corrugated metal roof, where Cassie had already placed buckets – old leaks, as reliable as Bub and Finn.

Forcing Cassie back against the cold wall, Denny buried that hand in her hair again, held her head so he could kiss her, hard and greedily.

His thigh ground between her legs, lifting her feet off the ground as he pushed against her.

His free hand supported her hip, then shifted down to her ass, a tight, hard grip, squeezing and kneading.

Her t-shirt was soaked through and when he moved a hand to pull at it the fabric stretched, and then something gave and it ripped all the way up the front, exposing her flat white belly, the sapphire stud in her navel, the black lace of her bra.

His head dipped, working down her neck as that hand still buried in her hair tugged her head sharply back. Down and along her collarbone, across the swell of her breasts, and then his tongue traced the center-line of her cleavage until it encountered lace. Tugging at the cup of her bra, he exposed more of one breast, and swept across it with his tongue until he found the hard little button of the nipple.

As his tongue circled and flicked, biting and gently pulling that nipple between his teeth as he flicked it with his tongue, she felt a pleasure like the one she had felt earlier, a heat in her belly, a new tension of the muscles. As he worked that nipple in his mouth his hands moved down, found the fastenings of that little black skirt once again and tugged it clear.

She wanted to rip his shirt open, expose him, but she doubted she had the strength and, in any case, if all he owned was what he had with him then this was his only shirt. That thought reminded her that this man was trouble, and then she found the top button, undid it and felt chest hair against her knuckles as she slid her hands down further to find the next one.

Half the buttons undone, she paused to slip a hand in, find the bulge of his pecs, the hardness of a nipple. She flicked at it with a long thumbnail, then she slid her hand down the front of his shirt again and found the next button, the next, the next.

Pulling his shirt back, she pushed his head away from her breast so she could drop her head to his chest and kiss that tiny, hard nipple, running her tongue in delicate circles around it, across it. And all the time, her hands worked lower until they found his belt and released it, found the top button of his pants, the zipper.

She had to drop to her knees so she could peel those rain-soaked pants down across his hips, his thighs, his calves and then free, and now, when she came to his shorts, and pulled at them, his manhood sprang free towards her face.

She caught it in her mouth, a reflex move like a snake strike. So hard and long! She wrapped one hand around the base and took him deep, keeping her mouth clamped tight so she had to force him in through hard lips.

She hesitated for a moment to look up, and make eye contact... so intense! And then – still eyes-locked with this man, this dangerous stranger – she pulled back, her mouth still tight around him, pressing her tongue hard against the underside of his shaft so that her tongue-stud dragged along it as she withdrew. Pausing, she swirled her tongue around the swollen head of his shaft, alternating between that swirling and flicking it with the tongue-stud. Then she started to bob her head fast, her clasped hand matching that rhythm, that speed.

Soon, her jaw was aching from holding her mouth so wide to accommodate him. But then, just as the ache was threatening to become too much, his response changed and he started to thrust against her, matching the rhythm of her bobbing head.

He must be close... There was a tension in his body now, a tightness to the way he moved, the way he thrust deep into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat and she had to swallow against him.

So close...

She felt it in her hand first, a swelling of that hard shaft, a throbbing and...

Strong hands closed around her wrists, holding her still and then disentangling her and pulling her hands away from him... the hand that had been pumping around his shaft, the hand that had been cupping his balls, the middle finger pressing up firmly behind them to tease that sensitive area between balls and ass.

He pulled away, then lowered himself until they were both kneeling. Still holding her wrists in that strong grip, he pinned her arms above her head, back against the wall. He kissed her, then, and their bodies came together. The base of his shaft ground against her mound through the wet fabric of her thong, and the swollen head was against her bare belly, skin on skin, sliding up and around the stud in her navel as they started to move together.

He turned her, guiding her down so she came to lie on the cold, wood floor. Such strength in the way he manhandled her body like that!

Still gripping her wrists, he was above her now, on top of her, his legs forcing hers apart. He came to lie with his balls against her soft heat and the length of his shaft along the flimsy fabric of her thong and up beyond that belly stud. He was hard and wet as he started to slide against her, and she arched her back so that she could push up to meet him.

There was an urgency in her body, in her head, as she pushed up to meet him, grinding herself against that hardness. That almost painful grip on her wrists, the hardness of his body, the way his chest squashed her breasts as he ground down, and that hard grinding against her sex, only the lace of her thong between them.

He shifted his grip, so that he held both her wrists in one hand... then he reached down and tugged her panties aside that he could guide himself to press against her wetness. Now, each thrust took that swollen head sliding over her clit, the length of his shaft grinding against her wet folds, his balls coming to rest with each thrust up against her soft opening.

When he shifted position again he was pressing at her, teasing and parting her with the head of his dick, dipping in and out in shallow movements that grew tantalizingly deeper with each thrust, until suddenly she was taking the full length of him, hard and fast.

That was when it all became one, when, with a rush of her senses, she became aware of the heaving and groaning of her little cabin as the storm battered at it, the sounds all melding together as this man, this dangerous stranger, drew himself away and then drove his full length deep inside her, again and again.

When you’re with someone for the first time, sometimes the climax comes as a surprise. When the time is close everyone has their signals, their shows, but that first time you haven’t yet learned the language of your new lover.

Denny didn’t speak in code or insinuation.

He groaned, loud, and suddenly a new tension took over his body.

His grip on her wrists tightened, a new pain that somehow mixed with the other sensations in her body, heightening everything.

That tension intensified as he thrust deep and held himself there, pausing to soak up the responses from
her
... the tightenings, the pushing.

And as he held himself there, she felt those tightenings grow more intense and she knew it was going to happen again, if only...

She struggled against his stillness, and he squeezed her wrists even tighter, hurting her, controlling her, then she felt that tension in her belly transforming, shifting, moving downwards... a tightening around his shaft, deep inside her... a clenching of her muscles as his body jerked and, deep inside her, he throbbed and pulsed in response.

And then, as a sudden hot, liquid explosion filled her, her entire body bucked against him, tightening on him, gripping him deep, and she was taken over by the most intense orgasm she had ever known.

S
lumped together, Cassie became aware again of just how hard and cold that stripped-wood flooring was. Aware, too, of the sounds of the storm outside: the relentless drumming of rain on the metal roof, the creaking of the cabin, the drip-dripping of the various leaks into strategically-placed buckets, the rushing, swirling sound of the wind in the pine trees.

She shifted slightly, uncomfortable now, her lover’s body like a dead weight on top of her.

Had he fallen asleep already? Just how long had he been awake before now?

He grunted in response to her movement, took his weight on hands and knees, and then there was that sudden emptiness as his limp penis flopped out of her, leaving a wet trail along one thigh.

Extricating herself, she stood, adjusting her thong just as his juices started to escape.

She needed to freshen up.

She’d lost track of how many bourbons they’d shared back at Lou’s, particularly once the two families from Bangor had left. She remembered the dirty look from Lou when he’d looked out from the kitchen and it was only Cassie and Denny, talking and laughing over half-empty glasses and that empty bottle of Knob Creek.

Denny had paid with another hundred dollar bill, more than enough to set Lou’s mind at rest, if only he’d been willing to concentrate on facts and figures, and not focus his efforts on the disapproving.

Now, kettle coming to the boil, decaff Columbian in the pot, the wind still heaving at the rickety cabin, and he finally started to stir. Anyone who could sleep more than a minute or two on that cold, hard floor must be in serious need of some sleep.

“Coffee?” she asked. “It’s decaff. Finest kind.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be grand,” he said. “Another first for me.”

“‘Another’?”

She leaned against a wall, arms folded, and looked down at him. Almost the whole cabin was a single, open-plan room, save for one corner walled off as a bedroom, and a corner of that walled off as a shower room.

He rolled over to a sitting position, arms hugging his knees up to his chest.

“Lots of first for me, these last few days,” he said. “Lost close to ten million dollars. Lost my girl, and my best friend. Got involved with all kind of low-lifes and ended up owing them far too much money that I didn’t have any more. I’m really not much of a catch, right now.”

“Any other firsts?”

She was fishing for compliments, but he missed his cue. Instead, he said, “Leave the place I’ve lived the past ten years. End up walking the highway in a wicked bad storm, walking into places I’ve never been before, drinking drinks I’ve never drunk. And then... decaff.”

He paused and looked around the interior of the cabin. She’d done her best with it, these past two years, but there’s a limit to what you can do with a tumble-down logger’s cabin in the ass-end of Maine, short of knocking it down and building something nice.

His look said it all. It said too much. It said–

“A one-night stand with a cheap waitress? That another first for you and your big-shot ways?”

For all the storm outside, there was a greater chill indoors all of a sudden.

“I...”

She just looked at him. She wasn’t sure if she’d been teasing or serious, not sure of just how close to the truth she’d scratched.

“Gimme a break, would you?” That smile, that twinkle.

That instant reaction of realizing you’ve forgiven him just about anything and then pausing to work out if you really have, just for a smile.

She poured the coffee into two tin mugs and took them over to the sofa. “You going to get your skinny ass off that floor before you freeze to it?” Then a dig: “This is as good as it gets out here with us Maineiacs. You’d better get used to it.”

§

But much as she tried to pass it off with a joke, his comments were like barbs. He’d been unguarded, briefly. He’d shown just how low he’d sunk, from what he was used to, and he’d given away how he felt about that.

He was trading down, and while he was clearly prepared to take what he could, he didn’t like it.

And that brought home to Cassie just how low
she
had sunk, too. She remembered his eyes exploring her body as they drank and flirted in the bar, his fascination with the tats on her arm, the piercings. She was his trailer-trash, literally any port in a storm.

Another first for him.

She didn’t like how that made her feel.

Worse, she didn’t like that she wanted more, even so. He was
her
port in a storm, too. A warm, hard body to cling onto in the depth of the night, as the storm that didn’t seem to want to ever end continued to batter the cabin and the trees all around.

They sat on the sofa and struggled to make small talk, where before at the bar it had been so easy, so fun. Maybe it was that after-sex thing, the clarity when your senses aren’t smothered by need and desire and you have to communicate in a whole different language. Better that than the realization that this was just an awkward stopping off point for both of them.

Eventually, it was time to call it a day. It had been late when they locked up at Pappy’s and now it was close to two in the morning and the storm was still blowing.

“You going to stay?” she asked, and it came out a bit more abruptly than she’d intended.

He nodded. “If that’s okay? I could...” he gestured towards the sofa, suddenly the gentleman.