Читать книгу The Dare Collection January 2019 - J.C. Harroway - Страница 26

SHE WAS STRETCHED out beneath me, blindfolded. All naked golden curves and pain.

That pain was like a knife in my goddamned soul.

The tears leaked from underneath her blindfold, running down her cheeks and her neck, pooling at the base of her throat.

She thought she’d been the one to push her father over the edge.

She thought she’d been the one who’d killed him.

It wasn’t her. It was you.

The truth, that was what I had to tell her. The truth in all its ugly glory.

Except how could I do that now? I’d been trying to show her that she could trust me, that she didn’t have to fight me. That right now she was mine and I would care for her, protect her. Heal her if I could.

And she was wounded. So terribly wounded. Punishing herself for something that had never been her fault.

But telling her the truth might wound her even more and I couldn’t do that. It seemed like maybe some things were more important than total honesty.

So I didn’t say a word.

I leaned down, putting my hands on either side of her head, and I brushed my lips over hers then moved lower, kissing away the tears on her cheeks and along her jaw. Trailing down to her throat I tasted salt.

I gave her back sweetness. I gave her back warmth.

I gave her back kindness and caring and all the things she should have had as an angry, hurt little girl, that no one had given her. That she felt she hadn’t deserved.

She shuddered beneath my mouth, her hands lifting to my shoulders, trying to push me away, but I didn’t let her. Instead I took her hands in mine and turned them over, kissing her palms.

She gave a gasp, her body going taut, and I waited.

If she wanted to stop me, she knew what she had to do.

‘Xander...’ My name was a broken whisper. ‘Xander...don’t...’

But I ignored her. I laid her hands back down at her sides and I bent again, kissing my way down her body, inhaling the sweet scent of her, now tinged with the musk of her arousal and the salt from her tears.

‘You didn’t kill your father,’ I murmured, giving her this truth at least. ‘It wasn’t your fault. That was his choice. And it was the wrong one. He shouldn’t have done it, Poppy. He shouldn’t have taken himself from you.’

She gave a hiccupping sob, flinging her arm over her face again, even though she was already wearing a blindfold.

‘And if you’re a mistake then you’re the most perfect mistake I’ve ever seen.’ I stroked her, kissed her. Traced every line of her with my fingers and my mouth, not even questioning the urge, just going with it. I sensed that this was what she needed and so I gave it to her.

‘I’m a terrible person,’ she whispered in a cracked voice at last. ‘I treated you so badly. And it’s not Mum’s fault she is the way she is. If she’d never had me, everything would have been different.’

I put my fingers across her mouth, silencing her. ‘If she’d never had you, I would never have met you. And sure, my life would have been easier, but then I would have never got to touch you. Kiss you. I would never have been inside you.’ I let my fingers trail between her thighs, over that sweet, soft, hot little pussy. ‘I would never had known how it felt to have you touch me. To have your sympathy and your passion. Your caring. And I would have been poorer for that too.’

‘Stop it,’ she choked out. ‘Stop saying those things.’

But I didn’t stop. ‘You’re not my fuck toy tonight, Poppy.’ I stroked her inner thighs, spreading them gently apart, exposing the heart of her. ‘Tonight you’re my princess.’

She shuddered as I trailed my mouth up her thighs, then shuddered again as I brushed my lips over her pussy, kissing her there too. Then, using my fingers to spread her further, I explored her with my tongue. I tasted the tart sweetness of her, the sugar and spice that was her flavour.

I kept things gentle, light. There would be nothing hard tonight. It wasn’t the time for roughness.

I wanted her to trust me. I wanted her to know that, whatever was happening between us, I would never hurt her. That I was on her side.

Because she needed someone and I wanted to be that someone.

I didn’t ask myself why I wanted that; I just knew I did.

Sometimes the why didn’t matter.

All that did was that she knew I was there.

I nudged her thighs over my shoulders, tasting her even deeper, using my fingers to play with her clit and give her more pleasure. And this time I didn’t withhold her orgasm from her. I built it up and built it up, letting the sounds of her breathing and the tightness of her muscles tell me how close she was. Then I let it explode through her so that her back arched and she lifted her hips against my mouth, her whole body shaking, her sobs echoing through the apartment.

Then I did it again, touching her, stroking her, building up that pleasure for her, higher, hotter, until she was crying out in my arms. Until she was writhing as I sucked on her tight little nipples. Until she was moaning as I moved down to her clit once more and teased that with my tongue, my fingers gently exploring her soaking wet pussy.

Until she was shaking and gasping as I brought her to another orgasm.

I gathered her in my arms after that, ignoring the fact that my cock was so hard it hurt. This wasn’t about me, not this time. This was about her, about what she needed. And she needed pleasure and care and softness. She needed gentleness.

She needed somewhere where she felt safe, where she didn’t have to fight all the time. Where she could let her guard down.

I wanted that place to be in my arms.

She cried for a while after that, her face—still with the blindfold on—pressed to my chest and I held her, stroking her hair and soothing her.

And even when her sobs had settled into silence I continued to stroke her, keeping things undemanding, not speaking. Just letting the silence sit there.

I gave it another couple of minutes after that, then I undid the fabric of her blindfold and pulled it away from her face.

Her cheeks were a dusky pink and shiny with tears, her eyes red-rimmed, and I expected her to hide from me again. But she didn’t.

‘Why?’ she asked thickly, staring up at me. ‘Why did you do that?’

I reached out, pulled my fingers through her thick black curls. ‘Because you deserve more than punishment. And because you need someone to trust. And I know what it’s like to have no one.’

‘How can you know that? You have your brothers.’

‘I didn’t have them all the time. It’s only been in the last ten years or so that we became close. Even when we were young, Dad kept me away from them.’ I let the silky strands of her hair sift through my fingers. ‘I wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone. My mother died when I was young and so the only person I had was him.’ I hesitated then said, ‘And you’re right. It was lonely. I was lonely. And I wish you could have trusted me then. But I understand why you didn’t.’ I looked down at her, letting her see the truth in my eyes. ‘And I want you to know that you can trust me now.’

She swallowed and her lashes came down, tears glittering on the ends of them. Then she put her cheek against my chest and settled against me. ‘I hate you just a little bit.’

Something inside me ached and I tightened my arms around her.

You can’t let her go. Not now.

‘I know,’ I said aloud, both to her and to the voice inside my head. ‘I would tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not.’

There was silence.

‘I’m not sorry either.’ Her fingers moved on my skin and I felt her thigh shift against mine, brushing my painfully hard cock. ‘Oh. You didn’t—’

‘No. And before you say anything, I don’t want you to take care of it. All of that was for you.’

Another silence.

Then she tipped her head up, her copper eyes meeting mine. ‘You do all this stuff for me. But what do I give you?’

‘You don’t have to give me anything. This isn’t a transaction.’ Such a strange thing to think, when I was all about transactions. When all I wanted was to find that money and give it back to her, pay back my debt. But it was true; I felt the certainty of it deep inside me. ‘I want to take care of you,’ I said. ‘And there’s no requirement that you give me anything in return.’

She stared at me like she didn’t believe me. ‘But what if I want to give you something?’

‘You don’t have to—’

This time it was her finger that pressed over my mouth, silencing me. ‘I don’t have a lot to give anyone, Xander. But I want to give something to you.’

‘Poppy,’ I began.

But her finger fell away and her hand curled around my neck, and she tugged me down so that my lips were on hers, giving me a kiss that was so achingly soft and sweet, my breath caught.

Then she pushed me over onto my back, leaning on top of me, her silky bare skin sliding over mine, her hands stroking my chest.

‘Poppy,’ I said again. ‘You don’t have to—’

She stole the words out of my mouth with another of those soft, sweet kisses. ‘I know I don’t have to,’ she whispered against my lips. ‘But I want to.’

She reached to undo my trousers, sliding her fingers down inside the fabric to curl around my cock, making the breath catch hard in my throat.

She kissed me, exploring my mouth the way I’d explored hers, tasting of sweetness and the spicy flavour that was all her, stroking my dick at the same time, making me pant. Making me ache.

Stopping only to grab a condom from the coffee table, she then rolled the latex down on me, her fingers a gentle torture. Then she straddled me, holding my cock in her hand to position me. She lifted herself up and then slid down slowly onto me. So fucking slowly.

I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped, my hands reaching for her hips and holding on tight as her sweet, slippery heat enveloped me, clenched around me.

Jesus Christ. She was a goddess. A cloud of black hair and golden-bronze skin. Molten metal eyes. Watching me as her hips flexed and she moved. Graceful and fluid, like a flame.

Pleasure licked up inside me and curled around me, stealing my breath, stealing all thought.

Her hands spread on my chest as she balanced herself, the slick glide of my cock in her wet pussy driving me out of my mind.

My fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her hips, trying to urge her to go faster, but she didn’t. She moved, lazily and sensually, turning everything into a gradually building heat, like a pot of water on a stove only slowly coming to a boil.

I groaned out her name because she was killing me, fucking killing me, and I was loving every second of it.

Releasing her hips, I slid my palms down her thighs, feeling the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin, then back up again, curving my fingers around to cup her beautiful ass.

She arched, gasping, shoulders back, breasts swaying in time with her movements.

‘Fuck,’ I ground out, my voice ragged and harsh. ‘Fuck... Poppy.’

Her gaze came to mine once more and then her hands were splayed on my chest, and she was riding me with all the beauty and grace of an Olympic equestrian.

Harder. Deeper. And then, finally—fucking finally—faster.

Our gazes met, held, the connection between us winding tight around my soul.

I couldn’t fight this. I didn’t want to.

She and I...perhaps that was all the anger and enmity had been—us fighting what couldn’t be resisted. This intense, incredible connection that went deeper than sex. That felt like a joining on a whole other level.

I didn’t know what it was; I’d never felt anything like it before. But what I did know was that I’d made her mine and right here, right now, she was making me hers.

And I was done fighting it.

I reached up, hooked one hand around the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down on mine.

And let the orgasm drag me under.