He leans down to turn on the shower, and our reflection disappears from my view. “You still awake, Love?” he asks, placing a kiss on my shoulder while he waits, I suspect, for the water to heat.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper, my body so drained I wonder why I’m not asleep.
“I know.” His lips press softly against my neck. “I’ll make this quick.” He steps into the tub, pulling the curtain closed behind us. “Unwrap your legs from around me, Love. I’ll hold you up.”
I unlock my ankles, thankful that he catches me or else I’d end up on my ass—my very sore ass that burns as the hot water sprays across it. I’m too tired to react. Instead, I hang my head and teeter on the edge of consciousness as Bryce bathes me the best he can with one hand while one arm holds me up.
My thighs are sticky with the remnants of our release. The reminder makes my belly flutter. Orgasm denial really was a powerful thing. And definitely worth the wait.
When his hand slips between my thighs, my exhaustion takes a back seat to my desire. Everything feels swollen and raw, but comes alive just the same. I grind against his hand, but the movement only causes him to let out a breath of laughter. Too soon he’s rinsing the soapy foam from me, and then shutting off the water.
Instead of lifting me from the tub, he only assists me—stepping out and taking my hand in his. My legs feel like I’ve been running through sand, as I slowly lift them over the side of the tub. But that’s nothing compared to the throbbing ache in my shoulders. Having my arms suspended for so long wasn’t something I’d be looking forward to in the near future.
I half-ass dry myself before wrapping the towel around me. I frown when I realize Bryce is already dry, and I missed the show. Taking my hand, he leads me back to the bedroom. With one swift jerk, he removes my towel.
His eyes travel the length of my naked body before turning me. I can feel his gaze on my backside, and the pain I feel in my chest is ten times worse than the pain of my ass—which is saying something.
“How bad is it, Love? Honestly.” He spins me to face him, and the warmth in his eyes has me spilling the truth before I can think better of it.
“It hurts.” My admission causes guilt to settle in my gut, but if he feels sorry for me he isn’t showing it. Thankfully.
“On your knees.” He points to the bed, and I bite my lip to hide my frown. I want him, but I don’t think my body can physically handle him right now. And the worried look on my face doesn’t go unnoticed.
Lifting my chin with his finger, he places a sweet kiss on my lips. “Trust me, Love.” If there were any doubt that I didn’t, all traces of them are gone.
Slowly, I crawl to my knees, wincing as the skin on my ass tightens with the movement. My arms have yet to regain their strength, so I splay them at my sides and bury my face in the mattress. The position opens me to him—completely baring not only my punished bottom, but the entire length of my pussy and everything in between.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, just as I feel his lips on my bruised cheeks—tenderly raining kisses over them. Somehow I feel like it’s his way of trying to tell me he’s not sorry, but that he hates I’m in pain.
After he’s managed to pay special attention to every exposed inch of flesh, his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs, forcing my legs further apart.
With no warning, his tongue slides between my lips and my whole body jerks in response. He alternates between licking and sucking me—completely defining what it means to eat pussy. But he’s not just eating me, he’s devouring me—consuming me with his mouth. I can’t determine what’s better…his hammer of a cock or magical tongue.
Really, you can’t compare the two. They’re equally as amazing and rare as a unicorn.
“Don’t come, Love. Not until I tell you to.”
I groan, already nearing that point of no return. My body starts to betray me even as my mind insists I do as he says. “Bryce,” I whimper. “I can’t. It’s too good. It feels too…fucking…good…” My words are a plea, as I bite my lip and fight the urge to give in.
“You heard me, Love.” His dark voice causes everything he says to sound like a demand—even if it is softly spoken. If he’d just keep talking, I might be able to hold out. It’s the only break I get from the onslaught of his mouth covering me…his tongue circling my clit with the perfect amount pressure to have me…
“Come.”
If he hadn’t said it, I’d have done it anyway. But his demand added the pleasure of obeying him to the explosion of ecstasy already pulsing through my body. Even the flow of blood in my veins can be felt. He heightens all of my senses—making me aware of even the smallest movements…the curl of my toes, my fisted hands, the tickle of disarrayed hair on my face…everything.
This is the second hardest, most powerful orgasm I’ve had. And my top three all belong to him. Coming down from them is nearly as good as the climax of the moment. Somehow it means more. It can be felt in places deep inside my chest—foreign to me but welcome in times like this. The way he gathers me in his arms, tucks me to his side, splays his hands across my belly, rubs my aching shoulders, kisses my hair, whispers for me to sleep…
Son of a bitch…
I’m falling in love.
CHAPTER 21
We’ve been in bed for hours. I’ve tried to sleep, but just when I near it, the thought hits me and I’m awake again.
I’m falling in love.
No.
It’s not possible.
I’m a clubwhore.
Sex is what I do.
I don’t love…
I’m not even sure what in the hell love is.
I refuse to think I’m already there. So I’m clinging to the belief that I’m merely falling and either someone is going to catch me, or I’m going to end up face first on the pavement. I’m just not sure which is worse.
“What’s on your mind, babe?” Bryce’s voice is laced with sleep, but I’m not surprised to hear it. Every time I shift, his breathing changes and I know he’s awake. It’s like he’s programmed his mind and body to respond to my every movement.
“I think I’m gonna take a walk,” I say, sliding out from under his arm. Grabbing my bathrobe from the back of the door, I don’t even wait to clothe myself in it before I’m walking toward the front door.
Outside, there’s a thick frost covering the ground and trees—illuminating everything in white. The sky is clear and painted in bright stars. Its beauty is enough to make the cold tolerable, but I cinch my robe tighter and silently wish I had some shoes. Folding my legs beneath me, I sit on the edge of the steps and try to lose myself in the night.
Love scares me.
Not because I’ve never felt it, but because it’s never been reciprocated. I’ve never found someone to love me in a way I need to be loved. I’m different. I need things. With Bryce, I have the whole package. He grounds me, tames my monsters, controls me when I need controlling, but allows me to still stand on my own two feet and think for myself. He’s tender, loving, passionate and most of all—he understands. But what in the hell could I ever offer him?
By being with me, he’d be forced to hurt me, even though he’s already said he doesn’t enjoy it. I’m a loose cannon. A bomb with a lit fuse. I’m no good for him, and still, I want him to love me back. I’ve never been so selfish in my life.
Sure this is all his fault. He’s made it entirely too easy for me to fall for him. He should’ve known what he was getting into. Right? You can’t take a weak-minded, vulnerable fuck-up like myself and treat her with any form of decency. It’s like feeding a stray dog—you can’t do it once and not expect them to come back for more. I’m the stray dog. And I’m hungry.
As bad as I want to be selfish, I can’t. It’s not who I am. Bryce is a really great guy—so great that I know if he doesn’t share my feelings, the guilt of knowing he’s crushed me will hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him.
I need to distance myself from him. I need space to think. Someone important once said: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” If that’s true, then maybe distance between us will strengthen his feelings toward me. Or better yet, make me more aware of my own.
It’s easy to think I love him when my world is centered on him. Maybe going back to the clubhouse will remind me of how much I’m not ready to give up my life as a clubwhore . And maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn I really don’t love him at all.
“I w-want to go home,” I announce, or stutter. My body shakes from the cold—masking my nerves.
Bryce is still sitting on the couch, wearing the same curious expression as when I walked in a moment ago. It took me a minute to find the courage to say what I needed to say. Now that it’s off my chest, I’m hoping to feel a little relief. But it’s yet to come.
“Can’t do that, babe.”
I try to frown, but my face is numb. “But I w-want to.”
“Three days. That’s what you agreed to, and I’m holding you at your word.” He’s so matter-of-fact. I wish it would piss me off. But it doesn’t. It just makes this harder for me.