Why I Suck At One Night Stands

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Summary

I've always been the type to embrace a sexual adventure and to do what feels good. But this guy...he's in my head, and there's nothing I can do to get him out. Thinking I could just sleep with him once and get over him was a mistake. Now, he's all I can think about, and the only thing I wish I could forget.

Genre:
Romance / Erotica
Author:
AliciaSparksBooks
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
3.8 4 reviews
Age Rating:
18+

Chapter 1

I’ve driven to Shreveport a couple dozen times, but there’s something about the trip that always gets into my brain. Maybe it’s the way the city is set up or how there are about a thousand ways in and out that don’t make a lot of sense. I swear Sarah Winchester designed it with road that lead to dead ends and the constant construction, but either way, the detour I took has left me hopelessly lost, and my map app on my phone keeps saying “girl, I don’t know where the fuck we’re at.” Of course the message is “signal not found” or “no service,” but she and I both know what she means.

This is how the Texas Chainsaw Massacre started, isn’t it? Somebody from the city was traveling down roads she shouldn’t have gone down and the next thing you know, she’s being chopped to bits. I’m not stupid. I carry a gun, but I don’t know how it would hold up against a family of cannibals. I remind myself to sign up for a refresher shooting course. If I ever find my way back to civilization.

Right now, I’ve got two problems. The asphalt road turned to dirt about four miles back, and the ditches here are steep. Not a road sign or light to be found, and the fucking moon thought it would be the perfect night to hide behind some clouds. All that is problem number one.

Problem two is, of course, my gas gauge. I let Will drive my car a few weeks ago, and he mused that he wondered how I made it anywhere when my car was perpetually on empty. I’m pretty sure he’s the last person who filled up the tank. I can go exactly forty-four miles once my “low gas” light comes on, but fuck if I know how far I’ve gone at this point.

Mother. Fuck. Three problems. The moon wasn’t hiding. It was retreating. I noticed tiny drops of rain earlier, but I was sure I’d seen a sign somewhere a few miles before I started eating gravel that advertised gas up ahead. Gas meant shelter. If I could fucking get there.

I never should have decided to go into Shreveport tonight. My amped up libido combined with the inability to get Jax out of my head didn’t lead to good decision making. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sporting strappy black heels and a tight, short silver dress while driving into the abyss. I fucking rock is all I’ve got to say. If those cannibals will think twice before eating me, they’ll see my shoes are worth more than their fucking house and will call in a ransom. I should be so lucky.

“Oh what in the fuck?” I know that sound. I fucking know that sound and that shaking and the taste of the icing on top of my goddamned shit storm cake of a night.

“Fuck!” I yell as loudly as I possibly can. There’s no shoulder to pull off to, and if I did how in fuck’s name at I supposed to change a goddamned tire in Jimmy Choo heels?

I would cry if I were a different type of girl. Instead, I curse some more and slow my speed to just fast enough to outrun Leatherface and creep along, knowing I’m destroying my tire rims with each rotation.

I just need a tiny break in the jagged edges of the road, some place safe to stop. My car coughs in protest and decides this is as good a place as any for her to die. I just hope the cannibals kill me before they start eating me.

No signal. At least my fucking phone isn’t dead. Wouldn’t that be a trip? Local Community College Teacher Found Dead because She Switched to iPhone. They’d never be able to print that.

Local Community College Professor Found Dead on Her Way to a Sex Club. Details at ten. I can almost see Will’s smirk as he’s interviewed for that piece. I’d come back from the dead just to kill him.

Lightning streaks across the sky, and I debate what to do. I’ll change the fucking flat. But what about the gas?

Think, Tosh.

I’m thinking, head down on my steering wheel, tears threateningly close. The knock on my window makes me scream. Do cannibals knock?

“You ok, Miss?”

I want to laugh with outright giddiness, but I remember how horror movies tend to go, so I take a deep breath and turn to face my killer.

He’s holding a flashlight, and the rain is dripping down the front of his hat. Did Leatherface wear a badge?

“You ok?” He repeats and signals for me to put my window down.

I crack it a bit. “Can I see some ID?”

He grins, a crooked but friendly smile. “I’m the one who usually asks that question, ma’am.”

If I hadn’t been born and raised in the south, I may be offended by his use of the word “ma’am,” but I know how Southern boys operate.

“I am lost. Do you need to see my ID?”

He grins again. Fuck but it’s sexy. I’m even starting to feel a little warm inside even though I haven’t gotten a good look at him.

“Are you a felon fleeing from the law? Wanted in three states for skipping out on a court date?” He reaches toward his gun belt and my heart leaps into my throat. Maybe he’s Leatherface’s hot brother. The one who lures the unwitting traveler to her death.

“No,” I manage, wondering if he’d shoot me if I reached for my gun. I obviously have the reflexes of an overweight hippo because I can’t move as quickly as he does, but he produces an ID then shines his light onto his badge and name tag. Lawson, CJ.

“Do you mind stepping out of the car?”

“Am I under arrest?” I blink twice, sure I’ve careened off the road and am now dreaming about the certain death I’m about to experience.

“No.” Fuck me, that grin again. “I’m getting soaked out here, and you’ve got two busted tires and rims to match. I’m afraid your car isn’t going anywhere tonight,”

Two busted tires? This is either the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me or it’s the dumbest. I’ll decide in a day or two.

“Can I grab my purse?”

“Sure.”

I reach for my bag and turn back to him. He opens my car door and I step out into the rain, my thousand dollar heels sinking in the soft dirt. I feel a strong, steady hand on my arm as I try to fall. Oh fuck me. He smells good.

“You ok?” He’s quite a bit taller than me and has a commanding presence I don’t often feel from men. I usually take the lead.

“I’m good.”

“Come on before we drown out here.”

He leads me to the car and opens the backdoor. I give him a wary glance, thinking that he still may kill me. I cling to my purse. “I thought I wasn’t under arrest.”

“You’re not. Standard procedure,” Why do those words give me another little tingle? I’m supposed to be freezing and now dripping with rain. I’m so glad I spent a fucking hour getting ready.

I slide into the backseat of the car and he leaves the door open. Probably for his cannibal brother to jump in and kill me. Within seconds, he’s back with a blanket.

“This will help.”

I take it. Soft cotton, not the scratchy wool I was expecting. It smells like him. I don’t even flinch when he closes the squad car door, basically holding me hostage. He climbs into the front seat and adjusts his mirror so he can see me.

“Where were you headed?”

Oh a swinger bar in Shreveport. I’ve got an elite invitation from the owner, and I haven’t gotten laid in three weeks. “Shreveport,” I say.

He gives a little laugh. “Sorry, ma’am. No offense, but you missed your mark by quite a bit.”

“So I gathered. Where am I?”

He gives the name of a tiny podunk town closer to South Louisiana than North Louisiana. How the actual fuck did that happen?

“Well fuck me,” I mutter.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not yet. But as soon as I get out of these wet clothes, I’m going to open up a bottle of whiskey.”

“You got someone you can call? I’ll get a truck to come tow your car into town, and you can figure out the rest on Monday.”

“Monday?” His words don’t quite register.

“Yeah. Garage will be closed until Monday. Ol Hank ain’t gonna be too happy for me to wake him up to tow a foreign car, but I think he’ll get over it once he sees the driver.”

Was that a wink?

“So, Officer Lawson, what do you suggest I do until then?”

His reflection grins at me again. That grin...lord help me.

“Well I can take you into town, but there’s not a lot there. Most everything closes at ten even on a Saturday. Looks like you’re gonna need some new rims and tires just glancing at things. So you can get your people to come pick up the car or Hank can fix it for you. May take a few days. You got someone who can come get you?”

I run through my very short list of close, personal friends who would be willing to drive two hours to pick me up. Assuming I can find a phone that works. And assuming his story isn’t some wild cover for my impending death.

Will is in Texas with one of his girlfriends. That leaves...

“I can probably call an Uber, right?”

He laughs. “An Uber? Not very likely.”

“Well, fuck me.”

There’s a twitch at the corner of one of his eyes. “I guess a hotel then? Jesus Christ.”

“A hotel?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell me they close at ten.”

“No,” there’s a laugh in his voice, but I can tell he’s fighting it off.

“Well?”

“Fresh out of hotels.”

“So I landed in a town where everything closes at ten, there’s no Uber and no hotels? Did I get into a time warp somewhere and end up in 1970?” I’m cold now. And wet. And frustrated. And glad I’m in the backseat because that grin and those little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes are doing strange things to me right now.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am.” Lightning streaks across the sky and thunder punctuates his sentence. Fuck me. Fucking fuck me.

“It’s Tosh,” I manage, swallowing a lump. “Natasha actually.”

“I’m CJ, and I’m the sheriff of 1970 backwoods Louisiana.”

“I’d normally be polite and say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m about to fucking cry.”

“I’ve had my share of people cry in that backseat.”

“I imagine you have. So what do you suggest I do between now and the time this nightmare ends?”

“I know a place where you can get a good whiskey and some dry clothes.”

“Of course there’s a bar and a Walmart open.” I roll my eyes.

“Nothing quite as fancy, I’m afraid. I’ve got a spare room, a brand new bottle and a fireplace.”

“Why, Sheriff, are you planning to take me home tonight?”

This time his laugh is a bit forced and uneasy. The smile is gone from his eyes when he looks back at me. The shiver that goes through me now doesn’t have a goddamned thing to do with being cold, and the thought of being eaten alive has taken on a whole new connotation.

My labia begins to throb. It’s my equivalent of “spidey sense.” I can usually spot a potential sex partner from a mile away, but considering the situation, I understand why it took me this long. He was just doing his job. Just helping a wayward traveler.

“So why’d you put me in the back seat if you planned to take me home?”

“It wasn’t part of the plan.” He puts the car into drive and we move past my broken down hunk of metal.

“That a fact? What was the plan then?”

“Get you to safety. My house seems like a pretty safe place right about now.”

“Does it now?” I pull the blanket down a bit, offering him a glimpse of cleavage before he adjusts his mirror.

“You should put on your seatbelt. Things could get rough.”

He’s got no fucking idea...

****

The house is modest, which is exactly what I’d expected. He has a way about him I’ve noticed from the few minutes of small talk and the way he keeps glancing at me in his rear view mirror. He could be a very nice distraction, a way to keep Jax out of my head. Plus, he comes equipped with a set of initials for a name.

I wait for him to open the door for me. The rain is coming down pretty hard, and I slip off my ruined shoes. There’s enough grass between the car and his porch for me to avoid getting muddy, but I don’t want to sink again.

He tucks me under his arm and rushes me toward the house. This is not the kind of place you’d use if you were part of a cannibal family, so I figure I’m relatively safe.

When we step inside, I’m immediately hit by how cold I am. It’s March in Louisiana, but the rain and being soaking wet have caused me to shiver.

“Let’s get you dried off.” He pulls me toward the living room. “Bathroom is down the hall. I’ve got fresh towels. I’ll bring you some clothes ok?”

I nod and force my stony legs to move in the direction he indicated. The bathroom isn’t large, but the shower looks nice and inviting. I peel my dress off and toss it into the sink. Another designer original ruined. Turning the shower on, I step into the tub and let the steam fill the room. When the water hits my skin, it hurts at first, but as the sensations start coming back, my whole body warms.

Now that I’m sure I won’t die from pneumonia or cannibalism, I take a minute to think about my knight in shining armor out there. Sexy as fuck, but definitely older than my usual conquests. Older men come with complications I don’t like. Marriages, divorces, mortgages, God complexes, whatever.

I am complicated enough on my own. Still, I was planning to get fucked this weekend. And I’m sure he’s got a set of handcuffs here somewhere.

A knock on the door shakes me from that little fantasy. “I’ll leave the clothes by the door out here.”

“You can bring them in. I don’t mind.” Hell, I was practically naked in what I was wearing before. I hear the door creak open a bit and feel a slight rush of cold air.

The shower is a bathtub/shower combination, and the curtain is dark enough so he cannot see me standing under the spray. But he knows I’m here. And I know he’s standing in the doorway, clothes in his arms, debating his next move.

Should I let him take charge or should I?

“You need anything else?” He clears his throat before he speaks.

I turn the water off. “I’m good. Unless you have something in mind, Sheriff.”

“I was starting a fire. If you’re cold.”

“Right now I’m pretty hot. And dripping wet.” I swear I hear a groan. “Can you hand me a towel?”

“I should just...”

I pull the shower curtain back a little. “Should what, Sheriff? Tell me there’s not any other place in this town where I could stay tonight.”

“I’m going to start a fire.”

“You already have.”

He turns and leaves the room after placing the bundle of clothes onto the bathroom counter. I’m pretty good at reading people, and he’s obviously interested. I’m sure he’s a bit wary also, and I’d guarantee he’s already gone through my purse and run my ID. I’m not sure what comes up aside from my fingerprints for the school system.

The Army t shirt fits a bit more snug across the chest and stomach than I’d like, and the sweat pants are obviously made for his longer legs and trim hips. But the sweatshirt, plain gray and zip up, fits perfectly. Everything smells like him.

I hang my dress on the curtain rod to dry and head toward the living room. He’s standing in front of the fire, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Thanks for the clothes,” I say as I take the glass he’s handing me.

“They look better on you than me.”

“They’re certainly warm.” I take a sip of the whiskey, and it warms me like an old friend. “Not gonna join me in a drink?”

“I don’t drink.” There’s something hidden in his eyes, but he masks it well.

“Hell of a bottle of whiskey for a man who doesn’t drink.”

“It was left behind for encounters with damsels in distress.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And how often does that happen?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“So you don’t drink. There’s nothing open in this town on a Saturday night. What do you do for fun then?”

“Not a lot of fun to be had in a place like this. Certainly nothing requiring a solid black business card.” The knowing look he gives me shoots right through me to my core. Not only did he go through my purse, but he found the business card for Club Vixen.

“So you discovered my secret. You’ve got me, Sheriff.” I raise my hands in mock surrender.

“I’ve heard of the place, but I’ve never been there. How often do you go?” His smirk is replaced by genuine curiosity.

“Only once. But I’ll try anything twice.”

“That a fact?”

“Yeah. It is. You curious?” I place my glass onto a nearby table and take in the picture in front of me. He’s dressed similarly to me in a t shirt and sweat pants, but his short dark hair is dry and his whiskey colored eyes are dancing in a dangerous way that causes my stomach to flutter a bit.

“I’m very fucking curious.”

I really didn’t expect him to move so quickly, but he grabs me and pulls me to him, pressing his hard body against mine. I prepare myself for a full on assault of his mouth, but it’s nothing like that. Instead, his lips press to mine, his tongue gently coaxing my mouth to open. I let him take the lead and submit, opening for him.

He tastes like my first kiss: a combination of cigarettes and bad decisions just dangerous enough to land me in detention but not bad enough for a suspension. I can’t control the moan that escapes my lips or the way my fingers trace up and down his shoulder as he runs his fingers along the back of my neck.

He holds his shoulders square, keeping his pelvis pressed against my stomach while keeping a small space between our upper bodies. This is his way of giving me an out, giving me the space and the opportunity to say no.

Instead of resisting or protesting, I wrap my arms around him and pull him flush against me, letting him know I’m all in for whatever he’s got planned next.

“What were you planning to do tonight, Natasha?” He mutters against my lips. “Were you planning to go fuck some random stranger?”

I look him squarely in the eyes and instantly regret it as the softness I see there contrasts with everything hard about his tone, his cock.

“That was my plan. But now I’ve got a more specific stranger in mind.”

I’m not sure who moved first, but suddenly my hand is on his cock and his is covering my breast beneath his t shirt.

“Should have joined me in the shower, Sheriff.”

“It’s CJ. And I really wanted to, but I wasn’t sure. This is one of those porn fantasies come to life.”

I laugh a little before tugging off the sweatshirt and t shirt and dropping to my knees right there.

“You have no idea, CJ.”

One of my favorite things in the world is to be on my knees in front of a man with a massive cock, and Sheriff Sexy doesn’t disappoint. Long and thick with a bead of pre come on the tip. I want to thank my fucked up car and phone as I wrap my hand around the base and bring my lips to the head.

One light lick on the tip and I’m done for.

One sexy moan from him and I’m done for.

His hand on the back of my head and I’m done for.

We manage to move to the sofa, him seated and me in position between his knees. I stretch my mouth as wide as possible to slide him inside, but there’s no way to fit all of him in. No amount of lubricant will allow me to take him balls deep into my throat. As much as I’d like to, he’s already cutting off my breath in that blissful combination of inability to breathe and inability to care.

My hand wraps around the base of his cock, teasing his skin forward as I focus my attention on the tip and first couple inches. We’re in a rhythm now, his hips thrusting with the movements of my head and hand, his fingers laced into my wet hair, holding me steady.

I’m starting to spiral and have to stop moving for a second while I calm myself. I have no idea if the good sheriff knows anything about subspace and what happens to a woman when she succumbs to it. I’ve never been pushed to it so quickly and with so little effort, and I dangerously wonder if there’s a way to get lost in this nowhere town again.

Pushing the thought from my mind, I continue to suck his glorious cock, listening to the low moans escaping his throat while my pussy throbs with need.

The feeling is intense, all my nerves pricked at attention. I hear music in my head, setting my rhythm as I close off my air ways with his cock then release it over and over. I want to climb on top of him right now and ride him, but I also want to see how this is going to play out. Maybe I hit my head earlier or I’m having some sort of rage induced fantasy.

I open my eyes and look up at him, only to see him staring down at me. Our fucking eyes lock for a second and I wish I’d kept mine closed. There’s so much going on in those deep brown pools. I can see straight through to his soul in that moment.

But I don’t want his soul. I want his cock.

Nothing permanent. My life doesn’t do well with permanent.

We will never see each other again. I’ll call Will in the morning and get a ride out of town then send someone to get my car on Monday. That’s the easiest thing to do here.

I close my eyes again and wrap my lips around his cock, but he uses my hair as leverage to pull me onto the sofa.

His skin is warm against mine, but his mouth is even warmer as he dips his head down and takes my nipple into his mouth.

I want to scream out due to the sensation of his teeth grazing against my sensitive flesh, but instead I pull him into me, twisting my fingers around his short, dark hair and encouraging him to devour me.

God, he doesn’t disappoint, sucking and biting, making me quiver. My entire body is a wreck and we haven’t even fucked yet. I can’t even imagine how it’s going to be with him inside me. I steady my breathing and squeeze my eyes closed, concentrating on the sensations flowing the me and blocking out all the emotional garbage that keeps invading my brain.

I can’t take much more of this. He shifts above me, his cock pressed against my stomach. He’s got one hand under my head and the other is slowly trailing down my cheek.

“Open your eyes, Natasha.” It’s a gentle command, the kind I’m not used to from my other lovers.

Reluctantly, I open them only to see his whiskey stare on me. Fuck me. I’m so done for.

“Yeah. That’s what I want to see. What do you want?”

“I thought that was obvious.” I angle my hips toward him a bit.

He grins. “How often do you have sex with strangers?”

“As often as possible. And the stranger the better.” I don’t tell him about my recent dry spell and how I can’t seem to concentrate on any of the guys who have always been there to fuck me. I don’t mention how I haven’t been returning messages or how I’m beginning to wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.

I’m 42. Sex is a game. At least it’s supposed to be. But lately, it’s been wild then empty, making me think maybe I do need an emotional connection.

Will swears I need an older man. Sheriff Hottie is definitely older than my usual flavors. But he also has that dangerous look that makes me think he may be a drug I easily become addicted to.

Not at all what I had planned for a random Saturday night.

“You didn’t answer my first question. What...” his lips trail down my cheek and end up next to my ear, “do...” he whispers against me then slides his tongue down my neck, my skin prickling beneath his touch, his whiskers grazing against me with every movement, “you...” his mouth is close to my breast again, and I want him to take my nipple between his teeth. Instead, he licks the tip then looks back up at me. “Want?”

There’s an electric current running from him to me, and I couldn’t explain it if I tried. This is not supposed to happen. This does not happen. This fucking spontaneous combustion, chemical bullshit is not at all part of my agenda. Ever.

I reach for him, pulling him so we are face to face, our noses almost touching.

“I want you to fuck me like you’re never going to see me again.”

“I could do that, but I think you and I both know that’s a lie.”

****

I feel needy, which is unusual for me, and I just want to cling to him and mold our bodies to one another. The heat is that intense. He’s a fire. Dangerous. Hot. Just enough to fucking burn my house down and still have me begging him to keep me warm.

So, so dangerous.

“I want you in my bed,” he mutters against my stomach. I’m still wearing his sweatpants, but they aren’t providing much barrier between us. I can feel the heat from his thighs against me, and I’m dripping wet.

His words seem to carry a bit more than a sexual connotation, and I push it out of my head. This is all about physical and chemical. I’m not interested in anything beyond that.

“Come with me.” He slips away from my body and stands, his glorious cock hard, the tip gleaming in the firelight. I take his outstretched hand and feel like a teenager following behind the high school quarterback as I follow behind him.

Of course, back when I was sixteen, I wasn’t remotely interesting to the jock type, but Sheriff Sexy is well built and obviously has physical prowess. He’s not one of those overstuffed television cops who survives on junk food and caffeine. He’s the real deal.

The king size bed sits near enough to the bedroom door for him to give me a gentle shove in that direction and have me stumbling against the edge of the mattress. I right myself and start to turn around, but he’s on me with cat like movements, his hard cock pressed against my naked back, his chest heaving behind me, his heart pounding against my skin.

Expert hands raise to cover my tits as he nudges my legs apart a bit with his knee.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growls into my ear, squeezing my breasts before quickly letting go. He moves away from me just long enough to slide the sweatpants off my hips.

“Mine,” he repeats in a possessive way that sends a shiver all through my body. “Say it.” His teeth graze my shoulder.

“Yours. Tonight.” I remind us both that we’re virtual strangers and have no business putting labels onto anything.

This time the shove isn’t gentle and I end up on the bed, bent over, my ass exposed to him, my pussy so wet I’m surprised it’s not dripping down my thighs. It’s been a long damned time since anyone has been able to turn me on so effortlessly. If I wasn’t hell bent on getting out of here tomorrow, I might hang around and get to know him a bit more.

No. That’s a complication I don’t need.

“Can I feel you without a condom?”

“No.” God, I want to say yes.

He gives my ass a gentle swat and moves away from me. I hear him rummaging in the bedside table before returning, sheathed and ready.

I swear to fuck when he enters me my eyes roll back in my head. There’s no warning. He’s there, behind me, his cock pressing against my opening then sliding in, balls deep until the tip of his thick cock touches my cervix.

He doesn’t move.

I come undone.

Just the act of him entering me, stretching me open, filling me so completely is enough to cause my pussy to convulse around him. Never has dancing around the edges been so easy, so completely fucking effortless.

I feel my body start to betray me, craving more, my pussy pulsing around him involuntarily.

Then he moves.

Fuck me, but he’s an expert. His fingers grip my fleshy hips as he fills me over and over again, pounding out a rhythm that’s matched by the noise of the mattress and headboard slamming against the wall. He’s untamed, and I swear I hear a guttural growl, full on animalistic, as he bites into my shoulder.

The pain is welcome, and I arch myself toward him, inviting him to mar my flesh, to leave a mark so I’ll look back three days from now and feel this moment again.

“You like that?” He places a kiss onto my bruised flesh then licks me from shoulder to ear.

“Yes,” I manage, the word part agreement and part plea. I want more. I need more. I’m on the verge of falling off the cliff, and I wonder if he’s ever had to bring someone back from the brink.

He seems to be a natural at pushing me, and my body responds to his every movement.

I’m quickly losing control.

“I...need...stop...” I pull away from him reluctantly as my body quakes. I collapse face first onto the bed then roll over, my hair now wet with sweat as well as water from the shower.

“Are you ok?” I can see the seriousness of his question even in the dark.

“I need to know something.” I can barely form the words, and my voice is shaky. My whole body is shaky. “Have you ever...subspace. Do you know about subspace?”

He joins me on the bed and pulls me into his arms. “I’ve heard of it.”

“I go there. And I need you to bring me back. To guide me ok?”

“I can do that.” His fingers trace down my arm.

“There may be tears.” My voice is starting to steady.

“I can handle tears.”

“Yellow means slow down. I need a minute. Red means stop.”

“I got it.” He places a kiss to my temple.

“You sure?”

That crooked grin again. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Then take me there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He nips my shoulder then moves between my legs, expertly parting them with his big body. He pulls me into him so my pussy is in his face. I feel his breath tease across my labia just before his tongue darts out to test my clit, which is a hard button just waiting to be pressed.

I don’t like gentle, but he’s a masterful combination of just the right amount of pressure here and there, just the right amount of control blended with a gentleness to let me know he won’t hurt me. He doesn’t know I get off on the pain, but he will. All he has to do is dominate me one time in one moment and he will understand just how it affects me.

Instead, he teases me, his tongue flicking back and forth across my clit, running along my labia and delving into my pussy to taste me. My hands grip his hair, pushing his mouth into me even more as I thrust against him.

His fingers enter me now, and he curves them upward toward my g spot which he continues to lick and suck. My moans have taken on a whole new level of need as I’m so close to the edge. So fucking close.

I hate to come. When a true, full body orgasm rips through me, my skin is too sensitive to be touched, my entire body feels like it’s on fire, from the soles of my feet all the way to my face. I like to dance around the edges, almost coming, almost teetering over into the abyss. Part of that has to do with my need to maintain control even as I’m giving it over to someone else.

Yes, I want to be dominated. Yes, I want to be pushed off the fucking cliff. But licking my clit is the easy way to send me there. I want to work for it, to beg for it. I want him to pull it out of me as if his very life depends on it.

I flail, tossing my head from side to side, fighting off the urge to come, fighting off the sensations his mouth is sending through me.

“What do you want, Tosh?” He raises himself up onto his elbows and traces circles inside me with his fingers.

“I want you to fuck me. Hard.” Even in the dark, I can see his eyes, and I can tell he’s contemplating my words.

“How hard do you want it?” He presses his fingers further into me. “Hard like this?” He gives me long, slow, deep strokes.

“Mmmmm.”

“Or like this?” He moves his fingers in and out, jarring my whole body from the sensation. His palm slaps against my labia as his fingers assault my pussy.

“Yes! Oh God! Fuck!”

“So that’s how you want it? Hard. Rough.”

“Yes,” I breath the word, but it still sounds like a plea. “I want it like that.”

“Then you’re going to have to do something for me.”

I nod. I’d do anything at this moment.

“I want you to show me you can take my cock. I want the whole thing in your mouth. I want you to choke on it. Can you do that?”

The suggestion alone is enough to make me even wetter. I want to take him all. I want to please him, to take everything he’s got.

“Yes.”

He pulls his fingers from my pussy and brings them to my lips. I suck my juices from them, tasting my spicy blend. He moans as I take his fingers deeper into my mouth. Then he pulls his fingers out and uses my hair as leverage to guide me to his cock.

“Show me. Take it all.”

I lick my lips and position myself so my ass is in the air, close to his face, but I’m not on top of him. He’s got access to my pussy if he wants to play. But right now, I’m focused on his cock and on what I’m going to do to him.

He wants me to take it all.

I want him to take control of me.

The moan that escapes his lips when I slide his cock into my mouth tells me we are both about to get just what we want.

***

I’m aching to have him inside me again. Earlier I had just a taste, but now I want more. My labia actually throbs with anticipation and my entire body has become a bundle of nerves so that even the lightest touch from him fingers sends shockwaves through me.

I know he’s got the power to send me to that place I long for, to fuck me until I lose my mind, lose all sense of anything and everything except for the moment.

This does not happen.

I have wild sex, random sex, sex when I’m bored and when I’m stressed. But I don’t have this kind of chemical reaction to my partners.

Ever.

CJ is different, and I’m not sure why, but I know I have two choices: leave as soon as possible and never look back or keep fucking him until I get him out of my system.

He moves on top of me. I’m lying on my back in his big, soft bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets filled with his scent. The whole scene is intoxicating, the way I’m breathing him in, the way he covers my body with his.

I may explode on entry.

He raises onto his elbows above me. It’s dark in here, but my eyes have adjusted, and the moonlight shining between the curtains helps.

“I want to be inside you.”

I nod, anticipating his cock. I want him wild and unhinged, driving into me with the power of those muscular hips and thighs.

He reaches over to his bedside table and pulls out a condom wrapper. I realize I’m a little disappointed. I wanted to feel him, which is a dangerous thought for me to have.

Wordlessly, he positions himself at my opening.

I hold my breath as he enters me, stretching me open, filling me in one long, gentle stride. This is not at all what I expected. I swear he’s not breathing as his cock pushes against my cervix. He owns me in this moment.

His lips are at my ear, and I can feel his breath now, hear the low groan coming from deep within his chest.

“God, you feel amazing.” He tugs on my ear with his teeth and I wrap my entire body around him, my arms and legs circling him, pulling him as close to me as humanly possible.

He doesn’t move.

I don’t move.

I just feel.

And curse myself as I run my tongue along his shoulder.

Our bodies are connected, and I swear there’s something else going on that I don’t want to define or contemplate.

He finally starts moving. Slowly. God, so slowly. The ache inside me burns as I feel his cock rubbing against my g-spot, threatening to send me over the edge before we ever get started.

“I know you said you like it rough. But can you handle gentle?” His voice is husky, and I can tell he’s holding back. I want him to unleash everything on me. I’m ready to take.

“No,” I choke the word out and rake my nails down his back.

He sucks in his breath and pulls my hands from his flesh, pinning me to the bed.

“What are you gonna do to me now?” I squeeze his cock and buck against him, trying to drive him to pound into me.

“I’m gonna fuck you. Slowly. Until you beg for more.”

“Please,” I say before he ever moves.

“No.”

He slides his cock almost completely out of me, and I swear to God he must have the patience of a saint because it takes him a full minute to fill me completely again. I don’t think I can breathe until I feel his balls resting against me. I buck against him and struggle to free my hands, which are pinned above my head still.

“Uh-uh,” he warns. “Stop trying to fight against me.”

“But I need...” I try to twist beneath him.

“You need this. You give control so easily, but have you ever had anyone take control? Sometimes it’s not about pain and rough sex, Natasha. Sometimes control is about this.” He slides out of me then begins filling me once more, so slowly I want to scream out.

“Please...” Tears sting the backs of my eyes. This is not how it works. Slow and gentle won’t take me there. I need fast. I need hard.

“Shhh. Let me. Just feel.”

I don’t want to feel. Fuck, but I don’t want to feel.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to shut out the sight of him, the way he looks down at me with complete adoration.

I toss my head from side to side and struggle against his grip on my hands. I try bucking against him again, but his cock is impaling me, and he’s much stronger than I am. I’m forced to lie there and let him fuck me as slowly as he wants. I’m forced to feel every single movement, to hear every sigh, every low groan, to breathe his air as he places his forehead against mine.

“I love being inside you.”

His lips brush against mine, and my lips open for him, betraying me just like the rest of my body is. I want to devour him, to climb inside him or have him climb inside me. There’s something safe about his embrace that both frightens and fascinates me.

His tongue dances against mine, coaxing my very soul from deep inside my chest as his hips rock back and forth and his cock moves inside me. He’s let go of my hands now, and I’ve got my fingers twisted in his hair while he has pulled me completely into an embrace, our chests molded against each other.

I’m slipping over the edge. It’s never happened like this before. Instead of forcing me to the edge, he’s coaxed me there, taking control from me in a way that’s never happened before.

I’m lost, and I cling to him. This is uncharted territory. It’s madness, pure and simple.

And I can’t get enough.

I lose myself in the rhythm of his cock slowly taking me, guiding me, gently persuading me to dive into the abyss.

This time when my body begins to quake, it’s not from a heated combination of pleasure/pain. Instead it’s from the ecstasy building in my body, the tightness in my chest.

“Let go,” he whispers against my ear. And I do. Fuck, but I do.

I’m nowhere near the ground as my entire body shakes, my pussy spasming around him. He’s got complete control of us both as he continues his slow movements, no indication of stress except for the light sheen of sweat and the slight tic at his jaw.

I bite down on his shoulder and cry out. I can’t stop the tears or the whimpering as I cling to him and completely shatter around him. I feel myself breaking into a million tiny fragments and being blasted back together only to shatter again.

I don’t know how long it lasts.

He collapses on top of me then rolls off, never letting go of me, pulling me into his arms.

I am a quivering mess, tears rolling down my cheeks, my breath coming in short spurts.

He holds me and whispers against my ear, not saying anything but at the same time calming me with soothing sounds and tiny kisses along my cheek, my forehead, my eyes.

I am destroyed.

Completely done for.

I can’t move. I can’t think. And if he moves away from me in this second, I will die from the abandonment.

He doesn’t move, though. He holds me tighter, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping me on this earth right now.

I know I have a death grip on him, but I can’t loosen it, can’t control the fact that my body has melted against his but is also violently holding on.

The only thought going through my head becomes a fucking mantra as I try to float back down to earth.

This does not happen.

This does not happen.

Several minutes pass before I can speak.

“I’m ok,” I manage, my voice sounding weaker than I’d hoped.

“Good.” He kisses my temple. “I thought I’d try a different approach.”

“I’d say it worked.” I try to laugh, but my chest feels like a giant hole was created in it thanks to that explosion.

It’s chemistry. Nothing else.

“I’m glad. I liked all the other, but there’s more than one way to take control.”

I see that now. I blink the last of the tears away and start unfolding myself from him. It was a game. My head clears and all the bullshit feeling stuff starts to fade away.

“So you were trying to show me you could take control instead of having me give it.”

“I was working a theory.”

“Oh.”

Everything that was warm a few minutes ago is now cold. My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I may puke. Sexy, right? Working a theory. Those words echo for second.

“I’ll be back.” I pull myself from the bed and make my way to his bathroom.

How did I think this was going to end? Of course he was just playing around. You don’t pick up a complete stranger and have sex and expect some kind of goddamned soul connection no matter how good it feels.

I sit on the toilet and wrap my arms around myself, wanting to sob and cry and curse at the fucking universe for such a cruel trick. I started this. I made it obvious I was his for the taking. He just took. I had no idea he could play the game better than I could.

So, he fucked me all right. He completely fucked me.

I straighten my shoulders and tell myself to get a fucking grip. I’ll never see him again after tomorrow.

I’m calling Will first thing and getting the fuck out of here. Whatever this thing is that just happened won’t happen again. I’m putting a goddamned guard around my emotions.

“Were you expecting happily ever after just because the guy fucks like a God? Get a fucking clue.” I splash water on my face and take a deep breath. By the time I walk back into the bedroom, I’m ready for the next round.

My heart is in a motherfucking lock box, and my head is in the game now. He may have caught me off guard with those gentle kisses and that long, slow fuck, but I’m ready for him now. I know his playbook, so I can be the one in control.

He’s lying in bed, his cock soft, one arm raised above his head, looking completely satisfied with himself. He’s even got a hint of a cocky smirk as I approach the bed.

Oh yeah? Two can play that game.

I climb on top of him, straddling him, then run my hands up and down his chest. I reach out to squeeze his nipples. I’m going to force him to do this my way.

He’s stronger than me, and in one motion, he’s grabbed my hands and has me flat on my back. I feel his cock harden against me. He looks down at me with that cocky grin and those whiskey colored eyes then clicks his tongue at me. “When are you gonna learn? I’m the one who’s in control.”

***

“So does anyone have any ideas? Is the raven real, a figment of the narrator’s imagination or a metaphor?” Freshman English is bad enough, but Sophomore English is the worst because we actually expect students to a) do the reading and b) have an opinion about it. I look out into a sea of thirty plus students who have neither.

“Ok well Google it tonight and have an answer for tomorrow.” It’s a thankless job. I turn back to the board to erase the notes I’m sure nobody wrote down as the rush of students and papers exit behind me.

“Actually it’s his conscience, so it’s not a figment or a metaphor.” The voice makes me stop what I’m doing and forces the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

“They teach you that in cop school?” I turn to face him, and damn but he looks good. Jeans and a button up red shirt. Cocky grin. Deep chocolate mocha eyes..,

“Catholic school. I think it was a lesson we had concerning morals.”

“Well they tried.” I lean against the white board, arms folded across my chest as he takes a few steps forward, joining me on the raised platform in front of the white board. He’s so close I can smell his aftershave.

“I think I need further education, what do you think?”

“I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing here. This is well away from your jurisdiction.” My eyes are drawn to his lips and the magical things I know he can do with them. I may have just moaned a little. The way the corners of his mouth turn up, he may have heard me.

“I had to deliver some paperwork to the local PD. Fax machine was down. Easier to hand deliver.” He grins.

“You’re a bad liar, Sheriff.”

“You won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“So you’re stalking me?”

“No. Just following up on a damsel in distress. How’s your car?”

“Fixed.”

“GPS?”

“In working order.”

“How’s this?” He cups a hand over the front of my khaki slacks. “Lonely? Wet? Aching?”

I push his hand away. “Just fine.” I move to the desk, but that was a mistake because he moves behind me, trapping me quite literally between a desk and a hard place. I can feel the outline of his cock against my backside. I take in a deep breath, trying to center myself.

“That a fact? Because if you’ve thought about me the way I’ve thought about you, then it’s far from fine.”

I didn’t answer his calls or texts for a reason. I don’t like complications, and he is one big, walking wrinkle in my plans. But fuck he feels good pressed against me, his breath blowing across my cheek as he pulls me flush against him. His arms encircle me.

“Let me take you to dinner.” His lips trail down the side of my face then stop to press against my ear. “Please.”

That word may be my undoing. I turn in his arms, but he doesn’t let up on his grip, so now his cock is pressed against my stomach. I can do this. There’s no rule against subsequent hook ups. He lives two hours away. He won’t become permanent.

“Dinner sounds good, but I have a late class.”

“We could order in. At your place.”

No. That’s against the rules absolutely. No one enters my sacred space. Then why the fuck do I find myself agreeing?

“I assume you already know the address.”

“That would make me a level five stalker.”

“I figured you were aiming for level seven at least.”

“Chinese food?”

“Tofu with veggies. Extra tofu. See you at eight?”

He sucks in his breath and then takes a step back. “What am I supposed to do with this hard on in the meantime?”

“Plenty of co eds here who are probably badge bunnies,” I shrug.

“Not interested. I’d much rather bend you over this desk right here.”

The image flashes through my mind. “I do have an office downstairs. Private. With a locking door. See if you can find it, detective.”

“Yes ma’am I will.”

Fuuuuuuck.

Of all the things that could happen on a rainy Thursday, this was the last one I was expecting. I’d left his house like a bat out of hell, practically running for Will’s car. I called a tow truck and paid a couple hundred extra just so I wouldn’t have to set foot in that town again. And I’d avoided every call and text message, answering with vague “all good” when he asked how I was.

Anything not to see him again. It had been two weeks, and I was finally getting my head together and avoiding replaying every little detail in my mind. I was in complete control when I was awake, but in my sleep...that was a whole other story.

The sex we’d had was incredible, but I didn’t need the complications I knew would come with this. He’d gotten into my head, and that’s something only one other person had been able to do: Jax. And I hadn’t even had sex with Jax. Would it be this bad if I had? What was I even doing?

Fuck.

I close the door to my office and grip the sides of my desk, trying to take deep, calming breaths. I really want to just scream.

“Ok. You can do this.”

I had a head start, and it would take him a few minutes to find my office in the maze that was my hallway. I managed to be at the end of a row of offices hidden from view by a main door that led to a second hallway. It was confusing as fuck, and I expected it to take...

Shit.

The knock on my door meant it wasn’t as well hidden as I thought. I straighten myself and wonder what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.

“Miz Steele? You in?” It’s Will.

“It’s open,” I call, my stomach doing a flip flop thinking about CJ.

The door opens, and Will is standing there, shit eating grin on his face, with CJ behind him.

“Thanks, man.” The two shake hands.

“Guy was looking for our local damsel in distress. I told him I knew a redhead that fit the description to a t.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Hey, you didn’t even introduce us a few weeks ago,” Will shrugs. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks again,” CJ calls as Will walks back down the hall. He turns to me and steps into my tiny office enough to close the door. “Found you.”

“You cheated.”

“A good detective uses everything at his disposal.”

“So I see.” I fold my arms across my chest, a defensive move I know. What I want to do is reach out and grab him, throw myself against him and play out all the hundred different scenarios I’ve had running through my mind the past few weeks.

I won’t deny he’s been in my head. At least not to myself. But I’m determined not to admit it to him. I’d truly sound insane if he knew how damned neat every waking thought has been either replaying our night together or fantasizing about doing it again.

“You said something about a desk and a locking office,” he grins, taking a step toward me. I already have my back against the bookcase, and there’s not much room to move in here. One more step and we will be face to face.

“I was bluffing. I’d never risk my job like that.”

“I don’t know. Some things are worth the risk. I mean what I did before wasn’t exactly in the Boy Scout Handbook.”

“They teach you how to tie rope in your troop?”

“Lots of different ways.”

He did it. He took the step forward, and when I look up at him I can feel his breath blow across my face as he lets out a groan.

“I want to be inside you.” He dips his head down and pushes me even closer to the bookcase with his torso all while wrapping his arms around me. I’m consumed by him, and my mouth opens to take him inside, to breathe him in and swallow him down.

***

I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this. Which part? It sure as fuck isn’t the sex with a guy I barely know or the going back for seconds. It’s the letting him in. All he had to do was give me that crooked grin and I was lost. But what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

My stomach twists into knots as I count every single minute until the end of my work day. Oh yeah, I played it cool and disinterested, but I’m so completely screwed. I’ve had my mind focused on Jax for so long, I never imagined that someone else would try to work his way in.

I practically ran for the door when I left him a few weeks ago, feeling an uneasy mix of “what the fuck was that” and “where have you been all my life.” It was cosmic. It wasn’t just the sex. It isn’t just the sex. It’s something else.

And I hate it.

I’ve been tied up before. Handcuffed. Strung upside down. I’ve had sex with groups of people, anonymous, wild Roman sex. But I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I do right this second knowing that in a few short hours, I’ll be letting CJ into my home, my private domain, the place where I’ve built the walls of Jericho keeping everyone out.

Why him?

Fuck if I know. It’s not that he pursued me. It’s not the orgasms. It’s something I can’t explain. When he and I were together, even earlier when he kissed me, I felt like my skin was being flayed from my body, piece by tiny piece. Every nerve was becoming exposed. Every pain. Every sin. Every confession.

He could’ve been a priest. I could’ve been the wayward Catholic girl seeking absolution because fuck if it didn’t feel like that.

I take a deep breath and try to ignore the pain in my chest. The one that tells me I’ve tripped over some feelings. The one that tells me if I continue forward I will get my heart broken.

How else can this possibly end? I don’t get a happily ever after. After forty odd years, I understand this better than anything. And I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m a realist. I know I can’t have CJ. I can’t keep him with me forever and always, and I don’t even think I want to.

Truth is, I don’t know what the hell I want other than to look into those whiskey eyes and breathe his air again.

I am so fucked.

After my last class, I pack up and head home, knowing he’s probably already there. Knowing I’m going to have to take all the emotions raging around right now and stuff them back into the box where they belong. He doesn’t need the complication that is me, and I sure as fuck don’t need any kind of complication.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding when I pull into my driveway and see he’s not there. Yeah, I’m disappointed, but I can handle disappointment much better than I can handle the alternative.

When I step into my little house, I’m greeted by the things that bring me comfort: my tiny foyer leading to a comfy living room, walls lined with bookshelves. My house is organized chaos, the kind you’d expect from a college professor. I tried the whole homes and gardens thing but discovered I don’t have a knack for mixing and matching prints, so my decor is modest, homey and safe.

That’s my key word, I realize. I haven’t really considered that before. I want to be safe, and CJ makes me feel that way. It’s more than just being a cop. That’s completely trivial to me. It has something to do with the way his soul was able to quiet mine. I felt like I could breathe with him without having to think so much. Without having to be in control of every little detail. In those moments with him, I swear to God our souls touched.

I am so fucked.

The knock at my door lets me know the big bad wolf has found his way to my inner sanctum. Just like the fabled canine, he’s going to blow my house down and leave me completely exposed.

I swallow the lump in my throat then open the door.

Fuck but he does it for me completely. He doesn’t even have to try in his button down shirt and faded jeans. I want to climb inside him and never escape. Instead I straighten my shoulders and take one of the bags he’s balancing.

“Your detective skills are lacking. I figured you’d be here by now.” Give him attitude. Give him sarcasm. Keep it fun, casual. No complications.

“Thought I’d give you time to get home first.” Crooked grin? Check. Sexy brown eyes? Check. Pit in my stomach? Fuck to the yes.

I lead him into the living room and place the bag on top of the giant coffee table. “Want a drink? I’ve got soda. Beer. Water.”

He places his bags on the table and cocks his head to the side. “So that’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“How?”

“Like you haven’t been ignoring my texts and fucking with my head.”

He could’ve slapped me for the impact the words and tone had on me. I wasn’t fucking with his head. I was trying to keep my sanity.

“I haven’t...”

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done to me do you?”

Did I say he made me feel safe? Right now I feel more like Red Riding Hood being stalked by the wolf instead of feeling like a pig whose house is going to be destroyed. He towers over me and closes in on me, and I find myself for the second time today with my back against a bookshelf. I can’t breathe, and my heart is pounding a rhythm in my chest that I’m sure he can hear.

“We fucked once.” I raise my chin in defiance, but I can see I chose the wrong words.

“If that’s all it was tell me and I’ll walk away right now. Because it sure as fuck didn’t feel like that.”

My lip trembles. I fucking hate emotions and relationships and all the bullshit that goes with them. I hate letting people in. I hate this. The look he’s giving me. The fucking pain in my chest I don’t think is going away anytime soon.

I want to open my mouth and say that’s all it was. Then I remember that moment when he was on top of me, whispering to me, telling me he loved being inside me, our eyes connecting, our souls dancing. Fucking perfection.

“What do you want from me?” I manage to choke out the words, but my voice is neither steady nor strong. Oh fuck. I feel it. My eyes water and I blink back the tears that always come with this kind of confession.

“I want to matter to you. I want you to fucking answer me when I text you. Not necessarily in that moment because I get that you’re busy, but within a day or so. I want to know you’re thinking about me. Most of all, I want the truth, Natasha. Did you feel something with me?”

The tears are here, and I know I can’t stop them. Just like in a goddamned Nicholas Sparks movie, one rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away before he can do something stupid like kiss it. Then I look him directly in the eyes and slowly nod my head.

“You matter,” I manage.

“Fuck.” He lets out a deep breath and drags a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me.” He turns to move away from me, like he needs distance.

I reach out and grab his arm, pulling him back to me. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Neither did I.”

“We can’t have a relationship.”

“No. We can’t,” he agrees, and my heart sinks.

“We have two different lives in two different places.”

“So what do we do, Tosh?”

My hand traces down his arm until my fingers intertwine with his, and I pull him to me. “Just feel.”

“I feel too damned much.”

“So do I. I feel like I’m standing here with all the skin peeled away from my body. Like you can see straight through to my soul. I don’t like it. It scares the fuck out of me.”

Now he takes control, pulling me against him.

This thing between us, whatever it is, is magical, chemical. It’s more than a fucking hormonal reaction. It’s raw. Wild. Primal.

And it’s something I don’t want to lose.

His mouth covers mine, and I melt against him, opening for him, letting him in. I know this won’t last. Something this urgent and primitive can’t last. It will burn it’s out eventually, leaving us either shells of who we are now or leaving us better for having gone through it.

I don’t know which.

All I know is I want him. I want to sink into him. I want him to claim my body and soul. I want him to be here tomorrow when I wake up.

I don’t know what will happen beyond that. We have complications. We have separate lives.

And deep down inside, I know I will never have the happily ever after of the fairy tales.

But this isn’t a fairy tale. It’s real life. The man wrapping his arms around me is flesh and blood and spirit and fire. He’s dangerous, elemental.

And I know deep down inside I may not get the happily ever after, but I can at least have the happily for now.

******The End******

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