What the hell? Where had that thought come from?
No, she couldn’t love him. There was no future for him and her.
Only now. Only this, his pulsing arousal between her lips. Her eyes snapped open to find him staring at her intently, as if he could devour her with sight alone. He looked fierce and sexy and intimidating. Her eyes widened at the hunger in his eyes.
Through his arousal, he managed a small smile and touched her cheek tenderly. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to look.”
He thought she didn’t want to look at him, to see his beautiful face? He thought she wanted to pretend it was someone else licking her, pleasuring her?
Anger burned inside her like acid. Anger because he doubted h
imself. Anger because he doubted her, too, thinking that she’d be so shallow.
Anger at the faceless people who had wounded him, outside and in.
It didn’t have to be like that. She would prove it to him. Even if this afternoon was all she had with him, he would know his worth to her.
A battle. That was what they’d have—a sensual battle to make him understand. She fought by tightening her lips and sucking hard. His hips bucked in helpless response, and he groaned, eyes closing, knuckles turning white as he clenched the sheets.
She continued her onslaught using strong suction and steady thrusts. She took him in deep, too deep. Almost hurting her throat, impaling herself with his cock; she didn’t care. She sucked him that way as hard as she could, as if his cock was her lifeline—and maybe it was.
“Erin,” he moaned. “It’s too much. You have to stop. Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He thrust his hips up jerkily, mindlessly trying to get deeper, push farther.
She tried to oblige him, jamming her head down onto him, her lips grazing the hair at the base. And that groan rumbled all the way into her throat. She could have come from the sound alone, if her hands had been free to touch herself, but they weren’t.
His cock choked her, but it seemed insignificant compared to this. Compared to the strain of his thighs beneath her palms, to the ache between her legs. He came with a hoarse shout and a burst of warm fluid down her throat, trembling for what seemed like hours but could only have been minutes, his body made supplicant by the flick of her tongue.
Violent shudders ran through him, even after she lifted herself from his cock, even when he reached down to grasp her, to pull her up, seeking a connection she was too willing to give. A similar sated haze crept over her. She clambered up his body and curled herself up at the crook of his arm, feeling like some small animal, a squirrel nestling in the cradle of a tree. Replete. Safe. He would hold her through the storm.
Chapter Three
Blake
Blake absolutely would not, under any circumstances, jump her bones.
Not right away. No, not ever again. At the very least, it was sexual harassment, what he had done. His mind had even drifted to the worst in the days since she’d gone. What if she hadn’t wanted it? What if she’d felt that she couldn’t say no? It would have been practically rape.
Either way, he should be arrested. Beaten.
Someone should kick his ass for taking advantage of her. It was too damned bad that Erin didn’t have anyone to beat the shit out of him. No father, no brothers, no punk-ass college boyfriend either. She was vulnerable, and he’d been the worst kind of bastard.
“Mr. Morris, it’s Erin.” It was the same way she always called out when she came into the house, and his cock hardened like a goddamn puppet on a string. God, no.
He couldn’t do this. Bad enough she knew he was a dirty old man, taking advantage, lusting after her. Worse that he’d used her own desperation, her need to work to pay for her college, as a tether to keep her near him.
He couldn’t also take her body, her innocence.
Isn’t that what you did, asshole?
It was a little late to protect her when he’d already come down her throat.
No matter what he’d done to her, she was innocent. It didn’t matter that he’d touched her. That her mouth made him come hard enough to see stars. Not even before his injuries had he gotten it so good. But her brown eyes were so open, so trusting. Her body was lithe and smooth and young. She was innocence personified. He didn’t deserve any of it.
There she was, entering the kitchen. That incredible body and beautiful mind.
Everything he couldn’t have. “We have to talk.”
She picked up on his tone correctly, setting her face into solemn lines, but then she’d always been bright. Probably she was worried he’d touch her again, put his filthy hands on her body and his ugly face near hers. And why shouldn’t she be worried?