No Saint (Wild Men 6)

How much I want him.

It’s ridiculous, I know. I should walk away, keep away, my God, I left town because of him and now I’m defending him to my dad and brother, the people I left behind when I ran. They’re protective of me. I can’t hold it against them.

My sanity—or lack thereof—is what should worry me. They’re the rational ones, the wise ones. I’m the one who’s lost her head.

I’m in lust. Maybe that’s the issue here. My body is thrumming, cramping with desire. Memories of our kisses, of his hand between my legs, of his naked cock, his groans when I went down on him, they torture me.

Leaving Dad cooking in the kitchen, and Josh in the living room lost in his videogame world, I wander into my bedroom. I sit on my bed, look at the posters on the walls. It doesn’t feel like my room, doesn’t feel like me, not anymore. I’m not that girl who dreamed of running away with boy bands, with fantasy heroes, living an unbelievable fantasy life. I may have run away but it was only to find myself.

I don’t regret it. Going away gave me a chance to regain my confidence, but I am back, and no matter where I go from here, this girl is now stronger—and I refuse to consider that falling for Ross all over again is a sure sign of weakness.

A sudden urge grips me to change everything. Getting up, I tear the old posters down, bunch them up and throw them into a corner. I peel the sparkly comforter off my bed, throw the pink and silver pillows to the floor. I stop short of pulling down the curtains and trashing the room completely.

Breathing hard, I throw myself on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

There. Done. The change is complete now, right? I want to laugh at myself for thinking that redecorating my room would make any difference in how I feel—but somehow it does.

I’m not a pink and glitter girl anymore. I can face reality and not flinch. The school counsellor told me many times that if inside I believe in myself, hard words can slide off me like water on glass. I am not glass, though, I am steel. I’ve forged myself anew when I left. And if there’s a glass heart inside that armor, I’ll protect it.

Ross had looked made of glass this morning when I entered his room, fear stark in his eyes, in his pale face, his harsh breathing. And then relief at seeing me, so easy to read in the relaxing of his powerful shoulders, his jaw, his mouth.

Pleasure at having me beside him, at my touch. It was as if all his defenses were down, the fortress laid open, inviting me to look inside.

But Ross isn’t made of glass. He’s... solid. Warm. Tall. Those shoulders, those thick biceps, the hard stomach, the inked pecs and then... his cock. Thick, long, flushed. Pierced. Burning hot. He’s flesh and blood and sexy bad boy. How could any girl resist the combo?

Yep, good old-fashioned lust, that’s my problem, tempered with a dash of worry and sadness, and thinking of him on the porch, his cock so hard, remembering how he sounded, how he jerked as he came...

Heat washes through me, pooling in my belly. Oh God, that was so sexy. Never thought I’d find a man’s cock so exciting, so powerful. That I’d willingly touch it, lick it, that I’d want to play with it. That I’d want to pleasure Ross and that it would get me so horny in turn.

And I am. So horny. For him.

I lean back, slip my hand under my skirt, into my panties. I haven’t touched myself like that in what feels like ages. I remember how his fingers stroked me, parting me and shoving deep inside, and I do the same, whimpering.

What would it feel to have his cock inside me? Dangerous, tempting thoughts.

I feel like I’m about to self-combust. Never mind that I’ve never done it before. The image in my mind, Ross moving above me, fucking me, is so scorching hot I hiss. I’m about to come, Ross on my mind, a fantasy image of him over me, pushing into me, kissing me hard—and I shatter, biting my lip hard not to make a noise as I clench deep inside, writhing in pleasure.

What in God’s name am I doing?

***

It’s almost dark by the time I manage to slip out of the house. Dad’s busy watching his favorite TV show and Josh... yeah, avoiding me.

Good, at least in this instance. I don’t need either of them asking where I’m going and why. I make a quick sandwich in the kitchen, wrap it up and move through the dusk like a shadow, between the scraggly trees and the humid heat, with the buzzing of mosquitos and fluttering of wings on the branches.

The proximity of his house to mine was one of the reasons I left town. I never told anyone, but even though I wasn’t afraid Ross might assault me physically, I wanted to be away. Away from the confusion he brought into my life, that mixture of apprehension and attraction.

The attraction is winning out. That’s my main thought, the main thought filling my head as I approach his house and find him standing, smoking on the porch. It’s a shock to my system, seeing him, and I tell myself that’s because this morning he was in bed, looking sick and pale, and now he’s right there, in all his hunky Ross-ness—long legs and tight ass encased in worn jeans, feet bare, a threadbare black T-shirt stretched over his wide shoulders and broad back, his short hair glinting like a silver helmet in the dimming light.

The embers of his cigarette burn red, and smoke swirls in the air. He turns toward my approaching steps.

“Luna.” Just my name, but I imagine I hear pleasure in his voice. “You’re here.”

“Said I’d come over.”

“Yeah.” He flicks the ash off his cigarette. “That’s why I took down the curtains, vacuumed, put fresh flowers in the vase... you know. The works. Left the pie cooling on the window sill.”

I laugh. “Your house could sure use some cleaning.”