Tank (Blue-Collar Billionaires 1)

She’s so tight. So fucking tight. I stroke her in long, slow measures using her body’s moisture to ease the way. Before long her hands twist in the sheets and her skin gleams, damp with perspiration.

But she still hasn’t asked for it.

I slip my hands underneath and cup her breasts. They tighten until her nipples are like stiff little berries against my palms. I pull back again, my cock sliding inside her a fraction of an inch. She stills, the muscles in her arms straining as she tries to push back against me. But I’m not letting her off that easy. It’s too good, too hot, this erotic game we’re playing. And I want her begging for it. I hold her off, sliding in and out in shallow thrusts, refusing to give her the deep penetration we both need.

“Stop torturing me.” Her eyes betray her pleasure even as she’s cursing me. She moans and gyrates her hips. She looks so sexy arching into it, her face so open and trusting. I love watching her eyes drift closed as I inch deeper. She whimpers and her mouth falls open on a pant as she fights for control. She’s close. Too close. I pull out completely.

She slams a fist down against the bed in frustration and rolls over to face me. “Damn it, Tank. I’m asking okay. Please give it to me. I’m asking.”

The words are barely out before I plunge inside, stretching her legs back until they almost hit her shoulders. She gasps and wraps her legs around me, holding me against her as tightly as her pussy grips my cock.

It’s like dying, a little bit at a time, or the burn of a blade right before the final cut. I’m fucking her hard, trying to put her through the mattress but I’m also trying to merge with her. Trying to make sure she never leaves me.

“You’re mine, Emma. Mine.”

She must feel it too, how close I am to going crazy because she strokes the side of my face, her eyes holding mine even as she starts to cry out, her own orgasm ripping her apart.

“I’m yours. Yours,” she agrees. Then her eyes clamp shut as she shudders beneath me, her body clamping down on my dick like a tight wet fist.

“Jesus.” I try to slow down, determined to draw out her orgasm but the tight contractions of her body are impossible to ignore. The familiar burn of my own release threatens, the pressure and heat gathering low, tingling at the base of my spine. She reaches behind me and clamps her hands on my ass, pulling me against her harder, forcing me deeper.

“I’m yours,” she insists, “And you are mine.”

That breaks me. As I come, my orgasm shattering me into a thousand pieces, I bury myself into her again and again and again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EMMA

The driveway is empty the next day when we pull up to my house. Tank didn’t even want to come back here but I need to pack some stuff. I also need to check the mail for bills and information from the financial aid office at school. Even though my mail is being forwarded, I don’t want to chance missing something major.

I get out and Tank follows. His eyes sweep up and down the street, scanning for threats.

“He’s lucky he’s not here,” Tank mutters. He grabs the stack of letters and flyers stuffed into the mailbox and hands it to me. I flip through the stack quickly, pulling out anything that’s addressed to me, and then put them in my bag. I open the door with my key and then put Ivy’s mail on the hall table.

“Ivy? Hello?” After what happened last week, I’m not taking any chances that Jon might be here, even if his car isn’t out front.

When we pass by the kitchen, I shiver thinking of what happened. Where is Jon now? And more importantly, where is Ivy? I won’t rest easy until I know she’s safe. If he got rough with me, then I have no doubt he’d do the same thing to her. If he hasn’t been doing it already.

In my room, I point Tank toward my closet. He pulls out my battered brown suitcase and I start throwing in clothes. I skip the heavy winter stuff since it’ll be spring soon and grab all my favorite skirts, slacks and cardigans. The rest of my stuff can wait. I’ll have to get it when I have more time.

Tank watches silently as I pull out handfuls of lingerie to add to the pile and then rush into the hall bathroom to grab my toiletry bag.

“Let’s go. I need to get you out of here before one of them shows up because I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He hefts the suitcase and I follow him out to the car.

Sadness descends as we pull away from the house. I grew up here. My last memories of my parents are in this house. But maybe that’s why I need to leave. Staying here where the best and worst moments of my life occurred doesn’t seem to be helping me move on. I lean against the window and watch the streets go by in a blur of motion. Before long we arrive at Tank’s apartment.

“Home sweet home,” he says.

“Just for a little while.” There’s no way this can be a permanent thing. He thinks he wants me to stay right now but that’s only because he’s never lived with anyone before. Once the shine wears off, he’ll want his space and his privacy back.

He takes my suitcase in the house and deposits it in his room. “Do you want to go out for dinner?” His voice carries from the bedroom to the front where I plop down on the couch.

“That’s fine.” I pick up the remote on the cushion next to me and turn on the TV. It’s showing a sports station. I flip channels until I find a home decorating marathon.

The stack of mail falls out of the top of my bag, scattering across the floor. Most of the envelopes are bills but the last one I don’t recognize. I open the envelope. At first, I’m sure that what I’m seeing is a mistake. I didn’t actually think this many zeroes could fit on a check. But there’s no mistake and I can’t even blame it on sloppy handwriting. It’s a computer generated check from First National Bank and Trust for one million dollars. I find myself tracing the six zeroes over and over. Then the name on the account.

Maxwell Dean Marshall