Better When He's Bad (Welcome to the Point #1)(39)

I felt her hands dig into my shoulders, felt her chest heave against and retreat from mine. She was slick, and tight, grinding against me and fluttering all along my anxious dick. I had zero finesse, zero tact, and zero interest in anything but getting to the end. I bit the tendon in her shoulder where her vein was throbbing under my mouth. She threw her head violently to the side, muttered something way too nasty to come out of that too-pretty mouth, and I felt all her inner muscles clamp down on me and try and keep me from ever leaving her. That was it for me.

I grabbed her hips hard enough that there would no doubt be marks when I let her go, and pounded into her. I’d hooked up more than my fair share since getting my freedom back, but none of it was like this. I felt desperate, needy, wanting. I could feel every part of her—her skin, her mouth, her hair, her inner walls milking and working me over. There was no holding out, no making it last and making sure she got as good as I was getting. I said her name like it was a curse and pulled her back across the counter so we were plastered together, front to front. I kissed the living shit out of her as I came harder than I ever had in my life. I kissed her until neither of us could breathe. Kissed her until she was pulling at my ears to get me to let her go. Kissed her until I felt her start to shimmy and quake around my dick. Kissed her until I sent her back over the edge while I tried to get my wits and rationality back. I kissed her like I knew there were only a limited number of times she was going to let me do it, and I was going to make each one a memory.

It took a minute for both of us to catch our breath, to come back down. I pulled my head up from her neck and dropped my forehead down so it was touching hers.

“That . . .” My voice sounded like I was gargling with acid. “That is the finish line.”

She snorted out a cute little laugh and opened her mouth to reply when a phone trilled from somewhere on the floor. I sighed and pulled out of her. I situated myself as best as I could and reached down to the pile of discarded clothes. I handed her my shirt and dug around until I found her phone. She hopped off the counter and picked her way around the carnage of the groceries on the floor. I made my way to the bathroom to situate my junk and to look at my seriously throbbing side.

The cut looked like it was seeping and oozing, but there was a decent crust of a scab starting to build up on the edges of it. Since Dovie wouldn’t help, I popped the lid off one of the tubes of superglue and slimed the burning liquid over the nasty cut myself. It felt like pouring boiling oil on my skin, but the blood stopped as soon as the clear liquid started to dry. I was probably going to end up with a raging infection and it wouldn’t be gangsters or my life of crime that ended up doing me in. It would be gangrene.

I was washing my hands and throwing the wreckage of the bandage in the trash when she propped herself up in the doorway. My shirt covered most of her up, but it was hard to look away from those legs when I knew she was naked underneath.

“That was the group home I work at. One of the other monitors got sick and they need me to cover. I usually only stay every other weekend, but they need me to stay over tonight and tomorrow.”

That meant I wouldn’t see her until sometime Monday. Why that made me annoyed I didn’t know. I nodded at her and ran my hands roughly over my short hair.

“All right. Give me a minute to clean up the kitchen and I’ll take you. Like I said, I bought you some stuff to get by for a few days, so you can grab that and get ready.”

She gave me a look that I swore was colored with disappointment, but then she just nodded and turned on her heel.

“Cool. I’ll help you clean up.”

I watched her walk away. Somewhere in the part of my chest that I had long thought was an empty and hollow cavern, I felt a twist and a wrenching feeling that her walking away was something that I needed to get good with her doing . . . more for her sake than my own.

CHAPTER 8

Dovie

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I had been doing with Billy Clark all those years ago or with that loser from the restaurant, but it hadn’t been anywhere near the same level of what I had just done with Bax. I knew that sex was just a thing to him, a way to find instant gratification, a way to intimidate and control, but to me it was something different. I felt like I had a part of him inside me, burning, twisting, and throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I could feel the heavy weight of his dark gaze as he watched me out of the corner of his eye as he sped through town toward the group home. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to freak out, demand an apology, or something else dramatic and probably more appropriate, but he was going to be out of luck, because all I really wanted to do was be back on the counter with all his intensity and focus centered on me. He was scary hot, and having him that close, being that intimate with him, was terrifyingly encompassing.

When he was nice . . . well, as nice as a guy like him could be, it was unnerving and I wasn’t sure what to do with him. When he was unhinged, angry, and all silent and broody, that’s when I knew to watch my step, keep my guard up, and prepare to do battle with him. I wasn’t sure what this new development between us meant, but I did know I had never felt as worshiped, as appreciated, as I had after he was done with me. I wasn’t anything particularly special in the looks department, but after that interlude on the counter with his midnight eyes picking me apart and putting me back together, I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Or at least in the Point.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and fiddled with the long ends of the sleeves of his shirt I still had on, bloodstains and all. I couldn’t explain why I didn’t want to give it up, but luckily, he hadn’t asked for it back.