The Other Man(23)

“Listen,” his voice rumbled into me.  “I didn’t know what this was when I first came after you.  I still don’t know what this is . . . but I care about you.  I’m messed up.  Majorly.  I’ve got some problems, mental problems, serious problems acclimating back into society, and I’m very well aware of it.  There are things I do, habitually, that are not socially acceptable.  Yes, I stalked you.  I know more about you than I should.  I had my reasons, but I understand how it looks.  It looks bad.  And, hell, if I could tell you the full truth, it would probably look even worse than whatever you’re thinking.

But I want you to know something, and it is the truth.  I’d never hurt you.  If it was within my power, I’d do anything to prevent you being hurt.”

“I don’t know what to do with you,” I gasped.  In spite of myself, I was losing this battle.  It was embarrassing how fast he could get me to come with just his fingers.

His hand had wandered down my body to grip at one aching breast.  He thumbed my nipple, kneading and pinching at the tender flesh around it.

“I won’t keep you guessing,” his voice rumbled into my skin, right before he bit the flesh between my neck and shoulder.

My breath punched out of me and back bowing, I came.

What the hell? I thought to myself, eyes on my hands where they gripped into the edge of the counter.

I was still catching my breath when he shoved into me.  I glanced up at our reflection, watching the top of his bent head as he started to move in short, rough thrusts, inching in deeper with every shove.

Finally, he slammed home, pulled out, then slammed right back in again.

He pulled my head back by the hair and started f*cking me in earnest.

And that was when he looked up, met my eyes, and I realized that he was still pissed the hell off.

Seething as he took me.

He was growling.  Literally.  Growling.

I just about came right then.

I knew it was perverse, knew it made me f*cked in the head right along with him.

But I loved it.  Fucking loved that I did that to him, that he was as out of his mind into this as I was.

A series of rough thrusts later, and I was losing my mind.  I could barely keep my knees from buckling as I came again.  Hard.

It was scary how hard.  An utter loss of self, where I forgot what I’d even been upset about.  Forgot everything but the man behind me, inside of me, the man owning every inch of my trembling body.

And his eyes when he came captured mine in the mirror and made it all so much worse.

Oh no.  No way.

There was no way I was falling for this psycho.

Was there?

Or the real question, How had I fallen for him?

I didn’t even know him.  He was a virtual stranger.  An unpredictable one.  A complete mystery.

And none of that seemed to matter.  I couldn’t lie to myself about this.  More than my body was involved here.

It was the small glimpses I got of his sweet side, I thought.  The side of him that looked at me in wonder every time he got off.

“Mine,” he said gruffly to my reflection just before he bent to kiss the side of my cheek.  “You’re f*cking mine, you understand?”

I whimpered.  That’s what he did to me.  Took my words away and turned me into a quivering mess.

He took that as a yes, pulling out of me slowly, his mouth moving from my cheek, down across my neck, along my shoulder, caressing down my spine.

And then I was up in his arms, cradled to his chest as he carried me to bed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Did we just have our first fight?” I asked him, much, much later.

I was lying in bed, naked, well-rested, and he’d stuck around for the night, for once, though he wasn’t in bed with me.

He was prowling around my room, fully dressed, like he’d just been waiting for me, instead of sleeping himself.

“If we did, I think I won.”  His tone was sardonic.

That irked me.  Arrogant bastard.  But it was true.

If we were going to fight in the bedroom, I was going to lose.

“You know, you can be a real pain in the ass?” My tone was not as scathing as it should have been.

He got a kick out of that.  I could tell by the unholy light in his eyes, and the tone of his voice when he said, “I think that’s understating things.  Honey, I’m your worst nightmare.”

Ha.  Wasn’t that the truth.

I got up, got dressed, and cooked us breakfast.

Heath paced around my dining room while he waited for the food.

I was trying to think back and recall if I’d ever seen him sit before.  Nothing came to mind.

“Did you sleep last night?” I called out to him.

He stopped pacing, coming to stand a few feet into the kitchen.  “Yes.  Everyone needs sleep, Lourdes.”

I shot him a look.  “Well, I slept for eight hours last night.  How long did you sleep?”  It was a pointed question.  I was pretty sure I had a clue about the answer.

“I didn’t keep track.”

“Guess,” I prodded.

“Maybe two hours.”

I wanted to scold him, but I was well aware that I was not his mother.  “That’s not enough sleep for anyone, Heath.”