Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(15)

“Yes,” she moaned. “Oh God, I can’t take it.”

“I wasn’t finished apologizing.”

Before she registered his movement, James rolled over, reversing their position on the bed. It left her straddling his face, her hands clutching at the bedclothes for purchase. “What—” She broke off on a scream when he slipped his tongue inside her, drawing it in and out. “Ohhh. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

The sweet torture lasted a few blissful moments, before he stopped to tug her clit between his lips. “Now I’m the hungry one, Lita. Feed me.” He gave her bottom an encouraging pat and she could feel his restraint in the touch, knew he wanted to give her a hard slap instead. After that, she could barely think at all because he stiffened his tongue, a silent command to ride. Lita leaned forward, fists planted above his head. She rolled her lips faster and faster, goaded by masculine hands digging into her backside, propelling, encouraging. The buildup of heat was swift and unforgiving. It sang in her veins like an operatic solo, but her mouth could only repeat James, James, James.

He groaned each time she slicked over his waiting tongue, the sound growing louder until it vibrated her clit. Their erotic position, the absolute possession in his eyes, the grip of his hands, her own wheezing breaths…they combined and lifted her past the point of no return. She started to fall forward when the orgasm blasted through her system, but James grabbed her thighs and pressed his mouth closer, closer, sucking her clit with such ferocity, another climax wracked her muscles on the heels of the first.

“So good, so good. James. I can’t. It’s so good.”

Finally he released her legs, allowing her to pitch sideways and land on the bed, her body covered in sweat, chest heaving. The skirt was twisted up around her hips, but she didn’t have the energy to pull it down. James entered her line of vision, looming above her in the near-darkness. He watched her in that intense manner, that inscrutable stare of his never wavering until her body cooled. His fingers raked up and down her thighs, pausing only when her attention landed on the erection outlined by his jeans. As if he could feel her attention there, his breath turned shallow. “I’ll wake you at midnight, Lita.”

Something about the way he said the words bothered her, but she didn’t pinpoint the reason until the second before sleep claimed her. And she realized what she’d heard in his voice.

Dread.





Chapter Five



James stood beside the motel room’s water-stained window, watching the streetlight flicker over the empty parking lot. He could hear Lita’s soft breathing coming from the bed behind him. She hadn’t shifted once since slumping onto the mattress and passing out, a fact that caused tenderness to build every time he glanced over. Tangled hair lay across her cheek, the way he’d seen it countless times when she woke on the tour bus, but it looked different now. Now, he could put his hands in it. Stroke it. Twist it in a fist.

Damn you. Why couldn’t he be content to lie beside her instead of watching the clock, waiting for midnight? Earlier, while cleaning her ankle, he’d noticed chipped pink nail polish on her toes. A detail he should have found endearing, but only made him eager to…corrupt that sweetness. Eager to have those same toes digging into his ass as he pumped and pumped, silencing her screams with his mouth, his hand. All the while, whispering inexcusable things into her ear. Things his rational mind knew were wrong, but his body liked the sound of.

How could he feel such protectiveness for Lita and want to dominate her in such a way? It was as though his two urges went hand in hand. Protect and punish. Cherish and…imprison. Keep her still and make her take. He’d never allowed these urges to play out with another woman, because they were only inspired by Lita. When she came into his life, he’d been searching for something without a name. She’d woken up his baser instincts, forced them to take shape, but they’d never gone further than her. Part of him wished it had extended to others, disloyal as that thought made him feel. But at least if this need didn’t have a specific target he could walk away. Leave her to a more natural relationship than the one he could provide.

Perhaps when Lita found out about the violence in his blood, she would understand his desires came from a bad place. A place he’d allowed himself to visit in a deconstructed sense the night they met, but was far stronger than she knew. Might even be stronger than he knew. His father hadn’t merely used his fists on James and his mother. People in town had always given the man wide berth, not knowing what would set him off. Barbeques, town meetings, grocery stores, had all been settings for bloody altercations, incited by James’s father.

James had put off college for two years so he could protect a mother who refused to leave, insisting her husband was a good man. During that time, the court had mandated anger management therapy and to everyone’s surprise, his father had attended and seen actual results. But James didn’t believe in cures. People couldn’t change. And that aggression gene had clearly found its way into his DNA.

Lita moved among the bedsheets, curling onto her side. The goddamn skirt was still rucked up around her waist and he’d left it that way, craving the lack of barrier between him and her *. The tempting swell of her bottom. His hands could touch if he so chose, a freedom he’d never had before. Her non-concern over being exposed proved how much this girl trusted him. Acting on the images his mind projected could damage that fragile bond, but after four years of denying himself, her invitation was a deathblow to his restraint.