Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out (7 page)

Fact two—as much as he’d like to batter the son of a bitch for it, he knew what would happen. No way was he going back to prison for this. If Noel had really
hurt
her, nothing in heaven or hell could protect the man, but Decker wasn’t relinquishing his freedom just yet.

Fact three—Lizzie was crying and that meant he couldn’t even go after Noel and threaten him.

With his lap full of angry, hurt woman, all he could do was hold her and stroke her hair.

And on occasion, if he let himself breathe a sigh of thanks that she’d finally dumped the ass, well, Decker was only human.

One small fist clenched in his shirt and he covered it with his,

rubbing his thumb back and forth over her skin as he stared up at the ceiling. She curled in closer and he gritted his teeth, thought about every ugly, painful thing he’d ever been through —the worst beating he’d taken from his father. The way it had felt the first time they slammed the doors behind him. The fear he’d felt that one time he thought he’d
really
been cornered and he just might end up getting raped in prison.

Even that wasn’t enough to cool the fire in him, not when Lizzie pressed her face to his neck and continued to cry.

There was only one thing to be done for it.

He shifted on the futon she laughingly called a couch and stretched them out, rolling up on his side, but using his knee to keep her from cuddling in too close. The knee didn’t stop her. She just went with it until she was practically riding his thigh—fuck—and her face was still tucked up against his neck while she cried, which was killing him.

This was hell, he thought, miserably. His body was in full-blown
ready to fuck
mode, while everything else in him just wanted to do whatever it took to make her feel better. To stop crying. To realize she was better off without that user in her life.

That was why it happened.

That was completely why it happened.

Why when she sucked in a breath and looked up, his name a whisper on her lips, he didn’t steel himself the way he should have.

Why he looked at her and let himself touch her. He was trying to comfort her.

That was why he wiped the tears away and when she turned her face into his hand with a broken little sigh, he pressed his lips to her temple.

That was why he let himself kiss her again, a little lower on her cheek as a startled noise left her. “Decker…” she whispered.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered against her cheek.

“He’s not worth it. He’s not worth
you
.”

She sniffled again and turned her face toward his.

She
did that.

Her lips glanced off his and maybe it wasn’t a real kiss, but it felt

like one—or the closest he’d ever gotten to a real kiss from her. At

least since before the day he’d fucked it all up and scared her. Scared her into taking off into the arms of somebody who’d just hurt her, bruise her, use her—

“Don’t cry,” he whispered again, rubbing his lips over her cheek before he went to kiss the tears away.

She lifted a hand to his cheek.

He went still.

When her thumb brushed over his lower lip, he shuddered.
Don’t do anything. Don’t. Just don’t…

“I remember when you kissed me.”

Hunger snapped its jaws around him, tried to swallow him whole. He battled it back. “That…” He clenched his jaw. “That was a long time ago.”

Her eyes fell away. “Yeah. Before. And you didn’t really want…”

She started to squirm, shoving at his chest. “Let me go.”

I can’t believe I even mentioned that.
Humiliated, Elizabeth tried to wiggle away but solid, muscled arms held her firmly in place.

“Let me go, Deck,” she said, turning her head so she didn’t have to look in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

There was one thing they didn’t talk about.

That day, the next day…and the three weeks that followed—three weeks that culminated in screams, then blood…then sirens. When all was said and done, Decker was arrested while she locked herself in a prison of her own making.

What was she doing?

“Let me go,” she said again, shoving at his chest when he still didn’t let go of her.

Instead, he rolled, twisted and shifting until he had her body tucked under his. “I didn’t really want what?”

Didn’t really—

The words clanged together, jumbled in her head, but they didn’t

make sense. At all. At least not right away. She was too busy trying to

remember how to breathe.

It wasn’t that Decker was crushing her. Oh, he was heavy, but he had his arms braced on either side of her so that most of his weight was balanced there, the muscles rippling, hard…and tempting.
No. Not tempting
, she told herself, almost desperately.

She couldn’t breathe because her legs were tangled with his and his hips were tucked in the cradle of hers and now…involuntarily, she rolled and she sucked in a gasp as she felt him throb against her, the hard, heavy length of his cock settling more firmly against her through the flimsy layers of her skirt, like the material wasn’t even there. His pupils spiked and unless she was just really, really losing her mind, that was heat in his eyes—she’d seen that look before.

She’d seen it directed at others. And that one time—

“I didn’t really want what?” he murmured, his mouth so close to hers, she could feel the caress of his breath dance across her lips.

“Decker.” She tore her gaze from his, tried to find something easier to look at, something a little less unsettling than his eyes. She found herself staring at the strong column of his throat—flames. They came from the phoenix that spread its wings out over his back. And the flames on his neck were throbbing—or at least the area right over his pulse was.

Which made sense, really. She had her hands flat on his chest and she could feel the rapid-fire beat of his heart, slamming away. “Let me up,” she whispered, a need, a dream, a desire she’d made herself forget twisting up from the depths of her soul. She couldn’t do this again.

“In a minute.” He dipped his head and she gasped as his lips skimmed across her cheek. “I just…” A harsh groan rumbled out of him and that groan seemed to make his entire body vibrate. His hips twisted, then rolled against hers at the same time and that movement brought an answering moan from her.

“Lizzie.” Her name was a rasp on his lips. She hadn’t heard his voice like that in a long, long time.

Shaken, she looked at him, feeling drugged and lost in the heat that had come out of nowhere.

His mouth brushed over hers. Once. Twice. Three times. And

then he kissed a path to her ear where he caught the lobe between his

teeth and tugged. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “Now…we can do one of two things. Either you tell me to stop, to go away…and I will. I’ll let this go and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

Even thinking about that made despair rise in her. It was so wrenching and so strong, she could barely breathe for it, but somehow, she found enough oxygen because she heard herself asking, “And what’s the second thing?”

“You can open your mouth and let me taste you.”

Now he lifted up, bracing his weight on his elbows and the shift in his position brought them more intimately together. She whimpered, instinctively bringing one knee up and arching up against him, seeking to deepen that connection.

Realigning his body atop hers, he rested one hand on her hip, started to drag it up, up, up, until work-roughed fingers rasped over bare skin. “Which one is it going to be?” he asked, his gaze locked on her mouth.

Heart pounding, head spinning, Lizzie stared at him.

She couldn’t find it in her to say the words.

So she reached up and fisted her hands in the dark, deep red silk of his hair, tugged his mouth to hers.

Lizzie tasted of tears
and vanilla and coffee and her—she tasted exactly as he’d remembered, from that one faint, brief taste. Only so much better, a hundred times better, a thousand times more intoxicating.

Her mouth was soft, damp, hesitant under his and that was the only thing that gave him the patience to take his time. Teasing the soft curve of her lower lip with his tongue, he reached up, fisting his hand around the edge of the futon’s mattress to keep from grabbing at her.

Then she moaned and angled her head, opening deeper for him, her hands sliding down to grip his sides until short, neat nails were biting into his flesh.

She slid her tongue out to rub against his and his cock pulsed as though she’d been stroking him there instead of kissing him. And
that
image had him rocking against her, driving his cock against the heat that was already gathering between her thighs. She’d be wet, he thought, half delirious. Wet, and ready and he could make her come so hard…

A hundred times, a thousand times, he’d dreamed about this.

But—

Snarling, he tore his mouth from hers and jerked away, sitting at the far end of the futon. With hands that shook, he rubbed at his face.

Son of a bitch
.

“Lizzie…fuck. I’m sorry.”

A harsh intake of breath reached his ears and the last thing he wanted to do was face her, but that was what he made himself do.

The minute he turned his head to look at her, she surged up off the futon, moving across the small office to stand by her desk, head bowed, arms wrapped around herself. “Get out,” she said, her voice quiet.

Too quiet.

“Lizzie?” Wincing, he climbed off the couch. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t.” The word was pure steel and it caught him off-guard for

a second.

But just a second. Because while Lizzie was soft and sweet, under all of that, she
was
steel. She always had been—he’d figured that out when he hadn’t chased her off within the first few hours of meeting her. Now, as she turned and looked at him, tears glinted in her wide, dark brown eyes, but nothing could hide the fury, and the hurt, in those eyes.

Fuck
, he thought miserably. Rising from the couch, he lifted a hand only to let it fall uselessly to his side. “Lizzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she shouted, cutting him off.

He had to duck to avoid the little potted orchid she sent flying his way. And damn, she still had a good throwing arm.

“Do you hear me?” she said, her voice starting to shake. “I don’t want to hear it. I
get
it, okay? Nobody wants me. No
fucking
body. I’m fine as a doormat for Noel as long as I let him treat me like shit, but he doesn’t want
me
. Neither do you. I get it. Okay?”

Stunned shock rippled through him as she shoved her tumbled hair back from her flushed face. Her eyes shot sparks as their gazes clashed. “I get the point. You’re a fucking hound dog and I know that. But I’m not good en—”

He caught the rest of her words with his mouth and when she went to shove him back, he caught her wrists, too. Sinking his teeth into her lower lip, he backed her up against her desk. “Not want you?” he muttered against her mouth. “Are you blind?”

She tried to turn her head and he tangled a hand in her hair, yanked it back. Her pupils flared, her mouth falling open on a startled moan. “Give me your mouth, Lizzie,” he said and then, without waiting, he took it, thrusting his tongue deep.

She bit him and he responded by letting her wrists go and catching her hips, boosting her up with one arm while he used the other to swipe out against her desk, clearing it with one careless gesture. Lizzie worked her hands between them and although he didn’t break away from her mouth, part of him held his breath—waited.

When she reached up and tangled her hands in his hair, he

snarled in savage satisfaction.

Lying her down on her desk, he broke away. Her hands clutched at him and he caught them, shifted her wrists to one hand and pushed them up over her head. Then, as he held her gaze, he reached down and freed the top button of the top she wore. With each successive button, he bared more and more skin, pale, pretty skin, lush curves, her breasts cupped by silk and lace and his brain almost exploded as he flicked a look from her face downward to study those ripe curves.

“My hands are shaking,” he said, struggling to keep his voice from doing the same as he trailed his fingers along the delicate lace design of her bra, watching as a soft blush pinked her flesh and started to climb upward. “I’ve dreamed about touching you a thousand times and now I am and my hands are shaking…”

Now he looked at her, watched her throat work as she swallowed.

“And you think I don’t want you.”

And you think I don’t want you.

Elizabeth felt those words echo all the way down to her soul, she’d swear it. Felt them ripple through her, all but touching her, the effect was so profound.

And he continued to stare at her, dark blue eyes locked on her face as though there was something
more
, something bigger, something deeper he was trying to tell her.

Shaken, she closed her eyes.

His fingers trailed down the line of her torso, then back up and she swallowed as he undid the catch on her bra.

“I dream about this,” he said and he let her hands go.

She whimpered when she realized why—both of his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples and she felt each slow circuit pulsing through her core. She’d had less shattering effects when she’d stroked herself to climax.

“These tits…Lizzie, I love these sweet, beautiful tits. I dream about tasting them and my mouth is already watering.”

Her eyes flew open at the bald, blunt statement, heat suffusing

her face as he started to lower his head. His lips brushed across one

nipple. “But you think I don’t want you.”

“Decker.”

She whimpered out his name, unable to do anything else as he closed his mouth around one nipple, already swollen, already drawn tight. The way he used his mouth should be outlawed. He tugged, suckled, stroked, and when she was so sensitive she didn’t think she could stand it, he caught the peak between his teeth and lightly bit down.

If he hadn’t reached up at the last moment to cover her mouth, her garbled shout would have been heard clear through the door.

“Shhh,” he whispered against her flesh. “Have to be quiet, sweet Lizzie…”

Quiet?
She barely understood the meaning of the word—
any
words just then.

Her mouth fell open under his fingers and he slid one along the curve of her lip, then inside. Instinctively, she sucked on it and he groaned against her breast before he straightened. With his free hand, he caught her hip, dragged her closer to the edge of the desk. “I’ve dreamed about that, too,” he said, gaze locked on her mouth now as she drew his finger in. He tugged it out and then let her suck it back inside, repeating the process over and over. “I dream about your mouth, tasting it…and then seeing you put that pretty mouth on me. Everywhere. Any way. The thought’s enough to turn my balls blue…but you think I don’t want you.”

He tugged his finger free and a gasp hissed out of her as he traced his damp finger around the nipple he’d neglected, over and over until it peaked and pulsed in time with the other.

She closed her eyes when he slid his hand lower, his fingers ghosting along the edge of her panties. “And here.” He pressed his mouth to her neck. “I can tell you more, Lizzie. Do you want me to?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t know.

All three answers leaped to her lips and when he lifted his head,

dark blue eyes searching her face, she jerked her head away.

“No.” He cupped her chin, guiding her face back to his. “You think I don’t want you…I want you to see just how much I do. You have to see.”

He brought her hand to his chest and once more, she could feel his heart slamming away against her hand. “That’s for you,” he said, his hold loose, easy. It stayed that way even as he went to guide her hand lower.

She could pull away at any time.

She could.

Except…she
couldn’t
.

Even when shocked hunger stabbed into her as he folded her hand around his cock, she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t think about it.

“That’s for you,” he said, his voice lower, harsher. “I’m so hard I hurt with it, but you think I don’t want you.”

Elizabeth swallowed, shaken in ways she couldn’t describe, her hand convulsively tightening around the heavy length of his cock while her core ached, while wetness gathered there and need twisted inside her like a coil.

“But…”

Cut adrift when he tugged her hand away, then backed away, she stared at him. Cold swept through her and she would have wrapped her arms around her body if she could have moved.

“I’m not making love to you when you’re heartbroken about that dickless wonder Noel,” Decker said, and his voice went tight, laced with too much emotion for her to decipher. His hands curled into fists at his side as he stared at her. “I’d do almost anything for you, but I can’t be your toy while you try to forget about him and how he just broke your heart.”

He turned away.

The black of his tattoos seemed almost stark against skin that was normally gold as he strode toward the door.

“Deck,” she said, the words coming out in a painful whisper.

Common sense warned,
Don’t. It’s easier this way. You made yourself forget for a reason, remember?

Yeah.

She’d made herself forget.

And look where it had led her.

Shoving off the desk, she lurched after Decker just as he reached for the doorknob.

“He couldn’t have broken my heart,” she said at his back.

He tensed.

Don’t walk away
, she thought, realized she was so close to begging. What would he say if he knew the truth—that truth she’d hidden for so long?

The only person who could ever break my heart is you
…

But she couldn’t tell him that. Couldn’t ever tell Decker.

The door’s hinges groaned as he tugged the door open. Grabbing the edges of her sweater, she forced herself to admit the truth—that ugly truth that she’d admitted as Noel had stormed out of her shop, the ugly truth she’d admitted as she cried on Decker’s shoulder.

That ugly truth that some part of her had come to accept over the past few weeks…a truth she’d hidden from, until today.

“I never loved Noel, Decker.”

The one thing that had kept him from falling into the abyss was gone. Shutting the door, he pressed his brow to the cool, painted surface of the wood, tried to breathe.

Don’t do this
, he advised himself.

He could have sex with any number of women.

Have sex, then walk away and keep anything emotional out of it.

Because all of his emotions were tangled up in the woman behind him. But if he got naked with her…once he’d had her, how could he ever let her go?

“Did you hear me?”

Reaching down, he turned the lock on the door and then he turned, stared at her. Thick, disheveled golden curls fell in a crazy mess around her shoulders.

Her top still hung open, held together by the hand she had fisted between her breasts and her nipples, still swollen, stabbed against the

thin material.

Taking his time, he crossed back to her. Her lips parted on a ragged breath—and he wanted to kiss her, steal that breath away, take it inside him.

“I heard you,” he said, reaching up and pushing his hands into her curls, tilting her head back and forcing her to look up at him. “Do you get what I want, Lizzie?”

She licked her lips and he stared, avidly, wanting to follow that same trail with his own mouth, his tongue. “I'm not as naïve as some people think I am, Decker.”

“No.” She couldn't be as naïve as some thought, not considering their history. But there was a difference between a lack of naiveté and actual knowledge, especially the kind of knowledge he was talking about. “I know that. But let me make this clear.”

As she stared at him, eyes going opaque, he caught the hem of her skirt and dragged it up. “I want to put you back on that desk and pull your panties down. I want to spread your thighs and lick you, lick you until you are so wet, so ready for me. And then I want to fuck you until you come around my cock and then I want to do it again. I want to make love to you. I want to hear you moaning my name. And then do it again, and again. And when I do it, I want you to look at
me
. I want to know you're seeing me and nobody else. Do you get that?”