Hard Time (Hard as Nails #1) (20 page)

He’s right. I’ve missed this. Missed the feel of him inside me.

“Stop…” I repeat, trying to keep things on track.

“Really now?” He nibbles against my ear.

“That’s what I said,” I grunt against the wall.

“Fine.” He pulls his hand from beneath my shirt and steps away. I twist to face him. He takes a measured step back and points to the door. “Then leave, because that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“Street, let’s talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He reaches for my arm and pulls me to the door, but I break away from him.

“Stop this!” I scream. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I know you. You’re scared and you’re running, but you have to let me in.”

He bows his head. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, holding firm to my resolve.

When he still doesn’t look at me, just continues to stare at the floor with a devastatingly blank expression on his face, I start ripping at my clothes.

His head snaps up.

“What are you—”

“You said this is all I’ll get from you? Then fine. Because you once told me you’d take anything you could get from me. I feel the same way. If fucking is all I can get from you, then do it.”

He shakes his head. “Katie, stop.”

I’ve got my shirt off and reach behind me to unhook my bra.

“Stop,” he shouts, but I peel off my bra and fling it at him.

He’s staring at my breasts like a starving man, eyes heated, nostrils flaring, fists clenching.

“What are you waiting for? You want me gone and out of your life? Then fuck me. Just one more time. Show me that’s all I am to you. A piece of ass. A—”

I gasp as he lunges for me.

He spins me around with one hand, and reaches for the button of my jeans with the other. He pops the button quick, and in one fell swoop, pulls my jeans down to my knees. His fingers twist into the fabric of my panties and he rips them to the side, leaving me exposed.

I’m exposed, but excited.

He needs release, and I’m willing to give it to him if it means he’ll open up afterward.

“You’re not just a piece of ass to me,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my neck.

I place my hands on his forearms and squeeze gently. “I know.”

“You’re everything to me, don’t you get it? And I know, because she’s yours, Riley will become everything to me, too. Your sister, as well.”

“I know,” I whisper.

He drags in several breaths, then pushes his hips against me, making me smile.

“You’re more than a piece of ass, but that said, that’s a nice ass you’ve got there, Princess.”

“Yeah?” I exhale roughly.

“Nice pussy too.” His fingers rub against my opening, slicking through my folds before he penetrates me with thick fingers. He works me with his fingers, then pinches my clit lightly, making me whimper before he pulls away. He pushes his shorts and boxers to his feet and slaps his hard cock against my ass.

“You really want to do this? You really want to have me meet your family? Because if we do this, if you let me fuck you now, Katie, it’s done. You’re mine. Good, bad, and ugly. I won’t let you go. I’ll give you all of me, starting with my bare cock.” To emphasize his words, he lines his cock up against my pussy.

“I’m clean,” I say. “I had blood work done before Riley was even born.”

“Same here. I guess the state wants to make sure ex-felons are clean before releasing them to society.”

I nod. “Then what are you waiting for?’ I crane my head to face him and he locks his arm around my throat to hold me in place as he thrusts all the way in.

No preparation.

No more waiting.

I’m full, and the width of his cock burns in the best way possible. He stands behind me, without so much as moving a muscle and his head lands against the back of my head. The aroma of alcohol is strong, like he’s too drunk to stay standing.

He begins to pull out, tortuously slow before rocking back in. I reach behind and dig my fingers into his hips, begging him to fuck me harder and deeper. He can read me like an open book and gives me what I want. He reaches for my hands and pushes them above my head, where he holds them in place and locked together as he thrusts into me.

Over and over again.

We’re moving in a beautiful synchronized rhythm punctuated by the sound of our slapping flesh. I love it—the way we sound and smell together. I wish we were fucking in front of a mirror so I can see how we look together, and I add that to my list of fantasies for Street to fulfill. Suddenly, he pulls away from me, his cock slipping out in the process, and he grabs my hand. He pulls me to the kitchen counter and bends me over the counter top. Before I can adjust to my new surroundings, he’s filling me until his pelvis slams against my ass. And then he’s pulling right back out, and slamming all the way in. There’s no rhythm or rhyme. He’s like an animal with his head—and his cock—set on one thing, fucking my pussy until neither of us are able to stand any longer.

His palms dig into my hips as he slams into me harder and faster. Sweat drips onto my back, and he groans and growls from deep in his throat. “Fuck, your pussy is fucking perfect.”

My eyes bolt open and I’m left staring at the counter in front of me. There are bottles of liquor everywhere. It’s not the prettiest of views, so I close my eyes and enjoy the ride.

“I’m going to come,” he grunts as his hips begin to buck. I force myself back until I’m standing a little straighter, and his cock drives in deeper than I thought possible. I reach behind his head and pull his lips close to me so that I can devour his mouth. When he comes, I want to steal his last breath.

I feel the quake building from within me. There’s something about being fucked so hard that gets me off. It’s the reckless abandon. It’s the animal within me. It is one more thing Street and I have in common.

“Fuck…” He moans into my mouth as his cock pulses, releasing his seed deep within my pussy. I break at the same exact time. My cunt shudders around his hard wet cock. The sensations are too much for the both of us, and when his knees begin to buckle, he pushes me forward. I stumble against the counter and he collapses on top of me.

His breath is warm and heavy, hot and humid. I’m content to live in silence for the next few minutes as we come down from the unforgiving high, but Street has different plans.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against my ear in between ragged breaths.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Katie

“Sorry for what?” I ask as I pull away. I have an inkling what he’s talking about, but I want to hear it from his own lips.

He pulls his shorts back to his waist, then crosses the room to collect my clothes. I slide back into my jeans and shirt.

His face is beet red, either from fucking so hard or from embarrassment. It’s a cute look on him. He wears flushed cheeks well. “I’m sorry for running away. For leaving you. For everything really.”

“That’s a start.” I force a smile and place my hand in his.

“What are you doing?” He looks down at my hand with suspicion and rips his own hand away. “Shouldn’t you be running?”

“Running?” I sneer and press each of my palms against his flushed cheeks. “Why would I be running?”

He doesn’t have a verbal answer. He just shrugs his shoulders sheepishly.

“You said you’re sorry,” I say, and he turns his gaze away from me. “But I don’t care about that anymore. There’s something wrong, and I need you to tell me what.”

He steps away and turns his back to me, but I throw my arm around his side, press my palm firm against his chest and lean my head against the back of his shoulder.

He bows his head and exhales loudly. “Yesterday, I went and saw my friends. I learned a few things that upset me. A lot.”

“Your friends at Nailed?”

When he nods, I close my eyes, as if I can contain my joy. I give no outward reaction, but I suspect Street has taken a huge step in accepting himself, and I’m thrilled. Only when he continues, his voice is somber and my happiness diminishes.

“Trevor, the guy you saw leaving the bookstore, the guy who came to me for help, is dead.”

I grow cold in an instant. I’ve never been good with death or tragedy, but this isn’t about me. This is about Street. So I take his hand again, walk him to the couch, and pull him down to sit beside me. “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes speak volumes. They’re heavy, and bloodshot. I can see the sadness like it’s an oil painting. “He’s been my friend since I was eight years old, and now he’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, “but if you turned down his plea for help, you must have had a good reason.”

He looks away, opting to look out the window while he speaks. “He was strung out, and he needed my help. He said people were going to kill him. I don’t know who. I turned him away. I turned him away because he refuses to leave the world I’m trying to escape. A world of drugs and crime. I want more than that.”

“Of course you do,” I say quickly. “And you deserve more than that. And if he was truly your friend, he understood that.”

His mouth twisted. “He didn’t. He couldn’t. And whatever he was running from caught up with him.” He suddenly turns his head to face me, and there’s panic in his expression. “What if that type of filth catches up with you and Riley? What if I’m to blame? I’d never forgive myself.”

“The world is full of filth. It came to my door wielding an axe, and you didn’t have anything to do with that, Street. In fact, you saved us from it. I’m sorry about your friend, but you did the right thing distancing yourself from him. For all you know, if you hadn’t, then you’d be dead, too. Have you thought of that?”

His mouth tightens but then relaxes as he sighs. “Yeah. I have.”

“He’s the reason you committed that burglary, isn’t he?”

* * *

Street

Katie figured it out. Of course she did. She’s smarter than anyone I know.

Just over three years ago, life had been good and getting better. We’d been free of Thornbridge Orphanage and the man who’d run it for years. I’d been working at Nailed garage and business was going well. I had my bike, a nice apartment, good friends. The only thing I’d wished was different was Trevor, who was still operating on the wrong side of the law. I’d tried to help him, tried to get him into a program, but I’d finally had to accept he was never going to change.

One night, Trevor called me, panicked and frenzied. He owed some guys some serious cash, the kind of cash I didn’t have, and if he couldn’t pay, he was going to end up in a casket. He said he was going to break into a rich guy’s house and steal some shit to pawn. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was determined. He assured me that the guy was on vacation in the Bahamas. I knew he was going to go with or without me, and I figured if I went, I could control things. Make sure nothing got out of hand.

I’d been wrong.

The old guy was home, and he confronted us with a gun. Trevor and the man struggled with the gun, and when the gun was fired, the old guy was lying in a pool of his own blood. Trevor bolted out the front door, but my dumb ass stayed behind to call for help and staunch the bleeding. The guy survived, but I got ten years to life in prison. That sentence was later reduced, I thought because of brilliant work by my attorney.

Obviously that hadn’t been the case.

That had been King doing his thing in exchange for my friends working for him again.

To save my hide, my friends had sold their souls to the devil, and now they weren’t living the straight lives they’d dreamed of. They were in a different kind of prison, one of their own making, yes, but the fact I’d had a hand in building the walls around them was a hard pill to swallow.

* * *

Katie

Street is lost in another time. His eyes are hazy and distant.

He hasn’t answered my question, but I know I’m right—he committed that burglary and ended up in prison at least in part because of his loyalty to Trevor. I’m not glad Street’s friend is dead, but I am glad he’s out of his life forever. That he can’t hurt him anymore.

But Street
is
hurting. His eyes, as hazy as they are, glisten with tears. He wants to cry, but he can’t. That’s not how he was raised or he’s a man and can’t appear weak—whatever bullshit reason it is, I wish he would cry. I think he’d feel better. But the fact he won’t cry is part of who he is: loving, caring, and sensitive underneath his hard, confident façade.

“You’re a good man, Thomas Street,” I say, caressing his thigh and hoping my words don’t trigger his anger or panic as they’ve done in the past. “I know you don’t believe me when I say it, but it’s true. The difference between the truly bad people in this world, and us, is that we have a conscience. You have a conscience, and you have a heart. A truly beautiful heart.”

He turns to me with a blank face that slowly, oh so slowly, melts into a tender smile. Soon, he’s leaning across my lap and planting the softest, most soul-devouring kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’s short and light, but it’s heavy with heart and meaning. “Thank you for coming here. I love you.”