Secret Maneuvers (23 page)

That’s when I lost the battle with the tears. A few escaped my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as I looked at him. He wasn’t hiding anything from me. It was all there for me to see. His pain. His anger. His lust. What I wasn’t sure about was his love. Even if it was still there—deep down inside, buried under everything else—I didn’t deserve it. The last time I’d tried to believe in a love between the two of us it damn near killed me when he left. What would happen this time if I let him in again—only to find out that I’d destroyed that love—and he had nothing else left to give besides desire? What would we end up doing to each other this time around?

It felt as if he was surrounding me, closing me in a trap, and it was just too much to take. Pulling my head back as far as I could since he was keeping my body secured against his, I pleaded with him, “This is a bad idea, Bobby. We’re only going to hurt each other again. You’ll never get past all of the agony between us for it to work. If we give in to this… need we have for each other, we aren’t the only ones that can get hurt anymore.”

His grip tightened until he was unconsciously hurting me. There would be fingertip bruises on my lower back tomorrow to remind me that whatever was about to happen had been no dream.

“I fucked up and you ran. Now we’re going to make this work. We’re going to be the family we should have always been, Belle. We’ll find a way to fix this. You owe it to me to at least try.” There was a scary intensity in his eyes and I briefly wondered who he was trying to convince here, me or himself.

I could be wrong. This could work out and we could be that happy little family I’d dreamed of having one day for hours and hours on end as a kid. The problem was, I was afraid to believe. Terrified to hope. Crazy to dream of it. There would be no middle ground with the outcome of this. It was going to end up being a dream come true with happily ever after’s or leave me the kind of broken that was unfixable forever and ever, amen. There was only one thing that swayed me towards the decision I made. Bobby was right. I owed him.

Bobby

Emotions were so messy. Somehow, as a teenager they’d felt a lot more simple. Back then, I was in love with Belle and that was all there was to it. Just being around her made me feel alive. Now, as an adult, I struggled between the parts of me that wanted to love her and the ones that wanted to rage at her for taking so much from me. From taking so much from us. Like our chance at being a family.

On the flip side, the other part of me wanted to give her assurances and pretty promises wrapped up in the package that was my heart. Free and clear of all the resentment of past mistakes so that we could move on from it all together. The problem with that was I couldn’t seem to sort through it all to go one way or the other. I was stuck in the middle, wanting to both love her and hate her, which wouldn’t work.

I refused to let myself be the one that ruined this second chance. If it fucking killed me, I was going to find a way to make this work. Impatiently waiting for Belle to say something, to admit that she would try to make this work, too, I tried to make myself say the words that she needed. Three little words that would erase her doubts. Three syllables that carried more weight than should be possible. Eight letters that my vocal cords were unwilling to say. Frustration with myself surged. What the hell was my problem? I did still love Belle, so why couldn’t I give her the words?

Just as I was about to lose my ever lovin’ mind at her continued silence, she moved. Her hands came up tentatively, moving slowly up my chest until she gripped both of my shoulders with fingers that trembled. Pulling down on my shoulders to bring me closer, she lifted up on her toes and placed a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

“Okay, Bobby, we’ll try.”

There it was. Vulnerability. She was scared shitless of what we could do to each other—the possibility that we would rip into each other with the kind of animosity that no love could repair—and, in the end, leave two emotional corpses behind instead of living, breathing people who had learned and loved. Despite her fears, she was giving into me anyway. Being the kind of bastard that I am, I was going to take the opportunity she was giving me, even if I hadn’t figured out how to stop hating her long enough to remember just how much I did love her.

When it came to Belle, I was taking it all. There was no part of her that I wouldn’t touch. That I wouldn’t own. From her soft, satin-like skin to the depths of her very soul; she was going to feel me all over her, inside of her, and surrounding her until there wasn’t a doubt in that pretty, little head of hers that she was never running from me again. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from conquering all that she was, even my own stupid pride.

Her lips brushed mine again, snapping the hold I had on my restraint. I left one hand in her hair, fisting the strands so that I could control her as I slanted my mouth savagely over hers. Thrusting my tongue inside like the marauder I was feeling like at the moment, to tangle my tongue with hers almost forcefully. It was no slow, gentle kiss. It represented exactly how I felt at that moment. It was deep. Intoxicating. So fucking hungry you would think I was starving, just not for food. Starving for her. Always for her.

I slipped my other hand from where I’d had it clamped on her back, down to grasp one of those full, round ass cheeks of hers, pulling her body into mine so tight that I knew she could feel my dick, hot and hard, pushing against her stomach. The friction of her body rubbing against the length of me was good enough that I groaned into her mouth, but the pleasure was short lived because that was not what I wanted to rub up against. I was also not in the mood to fuck around with that anticipation shit right now. In some ways, I felt like I’d been anticipating Belle my whole life. What I wanted—no, needed—right now was to be buried balls deep in her, fucking her so hard that she’d be feeling the way I’d stretched and filled her for at least a week.

Refusing to lose connection with her mouth, I slipped the hand from her hair so that I could grab her ass in both hands, then bending my knees a little, I lifted her up until she had to wrap those sexy legs of hers around my waist for support. Moving forward, I was so engrossed in her that I miscalculated where the kitchen entrance was at, completely missed it, and ended up slamming her against the wall next to it instead. She was grinding against me now. Rubbing her core up and down my dick until I thought my eyes were going to roll back in my head and I was going to shoot off like a teenager in my jeans.

There was no cooling this explosiveness between us and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. The chemistry between us was off the charts. So much so that even Marie Curie wouldn’t have been able to identify whatever it was that we were. We were burning so hot for each other that a part of me had to reluctantly admit that Belle was right, we were bound to get burned up in all of this, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d rather be burnt to cinders and left in a pile of ash than never have this with her again. It was self-destructive of me, but all I wanted to do was add more gasoline to our fire so that we would burn strong and out of control, instead of watching it fizzle away and be cold and alone. So, sexual gasoline it was.

I felt my climax starting to build. The tell-tale tingling at the base of my spine going off like a warning beacon that it was about to be the beginning of the end. Since I wasn’t exactly buried in her hot, wet depths yet, that was un-fucking-acceptable.

Abruptly pulling my lips off hers, I listened to her ragged breathing as I tightened my grip on her, then started hauling ass down the hallway towards what I sure as shit was hoping was her bedroom. I hadn’t moved this fast since the last time I’d been under enemy fire. At least this time, instead of taking a bullet to the knee. I’d be taking her instead.

Walking through the last door on the left I scanned our surroundings, saw bedroom furniture, and almost threw Belle bodily on the bed so that I could do a victory dance in celebration of my upcoming touchdown of the naked variety. Forgoing my need to act like an idiot, I kicked her door closed, used one of my hands in a ninja fast move to lock the door behind us, and then took three steps towards the bed before I did toss her on it.

She squeaked in surprise at being momentarily airborne, but had no time to give me shit about it because, by the time she landed horizontally on the bed, I was already there, pulling her boots off to throw them out of the way over my shoulder.

“If you don’t want your shirt to end up ripped to pieces on the floor, I suggest you take that shit off while I’m taking care of your pants.”

Belle went bodily still for about two point three seconds at the hoarse demand before she was in motion. Pulling her shirt up and over her head as I peeled her khakis and panties down her legs and off, then they, too, went up and over my shoulder to disappear behind me. She unclipped the front enclosure on her bra and peeled it off as I grabbed the condom I’d placed in my back pocket earlier, hoping for this outcome and then shucked out of my clothes faster than ever before. By the time my jeans hit the floor, I was already moving towards her, condom packet ripped open and rolling it down my length.

She was trying to scoot herself around so that we’d be laying on the bed in the right direction, but I crawled up her body, grabbed her hips and stopped her. I was so far gone that I didn’t care what direction we were facing; horizontal, vertical, hanging halfway off the bed, or tied up in pretzel knots, as long as I got to bury my cock in her within the next breath I took.

Slipping a finger down through damp, trimmed, blonde curls to her entrance I growled, “Please, God, tell me you’re ready.” The callused pad of my pointer finger encountered the proof of her desire as I rubbed it quickly up and down her lips, then parted them to shove two fingers up inside her to make sure. What I found there made me a happy man. “Fuck, yeah, baby, you’re dripping for me.” Pulling my fingers out, I used my knees to spread her legs apart roughly while positioning myself where I wanted to be. “It’s a good thing, too, ‘cause you’re going to need it.”

I thrust hard inside of her so that she took me in one stroke and I managed to cover her mouth with my hand before she could cry out. I might want her screaming my name in pleasure, but I don’t want my son to be traumatized for life over hearing it. Pulling myself out to the tip, I slammed in again, needing to give it to her hard and fast. She moaned this time, still muffled by my hand as I started stroking in and out of her in short, body slapping thrusts. The tip of her tongue licked over the palm of my hand a few times and then I felt her teeth give a sharp, little bite to its flesh. Hissing at the pleasure of the small bite of pain, I uncovered her mouth to thrust even harder into her for a few beats before pulling out long enough to slide both of my hands up the backs of her legs and pushing them up to her chest while leaning on them with my weight. Driving back into her, I moaned at the deeper sensation. The farther I got inside of her, the better she felt.

The sound of my hips slapping against her thighs wasn’t enough to distract me from the sight of her breasts bouncing up and down at a rapid beat as I started a rhythm so fast that she was forced to curl her hands over the side of the mattress and try to hold on, or find herself literally fucked over the side of the bed inch by inch.

The tingling started in the base of my spine again and I growled in frustration. I didn’t want to come yet, I wasn’t deep enough inside of her. I needed more. I needed to be so far inside of her that I was submerged in a way that she couldn’t get me out this time, dammit. Pulling out of her again, I slid off the bed, grabbed her by her hips, flipped her over to her stomach, and then pulled her backwards towards me until her legs were hanging over the side of the bed in front of me and her ass was at the perfect height for me to plunge back inside.

Using my hands to spread her crudely open, I impaled her on me. Her walls gripped me tight, rippling around my cock as I held myself deeper inside of her than I’d ever been. It still wasn’t enough for the savage side of my brain that had taken over for me, though. Smoothing my hands up her back, I gripped her shoulders tightly in each hand, holding her in place, and then my hips jack hammered against her backside in a frenzied pace. Pulling her back into my thrusts so that I was pushing as deep as I could inside of her; filling her with everything I had. Hoping that this would be enough to get where I needed to go, to stay permanently etched into her, on both the physical and emotional levels that could tie her to me. It was a caveman kind of thing to do, but I was literally fucking her half to death to make sure she knew she was mine. Inside and out.

Belle buried her face in the mattress to muffle her moans, which was a good thing because my woman was loud. Keeping my pace, I still managed to slip a hand underneath her hips and place my fingers against her clit. With the bed pressing them tight against her and my furious thrusts providing the motion, it was the perfect combination to set her off like a rocket. Her hot, wet sheath clamped down on my cock like a vice as she screamed my name into the comforter and it wasn’t until she was lying like a limp doll on the bed that I let myself give into the release that had been building since the kitchen.

Falling on top of her, careful not to push her too far into the bed so that I was accidentally smothering her with my weight, I let the ragged breaths saw in and out of my chest while my mind fuzzed out. I pulled together enough sense to hope that I’d  fucked the doubts right out of her, too.

Annabelle

Bobby’s hips were still giving small, involuntary thrusts with the end of his orgasm as he lay on top of me, trying to catch his breath. Just when I’d thought the love making we’d done in his hotel room was the best sex of my life, it had to figure that he’d go and prove me utterly wrong. This had been different. Definitely not making slow, tender love. Instead, it had been mind- numbing, angry sex, but it was by far the best sex of my life and I’d be lucky if I didn’t look like a bowlegged cowgirl for the next week.