Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) (17 page)

“Is that right?”
His voice dropped a notch lower. I nodded, then remembered he
couldn’t see me and said yes. I wondered what he was wearing. His
voice was so damn sexy. Probably one of those cotton shirts that
wasn’t trying but still made him look like he should be on a poster
for the UFC.

“I thought you’d be
gone by now,” he said, his voice a husky murmur.

“I thought I would
be,” I agreed, swallowing.

“Do you wish you were
gone?”

I paused. Instead of
answering, I asked what I really wanted to know. “Do you wish I
were gone?”

“No,” he answered.
“I wish you were here with me.”

Oh yes, I’d like
that. Preferably on his lap with my hands around his huge shoulders,
kissing him like my life depended on it. But instead, I said, “I’d
like to see your cabin.”

“I’d like to show
it to you. Maybe later this week.”

“That sounds good.”
My voice sounded breathy now. Damn it, he wasn’t even saying
anything sexy, but he made me so horny. I could picture getting onto
that couch and straddling him. He’d have my shirt off so fast.

“I’ll have you
over, Violet,” he spoke with low, coiled heat. “But I have to be
honest. I don’t think I can keep my hands off you.”

“No?” I nearly
panted.

“No. If you came over
here I’d be all over you.”

“You would?” That
sounded so good. I hoped I didn’t moan into the phone.

“I’ve been gentle
with you so far, Violet. I’ve held back. But if you came over here,
I wouldn’t be gentle with you.”

I asked, breathless,
“You wouldn’t?”

“I’d be rough.”

A soft moan whispered
from my lips. The way he said rough, deep and growling and
possessive. I was wearing boxer shorts and the waistband was elastic
with such easy access. I couldn’t help it. I slipped my hand down
where I was wet and throbbing. This man made me feel all kinds of
nasty.

“So you probably
shouldn’t come over,” he continued, his own breathing sounding
slightly labored.

“No,” I agreed, and
it sounded more like a sigh than it should have. I circled my clit
and bit my lower lip. “You’d be rough with me,” I repeated his
words, an aching moan in my voice, shameless.

“I’d fuck you,
Violet.”

“Oh,” I gasped and
shoved two of my fingers up inside of me, picturing it. A tremor
jolted through me as I worked my pussy, so slick and hot.

“I’d fuck you hard.
I wouldn’t be gentle. I’d fuck you rough the way you want it.”

“Yes, Heath,” I
panted, not caring if he knew how turned on I was, past
self-consciousness, past worrying or wondering what the hell was
going on between us. All I knew was his deep voice was working such a
filthy, wicked spell on me. I wanted him to keep going, keep giving
it to me.

“Would you like that,
Violet? Do you want me to fuck you rough?”

“Yes,” I moaned,
eyes closed, fingers stroking my pussy.

“I’m a big man. My
cock is huge.”

I groaned and panted
shamelessly, my wetness dripping through my fingers. I’d felt him
through his jeans and he had felt gigantic, bigger than any man I’d
ever had.

“You make me so big,”
he continued. His voice sounded strained, and I wondered if he had
his cock in his hand right then. Was he stroking himself talking to
me, just like I was with him? It made me even wetter to imagine it,
and I bit my lip with a whimper.

“Do you think you can
take it?” he asked, his voice almost harsh, guttural. “Can you
take all of me?”

“Yes,” I cried out,
my pace increasing. I worked my pussy, fucking myself with my
fingers, getting close.

“Are you wet,
Violet?”

“Yes,” I moaned my
confession.

“Are you touching
yourself?”

“Yes,” I admitted
in a whisper, so guilty and so turned on to be caught.

“That’s naughty,”
he growled.

I tilted my head back,
my mouth open, pushing against my throbbing clit. “Are you naughty
for me?” he asked me, low and demanding.

“Yes,” I moaned,
getting close, so close.

“Naughty girls need
to get spanked. I might have to spank you Violet. Spank you and then
fuck you.”

That was it. I didn’t
know why the thought of him spanking me pushed me right over the
edge, but it happened, hard and fast and my orgasm crashed over me
full-throttle.

“Come for me, baby. I
love the way you come.” His voice coaxed me on and I came in waves
on my own fingers, slick and slippery in my own pussy. I sighed,
pleasure wracking my body, leaving me warm and throbbing and yet
still desperate for more.

“I can’t get enough
of you, Violet,” he murmured, low and intimate into the phone.

“Wow,” I whispered,
completely mesmerized by his voice, by what we had together, by him.

“So you shouldn’t
come over,” he finally said.

“No,” I agreed,
dazed and half-crazy over this man who’d just made me come with his
voice alone.

“Now go to sleep,”
he said. “And dream of me.”

“I will,” I sighed,
blissed out and overwhelmed. We both sat there on the phone, silent
together.

“Good night, Violet,”
he whispered.

“Good night, Heath.”
I loved saying his name. I loved the way he made me feel. And I
drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face dreaming of him, Heath
like a huge warrior from the 12th century, shirtless in his workshop.
What I wouldn’t do to that man.

Heath

I felt like I had a
fever. Only usually a fever made you feel weak, like you needed to
lie down and rest. This fever made me restless. It powered me through
killer workouts, drenched in sweat, pushing my physical limits. It
made me want to stalk through the woods like a wild animal at night,
searching, seeking my prey.

And I knew where I’d
find it. Tucked into a little condo on the outskirts of town. Nestled
into her bed, dreaming of me if she followed my orders.

And it sounded like she
liked doing that.

Fuck. I was walking
around hard as a goddamned rock. Violet had turned my cock into solid
granite. My balls ached. Nothing helped. I felt crazy, like I never
wanted food again. I wanted to suck and lick and bite and eat Violet,
only Violet, for days on end.

I hadn’t felt this
way since…ever. The last time I’d gotten all worked up over a
girl had to be back when I was 19. I’d always been a loner, keeping
to myself. I’d had sex before, but it had been the high school
variety: drunk, quick and forgettable.

At 19, I’d had my
first serious girlfriend. She’d been gorgeous, stunning from head
to toe, and like a typical 19-year-old guy that had been enough. The
wrapping around the package was so pretty I’d clean forgotten to
wonder how attractive she was on the inside. I’d been young and
stupid, so amazed by her body I’d felt drunk around her. And I’d
shown about as much smarts as a drunk.

Good thing I’d
overheard her talking to her girlfriends. I’d been heading over to
her dorm room like an idiot, wanting to surprise her with a bouquet
of flowers like a 17th century cavalier poet. And I’d heard her
talking about someone she kept calling “the caveman.”

“I know, he’s a
total project.” She’d sounded exasperated.

“I don’t know how
you’re putting up with him,” one of her friends said.

“I don’t know how
much longer I can,” she’d admitted. “But I keep reminding
myself it’s worth it. He’s a caveman. But his father practically
owns New York.”

Oh. I’d realized it
was me she was talking about. I was the caveman she was barely
putting up with. I’d listened to another minute of their bitchy
laughter, mocking my giant size, my gruff and rough ways. Then I’d
put the bouquet of flowers, crushed in my large, caveman hands, into
a wastebasket and barely talked to her ever again. I hadn’t ever
let her know I’d overheard her conversation. That didn’t matter.

What mattered was not
getting played like a sucker ever again. And I hadn’t. I’d
learned my lesson. I’d been a fool, thinking that girl had been
different, despite all appearances. She’d had all the markings of
an Upper East Side society viper, but I’d convinced myself
otherwise. Since then, I’d tried to adhere to the golden rule. If
it looked like a duck, swam like a duck, and quacked like a duck,
then it probably was a duck.

I’d avoided all forms
of ducks. Until now. I thought I’d had it bad back in college. That
was nothing like I felt for Violet. I’d tried to tell myself that
she was the worst kind of a duck in the form of a high-maintenance
city girl parking her MINI convertible on the sidewalk and slipping
around in heels on the snow. Sure she was hot, but not my type and
sure as hell not sticking around Watson, Vermont.

I’d seen or heard
about her every single goddamned day since. A week and a half now and
Violet seemed to be all anybody could talk about. Violet came by my
shop. Violet loves the coffee here. Violet wants you to fuck her
rough.

OK, that last part was
from me. But the problem was it had also come from her, over the
phone, her voice sweet and needy, breathless with desire and lust.
I’d talked dirty to her and she’d liked it so much she’d dipped
her fingers down into her slick, hot pussy and stroked herself. Next
time I wanted to watch her do it. I wanted her to tell me exactly
what she was thinking about while she pleasured herself. What got her
so wet? What made her come so hard she cried out, screaming my name?
I wanted to know so I could do it again and again.

I’d tried to shake
this, tried to talk myself out of it, but it wasn’t working. I
still tried to remind myself about the duck wisdom. But maybe Violet
wasn’t actually a duck. Maybe she was something else entirely.

The day after she came
on her sweet little fingers for me over the phone, I drove into town.
I told myself it was to check on the store. It was to find Violet.

I found her all right.
At the local pizza shop, the one she apparently loved so much. Of
course she loved it. It was outrageously good. I loved it, too, and
often got myself a pie there. That’s what I was doing then,
grabbing some lunch, and if I happened to see Violet, all right then.

The only problem was I
found her sitting with fire warden Tom, laughing about something
hilarious he said. I bet it wasn’t how many women he’d fucked.
Because he’d fucked a long list of them all over the state. Not
that funny.

She got less laughy
when she saw me. I’d called ahead so all I had to do was pick up
and pay. I was nearly out the door when she flitted over to my side.

“Hi, Heath.” She
sounded breathless. Just like she had the night before on the phone.
Right before she’d come, hard, having phone sex with me.

I nodded at her. She
looked really beautiful, even more than she had when she’d first
arrived in Watson. She’d softened up. Less makeup, her hair more
natural. She looked gorgeous either way, good enough to eat. But I’d
take this Violet any day. All day.

“Are you not staying
to eat?” She looked over at the pizza carton I held in my hands.

“Got work to do.”

“Heath doesn’t much
hang out with other people.” Schmarmy and smiley, Tom came up
alongside Violet. The dick even tried to put his arm around her
waist. She did a quick side step, out of reach. I liked that.

“I don’t hang out
with you.” I looked Tom in the eye. He knew what I thought of him.
All strut and no substance.

“Let’s get back to
lunch, Vi.” He tugged at her like a little kid.

“Heath are you, um…?”
She looked down at the floor, a pink flush on her cheeks. Her skin
was so soft. Perfect for kissing. And sucking. Or spanking. “Will
you be around later?”

“I’ll be in my
workshop.” I looked down at her and our eyes met for a second. She
knew what I had on my mind. Life could go back to being a whole lot
simpler if she stayed away. I walked out, leaving her to make her
choice.

§

I was in my workshop
when she came to me that afternoon. Again, she got inside without my
hearing her enter. I looked up from the pieces I was welding and
there she was.

Silky, golden hair
cascading down over her shoulders. Slightly nervous, big eyes,
watching me work. I set down my tools and flipped up the face guard
on my helmet.

“You came.” I
watched her. She took me in, her eyes roaming my arms. Now that I had
her where I wanted her, in my workshop, I planned to put those arms
to good use. I took off my work gloves, removed my helmet. She
watched me, biting her lip, twirling a strand of hair around and off
her finger. Around and off. She was wound up.

I walked over to her.
“How was lunch?” I took that strand of hair from her. I wanted to
play with it. Mine.

She sucked in her
breath at my touch. And I wasn’t even touching her skin, not yet.
Not like I had planned.

“Lunch was…fine.”
Her eyes flickered nervously up to mine, down to my lips, over to my
biceps. I liked seeing her so agitated. I liked knowing what did it
to her.

“That right?” My
voice came out low as I stroked her hair, capturing that lock between
my fingers, admiring it like fine silk.

“I want you to know
something.” She licked her lips again. She should stop doing that.
I knew exactly how to stop her, too. With my mouth on hers she’d be
licking my lips instead. But first I wanted to hear what she had to
say.

“Tell me,” I coaxed
her, my hand down on her shoulder now. She always wore such thin,
gossamer fabrics, too delicate for Vermont. Just right on her,
though, sliding over her curves. This shirt was a little bit
see-through. Her bra strap was visible and I traced my finger along
it, watching her nipple pebble in response. So quick to surface, I
savored her desire.

“I want you to know,
there’s nothing going on with Tom.”