Break Me Down (7 page)

He moaned against her lips and she gripped his hair hard.

Then his entire body went tight as a bowstring and he tore away from the kiss. A long, loud shout ripped from his throat as his cock jerked and his release spilled against her skin in thick, branding stripes. She held on to his shoulders, buzzing on her own pleasure, but relishing the sight of him undone. Of that gorgeous cock in his hand, of that body spending everything he had to give. She was throbbing and hot all over, but this view was worth it.

He dipped his head, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, and she kissed the top of his head. But before she could say anything or make a joke about the state of the floors, Gib was dropping down to his knees again. He gripped her hips and went for her clit like a man on a quest. She was covered with his come, but he seemed completely oblivious to it as he brought her right back to the edge she’d been hovering on when he’d come.

“Oh, God.”

The intensity of having his mouth on her again was almost too much, too acute, but seeing him lick his semen off her skin set off some filthy part of her, a part she’d never shown to any lover. But here with him, no shame or awkwardness surfaced. And soon, she was cresting the wave again, coming in a sharp, bright burst of sensation and sound.

His mouth on her softened as she floated down from the high, and he shifted to back away, but that dark thing in her still wanted to be fed. She laced her hand in his hair. “Clean up the rest, gorgeous. You made quite a mess.”

He glanced up, his eyes so focused and intent that it was like a physical impact to have his gaze on her. For a second,
she thought he would balk, that she’d pushed him too far. But then he held on to that gaze and leaned forward. He did as she asked, taking his time and cleaning the tender skin of her belly, nipping at her here and there and making sure to get every drop. Then he sat back and swept his tongue over his lips in one slow swipe, somehow looking like a triumphant king on his throne instead of a man at her feet.

“Damn.” The word whispered out of her, unbidden.

His lips quirked as he rocked back and then got to his feet. He gathered her against him. “Anything else, mistress?”

There was dryness in his tone, that smug flavor of Gibson sarcasm, but she let it slide. It was part of what drew her to him in the first place. She’d be bored if he didn’t fight back a little. His cockiness was her crack.

She pushed up on her toes and brushed her mouth over his, tasting their mingling flavors there. “So I guess you’re staying.”

His dimple appeared, his gaze hooded. “Glad you finally figured that out.”

She gave him a slow smile. “It’s cute that you think you won. You might not think that by the end of the day.” She gave his ass a squeeze. “Get dressed, Andrews. Jeans only. No underwear. You’ve got a floor to refinish.”

His hand traced below the hem of her T-shirt, caressing her tailbone. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Gibson’s shoulders were aching and his back sore after an afternoon of staining the dining room floors, but when he stepped back and saw the finished product, an unexpected sense of accomplishment moved through him. At work, he usually felt some of that satisfaction when he’d finished a particularly difficult project or PR campaign, but having physical evidence of a completed job was a nice change. Sam would now have a beautiful floor in this room, one that would last her decades, and he’d had a hand in it. It was also the first glimpse he’d gotten of what this house could turn into with some TLC. There was beauty in its old bones.

He tried to imagine what the floors had seen in all their years, tried to picture Sam as a little girl, dancing along the worn boards, thinking she was safe, thinking she was home to stay. She hadn’t told him much about her childhood, but he knew some from Tessa. Sam had bounced around foster care for a long time, hadn’t had an easy time, had never been adopted.

He couldn’t imagine how any family had ever turned her away. She was so . . . Sam. Bright and quirky and big-hearted. The kind of girl who rescued elderly dogs from the side of the highway and turned knitting into some kind of punk sport. He still had a scarf she’d given him last Christmas that had blinding red and white stripes. She’d told him his black and gray suits needed a little oomph. He got shit from his coworkers every time he wore it, people randomly calling out, “Where’s Waldo?” But he didn’t care, it’d become his favorite. It smelled like her.

That alone let him know how far gone he was with this girl. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Had accepted that he could live with the wanting. Sometimes you wanted things that weren’t meant for you.

But now he was playing a perilous game. He was the guy on a diet who’d just given himself leave to gorge at the most decadent restaurant for a week. When Sam had topped him earlier, every part of him had lit up like neon—the whole world brighter, sexier, more intense. She’d told him this could be their safe place, and he’d let himself believe it. When else would he have the chance to step outside his real life for a week and live that fantasy that plagued him?

So he’d said yes. And he’d enjoyed every damn second of it. But it’d given him an insidious thing—hope. Sam hadn’t demanded too much of him. She’d been playful, feisty. He’d never felt out of control. If this was the kind of play she wanted, he could handle it. He had no problem taking some pain and then giving her pleasure. Hell, he’d happily do that as often as she wanted.

And he loved how, when in domme mode, she objectified him. That feeling of being there as a tool for her enjoyment and entertainment pushed his dirty buttons. Beyond the sexual things they’d done, there was something ridiculously hot about the way she’d made him serve her lunch and then watched him for the first hour of doing the floors. She’d been refinishing an old chair in the adjoining room, but her eyes had stayed on him, and she’d given him direction every few minutes.
You’re leaving too much stain on the wood. You’re going too slow. You’re not giving me the best view of that body of yours.

At one point, she’d tiptoed around the half-done floors and hijacked his belt again, which had made his jeans sag low
on his hips. With no underwear beneath, he’d given her an unencumbered view of the top of his ass. Maybe it should’ve felt silly, her ogling him. But it’d made him hard. And when she’d noticed, she strolled over, slid her hand into the back of his jeans, made him spread his legs, and fondled him while he continued to work. It’d taken everything he had not to grab her, roll her onto her back, and fuck her on the freshly stained floors.

But he’d let himself ride that edge instead, embracing that ache he knew wouldn’t be satisfied for a while. It was its own kind of sweet pain, especially knowing Sam was the one administering it. Then, when he thought he’d go mad with the need for release, she’d stood, given his ass a pat, and announced she was driving into town for some supplies and to run some errands.

He’d offered to go with her, but she’d ordered him to finish up the floors and warned him that if he touched himself at all, she’d know and there’d be a consequence. He almost wanted the consequence, but he’d followed the rules and gotten the job done. Now he needed to hop in the shower and get cleaned up before she got back.

But just as he was heading upstairs, the familiar ringtone of his phone sounded from the living room. He frowned and jogged back downstairs. Since he’d been here, his cell signal had been almost nonexistent. He’d only been able to grab one bar on extended service when he’d stepped out back and texted Tessa. Maybe she’d managed to get through to check in.

But when he grabbed the phone from the coffee table, Sam’s name appeared. He put the phone to his ear. “Sam?”

The signal was choppy, and he heard only a snippet of her voice. “Gib. Car . . . way.”

“What? Baby, I’m having trouble hearing you. Hold on. Let me go outside.” He hurried out the back door, the dogs charging him when they saw they had company. He put his hand out, trying to quiet them. “Sam, try again.”

“Blown . . . ire . . . ex stop . . . highway.”

He groaned and resisted the urge to bang his phone against the wooden railing. He paced to the edge of the porch where he’d gotten a signal earlier in the day and leaned over it. “Try again. Did you say ‘blown tire’?”

“Yes,” she said, exasperation in her voice.

“Where?” His heart picked up speed. Was she on the side of the road somewhere?

The words came out garbled again, then he heard: “Will try . . . text.”

The phone call cut off and he cursed. Goddammit. The text seemed to take forever to come in. He could see the little dots saying Sam was typing, but it felt interminable.

When the phone finally buzzed with the message, his stomach dropped.

Sam: Blown tire. No spare. Am OK but in parking lot of Viv’s Adult Video & Megastore off the main highway. Called a service but gonna take a while. Don’t want to ask for help b/c . . . yeah. Only chick here.

“Fuck.” Gibson hurried back inside and found a T-shirt and his shoes. He remembered to leave some food and water for the dogs, but other than that, he wasn’t going to waste any time. Sam was stranded outside a place that was probably filled with horny truckers watching porn and it was getting dark.
Fantastic.

He grabbed his keys and jogged out to the SUV, texting as he went.

Gibson: Be there ASAP. Go in store. Pretend to shop. Safer with others around. Anyone bothers you, tell an employee.

He’d learned from his friend Jace, who owned a high-end adult store in Dallas, that if stores wanted female clientele, they had to make sure it was a safe, no-cruising zone. His employees were trained to nip any of that kind of thing in the bud so that people could shop in peace. Gibson knew some highway megastore in nowhere Texas probably wouldn’t have quite the same standards, but he hoped the fact that it was called “Viv’s” meant a woman’s hand was involved in the business and female customers would be treated with respect.

But he wasn’t going to take any chances, especially with Sam who was still shaken from the attack. He hopped in his SUV and broke way too many traffic rules getting out to the highway. He had to temper it a bit when he got on the main road because small towns made their money off speeding tickets, and he didn’t have time for the sorry-Officer dance. But when he saw the enormous, glowing sign for Viv’s down the highway, he punched the gas harder. The gravel kicked up a spray when he pulled into the lot in front of the large metal building. Sam’s old Camaro was parked off the side, the tire shredded, but no one was around it.

He hopped out of his car and strode into the store. A loud bell chimed above the door and the hum of fluorescents filled his ears. A young guy sat behind the counter, his jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail and his face in a
Car and Driver
magazine. He looked up at Gibson, his expression bland. “Video rooms in the back. DVDs on the left side wall. Toys and everything else.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “Divided by category at the front.”

Yeah, definitely not Jace’s Wicked. “I’m here to pick up my girlfriend. Black hair, eyebrow ring.”

“Oh?” The guy’s mouth curved at that, some secret smirk as he gave Gibson a once-over. He leaned forward and peeked under the counter, a blue glow lighting his face as he apparently checked security monitors. “Looks like she’s up front in the clamps and cock rings section. Fun times.”

Gibson felt his face heat at the guy’s obvious assumption and gritted his teeth. Why should he give a fuck what this kid thought about what he did with Sam? He hated that knee-jerk reaction, the pit it put in his stomach.
Hated
it
.
“Thanks.”

He headed to the right, looking at the signs that demarcated the aisles. Whoever had organized the store seemed to be into alphabetization. When he spotted Sam a few yards away in the
C
section, she was standing with her fist on her hip and an annoyed expression on her face. A beefy guy with a full beard and a tattooed neck was grinning down at her like she was some adorable puppy.

“What part of ‘go away’ did you miss?” Sam asked, tone bored. “Shoo.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. You don’t mean that. I could show you what it’s like to be with a real man.” He nodded at Sam’s handbasket. “You don’t want some pussy who wants you to do all the work. Why don’t we grab a burger and talk about it? Me and my buddy are driving down to the coast tonight. Lots of room in the rig for a pretty thing like you.”

Oh, hell no.
Gibson strode forward but didn’t get to her before the guy put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Her reaction was instant and swift.

She dropped her basket, grabbed the guy’s hand, and bent his wrist at a painful angle.

“Motherfuck—” The guy bent over, trying to yank his hand back.

Sam caught sight of Gibson heading her way, and despite the fact that she was clearly handling things herself, relief flashed in her eyes. She shoved the guy’s hand away. “Touch me again, and I will fucking break it.”

“What the hell’s your problem?” The guy grabbed his wrist.

Gibson reached them, seeing red and ready to throw down. “Better listen to the lady and walk away, asshole.”

Sam put a hand on his arm before he could get in the guy’s face. “It’s all right. Come on.”

The dude was massaging his wrist, his skin flushed with anger. He gave Gibson an up-and-down look, his expression twisting into an ugly snarl before looking back to Sam. “So this is your bitch, huh? You buy some pretty panties for him? Looks like he’s got his in a wad.”

Gibson’s teeth clamped together and his fists curled. He’d seen this kind of guy before. They’d lived in his broken-down neighborhood where he’d grown up. Men who didn’t have a brain in the head but got off on strutting around like they were hot shit, tossing out threats and starting fights. Gibson wanted to give him one. But Sam’s nails were digging into his bicep.

Sam tugged. “Come on. Don’t waste your time.”

“What’s taking so long, man?” another voice came from the left as a guy who looked much like his friend—worn jeans, heavy boots, trucker hat—rounded the corner of the aisle. He had a stack of DVDs in his hand. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

The guy in front of Gib relaxed a little, smiled, sat back on his heels like they were all just friends here. “Nothing, Jimmy. Just trying to help this pretty lady and give her the option of a real man tonight.” He reached down into the basket Sam had dropped on the floor and pulled out what to Gibson’s horror looked to be a strap-on. “Seems she’s got one who doesn’t know how to use his dick.”

The other guy looked Gib’s way, disgust on his face. “Dude, you let her do you with that? That’s fucking gay.”

Gibson didn’t give a shit if the other guys thought he was gay, straight, or otherwise. But that old familiar anxiety was creeping in at their ridicule, making his chest tight and his words disappear. And in that look of derision from the other two men, Gib could see his father’s face, the judgment.

One of his father’s favorite insults had been calling Gibson a fag. He hadn’t played sports. He’d been a quiet kid. He had known how to take a punch but not throw one. His father had itemized his weaknesses on a regular basis, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing at those soft spots until they bled into every part of his life.

But, oh, when he’d gotten old enough, he’d learned that last one. He’d fucking learned. Hours in a garage after school with a guy who knew how to street fight. Gibson hadn’t just learned. He’d learned to fight dirty, how to take the pain, and how to win. And by the time he was sixteen, even his father had become wary of him. If his brother hadn’t stepped back into his life a few years later and gotten Gib’s head on straight, Gib would probably be locked up in jail somewhere. But right now he wanted to display those old street skills to the fullest and wipe the smug looks off these guys’ faces.

But before he could act, Sam yanked the toy from the guy’s hand and dropped it back into her basket. Then she got in his face, looking ten feet tall and vengeful despite her petite form. She gave him a saccharine smile, one edged with murderous promise. “And look who’s going home with me and look who’s buying a big stack of porn so you can jack each other off later. Because, let’s face it, we both know no woman or gay man in their right mind would touch either of you without getting paid first.” She stepped back and picked up her basket. “Enjoy your circle jerk, fellas.”

She linked her arm with Gibson’s and started walking away.

“Stupid cunt.” The words sounded from behind them, and Gibson didn’t think that time.

He let go of Sam, turned around, and laid the guy out on the floor with a solid right hook. When the guy’s friend jumped into the fray, Gibson didn’t even feel the hits. He took that guy on, too.

Sometimes having a high pain tolerance had its perks. He threw another punch and felt the satisfaction of hearing that fucker howl.

He was so focused on taking the guys down that he didn’t see the horrified look on Sam’s face or hear her yelling. He didn’t see when she left.