FLAME (Spark Series) (5 page)

He pulls my bikini top down, exposing my breasts. He mouths one nipple, sucking it hard until it’s so hard it almost hurts.

I moan out, ready for him to take me already. All this foreplay is too intimate for me. I don’t mind being admired for my body, but after a few minutes, I’m over it.

“You have a gorgeous body, Carissa,” he growls out. I don’t like men saying my name during sex.
That
is too personal. I try to stall by pressing my hands into his hair. I push his face up, making his body follow.

“I don’t do small talk. I don’t need intimacy or an ego boost. Just fuck me,” I demand with all seriousness. He’s riled me up all afternoon, and I’m taking what’s mine.

“You’re an interesting creature, you know that?” He chuckles.

“I’m glad you find me amusing.”

He leans back on his calves as he digs around for a condom. He pulls his shorts back and I watch as he rolls it over his hard length.

“Impressive.” I tilt my head as I get a full view of him.

“Do I get points for that?”

“Definitely.”

He crawls over me again, just hovering over my mouth. “Turn around,” he whispers.

I eye him curiously, but he shoots a look at me that isn’t meant to be argued with—I did say this was
his
project after all.

I crave his mouth but do as he says anyway. There isn’t much space to move back here, but I manage. He pulls his body back slightly, roaming a hand over my ass and down to my bikini string. He moves it with his hand and slides in a finger.

I’ve been wet since the moment I spotted him. Hell, it didn’t take much, but his over-confident, cocky attitude actually turned me on.

“Fuck,” he growls out. He grabs my hip with one hand, arching my ass out to meet him. He levels us, making us match up just right before entering me.

I breathe out in release. God, he feels amazing. I’m relieved he isn’t vocal, letting me enjoy the feel of our bodies pressed together.

He hammers into me harder, smacking my ass against him. My body opens up for him, milking my release right before he screams out with his.

I wait as he pulls out, and I hear the snap of the condom roll off him before I roll back over to face him. I half expect him to kiss me, finalizing the deed. But he doesn’t. Which bothers me.

I adjust my suit, covering my parts back up as I watch him adjust his shorts. He ties the condom and throws it on the floor.
Well, that’s sanitary.

He opens the door and shimmies out. I see his hand, offering to help me out. I take it, jumping down from his truck. He slams the door and begins walking.

“Wait!” I blurt out. He spins on his heel and looks at me. “Is that all?”

He looks around, confused. “Um…are you looking for a grand finale or something?” he muses. “We’ll have to go somewhere else for that.”

Arrogant ass.

I just stare at him, bewildered that I’ve met my match.

“Why won’t you kiss me on the mouth?” I ask.

He grins widely before responding. “Yeah, I don’t play games, either. I don’t kiss on the mouth. And I don’t make love. Have fun with your science project.” He starts walking away, leaving me in shock.

“Why?” I demand. “What’s wrong with kissing on the mouth?”

“I don’t kiss girls I like,” he responds honestly.

“Huh?” I seriously feel whiplash from him.

“Because I like you.”

“Okay…and?”

“I never kiss a girl I like. Especially if I wanna fuck her. It makes it too complicated.”

“Kissing makes thing complicated? I always thought fucking makes things complicated?”

“No, that part’s easy,” he informs me. “Sex is about getting off. Kissing is intimate. It’s lust. And sweetheart…” His voice lowers to a growl. “I don’t do lust.”

I watch in shock as he darts off in the other direction. I just had my ass handed to me. I didn’t think it was possible to meet someone more fucked up than me.

And I’m determined to make sure that this is the
last
time it ever happens. I let my guard down for one moment and got played at my own game…

6

-23 years old-

Present Day

After the “incident” with Tanner, I realized it was time to re-evaluate my so-called strategy. I don’t let men control me. I don’t let them have the upper hand. And I
especially
don’t let them walk away from me in victory.

I realize this makes me sound like a sex addicted control freak, but I don’t care. It’s what I need to remain guarded and in control of my own life. Having no control over my own life for eighteen years has given me no sense of clarity. I figured men would always take control over me until Mr. Brox happened. He gave me a reason to fight for my life—and
now
I’ll do the same—fight to get back my control.

Much to Velaney’s lack of knowledge, I stopped sleeping around as much. It took me a while to get over the Tanner incident—the feeling that my life was being taken over again—until I could feel comfortable enough to let myself go.

I wouldn’t call it an epiphany or even a life-changing moment, because I thoroughly enjoy sex, but it was definitely the start of a new approach. Tanner was the exception to my approach and I vowed it would
never
happen again.

That day at the beach, I let him in too much. I let him get under my skin, the way he flirted with me, dared me, and how I allowed him to feed off my ploy gave him too much control in getting exactly what he wanted—to use me and walk away.

I guess you could say I deserved it. Hell, I’ve done it to a countless number of guys before. But I’m on the dominant side, not the submissive. And I will not submit. To any guy.
Ever.

*   *   *

I was sixteen when my mother first slapped me. I was actually surprised it took her that long given all the times she came close. However, I let her finally do it. I always backed out of the way or just enough out of her reach. She was a lazy bitch, so I knew if I wasn’t within reach, she wouldn’t come after me.

“Carissa, get my cigarettes,” she called from the back porch. They were in the living room, the next room over. I was already cleaning up the kitchen and putting the dishes away, since no one seemed to know how.

“They’re right behind you,” I snapped back, looking at her through the window.

“So? Bring them here,” she snarled. I slammed the glass down that was in my hand a little too hard, making it break. The glass shattered everywhere, marking my skin on the way down to the floor.

“Fuck.” I immediately put my hand under cold water as I breathed through the pain.

“Carissa! I’m not going to ask you again,” she snapped.

Frustrated and annoyed, I quickly wrapped my hand in some paper towels and walked to the living room. I scooped up her cigarettes and forced the back porch door open.

“Here, you lazy piece of shit.” The words came out of me so fast, there was no holding them back.

The expression on her face was something I’ll never forget—shock and regret—shocked that I talked back to her and regret for ever having me.

“You fucking wench.” Her words spit out as fast as her hand met my face
.
I saw it in time, but I didn’t move. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted her to feel the pain.

“Carissa!” Velaney’s scream breaks me back to reality. I realize I drifted the car into the other lane and a semi was coming straight for us.

“Shit!” I swerve back, just missing it before returning to my lane. I didn’t realize I zoned out.

“What the hell was that?” she squeals, clenching a hand to her chest as she pants out.

I pull over to the side and cut the engine. I squeeze the wheel with my hands as I try to even my breathing.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice softer this time.

“I don’t know. I think maybe I blacked out.”

“You blacked out?”

“I don’t know. One minute I was sixteen years old again and the next you’re screaming at me.” The truth was, I can’t even remember where we are going.

“What was the memory?” she asks sincerely. We told each other everything growing up, but after a while, things happened so often and repetitively that we just knew before even having to share it.

“The one when my mom first slapped me. It was like…I was reliving it or something. It felt so real.”

Truth be told, the memory was
horrible
. It could’ve been worse. She could’ve beat me or tossed my ass out, but she didn’t. It was such a vivid memory because it was just after that when I realized that I deserved so much better. I deserved to live my life my
own
way. My parents weren’t
parents
, but a sad excuse for human beings.

Once Mr. Brox came into my life a couple years after that, it cemented my decision to leave home after graduation. He helped me to
feel
, to have confidence, but it was my mother’s undoing and lack of passion that made my decision that much easier—I won’t be controlled, and I’ll never let my guard down.

*   *   *

I work extra hours and longer shifts to keep my mind busy. I don’t know why my mother popped into my head randomly. I haven’t thought about her since her birthday, and before that, it had been
years
since I really thought about her.

It doesn’t surprise me that she hasn’t come looking for me. Or my father, for that matter. If they wanted to find me, they could have by now.

The hookups and late-night rendezvous still happen. You don’t expect me to go cold turkey, do you? I learned my lesson—no getting close enough to get hurt. Trust me, it won’t happen again.

It’s Sunday afternoon and the bar is packed. It’s football season, so it’s filled with guys wearing jerseys and paint on their faces. I love this time of year, not because I watch the game, but because there’s plenty of fresh meat to stare at.

“Whatcha having, baby?” I ask an older gentleman who seems to be alone.

“Whiskey, old fashion,” he blurts out with a wink. Older men are the best customers. I flirt and get large tips without having to put out.
They’re happy, get their drinks, and can look all they want. Win-win for all.

I make his drink as I casually look up at the TV—Packers are killing whomever they’re playing right now. The only reason I know the Packers are playing is because of Aaron Rodgers. I may not know a lot about football, but I appreciate a hot guy in uniform.

“Come on! That was totally a flag! Damn refs!” There are several guys yelling at the TVs tonight, but this voice stands out. It’s thick…and strong…and…has an accent—
British
.

My eyes flutter around the bar in search of the voice. Next to appreciating a man in uniform is a man with an accent. I appreciate all qualities, thank you very much.

The voice in question appears right in front of me as he walks up to the bar. For once, my voice is impaired as he asks for a beer.

“Hello? Did you hear me?” he asks, giving me an odd look.

I clear my throat and blink. His accent is smooth and captivating. “Um, yeah…I heard you just fine,” I snap. Usually, when I spot a hot guy, I want to throw myself all over him, rub my tits in his face, and tease him, but
this
guy…he’s different. He doesn’t look like the type of guy to want just that. Perhaps it’s his baby face and deep blue eyes that give him away, but I’m willing to bet I can change his mind.

“Six fifty,” I say as I hand him his beer. He hands me a ten and nods his head at me as I grab it and he turns on his heel. I cock my head as I watch him leave, thanking the Heavens for tight jeans.

“Who are you eyeing?” Julia asks, approaching me.

“No one. I don’t eye men,” I retort defensively.

She snorts. “Sure, ya don’t.”

I change the subject and ask, “So, what’s the scoop on you and Winston? Still on a sex hiatus?” I try my best to not crack a smile, but I can’t help it.

“It’s not a
hiatus
,” she fires back. “We’re just getting to know each other better, leaving sex aside for now.”

“Sounds boring as fuck.” I roll my eyes at her. “Not to mention, you must be one horny bitch.”

She huffs as she rolls her eyes back at me. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Hell no, I wouldn’t.

“You two friends?” I freeze in my tracks as I hear
the accent
again. I inhale and exhale quickly before turning around.

If it’s possible, he’s even more gorgeous than he was only five minutes ago. There is something about him—the way he stands, his deep blue eyes, the way his dusty blonde hair has that messy just-out-of-bed look, and the cocky smirk planted on his face—or perhaps it’s the combination of them all, because I can barely form a damn sentence.

“You could say that,” I finally answer. “Who wants to know?” I cross my arms.

“Well, you two just seem pretty close. Like
really
close.” He winks, leaning his arms down on the bar.

“Is that your vague way of asking if we’re…
together
?” I muse, messing with him. I keep a serious face, though, ready to convince him anyway I can.

“Yeah…are you?” He grins sheepishly.

I look over my shoulder and see Julia re-filling the icebox. I walk over to her, turn her around and push her against the wall. Bringing my mouth over hers, I pin her down so she won’t squeal.

“Just play along,” I whisper. Her eyes widen in fear and shock. “Hot dude at ten o’clock wants to see if we’re lesbians.” I plant my mouth on hers again.

“But we’re not!” she gasps through clenched teeth.

“So?” I grin, planting one last kiss on her mouth. “Okay, job done. Thanks.”

I turn back around to face British hottie. His face is bright red with a stunned look. “Satisfied?” I ask casually, grabbing a glass off the bar.

“Yeah…that was
brilliant.” He’s practically drooling.

“Well, to answer your question…” I pause, biting my lip so I don’t bust out laughing at how easy this is. “We’re not lesbians. We’re just friends. She actually has a boyfriend.” I nod my head toward Julia who’s hiding at the other end of the bar. “Or so she
calls
him her boyfriend. No fucking, though. So who knows, really,” I ramble on, biting my tongue just to stop the words from spitting out.

“Really? So that was just a show then, huh?”

I shrug and smile. “I’ll try anything
twice
.” I grin.

He laughs and asks, “So does that mean you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Um, hell no.” I wrinkle my nose.

He cocks a smile and says, “Good to know.” He winks just before pushing off the bar and walking back to his mob of loud, cheering friends.

“Okay,” Julia says aggressively, grabbing my arm. “Explain.”

“What do you mean?” I pretend to be clueless.

Her upper lip curls and her eyes go wide. “What do
I
mean? We don’t kiss!
Not
normal, Riss! Why am I being used in one of your man-eating tactics?”

“I’m offended you’d say it was just a tactic!” I press a hand to my heart. “I thought our kiss was special,” I say with doe eyes.

“Oh my god, Carissa.” She rolls her eyes.

“Okay, fine,” I confess, chuckling. “He’s
sooo
hot.”

She turns her head and looks around me, but he’s already left. “I’ll take your word for it. But hey, next time, give a girl a heads up. I didn’t even have lip gloss on,” she teases.

“No worries. They were smooth. Like butter.”

“It’s a really good thing you aren’t into chicks. Your sweet talk isn’t very sweet,” she spits back, laughing. “And why must
I
be the lesbian in your little games?” Her face tenses.

Before I can respond, Kenna walks in. She’s taking over my shift, so I untie my apron and grab my tips.

“How’s it going?” Kenna asks casually, punching in.

“Great.” I smile, punching out on the other computer.

“Okay, what did I miss?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing. Just a really hot British guy. Oh, and I made out with Julia.”

“Why does weird shit always happen when you’re here?” She chuckles.

“For the record,” Julia steps in, interrupting, “it was against my will. I almost tasered her ass.”

Both girls go on laughing as I grab my purse and round the bar to sit on the other side. I order a drink and lay my tips out, making sure to give Julia half.

“Looks like you’re ready to go to a strip club.”

I roll my eyes as British hottie sits next to me.

“I’m very close to getting a restraining order against you,” I tease.

He shrugs lightly. “Wouldn’t be my first.” I watch as he takes a sip of his beer, his Adam’s apple moving smoothly against his skin.
Fuck me, that’s hot.

“Doesn’t surprise me. You kind of set off the creepy vibe.” He sets his beer down on the bar, startling me.