Authors: Lacey Alexander
But why the fuck are you worrying about that right now, for God’s sake? Pay attention
to what you’re doing.
And so he did. He swirled his tongue around her distended clit until he felt compelled
to suck on it, all while still moving his nightstick in and out of her drenched little
cunt. And mmm, she was getting close—he could tell. From the sounds she made and the
way she fucked his mouth now, and the nightstick, too. He used his free hand to reach
up, twirl one nipple between his fingers, then pinch it—harder, harder.
And then she was coming—screaming it out, pumping against him and his nightstick,
going wild beneath him—and he was well satisfied. Or as well satisfied as he could
be without fucking her. And the time for that had definitely come—and the compulsion
was an urgent one now.
Withdrawing the weapon, he flung it aside, off the bed, and hurried to undo his jeans.
Reaching in his underwear, he extracted his aching cock, peered down at her looking
so pretty and vulnerable cuffed to the bed, and bit off through clenched teeth, “I’m
gonna fuck you so damn hard now, baby, you’re gonna beg me to stop.”
“Never,” she breathed, clearly still coming down from the orgasm, and just hearing
that stiffened his dick all the more.
He rammed it into her then, as hard as he could, the move jolting her body. She cried
out, rough passion etched on her face, and then he did as he’d promised—he fucked
her as hard and long as he could. He bit and pinched her nipples. He dug his fingers
into her ass. He kept things way more rough than gentle, sensing they were both into
that right now. And then he even found himself reaching around, under her, pressing
the tip of his middle finger into her tight, tiny asshole. She cried out, clearly
shocked but pleasured, and moved against him more vigorously in response.
And then an utterly stunned look entered her gaze and she said, “Oh God, don’t stop,
don’t stop—I’m coming again!”
He changed nothing, continued on exactly as they were. Her cheeks colored intensely
with heat. And the next thing he knew, she was trembling and exploding in pleasure
beneath him, sobbing jaggedly, and he realized they were definitely going to have
to explore ass play some more, especially since he had the sudden and powerful urge
to fuck her there.
But that wouldn’t happen right now, because—shit—he was coming, too, and he couldn’t
stop. “Aw fuck, babe, I’m erupting in your sweet cunt—I’m coming in you so, so hard.”
And when it was over and he collapsed atop her, she whispered in his ear, “I know
I’m not supposed to ask for things, but . . . could you undo the cuffs at my wrists?”
He found he didn’t mind the request in the slightest, all things considered, and told
her, “Sure.” Reaching for the key he’d set on the bedside table, he let her hands
loose, then asked, “Wrists hurting?”
And she said, “No,” letting her arms close over his shoulders. “I just wanted to put
my arms around you.”
* * *
A
fter that, they lay in bed talking. About everything and nothing. And she relished
snuggling up to his beautifully naked body, having insisted he
get
that way for her, since he never really had before.
He told her more about his work and his friends in the H.O.T. program—he said he wanted
her to meet Colt sometime soon. She talked about her work as well, and also relayed
to him the new sense of peace she felt with her sisters just since last night, adding,
“I’m realizing that if I’d stopped letting them push me around a long time ago, they
would have let me. It was that simple.”
He simply shrugged. “Well, the way I see it, things usually happen when they’re supposed
to, so this is probably when it was supposed to happen.”
There was more hot sex, too, and for the first time ever, she ended up on top, straddling
him in the bed. She teased him, saying it looked like she was finally running things
here, and he smacked her on the ass and said, “Keep it up, Ginger, and I’ll
show
you who’s running things.”
Later, they took a shower together—but that led to more sex, too. And April couldn’t
remember a time in her entire life when she’d ever been more well pleasured or happier,
in ways that came from both inside and out.
On paper, Rogan Wolfe was not the kind of guy anyone would expect to fit with her,
but it turned out he was exactly what she needed. Being with him had become easy,
and fun. And inexorably exciting, too, since she never knew what any given moment
would hold. Surprising as it still seemed at times, she loved what he brought to her
life.
And she also loved the way she’d opened up to him about so many things. She wasn’t
normally that kind of person, but with him, for some reason, it had come easily. She
knew it was partly because it had felt important to share some of herself—her emotions,
her past—with a guy she was having such intimate sex with. But maybe it was also . . .
just time for that. Maybe she’d been her straitlaced self for too long, kept too much
bottled up inside her. And something about Rogan had inspired her to begin letting
it spill out. She trusted him sexually, but she also knew she trusted him in other
ways, too—she trusted him with her feelings, with her secrets, with her heart.
It was past midnight when they decided they were hungry and ordered a pizza. After
buzzing the delivery guy into the building’s lobby and instructing him to come up,
Rogan headed to the kitchen to pour soft drinks, calling to her, “My wallet’s on the
coffee table, babe. There are a couple of twenties inside.”
When April reached for the wallet and flipped it open, the first thing she saw was
one lone picture in a clear plastic sleeve—four dark-haired little boys wearing T-shirts
and jeans, in front of a Christmas tree. She wanted to study it further, but when
a knock came, she drew out a twenty-dollar bill and dropped the wallet back where
she’d found it, then rushed to the door and paid for the pizza.
A minute later, she and Rogan met at the sofa, him with drinks, her placing the pizza
box on the coffee table and opening it up. They shared more easy talk and ate—once
or twice he kissed her, and they reminisced a bit about the great sex they’d had earlier.
But April’s thoughts kept coming back to the picture she’d seen—and to all the questions
it created in her mind. And so finally she said, “I saw a picture in your wallet when
I was paying the pizza guy. I’m guessing it was you and your brothers?”
He immediately appeared taken aback by the question, though he tried to hide it. It
clearly hadn’t occurred to him that she’d see the picture when getting out the money.
And as usual when she asked anything about his family, he withdrew his gaze, this
time focusing on the slice of pizza on a plate in his lap. “Yeah,” he said quietly,
and his tone held a certain finality, a silent warning to drop the subject.
Only she didn’t
want
to drop it. And she just didn’t think she should have to at this point. “So . . .
could I look at it again? See which one is you? I’d like to know your brothers’ names,
too.”
“No,” he said, wiping a napkin across his mouth, his tone conveying the same message
as before, but more obviously this time.
Yet she refused to let that bully her into silence. Or submission. Even if that was
the odd cornerstone of their relationship, she felt it applied mostly to the sexual
part of things. And even if not . . . well, for them to have anything real, she had
to be able to ask him questions. She
had
to be. It was only fair.
So as nicely and as calmly as she could, she asked, “Will you tell me more about your
family, Rogan?” It was, after all, a reasonable request.
In response, he stayed quiet a moment, but then he said, “I think I’ve made it clear
that it’s not a subject up for discussion.” And as he continued to avert his eyes
from hers, she could sense the invisible wall he’d just erected between them again.
“Still?” she asked anyway. Because there was a part of her that couldn’t quite believe
it.
“Yes, still,” he answered simply, resolutely.
She drew in a breath, blew it back out, considered her words. “Even after tonight?”
Because tonight had been different. The same in many ways, and yet . . . they’d gone
beyond their usual roles with each other. And the fact was, there’d been a lot of
that lately, and it had been . . . good.
“Yep,” he said. Just that, nothing more.
And something in his attitude incensed her. “I can’t believe you!” she said, setting
her pizza aside. She’d just lost her appetite.
Now he finally turned to look at her. “Why? What’s the big deal?” He looked as incredulous
and angry as she felt.
And if he truly didn’t know the answer to that question, she would tell him. “The
big deal is—I’ve given you everything, and you give me nothing.”
He still looked confused and angry. “What are you talking about? I give you plenty.”
“
Sex
,” she said. And not wanting to discount that, she added, “Damn
good
sex, too. But you give me nothing of
you
. Nothing real. You won’t open up to me, no matter what I do.”
His eyes grew wide and she could see that he still didn’t get it. “I open up to you
all the time. I tell you lots of things, April. And I’m not that talkative of a guy,
so maybe you’re getting a lot more of me than you realize.”
Huh. Well. She supposed that might be true, and that maybe she should take that into
consideration. And yet . . . when it came right down to it, she felt that any secret
standing between them at all was one too many. And maybe that was her fault. Maybe
she wanted too much, too soon. Maybe she should be more patient.
But when it came right down to it, she wasn’t sure she could be. She wasn’t sure she
wanted to get any deeper into a relationship that required patience and tiptoeing
around a subject time and again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be with someone who
knew more about her than she knew about him. It didn’t seem like a level playing field.
And hell, maybe she had no right to complain. Who would expect a dominant/submissive
relationship to create a level playing field, after all?
And yet, despite all the new things Rogan had taught her about herself, the one thing
she still knew for certain was that she wouldn’t last long in a relationship that
didn’t feel even, that didn’t feel wholly
right
. The submissive thing—somewhere along the way, she’d made peace with that and
that part
had come to feel right. But she needed something more back from him in order to make
it all work.
“The thing is,” she said, turning on the couch to face him, whether or not he would
look at her in return, “I’ve given you so many parts of myself and I’ve learned to
be so extremely open with you—about everything. Sexually, which was a big deal for
me, and you know that. But also about personal things, things from inside me. Rogan,
I’ve trusted you with
all
of me. And if you can’t do something as simple as to tell me about your family, it
feels like you don’t trust me back, or . . . or like you’re not willing to invest
as much here as I am. And that’s not fair.”
She kept her gaze locked on his face, taking in every handsome contour, the strong
set of his jaw, the sexy stubble that covered his chin by the end of each day—all
the while willing him to give her an answer that would make her feel better.
Please, Rogan, don’t shut me out. Just talk to me. There’s nothing you can’t tell
me.
And finally he lifted his dark, arresting eyes to hers to say, “I’m sorry you feel
that way, Ginger.” Only he didn’t
sound
very sorry.
And her heart plummeted.
And there suddenly seemed to be . . . no coming back from this.
She hadn’t purposely set forth an ultimatum, but really, in a way she had—at least
inside herself. And even if he thought she was stupid for making so much of this,
it mattered to her. It might seem like a small thing, but to her it was huge, and
it was representative of their whole relationship. If he wouldn’t tell her about his
family, what else wouldn’t he tell her? And if he threw those invisible walls up between
them so quickly, with such ease, what did their relationship really amount to in the
end?
Maybe she’d been wrong and maybe it all
was
just sex. She’d always been woefully bad at forgetting how casually men could take
sex, how easy it was for them to spend time with a woman—even very intimate time—without
getting attached. Easy come, easy go.
And if that was what this still was to Rogan—just sex—then she didn’t want it. She’d
put too much of herself into it, gotten too serious too fast.
And she didn’t want to get hurt any more than she already was.
So it was with thoughts of self-preservation in mind—along with the embarrassment
of possibly having taken all this for much more than it was—that she stood up, very
glad she’d gotten her clothes back on after that shower, and said, “I can’t do this
anymore.”
Locating her purse on an end table, she grabbed it and headed for the door, trying
not to see the painting that leaned against the wall next to it.
“Ginger,” he said then.
With her hand on the doorknob, she paused, looked back, met his sexy gaze.
“When I want you, you’ll come back,” he said.
But the words had come out weakly, and she sensed he knew that this was different
than other times when she’d fled from him.
Everything
was different now.
“No, Rogan, I won’t,” she said. “I might like to let you take care of me and make
the decisions and make me feel good, but I need more than that from you now. And if
you’re not willing to open yourself up for me as much as I’ve done with you, I wouldn’t
be able to enjoy being with you anymore anyway.”
And that’s when it hit her.
Oh God. I love him. How awful. But I really love him.