Slick as Ides (16 page)

He chuckles.

“All right, talk to you tomorrow,” I say, and end the call.

There’s a banging sound on the roof, and I ignore it.

I step into my office, plunk myself down in my chair, and once I start looking at the security tapes from Riot’s house today, my fingers and toes tingle, then go numb.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell, jumping out of my chair. “You fucking loser!”

I unlock, then run out my back door and shout, “Get your ass down here, now!”

Nick saunters out from behind the corner of the house.

I slap his face the second he’s near me.

“Feel better?” he asks, rubbing the spot.

I do it again. “Now I do.”

His eyes go wide and he smiles, but barely—and the fucker’s looking kind of high off it.

“Wh-who’s on my roof?” I ask, breathless.

“Not me,” he says with an amused shrug, his right brow curved upward like his lopsided grin.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” My fingers flex.

“Well, I’d like to be
fucking
you—but you already know that,” he says, his steps smooth and his smile growing ever wider.

He walks inside my house, and I race after him.

“You took it!” I punch him in the back repeatedly.

He spins around and hugs me. “I had to. I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

His arms tighten around me. “You left it in an unsafe place. I didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s mine, and I want it back!”

“You’ll have to take it, then, because it’s mine now, and I have no intention of returning it to that idiot, Riot.” He grimaces.

My jaw snaps shut. “What the fuck is your problem? Why do you keep harassing me? Is it really that hard to find germophobe computer hackers that are inventors? There’s gotta be millions of us around.” I push off his chest and make my way out of his arms.

“I haven’t even
begun
to harass you, lady.”

There’s a loud thunk outside, and I turn around and scream when the man that stole my car with him eons ago, steps inside.

“You got this?” Westin asks.

Nick nods.

“Good. Catch ya later, Ides,” Westin says, winking and leaving me standing there, gaping.

He shuts the door, and I say, “Lock down.”

All the doors bolt shut.

Nick laughs. “Locking me in? My, Ms. Black, that can only mean one thing—you want me here, you dirty girl. You want a good, hard fucking, since your toys didn’t satisfy you.”

“They did their job just great,” I say, backing away from him.

I’m glad I’m clothed, but he looks at me, licking his lips, like he can see straight through the fabric on my body.

“Now, about that blow job you told me today you’d be giving me,” he says.

I blink and swallow. “Is there an award being handed out for asshole-thief-of-the-year? Because you’re on the list of candidates.”

He smirks, swallows down a rough, biting laugh and replies, “And you’re on the list for hottest bitches, giving lawyers an unending boner. Fuck, you were torturing me today, looking that fucking edible and innocent. You’re lucky all I did was call up your ass and jack off in the bathroom. I’m not made of stone—especially not when it comes to you.” He stretches his neck like he’s been strung out all day.

Before I can position myself strategically and get the hell away from him, he lunges forward, and I’m caged up against the breakfast bar.

“
What
do you want? You already stole it,” I say, barely blinking and breathing shallow.

His eyes go really dark and get heavy. “I haven’t uncovered its secrets yet, and I haven’t uncovered yours either.” He leans in, drags his nose up my jugular and inhales, making the filthiest sound imaginable.

My legs jerk as my pussy tingles.

“Do it again,” he says.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything but try to slap and hit you, but it didn’t do a damned thing to you.” I lean away from him, but it only makes my legs open wide, making me look like a wanton hussy.

And I’m sitting on a clean counter, but I know there are unseen germs here. Where’s my black light?

I should disinfect this immediately and ohhhhh gaaaaawd!

He bites my right breast, and then sucks hard through my shirt. My nipple tightens and so do my thighs—around his waist.

“Make those sounds you made on the phone. You were really fucking loud, like an animal. How could you do that when I’m not touching you?” He nips his way up my chest until he’s at my jaw, then he grips it with one hand, and in a flash, he’s kissing me hard, forcing his tongue into my mouth.

I wobble for a second, almost falling off the side of the counter, but his other hand braces me and then pushes me flat, so my back’s on the
Formica
countertop.

“I’m not eating breakfast here ever again,” I tell him.

“That’s right—because I’ll be the one eating you out here.” He chuckles darkly.

I want to scream, “Dirty, filthy germs!” when he pulls my pants down and his tongue drifts up my thigh, but I know my issues with germs won’t stop him.

It didn’t last time. In fact, it kind of incited him into a manic frenzy, and it was the hottest thing ever—the way he responded to me and my quirks.

And I really want him to continue.

“You’re gonna shave this shit off for me.” His hands move through my pubic hairs.

“Fuck no!” I shriek with my back jettisoning off the countertop. “It keeps harmful bacteria out of my vagina.”

“And getting rid of this mess . . .” he looks down at my pubes “. . . has been proven to lower the incidence of crabs.”

“You have crabs?” I squeak and try to scramble away, but he grabs me and pins me in place.

“No, I don’t have fucking crabs, I’m just saying . . .”

I grimace and shudder.
Crabs
. He has them. And now I probably do, too.

“Look, goddammit, I just don’t want shitty hairs getting in my way. I plan to eat you out—
often
. And I want this gone.” He eyes me like he’s serious about this.

“Shitty hairs?” My face drops. “I shower daily—
twice
daily, in fact. More when you’re around, in case you saw Paco earlier in the day or our Fat Fingers friend.” My voice cracks. He thinks I’m disgusting and dirty. No wonder he calls me a dirty bitch sometimes. I sniff back tears.

“Yyyyyaaaah!” he groans and stretches his head back. “Fuck!”

I flinch. Is he going to hit me?

Dad made a sound like that before he went psycho on me, and I’ve already slapped and hit Nick just a few moments ago. I started it and didn’t even think about the fact I didn’t actually know if he’d hit me back. I close my eyes, drop my head and brace myself for the onslaught.

I’ve been hit before, lots of times. I can take a beating.

“Christ, Dena, what’re you . . .” he trails off, and then soft fingers drift over my shoulders, then thread into my hair. “He really hurt you, didn’t he? God, I’d love to tear your father’s head off.”

“Why?” I sniff. My eyes are moist, but I won’t cry. I can’t. Not when a man’s watching.

“Because of what he did to you—what Riot said today at court. Your Dad shot at you?”

“Yeah.” My spine stiffens at his touch. He pities me? That’s why he’s here? I turn my head away from him and stare at the wall, unseeing.

“My Lord, you were a kid. Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

“You were a kid, too. What could you have done? Drawn me a recreation with crayons? I didn’t really want to document it with free art—my fridge isn’t into hanging shit on it like that.” I frown and my eyes sting with tears, trying to escape. Why does this fluid hurt so much when it makes its presence known? Is there some sort of acid in there? Have I bleached too much in my lifetime, and it’s an accumulated toxin in my system, only releasing itself in the form of my tears? Will it destroy crabs on contact?

I cringe as my eyes continue to hurt.

He exhales with a loud, grating sound. “Plenty, my father has tons of connections, and he would’ve—”

I turn to him, my eyes filled with anguish and my lips quivering. “He would’ve
what
? Killed my dad? You think I want that? I love him, even if he despises me. I’ve only ever wanted my dad to be happy, and to stop. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Jesus, you think he didn’t know stealing your ideas and selling them off was wrong? Is he mentally imbalanced?” His jaw flexes.

“No, I meant . . .” I look away again, unable to say the words.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he says with the softest, sweetest tones ever, but I can’t listen. “Oh, please tell me—let me in . . .”

Nick can’t be trusted. I can’t share this. “There’s nothing to tell . . .”

“All right, have it your way.” He nuzzles into the side of my hair, his lips planting kisses everywhere. His hands shake as they slowly caress me, and almost painstakingly prepare my body to burn for him.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I whimper as he drags my shirt off. Not if this is a pity fuck. No way. I don’t do those. They’re more frightening than crabs.

“Yes, you do, Ides. You want this as much as I do, otherwise you never would’ve called me back and touched yourself.” Christ, his voice is smoother than silk.

“I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking—it just seemed like you deserved it,” I reply, the lie evident in my quivering voice.

My body trembles as his fingers roam delicately across the cups of my bra, and his eyes follow his touch, making him that much more irresistible.

“Why do you fight me? You need this.” He leans into me with every other word, his back arching. “You deserve unspeakable pleasure, and I want to give it to you without any reservation—no questions asked. I want to give you any fucking thing you desire—more than you can possibly understand. I want to be here for you. Be the person you rely on. Be your fantasy come true, like you are for me.” He grunts as he nips at my skin with his warm, moist lips.

It’s like his words are fucking me.

God, how does he do this to me? Make me moan like I’m dying for it—for
him
.

“I . . . I hit you—just now,” I remind him.

“I know. You can do that when you need to. It’s okay. Hit me again right now if it’ll make you feel better. Anything for you, love.” His hands keep slipping over me like satin. “Get it all out. Use my body to burn away your frustrations. I want you to.”

“I don’t like you, but that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have—God, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t’ve done that. I’m really sorry,” I say, barely above a whisper, and my eyes trace down his torso and land on his straining erection.

“No, you don’t like me sometimes. I get it. I’m a pain in the ass, and I know this, so I forgive you. It’s all okay. But you crave this”—his hips tilt into me, and his tip hits my clit—“crave
me
. I can give you what you want, and I know you feel this. What we have, there’s no way to turn away from it. Not when it’s so hot and needy in our blood.”

I shift my hips into him without even considering what a hypocrite I am. I just need to
feel
. . .

“What do you want, sweetheart? You can tell me,” he says, sliding his nose up my neck and parting his lips over my jaw. His breath on my skin makes my vision blur and my heart pound. “I’ll give it to you—I swear I will.”

“I want . . .”

“Yesss . . . Tell me.”

“I wanna feel safe, with m-men,” I stutter.

“You’re safe with me, Dena—
always
.” He rests his forehead on my cheek for a moment, then his hands place themselves on my ribs, almost cupping right under my breasts. His grip is light, but keeps me in place. “Protecting you is everything to me. I swear you’re safe here now in my arms.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Tell me how you feel right now.” His breathing picks up a little.

“When you’re holding me, yes, I feel safe.” I nod a little. Safer than I’ve ever felt in my life, but it’s pointless.

He lifts his head and looks in my eyes. “You like me—admit it.”

“I . . .”
I love you . . .

“Say it. Tell me how you feel.” His hazel eyes shimmer at me, and there’s a look of hope there that shatters me inside.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I admit, and my face heats.

“And it’s more than sex,” he breathes.

“I don’t know—I don’t know what this is,” I answer, my chest almost collapsing inside me. My shoulders roll forward, and I sag like a ragdoll.

He lifts me off the counter, sets me down and holds me in his arms, gently against his chest, rocking me a little with hip sways.