For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (40 page)

His pecs tightened, his tendons jacking up, cording into ropes of iron as lust gripped him and primal instinct took over.

He made a grab for her hands and nailed them to the sides of her head as he stared down at her, never losing a stroke.

Her eyes flew open and he felt himself engorge with a new rush of blood to his cock. He plowed into her, the feel of her prisoner underneath him making him pummel her all the harder.

He felt a pounding in his head, a throbbing in his temples as he fought his own arousal. It was too good to let loose but he couldn’t maintain it. She was so wet and tight around him that she fisted him like a glove. He became more rigid, baring his teeth as he watched her. She stared at him with wide eyes before shutting him out—he felt a mad rush to see her eyes but it was too late, a stroke of hot pleasure gripped him and he let go as the first wave of orgasm rocketed down his spine.

He pushed inside and held it there, a flame of pure perfection exploding in his head and coiling down through his system. He milked the feeling, taking every drop of pleasure he could and knowing instinctually that it would never be enough.

Her eyes shot open and so did his; they stared at each other, each dragging in oxygen so hard that it made him almost light-headed.

Light-headed? That was fucked up. He wasn’t going to worry about it, because after he’d had her five or six times, he’d be back in control.

Her eyes were cornflower blue as she stared up at him and he was struck at how truly beautiful she was. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and bussed her on the lips before studying her intently, trying to figure out what was in her head.

There was a slight flush on her features, as if she were embarrassed, but she’d been so damn perfect in bed that he knew that could never be the case. She was a fucking dream lay and for whatever reason, he knew well and good that his two-time fucking rule was about to blow out the window. He literally couldn’t get a grip on how badly he wanted to do her again and goddammit, if he wanted her for a while, he would have her.

Her mouth opened as if to speak but she stalled and licked her lips, staring at him with hesitation. He felt his eyes narrow as she pushed against his hands. He tried but couldn’t keep the words from spilling from his lips. “Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

Her eyes dropped as if worried and then came back to his. “Um, well—aren’t we done?”

A stroke of irritation bled down his spine as he raised an eyebrow.
The chick was not getting away that easily.
“Done?”

She blushed again but her smart-mouth was still in working order. “Yeah, you know, done, finished, it was really good and thanks so much?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage. But he retained enough sanity to know that he should probably keep both emotions in check. “I don’t think so,” he said neutrally.

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitatingly.

“I mean we’re not done, not through, not even close to finished.” Even as he said the words, he felt his erection grow to full strength again. He took advantage of it and taking a stroke, he pushed inside more deeply and held it there, his fingers tightening around her wrists.

She sucked in a breath. “So, you mean, you want to do it again, like now?”

He measured her for a moment, hesitating. “Sure, that’s what I mean.”
Yeah, that’s exactly what he meant—and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

She watched him a tad suspiciously before a small grin split her features. “Then is it okay if I get on top this time?”

A bolt of relief hit him hard. He’d take it,
for now
. Later was soon enough for her to find out she wouldn’t be escaping from him anytime in the near future. But there was no need to make her anxious now, not when she was wet and creamy and willing.

He grabbed her by the waist and flipped onto his back, bringing her over him. His fingers locked into her hair as he brought her down onto his shaft, one slow inch at a time. When he was fully seated inside, she collapsed on top of him and their hearts began pounding together. He bit into his lip until he tasted blood, until he had some control.

When he found it, he ran his hands up and down her spine and whispered in her ear. “Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”

Twelve months later

Whitney leaned back
in the bathtub as she ran the razor from her ankle to her knee with a clean stroke. Ty was late but that was okay because she was running late herself. She wanted everything to be perfect when he got home—she couldn’t believe it had been a year since they’d started seeing each other. Would he remember today was their anniversary for lack of a better word? It really didn’t matter either way, because whether or not he was as attuned to the calendar as she was didn’t mean he wasn’t as vested in the relationship.

He was vested, she knew that
for sure
—it was blatant in both his looks and actions. As she took another swipe up her leg, her heart started pounding a little harder when she thought about the protective and territorial streak that he possessed; it became more apparent as the days rushed by.

And the night before—her tummy quivered from the memory. Jesus, he’d been insatiable, just as insatiable as he’d been twelve months ago, like they’d just met and he literally couldn’t get enough. That was good, right? It was good for her, and although they never really talked about the future or long-range plans, she thought that their relationship was progressing at a reasonable, normal speed and she was happy with that, for now. You couldn’t rush guys into marriage, at least, not too much. It took time for guys to make a forever commitment, and although she was getting there herself, she wasn’t worried, because it was early days yet.

As she stepped from the tub and wrapped a towel around her torso, she heard the back door slam and then the slow, steady pace of Ty’s boots against the tile floor.

Butterflies went off in her stomach as he came to the bathroom door that she’d left about halfway ajar, and he slowly pushed it all the way open. As he stood in the doorway, his eyes met hers and she sucked in a breath as she felt the same charge of electricity that always volleyed between them. He put his hands on his hips and then his gaze slowly dropped, undoubtedly taking in the mess of her still damp hair and body. His eyes narrowed sharply as his nostrils flared. “Looks like I’m right on time.”

She licked her lips, wondering how many seconds she had left before he invaded her personal space and seized her with the same pagan force he always used. As his eyes stayed on the tops of her thighs with a hint of red slashing his cheekbones, her pulse escalated.

Her stomach flipping over, she perused the man in front of her, anticipation licking down her spine. He was
so
fucking fine—his muscles like steel, his biceps bulging against the short-sleeved t-shirt he was wearing. She looked him up and down, studying the perfection of his torso, the strength radiating from his corded muscles as he stared back and slowly cracked his knuckles one by one. Her eyes dropped to his fisted hands—
and she almost had a heart attack
. “What’s that?” she asked, tipping her head toward his left hand, her pulse pounding triple-time.

He took a single, predatory step forward and lifted his fisted hand, displaying his ring finger almost challengingly. “What, this?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak as she stared at the brand-new and still reddened tattoo that banded around his ring finger like a—like a—

He took another step forward and then another as he came within inches and lifted her chin. “Finally had all the bullshit I can stand at the convenience store. Bitch won’t leave me alone and I don’t want to have to buy beer farther away. This should shut her up, yeah?” As one hand threaded through her hair, he casually showed her his tattoo, a circle of italicized
W
’s that banded his ring finger—a symbol that couldn’t fail to make a bold statement.

And the statement it was making was sending Whitney’s emotions into a tailspin. “But it’s permanent,” she mumbled, still in a state of shock—and happiness.

His hand dropped as he wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her torso slamming into his. “Yeah, so? What did you think, babe? That I’m only half in?”

A thrill rushed through her as their eyes locked. “Are you all in?” she whispered.

His arm tightened like a steel band. “Are you all in?” he asked harshly.

Her heart slamming, she took a leap of faith. “Yes.”

He was infinitely still for a moment and then his expression changed to a look of relief. “Yeah? Good. We can make solid plans.” He planted his hands on her waist and lifted her, swinging her into his arms and walking toward the bed.
“Later.”

Her heart singing with delight and her body trembling with need, Whitney landed on the bed and held out her arms.

*     *     *

I hope you enjoyed this short story! You can start reading Rule’s Obsession now, which is currently
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NEWSLETTER

Cynthia Rayne

T
he knock at
the door startled me.

No one knew where I was. By design. I set my glass of bourbon down on the coffee table. It was a sultry summer night and the temperature hovered in the nineties, even at two in the morning. I threw a matching pink satin robe over my nightgown. It was too hot to wear anything more substantial.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

I stubbed out my menthol cigarette in the ashtray then grabbed the Glock from the hall closet, clutching it like a comfort object. Sucking in a breath, I crossed the creaking wooden floor in my shabby little apartment and peered through peep hole to see Byron Beauregard.

Beauregard was an “associate” of my soon-to-be ex-husband. After I discovered that Clayton worked for the Dixie Mafia doing God knows what, our marriage had gone off the rails. I found out I knew very little about the man I’d married. That man had only existed in my imagination. And Clayton no longer felt the need to keep up the façade of doting husband and father anymore. He drank, ran around Dallas with women he picked up in bars. And three weeks ago, I’d finally fled. Here.

I stood there paralyzed by indecision. My one bedroom apartment was on the third floor and the fire escape was rusted and rickety. My son and I couldn’t risk it. There was only one way out of here and Beauregard stood in front of it. I thought about calling the police, but I my husband’s employers paid them off all the time. I literally had no one to turn to. My heart galloped in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears.

“No use in hidin’, Dolly Perkins. I can hear you.
Let me in
.”

I cocked the pistol. “Did you hear that?”

Beauregard chuckled. The sound was low and throaty. “Now, is that any way to treat a guest?”

“You aren’t a guest. Leave!” I couldn’t stay in this place, not if the mafia knew where I was. But I didn’t have the funds to flee and I’d already paid the rent up through next month. Of course, dead women didn’t need lodging.

Panic was setting in.

“Leave. Now. Or I’ll call the police.”

“That’s a bluff and you know it,” he said calmly.

“Go to hell! I’m not letting you in.”

“Funny enough, that’s the name of my hometown. Dolly,” he said, as though we were having a polite conversation over drinks, “Hell, Texas. Now, be reasonable. You and I have business tonight and I don’t want to break down this door, but I will.”

There was a thread of menace in his tone. From what I’d pieced together, Beauregard worked as an enforcer, “taking care” of problems for the mafia. So, I could guess what kind of “business” he had with me. The Dixie Mafia protects their own and I’d run out on my husband after stealing as much of his cash as I could get my hands on. Were they worried I’d go to the FBI?

“Go away!” I said, gripping the gun. I’d never shot anyone. The gun had belonged to Clayton and I had a good idea what he’d used it for. I needed some form of protection, so I’d taken it on impulse.

“Be reasonable, Dolly. If I were here to…
take care of you
, would I knock first?”

I thought about that a minute. He had a reputation of being cold and clinical and he’d never been caught. I couldn’t imagine he’d risk discovery by coming up to my front door and announcing his presence. He was much more likely to lay in wait for someone. Like in the backseat of a car. Or maybe in a deserted alley.

“It’s the middle of the night,” I said. “Why else would you be here?”

“I have urgent business with you. It can’t wait until tomorrow morning. And you’re up, anyway. I saw the light on from the window. So, don’t try to play the
it’s too late to talk
card.”

I glanced at the open window in the living room, the drapes were rippling in the breeze. Damn it. Despite the heat, I should’ve shut them all to protect us from prying eyes.

With trembling fingers I turned the lock, but left the chain on and only opened the door a few inches, just enough to get a real good look at him. I sucked in a breath at the site of Beauregard. I was never quite prepared when I saw him. As if I thought my mind had somehow embellished his unearthly male beauty in my memory. Lord knows someone in his vocation should be ugly as sin, but Beauregard was a handsome devil–tall, blond, and blue-eyed. I’d never asked, but I placed his age somewhere in his mid-twenties. But there was something ancient about his eyes. Beneath the layers of mischief. Every once in a while, they were clouded, like they should belong to a man three times his age. As if he’d seen far too much in his short life. Tonight, he wore a charcoal pinstriped suit with a blue paisley tie. He looked more like a CEO than a murderer. How could he stand to wear so much clothing when it was hotter than Hades? Maybe I was right and he had ice in his veins.