Last Second Chance (19 page)

“Not feeling. Not risking it. Playing it safe and never seeing you again. Spending the rest of my life wondering.”

“Stella Jo, I… Dammit.” He stepped back and rubbed a hand over his head. He didn’t miss the wounded look that flickered across her face. But what the hell? Her heart? How could he ask her to trust him with something so precious? He was in rehab because he couldn’t take care of his own ass for fuck’s sake.

The sweet column of exposed flesh above her breasts tightened as she swallowed.

“I-I’m a foolish woman,” she stammered, backing towards the door. “I had too much to drink tonight. I shouldn’t have come. Sorry.”

Watching her pull away caused him physical pain. Somehow, even in the short time they’d known one another, she’d latched on to something inside of him and was tearing it out as she went. Just as she turned on her heel, Van grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him.

“Oh no, cowgirl. You don’t get to just leave like this.”

“I don’t?”

Van grinned. “No, ma’am. That’s the thing about Texas, from what I hear. Guests get treated with respect.”

Her eyebrows dipped as she regarded him warily.

“So, you say what you came to say. Come on, cowgirl. What happened to ‘I’ve dealt with animals bigger than you’? Don’t go shy on me now.”

Her eyes narrowed.

His gaze dropped to her proudly displayed breasts as she shoved her shoulders back. He couldn’t decide if he loved that dress or hated it. He loved the way it showcased her perfect body for him, hated knowing she’d been out drinking with other motherfuckers getting to see it.

“Okay then. I will.” Her chin jutted out, and he grinned.

“Let’s hear it.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he smiled wider when he noticed her own eyes struggling to stay north of his neck.

“The way I see it, we have two options. Either I put in my notice and quit my job so that whatever is going to happen between us doesn’t get you kicked out and get me fired or we wait until you’re out of here to give in.”

“Give in to what, darlin’?”

“To how badly you want to fuck me,” she said evenly. And then she quietly added, “And how badly I want to let you.”

Van’s mom was catholic, but he had no idea if there was a patron saint of being owned. If there was, he needed to pray to it. Immediately. Maybe St. Jude would listen. Because right then, he was a lost cause if ever there was one. Any hope he’d had of protecting Stella Jo Chandler from himself had flown right out the fucking window.

Van cleared his throat. “What if we take it slow? One day at a time. See where this leads us,” he suggested, wrapping his arms around her. “Maybe you don’t have to quit your job and we don’t have to torture ourselves for two long months. Maybe we’re just…careful.”

Well there was a word he’d never used. Careful was the exact opposite of the kind of approach he had on living. He could hardly believe he was the one suggesting that they take things slow.

“Careful?” Those eyes of hers met his, and he felt his grip on control slipping. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of
being
careful with this woman. She’d ignited something powerful and all consuming within him.

He nodded, but it was as if the fucking floor had been torn out from beneath him. His sexual encounters usually occurred when he was wasted. Liquor gave him an all-night hard-on and coke made him blissfully numb. If some overzealous groupie wanted to give it a go at sucking him off until she got lockjaw, well who was he to deny her? He hadn’t actually
taken
a woman to bed in the traditional sense in a very long time. And it had been Vanessa, who liked it angry and punishing. There had always been that disconnect with them, because for her sex had been about pain. About body parts and sensations.

Not that he would mind tying Stella Jo up and punishing her a little for their mutual enjoyment. But this was…more. More than what he’d come to expect. No one had ever offered him her heart before. And if they had, he would’ve probably fumbled it.

With Stella Jo in his arms, this gloriously guarded and enticingly vulnerable woman offering not just her body but her heart to him? To his screwed-up self? It was too much. He was torn between wanting to devour her immediately, savor every inch of her body inside and out, or kick her the fuck out before he ruined her like he did everything and everyone else.

“Van,” she said, pulling him out of his head with his name thick in her mouth and soft on her tongue.

“You’ve been drinking, cowgirl. And as much as I want to carry you over to my bed and fuck any questions about other women right out of you, I’d feel better if you made this decision sober.”

A soft growl, one an angry kitten might make, came from her lips and he smiled.

“Need me to take the edge off, baby? I’d be happy to help.” Before she could respond, he lowered her into one of his dining table chairs and dropped to his knees.

“Van? What are you—”

Her sentence was cut short as he reached between her thighs and divested her of a very enticing black lace thong. Damn, that was hot. Every time he thought she couldn’t turn him on anymore, she ratcheted his blood to boiling.

“I’m keeping these,” he said, tucking them into the pocket of his flannel pants.

Her eyes widening in what looked like an even mixture of terror and desire, she watched as he used both hands to spread her thighs apart as far as he could without causing her pain. Her leg muscles were tense, so he massaged her inner thighs until she relaxed.

“Pretty sure I’m sober now,” she informed him quietly.

He chuckled. “That so? Well, just to be on the safe side, how about just a taste for now?”

He heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“May I have a taste, Stella Jo?”

Her chest heaved noticeably when he looked up to ensure that he had her full permission.

She nodded, the fear still present as she watched him. Was she afraid of having an orgasm? He had no idea. But a fierce desire to make her come so hard she spoke in tongues possessed him before he could question her.

Her skin always held a faint scent of wildflowers and something sweet and savory. He suspected it was her lotion or whatever girly shit she used in the shower. But between her thighs was pure sweet honey. The scent hit his nostrils as he dipped his head and triggered a reaction so powerful he could barely contain it.

His tongue darted out and teased folded skin that was closed to him. Fuck this. The seat of the chair was greedily keeping her delectable opening for itself.

Grabbing her roughly, propelled by desires he was quickly losing complete control of, he lifted her onto the kitchen table.

“There. That’s better,” he said, grinning at her alarmed expression. Using her knees to pull her forward so he had the best access, he spread her apart until her swollen center was exposed to him.

He fell in deep love with her closely shaved and petite pussy at first sight.

“Aw. You shaved for me.”

A hint of a smile teased at her lips. “Perhaps.”

Van dipped his head between her thighs once more. “Mmm, good girl. Guess I should reward you for that.”

Before she could utter a single syllable, he shoved his tongue full force straight up the center of her. She even tasted like honey. A savory sweetness that drove him wild. Pressing his fingers into her inner thighs, he spread them apart until she cried out.

This would be a thorough job. She’d need to be as wide as she could stand.

His tongue danced around her clit, circling it, teasing it, until she was panting. Glancing up, he saw that she’d relinquished control to him completely. ’Bout fucking time.

Her head was thrown back and her breasts pointed to the heavens as her body bowed for him.

“Mmm, I think you’re my favorite flavor, Stella Jo.” He slid a finger into her tight, wet, opening and almost cried out as loud as she did. “And lucky for you, I have an addictive personality. So I’m probably going to need a taste every damn day.”

Her arms thrashed roughly the solid table as he slid another finger in.

“Sound good, baby?” he asked, pausing to stroke the insides of her folds with his tongue a few more times.

Her answer was a whimper, a desperate cry of pleasure laced with pain. She was on the brink and he wanted to take her right over the fucking edge.

“I didn’t catch that, cowgirl. Was that a yes?”

“Yes, God.
Van
, fuck.
Yes
.”

Her pleasure had his dick throbbing, but he’d have to deal. Tonight was about her. She’d been the one to come knocking, and she would damn well get what she’d come for.

He chuckled against her exposed clit. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Thrusting his two fingers in harder with each reentry, he did what he knew would give her the release she needed. The one her body was so obviously craving. After one more deep tonguing lap around her clit, he took the throbbing mound of flesh into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

His fingers took her higher, deeper, while she moaned and pleaded. She was begging. He could hear it but he didn’t know what she wanted specifically at the moment. It was just a steady breathless stream of “Pleasepleasepleaseplease” on repeat.

He hoped like hell it was please don’t stop or please keep going, because no way was he quitting now. She’d have to knee him in the face and knock him unconscious if she wanted to deprive his mouth of her.

When her hips began gyrating off the table, thrusting her against his face, the beast in him took over and he raked his teeth over her sensitive flesh.

“Come while I tongue fuck you, cowgirl. Give me that sweetness. I’m dying for it.”

He flattened his tongue and stroked her relentlessly as her walls clenched the ever-loving piss out of his fingers.

Pulling his heavily drenched fingers out, he sucked them into his mouth. Her eyes met his and she was gone. Fucking animal kingdom gone. Completely wild and no longer a part of the human race. Just a mass of trembling nerves and need and want.

He winked at her. Then he drove his tongue as hard as he could into her throbbing opening over and over while rubbing his fingers roughly around her clit.

When the screaming began, he pressed harder, sucked harder.

But then he had a startling realization. She was screaming. So, fuck yeah, he was the man. But also, someone might hear. The private residences were too close together to be truly private. He’d promised to be careful, not cost her this job.

Reaching up, he covered her mouth with his free hand as she finished coming on his tongue.

After he’d licked and kissed her gently down from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing, he pulled her dress back down over her thighs. He lifted her nearly lifeless body into his arms. She was practically purring as he carried her to the couch.

Lowering himself onto the couch beside her, he took her still-trembling body in his arms. She was still twitching a little from the aftershocks.

“Damn you taste good, cowgirl,” he told her once she’d ridden out the remaining violent waves of ecstasy. “Here, taste.” Ignoring her wide eyes, he pressed his mouth onto hers and dipped his tongue inside.

She clamped her legs around him and gripped his biceps hard enough to hurt. The way she dug her fingers in, as if she were holding on to him for dear life, made him ache to be inside her.

“Made up your mind yet?”

She pulled back from their kiss, still panting enough to make his entire life. “About?”

“Whether or not you believe the rumors. About me. Be honest.”

An impish grin lifted her lips. “Well, I can say with absolute certainty that you are, in fact, a madman.”

“That’s what they tell me, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips against hers to show her that, even as crazed as he was, madman or not, he could be gentle too—if that’s what she needed.

“Van…I need you,” she breathed. “Soon.”

The plea soothed every open wound he’d nursed for as long as he could remember. She needed him. And unlike the last woman who’d needed him, the one he’d failed miserably, he would be what Stella Jo Chandler needed. He would keep this one safe.

“You’ll have me. Soon. We’ll just have to be careful. I don’t want to cost you your job, cowgirl.”

She nodded. His eyes met hers and he saw it. She trusted him completely.

He would be worthy of that trust. Of her.

Or so help him, he’d cut out his own damn heart.