Wrong (Spada Crime Family #2) (33 page)

He’s got some heavy bruising along his ribs, right where my hand went when I went to grab him, trying to steady him as we walked into the bathroom. I touch the area again, lightly, and he winces.

“Broken rib?” I ask. My brain starts to race through all the things a broken rib could lead to. I redirect it to how a broken rib needs to be treated, since I’m pretty sure I’d know by now if he had a punctured lung.

“I don’t think so. They got me pretty hard there though.”

“Dammit.” So much for clinical detachment. I just can’t hold on to it. I clench my teeth and go rooting through the medicine cabinet. “This is my fault.”

“How is it your fault, Jess? I’m the one who insisted we go out to that restaurant. I’m the one who hit fucking Carmine in his fucking face.” He hesitates, rolling his shoulder again. When he speaks again it’s in an obstinate mutter. “I’d do it again, too.”

“Right.” I’ve got some alcohol and cotton balls, and I’m ready to clean his face. “Hold still. This is going to sting.”

But when I head for his cut lip with the cotton ball, he grabs my wrist. “Jess. It’s fine. I don’t need doctoring.”

“You’re a mess, Cain.”

“Yeah. I’ve been a mess before, and I’ll be a mess again. I’ll get over it.”

“But he’s going to expect you to fight…” I stop. Sobs are rushing up my throat, and it’s all I can do to swallow them before they burst out. “Cain. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t let him keep hurting you.”

His hand is firm on my wrist but not harsh. Now his fingers loosen a bit; he strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “It’s my job to get hurt. Always has been.”

“In the cage, maybe, but not…” I stop again. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say to him. I just know I hate this—where we are, how we got here, and the certainty that there’s no real way out of it. “God. I hate him for what he’s done to you. I hate him for what he’s done to me. I
hate
him, Cain!” Everything inside me is breaking apart. I want to fly at Cain, pummel him with my fists until he understands. I can’t do that. He’s hurt. And it’s my father who’s hurt him.

“Yeah, hon. Yeah. Hush.” His hand on my wrist pulls me closer, and he kisses my forehead. Then suddenly he tangles his other hand in the hair at the nape of my neck and drags me to him. His mouth shoves hard into mine and I can taste the open cut on his lip.

Suddenly he’s biting into my mouth, his teeth all but scraping my tongue as he takes me so deep and hard our front teeth bang into each other. The pain is a sharp shock that echoes up into my face. I grab at him, fingers digging hard into his biceps. A small gasp of protest comes from him—I’m pretty sure I’ve tweaked the shoulder he was favoring earlier—but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even try to say anything. Just kisses me like he’s trying to climb inside me.

I’m nothing but my mouth on Cain’s mouth, his breath mixing with mine, the deep, bruising kisses claiming me. His hand on my hair is so tight it hurts; I can feel some strands separating from my head and still his fingers clench, the short, dull nails digging into my scalp. My own fingers are digging into his arms, feeling the strong bone beneath the firm muscle.

Suddenly he jerks back, and I cry out at the abrupt separation. I want him back, want that taste in my mouth again. “Cain…”

He shakes his head. Then he comes to his feet, bringing me with him. “You know why he did this.”

I can’t help it—I look at the darkening bruise on his ribs, under his right arm. It’s deep blue, nearly black near the center. It’ll only get darker over the next few hours, I’m sure. A pang of guilt constricts my diaphragm. “Because of me.”

“No. Because of
us
.” His voice is intense, sincere, and I’m not sure what he’s getting at. “Jess…” He stops, and suddenly his arms are on my shoulders, shaking me a little. “Jess. I
want
you. Now. Your father can’t stop this—can’t stop
any
of this. This is you and me. Just you and me.” He’s breathy and panting, and I wonder if what he’s saying makes any sense to him, because it’s not making much sense to me. Except for the part where he wants me.

“Cain…”

He grabs my blouse and rips it open down the front. Buttons pop off, and I hear one pinging off the porcelain of the tub behind me. He lifts me bodily from the floor and sets me on the sink, and his head dives between my breasts. He nips, and I flinch and then gasp at the sharp bite of his teeth on my nipple. Then he’s biting down my stomach, his tongue thrusting into my navel. Teeth again below, in the softer skin of my belly. Then his mouth is between my legs and I grab frantically at his hair, afraid I’m going to fall right off the sink.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” I can barely make out what he’s saying because his mouth is full of…well,
me
, but his hands are firm on my hips and I can tell he’s not going to let me fall. Which is good, since I’m not sure I can focus enough on keeping my balance with him doing
that
between my legs.

He’s got mad skills with his tongue, that’s for sure. It rolls and flicks and thrusts into me, rolling my clit, stabbing into my pussy, lapping at the wetness pouring out of me. I relax a little, feeling more secure, and instead of grasping at his hair I’m combing my hand through it, the other hand braced on the counter. I’m melting and catching fire all at the same time, his mouth making filthy noises between my legs. My thighs are draped over his wide shoulders now as he pushes even closer in. His mouth takes in all of my pussy, sucking, then his tongue stroking along the length of me makes me gasp again.

And then teeth. God. If anybody had ever told me I’d enjoy having my clit bitten I would have told them to get the fuck out, but Cain’s teeth tightening there makes me jump and almost scream, and not in pain. Not by a long shot. He chuckles as he tightens his grip there, the edges of his teeth nipping just a tiny bit harder then letting go. He uses his teeth all over my pussy, just hard enough that the pain ratchets up the pleasure until I swear to God I’m going to have a heart attack before I manage to orgasm. Or
during
.

His fingers are digging into my ass cheeks, one of them nearly breaching my asshole. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing that, but I can feel it, and it’s just one more point of sensation, and suddenly he digs a little harder into me and shakes his head hard between my legs, his tongue flat against my clit, and everything goes haywire. My whole body clenches, and I feel my pussy throbbing, pulsing, tight and hard. He shoves a finger inside me right as I’m climaxing, follows it with another, then I think with a third. As far as I can tell he’s got his whole hand in there, and I’m squeezing it for all I’m worth, with absolutely no control over my body or my breath. Everything goes black for a moment as the orgasm roars up my belly, into my chest. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before; it’s like drowning, like dying, like being dragged under a fast, fast current with no hope of recovering.

It’s so intense I can’t even think about whether my position on the sink is precarious. I can’t think about whether I’m pulling Cain’s hair out or whether my fingernails are digging into his scalp. All I can feel is my body and the climax pouring through me.

It feels like it lasts forever, but then I’m coming back to myself. Aftershocks still ripple through me, and just the aftershocks are every bit as intense as any other, ordinary, non-Cain-related orgasm I’ve had in the past. My face is wet, and I realize I’ve been crying my way through it.

Slowly, as if he realizes I’m coming down from the peak, Cain draws his fingers out of me and gently strokes the wetness over my clit. I’m so hyper-sensitized it damn near hurts, and I squeeze out a, “No,” as best I can.

He just chuckles and does it again. Then he licks me. I jerk on his hair, pulling his mouth away from me.

“Too much for you?” he asks.

“God,” is all I can manage in reply. His fingers squeeze my ass again, one finger just
there
, and now I know damn well he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s too bad,” he says, “because I’m not done yet.”

“Oh God, I don’t know…” I trail off, trying to breathe.

“You’ll be fine,” he says offhandedly. “A couple more orgasms aren’t going to kill you.”

“A couple…” I can’t quite grasp the concept, much less put words to it.

He shrugs. “Two, three, five… Who’s counting?”

I have a feeling I will be. I also have a feeling I’m not going to have much choice in the matter. Frankly that’s fine with me.

He pushes up from his knees and licks his way across my breasts. Bites at my nipples again, and I resist the urge to swat his face away. It’s too much, and yet not too much. I don’t even know how to describe the way I’m feeling right now. All I can do is just…feel it.

The hands on my ass tense, and he lifts me off the sink. Automatically I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s still fully dressed, and that seems unfair since I’m barely covered, clothes undone and torn and askew, nothing where it’s supposed to be. This man is hell on my wardrobe. But he hefts me easily, that casual strength as much of a turn-on as anything else about him, and turns me around.

He swats my ass. It stings, and I jump. He makes an approving sound. “I like the way my handprint looks there.” And he swats me again.

My first instinct is to tell him to stop, but I realize I don’t want him to. It hurts, yes, but not that much, and with everything that’s thrumming through my body right now, it’s just one more heightened sensation that’s weaving in with all the others, building to another climax, even though I’m still not convinced that’s possible.

“You like that?” he asks me, though, and I have to decided how to answer.

“Maybe,” I say, sounding a little coy.

Predictably he laughs and swats me again. “We can try a few more times until you decide. But first…” He grabs my hair and pulls my head up so I have to look at myself in the mirror over the sink. “Look at that,” he says. “Look at your face. You’re all red, all flushed. Look at your eyes.”

I look. My pupils are blown, my hair mussed, my cheeks flushed. I look like I’ve been fucked within an inch of my life, and he hasn’t even started yet.

“Beautiful,” he says. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. Especially like this. I should take you out around town on my arm looking like this. Like you’ve just had the fuck of your life and you want it again. Like you’re a bitch in heat, just waiting to feel my dick again.”

I can feel his erection through his jeans, hard and insistent against my bare ass. The denim rubs a little uncomfortably against the spot where he spanked me. I should want to slap him like I wanted to slap Carmine. But I don’t. I just want more. More of his filthy mouth, more of his body, his cock.

I hear his zipper going down behind me, then he’s back against me again, only cotton underwear between that hot, hard erection and my skin. He shifts back and forth, easing the length of his dick between my ass cheeks. Then he touches my asshole, just tapping it with the tip of his finger.

“I want this,” he says, his voice low. “I want to fuck your ass ’til you scream.”

I tense. I’m not sure whether it’s from anticipation or something closer to fear. My emotions are tangled and so raw I’m having a hard time sorting them all out. But then he leans forward and presses his lips against the back of my ear. “Scream for me to do it over and over again.” He licks the back of my neck. “It’ll hurt a little, maybe, but I promise you’ll like it.”

I have my doubts. But the hot waft of Cain’s breath against my neck makes me shiver, and so does the sensation from his finger tapping my ass. My hands clench on the porcelain sink.

“Sloooow,” he says, his voice imitating the meaning of the word. “Slow and easy, and then, once you’re used to it, hard and fast until you won’t even be able to remember your own name. You want that, right? You want me fucking your little ass so hard.” His finger pushes a little harder, but he still doesn’t try to get inside.

And then I hear myself say, “Okay,” and I wonder what in the world Cain McAllister has done to me. Some kind of witchery. A spell. I don’t think there’s anything he could ask of me that I would say no to. Not now. Certainly not regarding sex. My body’s his. All of it.

He gives me another slap on the ass, this one a bit softer than the previous ones. He opens the medicine cabinet.

I just stand there waiting for him. My pussy feels thoroughly used from his fingers in it before, and it also feels like it wants more. As much as it can get. Everything.

I hear rustling. He’s taking his clothes off, I can tell. I look up into the mirror again just as he shucks off his shirt. The tats on his chest and arms are bright in the light of the bathroom. He reaches for his jeans. They’re unzipped and open, but not off him yet. He pushes them off along with his underwear and I let my gaze drag down his body, over that tight, cobbled abdomen, the line of hair that wanders down the middle of it, widening to a triangle-shaped nest around his hard, bobbing cock.

“Like what you see?” he asks me, smirking. He strikes a little pose. He’s got a tube in his hand—lube, I realize and shiver a little. He’s really going to do it.

“I have to say that, yes, I do believe I do.” I try to sound offhand, flip, but my stomach is doing somersaults. I’m having a hard time separating excitement from anxiety. I look at the tube of lube again and swallow.

He sees what I’m doing and holds the lube out, displaying it like he’s on a game show. “This is the secret to everything,” he tells me. “Now, I want you to watch us in the mirror. Spread your legs.” His voice is quiet but brooks no argument. I do exactly what he says.

And I wait.

Not long though. A moment later his chest is against my back and he’s kissing my shoulders, using his teeth on me again, biting along the expanse of my back, and nipping my nape. I lock my eyes to my own reflection, watching his head move as he helps himself to me. His hand touches me, cool and slick with lube, and a finger slips inside.

I jump a little. It’s more from the chilliness of the lube, though, than from the still only slight penetration. It’s tight and feels a little strange, but I’m okay with it. He pushes in a bit deeper, and then slides out, then back in. Slow, easy, like he said.