she touched my shoulder. It was brief but I felt it everywhere. When she kneeled down to look at the flooring, she brushed against my side, a strand of her hair falling over my arm. I wanted to curl it around my finger, tug on it, hear her gasp again like she had when I took her mouth.
I touched her, too. Helping her up, I brought my hand to her elbow. Only my touch was firmer, more intense. Her eyes flared at the contact. As I passed by her to get another tool from my truck, I brushed my hand along her lower back. I could feel her body sing to my touch, bending toward me with all of her dancer’s grace. Only this didn’t feel rehearsed or polished. This felt raw and primal, the need pulsing between us.
I removed some floor planks, working slowly, prying them off with the utmost of care and avoiding any damage. What I found below looked like toothpaste gummed up and spread over a mess of rotten wood. I didn’t make too big a deal over it, though. She had enough on her mind already. She only needed to know if it was unsalvageable, and it wasn’t. With enough time and effort I could set it right again, and I’d do that for Sophie.
She hopped over to Cuppa Joe and came back with coffee and pastries. “Here.” She set them down on a countertop. “You need to take a break. I know you worked a 24-hour shift and now you’re right back at work again. You should have some of this chocolate croissant.”
I rose and accepted her offer, savoring the sweet, flaky confection.
“You’ve got some—” She giggled, sweeping her thumb up to the corner of my mouth. I flicked my tongue out where she touched me, lightly catching her and our eyes met. She blushed, stepping back, looking away. But I grabbed her hand before she could bring it down by her side. Wrapping my fingers around her, I gently grazed the pad of my thumb across the inside of her wrist.
“Your pulse is racing.” I could feel it beneath my finger, the blood surging through her body in response to mine.
“No,” she protested lamely, blushing more and giving a weak tug to her hand.
“Yes, it is.” I backed her a step farther against the wall, bringing the wrist that told me all I needed up over her head, pinning it there in my grasp. She shivered, still not meeting my eyes, but not fighting to get away. Ducking my head down, I nuzzled into her hair, below her ear, scenting her. She tipped back her head, sighing, yielding. Down at her neck, I pressed my lips to her soft skin.
“I can feel your pulse.” As I licked it, a low, soft moan escaped between her parted lips. “Your heart is pounding.”
“Liam,” she pleaded.
“What?” I wouldn’t give her anything until she asked. I wanted to own her, hear her voice, throaty and desperate, asking me to kiss her and so much more. I kept my mouth at her vulnerable throat, blowing softly against the wet skin. She quivered, her breath coming fast. With my free hand, I started drawing it slowly along her side, barely touching her skin, beginning at her arm stretched out above her head. Traveling down, I teased along her goose bumps and shivers, past the swell of her breast, the dip of her waist, to rest at the curve of her hip.
She moaned as I stroked, the gentleness of my touch contrasting with the firm, rough grip I had on her wrist, trapping her against the wall. Through the thin cotton of her dress her nipples pebbled, taut and stiff. My cock swelled in response, knowing how wet she must be, how quickly I could make her cum with my mouth feasting on her.
“What do you want, Sophie?” Close to her ear, I spoke low and hushed as my fingers made their lazy way along her side. Her body answered, but I wanted to hear her confession. “Do you still think about me?”
She panted and paused, but then admitted, “Yes.”
I pressed her wrist harder into the wall. “And now you’ve come back.” Looking down at her nipples, the way she twisted under my grip, I wanted to do unspeakable things. I wanted to torment her, see how long I could force her to delay orgasm, make her beg and wish for punishment under my hand so she could request and be granted release. Sophie had made a grave mistake in returning to Naugatuck.
“You shouldn’t have come back.” I grabbed her free wrist and joined it up over her head under my palm. She gasped as I trapped her, her eyes fluttering half closed for a moment in surrender and pleasure. I brought my fingers teasingly, lightly under the swell of her breasts, lifting them up to display her nipples. Grazing the tips with my thumb, I brought her attention to her own arousal.
“I won’t be gentle with you, Sophie.” I pushed my thigh between her legs, parting them. “I’m not the man I was. Now, I want to bring you to your knees.”
She made a fevered sound in her throat, arching her back toward me, asking with her body for more contact, intensity, friction. But I wouldn’t give it to her, not yet. I was enjoying her panting underneath me too much, the feel of the desperate need coursing through her, building, making her writhe, urgent sounds escaping her throat. That was what I wanted, needed, would feed on to soothe myself after all those years apart.
“I’m going to make you beg, Sophie.” Dipping down, I sank my mouth into her neck, letting my teeth graze her in a bite. She cried out, head tilted more, offering herself to me to do whatever I wanted.
“I know what you want, Sophie,” I whispered into her ear, low and wicked. “Do you?”
“I—I don’t know,” she panted. “I’m scared.”
“You should be.” Without another word, I broke away, leaving her there even as she strained against me. I leaned down, scooped up my tools and packed in seconds flat. She didn’t even have time to compose herself to speak. I headed out the door before I could do anything else to her.
I drove back, barely aware of my surroundings, lust and the fierce urge to control and punish twisting within my gut. I had a monster inside of me. I could tell myself it was the way Sophie and I connected, the Dom/sub chemistry, our true natures revealed. But how did I know it wasn’t just the sick, sadistic side of myself taking over?
Part of me wanted to punish her so I could watch her writhe and beg for orgasm, then revel in her release once I finally let her go. But another part of me? That part wanted her to pay.
Seven years ago, she’d wrecked me, taken me for a ride and then vanished without a trace. I’d been 20 years old and felt like my life was over. Before she left, it hadn’t even occurred to me that she might. Of course she and I would move together to New York City. I’d never been an overly analytical guy and some things were so obvious they didn’t even seem to require an explanation. Sophie and I belonged together.
Then she’d rejected me, taking off on her own. Talk about a sucker punch. What if this intense urge to dominate was really just a desire to punch her back? I’d seen my dad land a punch or two on my mom. I had his traitorous blood running through my veins.
When I got home, I called Jax out in California. He was surprised at my call, but more than happy to have me out to visit over the long holiday weekend. As expected, he asked no questions.
“Get your ass out here to Cali, man,” he encouraged me. “We’ll show you what a real party’s like.”
Whatever, I didn’t care what we did, I just needed to get my head screwed on right. And to do that I needed to get some distance from Sophie. The next call I made was to the chief. I’d literally never asked for time off, so after giving me some shit for not giving him any notice at all, he told me to go have a good time. They’d figure it out. I’d done the same for many of the guys I worked with over the last two years. I appreciated now they’d do the same for me.
Distance, that was what I needed, because Sophie had infected me like a virus. She’d taken the nice, stable life I’d set up for myself and been enjoying for years now and shaken it up like a snow globe. I didn’t even want to host my famous Fourth of July party. I’d leave town instead.
* * *
§
* * *
I’d been out to California once before, and it always struck me the same way—bright as fuck. As I stepped out of LAX the sunshine felt like it might make me burst spontaneously into flame. Jax laughed at me
for not having sunglasses.
“Masshole.” He elbowed me as we walked over to his truck.
“Yeah, you know you’ve got some in you, too.” I elbowed him right back. He’d lived in Massachusetts as a kid, his mom and sometimes his dad coming out to Naugatuck as part of the seasonal labor force serving tourists’ needs. His mom had worked as a maid and his dad had worked alongside mine on a couple of construction projects.
I could still remember the first time we’d met. Both 10 years old, he’d sized me up like a Vegas card shark, deciding whether or not I’d rat him out if he told me what he had in his backpack. Thankfully, I’d passed his test. He’d taken me aside and whispered, “I’ve got bottle rockets, roman candles, and a bunch of firecrackers.” Then he’d made me his willing partner-in-crime by asking, “Where should we set them off?” A lifelong friendship was born.
He was a long way away from Massachusetts now, though. Several years ago he’d made his way out to Southern California about an hour north of L.A., just down from Santa Barbara. From what I’d seen the couple of times I’d visited, he’d carved out a pretty sweet life for himself. The beach was a 15-minute drive from his place and the local girls dressed like they were on it even when they weren’t, with string-tie bikini tops and cutoff short shorts. He co-owned a bar with a buddy of his. Last we’d talked, business was booming.
“Gonna be a rager of a weekend,” he assured me, settling into the freeway traffic.
“Bring it.” I looked out the window, the golden hills so foreign to my eye.
“You should move out here, man.” Jax smacked me on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you. You could work as a bouncer at the bar until you get your feet under you. And you could get work on the houses around here. Everyone’s building, remodeling, this place is exploding.”