Laura Kaye - Hard As You Can

“Don’t be.” He tugged her in for another kiss, and now everywhere her hands landed, they encountered warm, hard flesh. She wanted to feel him against her breasts and her stomach, but she would never be able to bring herself to take off her tops. When Bruno took her from behind, even he had her keep on the shirt she wore. No, she could be satisfied with what she had, because getting to experience this stolen moment was absolutely intoxicating, particularly as Shane devoured her in another molten-hot, breath-stealing kiss. “You’re so damn beautiful, Crystal,” he murmured.

You wouldn’t think so if you saw my back, said a little voice.

His hands landed on her hips and rocked her once, twice, three times against his cock, chasing away the destructive thoughts and replacing them with pure erotic sensation. Somehow, his touch and his kiss and the way he moved against her managed to be both urgent and gentle. She loved the combination because it gave her the reassurance of his desire and the security that she was safe.

It was perfect for her. He was perfect for her.

Except he wasn’t.

Burying her face in his neck, Crystal concentrated on the heat and pressure building between her legs. It had been so long since she’d last orgasmed that she wasn’t sure she could, but damn did it feel absolutely amazing to try. She gasped and moaned as he rocked her harder, faster.

“I want you to come,” he whispered against her ear. “I want to hold you in my arms and feel you fall apart. Because of me.”

“Shane,” she rasped, as her fingers clenched the muscles of his shoulders.

“That’s it, sweetness, hold on to me.” He kissed her neck and gripped her hips harder and met her rocks with thrusts of his own.

“Oh, my God,” she said. Sensation swirled through her belly and congregated more and more in her clit until she knew, she absolutely knew, that Shane was going to make her come.

The orgasm was like a bomb detonating underneath her, exploding her into a million pieces and throwing her to the stars. Crystal moaned and held her breath as wave after wave of bliss washed through. Shane claimed her mouth in a fiery kiss that stole what little breath she still had. When the intensity receded, she found herself wrapped so tightly around Shane’s body, she wasn’t sure they would ever again come apart.

And she was totally okay with that.

Because earlier in the night, she’d worried she was falling for Shane. And now she knew she’d been wrong. Not falling. Fallen.

Crystal collapsed against Shane, and his arms held her there like he didn’t want her to move any more than she did.

This warm, soaring pressure in her chest had to be love. Not that she had a lot of experience with the emotion. Not romantic love, anyway. But she couldn’t think of anything else that would leave her feeling so invincible and so vulnerable at the same time.

And it wasn’t just because of the orgasm, miraculous as that had been. It was Shane’s goodness and protectiveness and attentiveness. It was his sensitivity and decency. It was his gentle, comforting, arousing touch. The way he called her sweetness. That charming smile.

The fact that he was six-plus feet of gorgeous man was just the cherry on top.

She’d been so comfortable, so blissed out, that Crystal hadn’t become conscious of the wandering of his hands until after they’d slipped under her hoodie and the tank to her uniform and stroked upward, just lazy, massaging drags of his fingers against her bare skin.

Oh, no! She jerked back out of his arms so hard she had to brace on her hands to avoid falling flat on her back across the seat.

But Shane’s darkening expression told her she hadn’t moved fast enough. He’d felt the scars.

Crystal’s throat went tight as tears of humiliation and disappointment threatened. Of course this moment of happiness couldn’t last. Not for her. She swung her legs off him, slid across the seat, and went for the door.

“Crystal, wait,” Shane said, grasping her by the elbow.

“Let me go,” she said. Last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him, but the emotional roller coaster of this day had left her fragile and shaky. She had to get away.

“What the hell was that?” he asked in a disgusted tone. God, she didn’t want to see the expression that went with the voice.

The leather of the seat creaked like he was sliding closer.

It’s midnight, Cinderella. Your coach just turned into a pumpkin.

Shane’s hand landed gently on her back.

Without another thought, she yanked her elbow free, pushed open the door, and jumped out of the truck so fast she pitched forward and had to catch herself on her hands. Gravel and macadam bit into her palms, leaving them raw and burning.

“Crystal!”

She took off at a dead run. Up the sidewalk and across the street. And, as little rocks and other debris flayed the soles of her feet, she realized she’d left her flip-flops in Shane’s truck.

Lost her shoes. Just like Cinderella.

Except her life was no fairy tale. Not by a long shot.

“Crystal!” Shane’s voice—desperate, closer.

She wrenched open her truck door, scrabbled in, and shut and locked the door. Her hands were shaking so bad that it took three tries to get the key from her pocket and into the ignition. By then Shane was at her door and knocking on the window.

“Please don’t go,” he said, voice muffled by the glass and the pounding beat of her pulse in her ears. “Crystal, please.” He smacked the flat of his hand against the glass. “Please talk to me.”

The truck started on a roar. She hit the gas, and the truck lurched forward, forcing Shane to jump back.

For a good thirty seconds, Shane ran after the truck. And it was staring at him in the rearview mirror that made her realize she was crying, sloppy streams of tears that streaked mascara under her eyes.

When she looked in the mirror again, he’d stopped. Hands on his hips, head hanging low, he just stood there. And then he turned in a slow circle, like he was lost. A huge tattoo she couldn’t quite make out covered his back. Crystal hated how defeated he looked, hated that she’d been the one to do that to him.

After everything he’d done for her.

Wanna talk about it?” Easy asked from the passenger seat.

“No,” Shane said, entirely aware his tone gave a lot away but too fucking tired and pissed to care. Not pissed at Crystal. Pissed for her.

Goddamnit, he could barely breathe for the Humvee of rage parked on his chest.

Shane’s fingers might’ve only been on her back for a few seconds, but he’d felt enough to have a damn good idea what was going on underneath her clothes.

Lines of scars.

Some shallow, some knotted and deep.

Lots of things might’ve made them.

Problem was, he’d seen the backs of men who’d been struck by a whip while serving various places overseas. And whips left a distinctive pattern of diagonally placed straight lines. And that was too damn similar to what his fingers had traced on Crystal’s bare skin.

As if Shane hadn’t been horrified enough by her swollen cheek and bruised arm.

With every fiber of his being, Shane hoped he was wrong about what he’d felt. He might never feel a greater happiness than to know his imagination had run away with him, and he had it all wrong. But instinct and intuition had his stomach rolling and the whiskey he’d drank earlier burning a hole in his gut. Add that to Crystal’s reaction to his discovery, and Shane knew he wasn’t wrong.

And that was another thing his brain couldn’t stop chewing on. Why had she panicked so badly? Why had she run away? She’d nearly thrown herself from his truck, and no way her near fall and barefoot flight hadn’t chewed up the skin on her hands and feet. When he’d finally caught up to her at her truck, she’d been crying so hard he’d worried she wouldn’t be able to see to drive. Jesus, after the privilege of sharing a moment of passion with her, the evidence of her pain had just about broken his heart.

He peered down at the pair of white flip-flops resting on the seat beside him. They had a small fabric flower on the strap over the toes. He remembered them from the night he’d carried Jenna up the steps. As he drove through the quiet, mid-night streets of Baltimore, Shane debated the best form of death for the asshole who’d done this to her. Bruno.

Shooting? Too fast and impersonal. Poison? The scumbag might not be conscious of the fact he was dying. Drowning? Not painful enough. Cutting off his hands and dick? Messy but poetic.

“You like her,” Easy said, his voice pulling Shane from his murder fantasies.

Well, hell. And then there were three teammates who suspected the truth. No sense in doing a duck and cover now. He glanced toward his friend. “Yeah.”

Easy nodded and ran a hand over the side of his head. “Then you gotta get her out of there.”

Gripping the wheel harder, Shane heaved a deep breath and strove for a bit of levelheadedness amid the rage whipping up inside his chest. Everyone knowing he’d crossed an emotional line was one thing. But responding emotionally was another. “I know, but it’s complicated. And we’ve got just about enough of that on our plate these days.”

“I won’t disagree with you there. But most of the time, there’s a difference between what’s right and what’s easy. Maybe you should think about bringing her to Hard Ink.”

Shane cut his gaze across the cab to find Easy staring at him, a tired, almost weary, expression on his face. “I don’t know that I could convince Crystal of that. Or Nick.”