Mirror Me Page 8

  She watched Teige’s mood change before her eyes, from one of concern to one of interrogation. She held her arms around herself, like that could brace her for the questions.

  He studied her for a long moment. She took the time to do the same to him. He was still a bit off, but rapidly getting his game back, if the Teige she’d first officially met at the picnic, and later at the diner, was any indication of the way he was post-work. Although he always seemed somewhat growly, she saw the immediate difference from the man who’d insisted she delete his photos, and the one who showed up at her door two days post-mission, barely speaking to anyone but Hanny.

  Now, the vacant look was gone from his eyes, just in time for the meds to begin to take effect. They always loosened her too much, made her feel more than a little sensual. Turned on. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong man.

  Right time. Right place. Right man.

  As she’d suspected, he didn’t take the food out of the bag. Asked instead, “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Not saying she didn’t deserve it. Just figure that, since it pissed you off so bad, a part of you has to feel like that’s how you think I treat you.”

  “Soldier, psychologist,” she mused with a deep sarcasm to balance out the throbbing pain in her knuckles. “And no, I’m not apologizing, if that was going to be your next question.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  She put the ice on her hand and let it sit there, the sting of the cold giving its own version of pain that would soon turn numb.

  “You’re quick to fight.”

  “I’ve been told I have a God-given talent for it.” White trash. Trailer trash. Those words were bandied around long after she’d left the double-wide she’d lived in until she was eight and moved in with the new family. She’d forgotten everything but how to fight and in the beginning, she had—a lot. She’d simmered down some by tenth grade, made friends with a wild crowd who liked her just the way she was.

  Idiots. As she’d been.

  As she obviously still was.

  She’d asked Mara if the white trash label was true and, if so, how the other kids knew. Because everyone knew about the murders. Everyone knew because Mara made sure to tell them in great detail, making her notorious and a pariah all at once.

  The anger dissipated, leaving her a deflated balloon. She pushed the beer away and sank into one of the chairs, cradling her hand against her body.

  He brought more ice, replaced what was melting with a new wrapped dishtowel, held it to her knuckles.

  His hand on her palm was so warm. Even the last time he’d been so damned warm. Hot summer day, complete meltdown volcano warm.

  “Your ex is an ass.” She peered up at him. “She said she’s not your ex.”

  “I don’t care what she says,” he muttered. “I’m sorry she upset you.”

  “She didn’t do this,” she said fiercely. “I don’t let anyone do that to me—ever.”

  That, he believed she believed. “You’re pissed I walked away and didn’t take you to bed.”

  “Keep thinking that.”

  “Why lie to me, Kayla?”

  “I know all about you—what you were, what you are.” She let the words tumble out fast as she stood. “I read about it.”

  “But all you can think about is, what if Diane was right about the way I am in bed,” he challenged. “You thought about the way I held you when I kissed you. The way your body responded. You could’ve come so easily for me.”

  Damn him for being so completely right. His cheeks were flushed dark with a bristling anger that seemed to invade his whole body. He moved closer but she didn’t back down, didn’t stumble back in fear. “So what?”

  “You’re fighting me.”

  “I thought you liked it rough,” she challenged.

  “Sweetheart, you have no idea what I like. And if you think listening to Diane is the way to find out, you’re really fucking wrong.” He bit the words out, especially Diane’s name. “I know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. All the fighting is to get my attention. And you’ve got it. But that’s not enough for you—you keep pushing me to lose control. From the very first night, that’s what you wanted.” It was the truth. Her body stilled, belly fluttered as his voice lowered dangerously. “When I do lose control, you’re not going to like it.”

  “You don’t know that—you don’t know what I like.” She tugged at him fiercely, dug her nails into his skin and heat spread through him at the pinch. “Try me.”

  Try me.

  Two simple words that could get them into such trouble.

  In the past, she had pushed and somehow, she’d still retained all the control. But this time, it was so different. Maybe she’d had a vague hope that she could hold onto it this time, but one look in Teige’s eyes told her that she’d lost the battle and was on her way to losing the war in spectacular fashion.

  He hadn’t lost any control—not yet, at least. And she’d been under the impression that he would tie her up. Spank her. Fuck her hard.

  What he was doing to her was far more arousing than any of that, and harder for her to handle. She was going to like it. And she never, ever liked it. Never just gave herself over.

  She’d never retain her power with Teige and he was calling her bluff.

  He gave her one last out, telling her, “There’s so much you don’t know. So much you shouldn’t ever want to.”

  “So why are you still here?” she challenged. “I sure as hell didn’t invite you in here. You broke in. Maybe I should call the police.”

  With a smirk, he handed his cell phone to her, placed it in her palm and curled her fingers around it so she didn’t drop it. And then he was on her, lifting her hips to the counter, a finger flicking her nipple, his mouth on her neck.

  She clutched the cell phone.

  “Make the call or put your hands over your head and keep them there.”

  The words alone could send her spiraling into an orgasm. She wanted to press her thighs together but he was already between her legs, spreading them, his crotch not touching her. She wanted to shift her hips forward, press his bulge to her sex and rub for some sweet relief.

  “Call. Tell them I’m intruding.” His hand slipped under her shirt. “Tell them I’m forcing you. Holding you down.”

  He was doing none of those things.

  “Tell them you want me gone.”

  Not true at all.

  “Tell them, or put your hands over your head,” he repeated, and there was no room in his tone to say no. And so she didn’t. Put the phone down with a clatter on the old countertop and slid her hands over her head, feeling foolish. Would he make fun of her? Leave her like this?

  He did neither. Instead, he gazed at her, lust in his eyes, making sure she was comfortable, held her wrists in his hand and in place so they could relax.

  Her head was against the cabinet, his arousal pressing between her thighs while he kissed her, hard and fast enough to take her breath away. And just when she thought she’d come then and there, he pulled back, softened his kiss and she heard herself mewl in protest.

  He’d marked her neck, a possessive gesture, one that everyone could see.

  His hand traveled her body. She pushed her chest in its path but he ignored it purposely, went straight for the waist of the loose sweats she wore.

  His fingers slipped between her legs, found her sex, which was wet and hot for him. He stroked his fingers along her folds and she jumped, because it had been so long. Forever, it seemed, and it had never been like this.

  “No more about what happened tonight. This is about us.”

  “What if I only want one thing from you?” she managed.

  “Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  Her legs were splayed. His fingers found her clit, a throbbing bundle of nerves that begged to be handled.

  “I’ve never—” She shook her head, because nothing was working except her arousal.
It didn’t matter that she’d never. She was going to. She tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go.

  She felt desperate. Hot and needed.

  “I can’t—not that way,” she panted.

  “Not this way?” he asked, his fingers still working her sex, making her hump the counter no matter how hard she tried to fight the urge.

  “Come. I’ve never come from just this—”

  It didn’t matter that she’d never. She was going to. She moaned—unintelligible, Teige’s name—and then nothing mattered but the gorgeous throb of a climax between her legs, the orgasm taking control of her before any more words could tumble out of her mouth, spiraling her higher and higher until the pleasure that socked her contracted through her womb.

  She closed her eyes and let herself fall into it, let Teige hold her up, murmur to her that she needed to listen to him more. That she would, if he had anything to say about it.

  She could. She did, even kept her hands where he told her to when he released them, holding fast to the handle of the cabinet when he let go to grab a chair and sit in front of her. When he pulled her sweats completely off, she shook her head. Like that could stop him.

  He buried his head in between her legs and took her with his tongue, scraped his teeth along her too-sensitive flesh. He stared up at her and she couldn’t look away, even as the orgasm began to rise inside her again.

  She’d never come twice like this, never this close to each other, and she screamed out his name as the climax shook her. And still, he didn’t stop.

  She was practically sobbing then, but she surrendered all control to him, because it was so much easier. Because she obviously trusted him.

  Because right now, she didn’t want any other choice.

  *

  He wasn’t done. Couldn’t be. Not with Kayla so open and willing for him.

  She still held the cabinet handles, but her body had gone slack and relaxed…and he planned on riling her up again. He remained between her legs, and when she opened her eyes, she gave him a soft, shy smile. Put her hand through his hair as if to smooth it, like she hadn’t been just as wild and out of control moments earlier. She looked over his chest, up close and personal, her eyes cataloging the various scars scattered over his torso.

  She’d ask about them later—he was sure of it.

  He caressed one ankle, as her calves were still over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of her knee and she gave a wobbly smile, like she was intoxicated.

  “You like ordering me.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, and she giggled at that. Giggled, for christsakes, and it made him smile and made his cock harden more at the same time.

  And then she said, “I don’t think—”

  “Then don’t,” he told her. He licked down her inner thigh and slowly moved her legs from his shoulders. She went to close them but he stood in between them, stopping her. “My choice.”

  “Always?”

  “It’s how I like it. After tonight, you tell me if you still do.”

  She nodded, but was still off center. He kept a hand on her thigh to hold her in place. And then, in one motion, he scooped her into his arms and was carrying her up the stairs.

  “Third floor,” she told him, which was unnecessary, because he’d caught her looking at him several times when he was staring into the woods, wanting everything to return to any semblance of normalcy.

  He wasn’t exactly there yet either, but this was helping.

  His job—his life—was violent. That was simply a matter of fact, a constant freight train, allowing himself the complete contradiction to careen out of control while still retaining it whenever he took one of those black ops jobs. At one time, he’d needed that.

  Would he always? Did he still?

  He didn’t think about his overwhelming, unshakable desire for control in his sex life. He needed that the way he needed air. He couldn’t feel badly about it because it was such a part of him, as much as his sexual preference was.

  He thought about the way Kayla’s wrists felt in the palm of his hand, the slight resistance at first, the way she’d attempted to pull away until finally she’d allowed her body to melt against his. A show of submission, whether she realized it or not.

  One thing people never seemed to realize was how strong someone needed to be in order to submit. Kayla was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

  She trusts you.

  He couldn’t fuck that up.

  *

  In Teige’s strong arms, nothing could hurt her.

  Her world had been so small, and she’d hated it. Until now. With Teige, she wanted it that way, wanted it to be just about the two of them, with no space in between. Wanted his body naked in front of her, maybe even sprawled out under her submissively.

  She must’ve been smiling wickedly as he laid her on the mattress. He gazed at her hungrily, his jeans unzipped, his arousal a hard bulge. He knew what she was thinking, had to have known what she’d been envisioning.

  Other women he’d been with must’ve wanted the same thing. Judging by the look in his eyes, they’d never gotten it. Would she?

  Do you really want that?

  She couldn’t answer, could only capitulate to his growled order to “Lie back on the bed and open your arms.”

  She was floating, and it wasn’t only from the medicine. She already felt amazing and was willing to let him take her further than she’d ever gone, if only to hold on to the way her body tingled.

  He slid his jeans down. “I won’t tie your ankles if you follow my instructions. This time. Arms up.”

  Her words caught in her throat at the sight of him naked. She put her hands up. He tied them together with two T-shirts. She tugged and realized she couldn’t get out of them herself, but before she could panic about that he was kissing her again, fingering her still-sensitive sex and everything inside her relaxed.

  “Make me come, Teige,” she murmured.

  “Bossy little thing,” he breathed into her ear. “You don’t realize you don’t have a say.”

  In response, she ground her pelvis against his. Begging, but she had a wicked smile on her face.

  He felt lighter than he’d been in years. Decades. He bent his head and kissed her, loving the way her tongue explored his mouth. Her hands fisted, her wrists tugged their bonds even as his hand spanned both her wrists and held them fast to the mattress. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and his cock slid along her sex but she said, “Teige,” and her voice halted. When he pulled back, she said, “I just…” And then she stopped, shook her head.

  He watched her carefully, dreading that she might say this was too much for her. Because if this was… “Say it, Kayla.”

  She blurted out, “Are you doing this because you’re mad at Diane?”

  Relief washed over him. “If I slept with someone every time Diane made me mad, my dick would’ve fallen off a long time ago.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because you took my damned picture.”

  And then there was no more talking. Not anything other than telling her she was wet, hot, tight…ready for him, how he wanted to taste her again, make her scream his name tonight…and the phrases spilled from him easily, but purposely to make her blush—because I love making you blush—and groan and grind against him.

  When he put a finger inside her, she was so tight, despite how wet she was. He took his time opening her, not wanting anything to ruin this. She didn’t take her eyes off him, which made everything that much hotter.

  When he added a second finger, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small O. He took her nipple between his teeth, held it there lightly and listened as her breathing quickened.

  With his tongue, he began tracing wet paths down her body, swiping her nipples then ignoring them, leaving her whimpering for more.

  “You want more, little one, don’t you,” he murmured and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out again. She couldn’t control her pulse or her breat
hing, and he smiled as he watched her losing all sense of control.

  She was vaguely aware of the rip of the foil package of a condom and realized with a start that she’d been so far gone it wouldn’t have been a thought in her mind.

  But Teige—he had it all under control. It made her able to lose it that much more easily.

  And then, before she could form any further coherent thoughts, he flexed his hips, pushing inside her, and her breath caught, stuttered and she cried out. He stilled for just a moment and then he began fucking her, taking her the way he’d wanted to from the first night he’d met her. And she let him, opened herself to him as he closed his eyes, as he struggled to remain in control of his orgasm. But Kayla bucked her hips, her wet heat sucking him in, milking him until his climax ripped from him. He was aware that he called out her name, his voice hoarse, his chest heaving as she took him as much—and as hard—as he took her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She’d been abused. Teige stared hard at the bottoms of Kayla’s feet where the long-healed scars of cigarette burns scattered along the arch.

  The bastard who did it made sure they were well hidden. Were there others he missed? He’d been over her body all night and he was always observant. His mind tugged him to the spot on her inner thigh he’d assumed was a birthmark by touch. Now, fingering the bottom of her foot as she slept, he knew better.

  But she slept. At night. He knew this was probably something of a minor miracle, based on her habits and her own admissions, and maybe he’d just discovered the whys.

  She didn’t act like a child abuse survivor—didn’t mind being held down and controlled—and she hadn’t done it just to please him. He knew better.

  This had all gotten so much more complicated. And maybe it was the right time, the perfect storm. He felt better than he had in years, like he could actually curl around her and sleep.

  But he would keep watch while she did so. Think about what to say when she woke.

  He’d found the book that someone lent her, a copy dog-eared on the pages that centered around him and his missions. He hadn’t read it himself but he could only imagine what was written. All true, and probably watered down, since the missions were still classified.