Page 85 of Dirty Beasts: Chance

Want—what a pathetic scrap of nothing against the wild, crazed, nearly narcotic desperation I feel to have Annika wrapped around me, to take me inside her, to make love to her. I fucking need that.

But I can’t do it.

I can’t ask.

I can’t move.

I’ve never told anyone, not even Rev, how many times I’ve had a girl try to take me and not be able to, or worse yet, not even try. The pity in their goddamned eyes…it makes me feel about two inches tall. Being a giant ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It hurt, every time a girl took one look at the size of me and my erection and noped the fuck out on me. Hurt, and hurt, and hurt—rejection for something I can’t control. Even if they wanted to, but couldn’t, it still hurt. But better that than me hurting them.

And that’s an even deeper layer of fear—that I’ll hurt Annika.

My hands tremble, and I clench them into fists, and then try to act casual and possessive and affectionate as I fill my hands with the beautiful generous curve of her ass.

I see a world of emotion in her eyes as she straddles me, her hands on my chest above my pecs. I can’t enumerate the things I see in her eyes. Erotic promise, need, affection, awe, understanding…

That other word I can’t bring myself to even think.

For all my physical strength and toughness, for all my mental resilience, I’m just not strong enough for this moment.

“Chance, honey.” Her voice is soft but charged. “I need you, baby.”

Honey.

Baby.

My throat burns, my eyes ache with holding back the haze. She’s saying it, and she’s meaning it. Saying those things to me with such delicate sweetness that whatever breath I had in my lungs evaporates.

Rev is the only human being who’s ever shown me loyalty and love, but it’s the masculine kind, the brotherhood of blood and trauma. Rough and ready, solid and unspoken. I’d put my very soul in his hands and not spend a moment worrying.

But it’s not the same.

Not this delicate, feminine tenderness.

Hearing those words from Annika, and seeing clear as day in her eyes that she means them…

I almost can’t hold it back.

“Nik, I…” I shake my head, words drying up in the heat of my fear.

She sees. She knows.

“Trust me?” It’s a breathed pair of syllables, but they contain the universe.

I frame her beautiful face with my hands, and I can’t hide that they’re trembling. “Nik.” I swallow. Her name is all I can manage, in a husky, guttural rasp.

Her smile is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. “Just trust me, baby.” My words, back at me.

She slides one arm under my neck and touches her forehead to mine, eye to eye, breath to breath. Tilts her hips away from my body and reaches her other hand between us. Slides her touch around my shaft, forefinger and thumb pointed toward my root. Her touch is achingly soft, gliding down and sliding up, caressing my length. Again, and again, until I’m gasping.

“Fuck, Nikki.” I close my eyes. “Your touch—so fuckin’ beautiful. So perfect.”

“Look at me, Chance,” she whispers, but there’s a harsh command in the words. “Lookat me.”

I open my eyes and meet hers. She lifts up more, angling her ass to the ceiling. Tilting her sex. She moves slowly. Never looks away from me, not for a second, not even blinking.

“Nik, baby…” My voice is rough, an unsteady rumble. I run my hands up her spine, then frame her waist.