Page 45 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

MAD

Sebastian

Here I was, ready to give a woman a birthday. If she’d been here.

Instead, I’d woken to find her gone, and not just her. Ben, too. She’d left a note on the kitchen counter.

We’re running. Took Lexi. Then groc store. Took your list too. Text me if need more. Will bring home breakfast stuff. Back maybe 9:30?

I looked at my watch. Eight. Great. How long had they been gone? I made coffee and tried not to be restless. The dryer buzzed, and I went and opened it. Alix’s clothes. She’d already gone running and done her laundry? Also, maybe I’d wanted to go running.

By the time they finally got back, I’d checked my finances, put my own laundry and Ben’s into the washer and then the dryer, drunk an extra cup of coffee, received a delivery, decided that if Alix was buying my groceries, I should fold her clothes, tried and failed to think of any more chores I should do, sat down to read a book, stood up again, sat down again, and …

The door finally opened, and the three of them came in like a gust of wind. Voices, then a flapping sound of jingling tags and Alix laughing, saying, “Lexi! No! Go grab a towel, Ben. Go?—”

I was already there. With a towel. Dirty drops covered the floor and reached halfway up the wall, and Alix took the towel from me with a laugh, started toweling Lexi dry, and said, “Get your shoes off, Ben, and go get me another towel for the floor and walls, because this is a mess. And so are we. My shoes are caked.” She laughed again, because it was all true.

Hair streaming wet below her watch cap, rain jacket and running tights soaked.

I said, “I’ve got it,” went back for the second towel, and started wiping things down as Alix and Ben removed shoes and jackets and Alix said, “Go take your clothes off and bring them to me, Ben. I’ll throw them in with mine.

I think we’d better do our shoes, too. What did I tell you about how good it is to run hard in the mud, huh?

Awesome. That Forest Park is so great,” she told me.

“So many trails, all right here! Aren’t you lucky. ”

I said, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had a chance to run them yet. What are you doing? That’s Lexi’s towel!”

Alix paused in the act of toweling her hair with, yes, the dirty dog towel, and said, “What? I’m going to take a shower.

Not planning to get dog germs all over your bed, or whatever you’re worried about.

Oh, Ben? Once you’ve showered and changed, can you take those grocery bags into the kitchen and start putting things away for me, please? ”

I said, “I’ll put things away. I’ll clean the dog. I’ll clean the hallway. As it’s my apartment.”

She turned a startled gaze to me as Ben said, “Oh-kay. I’m going to go take that shower.” And disappeared, possibly prudently.

Alix’s color was up now, or maybe it always had been. “ Right,” she said. “We’ve never fought before, so I’m winging it here.”

“We haven’t fought before?” I said. “We’ve fought ever since I met you.”

“Well, yes, but you haven’t actually been mad.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Then said, “Wait. I’m still mad.”

“Uh-huh. Could you save it for a minute, until I get out of the shower? Or—you know what?” She grabbed me by the front of my T-shirt and dragged me into my bathroom. Well, this was new. “Get in the shower with me.”

I had my arms folded—now that I wasn’t being dragged, I did. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to be mad, get in the shower with me and show me.” And stripped off her shirt.

I said, “I’m still mad.”

“I got it.” She was on her leggings now. They weren’t easy to pull down, because they were soaked. She had to do a lot of … wriggling. Somehow, my own shirt and pants were hitting the floor, too, and I was shoving taps open.

She said, “I have to pee first. Much rain and cold. Cover your eyes.” And pulled off her panties. They were pink today.

“I am not covering my eyes,” I said. “I’m getting in the shower.”

“Fine,” she said, and before I could do it, she was sitting on the toilet.

I said, “You did not just do that in front of me.”

“Yep. I did.” A flush, and the lid banging down. “Now get in there and show me what you do to women you’re mad at. Here I am, just waiting to find out.”

Ali x

What men do to women they’re mad at, apparently, is grab them, shove them up against the shower wall, kiss them so hard they lose their breath, touch them all over with greedy hands, then …

Well, yeah. Then, apparently, they lift them under the bottom with their very strong arms, tell them, “Wrap your legs around me,” and shove home. While biting your neck. Their neck. Whatever. And you’re so turned on by that point, all you want is more of this.

I couldn’t exactly think. It was steamy in here and getting steamier, and Sebastian was saying, “I want to … I want to …”

“Then do it,” I gasped.

“You’re not …” Another thrust. “Submissive enough.”

“Excuse me?”

“No … worries.” Oh, man. It was so good. “This will … do.”

“No way, buddy.” I shoved him in the chest. “Not if it’s second best.”

He backed off. Hair and body streaming with the water that pounded over us from two different showerheads, chest rising and falling, face wolf-intense. “Right,” he said. “Right.”

I wasn’t listening. Something was roaring in my ears, that was why. I shoved the taps closed, grabbed his wrist, and said, “Show me.”

His mouth opened. Closed. I said, “ Show me.”

“Fine.” Now, he grabbed my wrist—I wasn’t sure how that had happened—snatched up a towel with the other hand, and pulled me out into the bedroom, where he locked the door, turned, and started toweling me dry.

“Stop being thoughtful,” I said. “Stop being considerate. You’re mad? Show me.”

What was I doing here? I was no kind of sexual goddess! And what did that even mean, “You’re not submissive enough”? I wasn’t changing for a man. I was me.

“Right,” he said through his teeth. “Get on the bed.” His chest was rising and falling, he was soaking wet, and he was—well, just so ridiculously dominant that half of me wanted to laugh, but the other half wanted to find out what he’d actually do.

I said, “I’m going. Because I want to.” Upon which I climbed up there onto my knees, lifted my arms from my sides, and let them fall again to slap my thighs. “I did it. Now what?”

He glared at me. “That’s the wrong answer.”

“Yeah? So show me.”

He swore, sounding nothing like considerate, careful Sebastian, then he climbed up right behind me, put a hand on my hip, lifted my wet hair with the other hand, bit my neck again—still not hard, but so thrillingly—and whispered in my ear, “You asked for it.” While putting his palm between my shoulder blades and pressing my upper body down.

Right, I told myself as the dark excitement swirled through me with an edge that was almost fear. This is fine. I like this position, too.

A shift in the bed as Sebastian climbed off it, and I was sitting up, saying, “What?”

“Get back down there,” he said, pulling out one of those condom packets. “Now.”

Oh, boy. I did it. One hand under my face, the other palm on the bed, and he was behind me again.

And not sliding straight inside the way I’d thought he would.

Instead, one of his hands was on my bottom, stroking over it, lighting me up so much, it was like he left sparks in his wake.

The other hand was on a breast, and he was shifting more fully over me, his hand running up and down my back now.

And then it was his mouth.

His two hands on my shoulders, sliding underneath to my breasts. And his mouth kissing its way down my spine. Slowly. Making me shiver .

I heard something outside the door and said, with the last of my brainpower, “Ben.”

Sebastian didn’t stop kissing me. Lower and lower, until he was at the small of my back, just above my tailbone. Lingering in that sensitive spot, stroking me with his thumb, the other hand on my bottom again, while he said, “Put the other fist in your mouth.”

“Wh-what?” It was a gasp, because he was biting me now. Biting my bottom. Not hard, not enough to bruise, but those were teeth, and I was shifting again.

“In your mouth,” he said. “I’ll help you, too. If you make noise, I’ll stop until you can shut up again.” His hand not between my legs, where I needed him. On the backs of my thighs instead, holding tight as he said, “Do it.”

I did it.

He said, “I won’t be rough. If I hurt, tell me.”

“Uh … OK.” The thrill was definitely getting close to fear. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t read his mind. I was captive here, totally vulnerable, and I …

He took the wrist I’d had by my head and held it behind my back.

My mouth opened, but my fist was there.

He wrapped the other hand around my hair and pulled.

Oh, God. Oh, God. I was rocking already.

He slid inside. Not hard, because he was being gentle, I realized dimly. But his hand was around my hair. My arm was twisted against my mid-back. And he was starting to move.

Wearing that condom. With those ridges.

He said, “This is what … happens when I’m … mad.” Rocking. Rocking. Every slide was torture, and it was all I needed.

It was fast, but it wasn’t hard, because he was still being careful. Didn’t matter. He was saying, “Take it right there. Take it there,” and I lost a few more brain cells. I was gasping, whimpering against my hand, trying to twist away, but I couldn’t move. He had me held too tight.

I needed this. I needed it. But he was going too fast. He was going to get there before I … before I …

He was breathing harder, then harder still. And then he let go of my wrist, and I thought, That’s all? No. I need more!

His hand again, but now it was where I needed it. His other hand still wrapped around my hair, pulling my head back. I needed to move, and I couldn’t. My breath was ragged in my ears, and it was all I could do not to cry out. Until I did. A moan, because how could I not moan?

He stopped moving. His hand stopped, too. I said, “What? Sebastian?—”

“You ready to be quiet?” he asked, and tugged at my hair.