Cadillac Payback: Rising Tide by AJ Elmore (grave mercy .TXT) 📗

Even after all this time, I remember the direct route to her pleasure. How could I forget?

In a matter of minutes, her hands are pressed against the wall, her back arched, and her chest heaving. My hand is drenched in her, and her perfect hair is sweat-damp. Her voice rings as I string her orgasms together. I do it until I can no longer contain myself.

Finally, I rip the panties down her legs, jerk my cock free, and bury it in her. She's so tight I nearly lose it on the first thrust. I grunt, grit my teeth. She gasps when I fill her, her cries becoming a near whine. I tighten the grip on her throat, pinning her to the wall, and bang the hell out of her.

It's a fast and furious frenzy, relentless. Her cries coupled with her warmth around me are too much. It doesn't take long before I pull out and come all over her manicured vagina.

I want to collapse in a drunken, spent mess in the floor. Maybe take a long nap. Instead, I let her go and turn away, fighting the whole time to catch my breath. I do my best not to stumble over to the tequila. I grab my smokes from beside it, shake one out, and light it – all without looking at her. Between hits, I take a drink.

When I finally turn to her, she hasn't moved from against the door. I take a long, thoughtful drag, watching her stare at me with a mixture of astonishment and regret. I blow the smoke at the ceiling, and say, “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

To my utter surprise, she doesn't say anything. She gingerly pulls the thong back into place, runs her hands through her hair, and leaves.

I collapse onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The cigarette burns idly between my fingers. What the fuck am I doing? What did I just do? Fuck.

Thunder rolls outside, and my stomach makes a hollow sound.

For some ungodly reason, I think of the hallway in the mansion again. This time it's of Freddy, and the passing stretch of eye contact, that moment he took to weigh me. There was something telling in his expression, something familiar, like maybe I can relate to him. Like maybe he knows some shit that might be useful.

Chapter 23 Regrets

Maria

I have a decent buzz from the drinks at the bar as we pull into the apartment parking lot. I didn't have anything clever to say on the ride over, so I didn't. Of course, the distraction of watching Josh drive the most classic of cars I've ever seen didn't have mierda to do with my silence. Nope.

Except he drives this machine like it's part of him. He hasn't even had it that long. I reach for a memory of times when we let Josh drive the Caddy. There aren't any.

That's a minor distraction from a major decision, incoming. How am I going to handle this, because he didn't stutter when he said the next move is all mine. I don't mean verbally stutter, either. His game didn't trip up a bit. Probably I should thank him, kiss him goodbye, and go home. Alone. I probably should, since that's not what I want to do.

Wait, kiss him goodbye? What the hell is wrong with me? Isn't that what people do after dates?

My eyes go wide, and I press my lips together to avoid making a noise. This slick son-of-a – he has craftily convinced me to go on a date with him, without actually saying the words. I didn't think of it that way until just now.

My grandmother is completely right. I'm an idiot.

Thoughts glance through at rapid fire. Why did he do it? Is this a play? This isn't like chess at all. He was right when he said he knows what I want. Goddammit, he was right. It's game time.

He slides her into park, then cuts the engine. The real truth here is that I’ve already lost this game, and the fall is fresh on both our minds. The first time I fucked him is mostly a blur to me, the details lost in the repressed grief of losing my brother, my best friend. I remember it being good, but the second time we fucked - the details are burned into my mind like a movie I’ve watched relentlessly. He was flawless.

Heat stirs in my cheeks and much farther down. Goddammit if he hasn’t opened a floodgate that I can’t shoulder closed. That fact, coupled with the one that he’s been so close afterward, just makes me want more of him. Maybe this is why I turned the cold shoulder on him after the first time. I couldn’t have handled it at the time.

His movement as he shoves his door open snaps me out of my head. His breaking the stillness makes me realize that we’ve both been staring out the windshield. I was too lost in myself to notice if he was waiting for me to make a move, or if he was also caught up in his own mind.

The way he stalks around the front of the car to open my door begs me to make a bad decision. The way he moves, with confidence, no remorse, no uncertainty in his step – I want him against me. The booze in my veins weighs heavily averse to the business mind. I know he expects me to break again, and I know that I want to, but if I’m to save any face whatsoever, I should send him home. No goodnight kiss, either.

When he pulls open my door, I half expect him to offer a hand to help me out. Except I’m not the type to take that hand, and he’s not the type to think I need help getting out of