Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

She was asleep when he came back. She was on her side, nearly on her stomach, still as naked as he’d left her. Her bandaged knee was pulled up, and he stripped out of his clothes just to make his cock more comfortable. She certainly did something to him, and it was a very physical and instantaneous reaction. He wasn’t kidding himself; there was a hell of lot more to it than that, always had been, but fuck, the sight of her prone bottom and the small pale lips of her sex between her thighs, and he was ready to drive straight to her core and pound until he could find relief.

He was carrying a bag of takeout Chinese, which he promptly abandoned on the floor to free his hands for her, and once he pulled his body up behind her, he slid his hand down her bottom and between her legs, parting her lips and pushing a finger into her before she even had the chance to wake. It didn’t take her long to rouse, and he thrust gently in and out of her until she was moaning and writhing against his hand. God, he just couldn’t get enough of this.

He loved the sounds she made. She whimpered quietly, self-consciously, her breath caught in her throat as she came close to her threshold, and when he heard the wet smack of her cum as he fucked her with his finger, he groaned. It was by sheer willpower alone and the delicious smell of Chinese food that he was able to extricate his finger from where it wanted to be most, and as he leaned back casually to watch her, she rolled over, glancing sheepishly at him.

“Chinese. Mongolian Beef to be specific.”

“My favorite.”

“I know.” And he did. He knew that and so much more about her. “Picnic in bed.” He snatched the bag of food off the floor and set it between them. “How do you feel?”

“Sore as hell. Everywhere.”

“Get some food in your stomach, and then you can take some of the Vicodin.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Not until you get something—”

“No, the birth control.” He had no control over his lips as they pulled up. He stuffed a bite of food in his mouth to hide his smile. “I don’t like needles.”

He spoke around his mouthful of food. “And if I eat your pussy afterward? Would that make up for it?”

Her cheeks burned bright red at his completely blunt words, and he gave up trying to hide the smile. “I suppose.” Her voice was quiet.

She handled the injection fine, and he kept his promise. She passed out quickly after she took the Vicodin, and he took the leftovers downstairs and set Macy free for a while as he sat on the deck. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing or if it would ultimately end up kicking them both in the ass, and he was terrified. When he looked at her, he was instantly ravenous, and if he was being honest, he’d felt it from the moment he’d seen her in the emergency room months before. Feelings of some sort, some intense and arousing and some painful and debilitating, had taken him over at that very moment. He’d focused on the anger and the hatred that had been with him for years. But now, it was slipping away. Sadly, he couldn’t count on it to stay away. His feelings about her seemed to course through him in waves that peaked and crashed depending on the day, the hour, his mood, her mood—hell, what she was wearing, what she smelled like, just how much she reminded him of his past. When he imagined fucking her, he felt like his body was pulling apart at the seams, and whatever ugly feeling might be trying to invade his mind faded to the background. It was what he’d meant when he’d told her he felt more at peace with her at times than he had for years. She was the source of his anguish, but she was also the source of quieting it. No wonder he was confused all the time.

He woke her early in the morning when it was still dark out. She’d actually woken him whimpering and groaning in her sleep. She was a walking bruise at the moment, and he wasn’t surprised to see she was still in pain. He gave her another dose of Vicodin, and soon, she was purring contentedly beside him—humming her comfort as she snuggled into his body. He fell asleep too, determined to sleep in late with her.

It didn’t happen. The knock on his door woke him far sooner than he was ready. She was sleeping soundly, too drugged and relaxed to hear the knocking. He tossed a pair of jeans on and headed downstairs just to see his mom peering through the window that ran the length of the side of his front door. She didn’t look thrilled. Summer breaks gave her entirely too much time to meddle in his business, and this wouldn’t be the last time she showed up unannounced.

“Bailey’s bike is here? I thought you had the day off.”

“I do have the day off.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

“Sleeping at the moment.” He watched her coolly. It was the only approach to take when she was being nosy.

“She comes over to sleep? What are you doing, Darren?”

“Taking care of her. She fell yesterday and got banged up pretty good.”

“And you decided to take care of her?” Now she was just being rude.

“What should I have done, Mother? Leave her nearly two miles out in the woods to see how long it took her to crawl back?”

Her face softened. “And she’s going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Well, perhaps I should check on her.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“And why not?”

“I doubt she wants you to see her naked.” He stared at her, and she glared. He was being a jerk, but he didn’t appreciate having his own mother treat him as though he was a damn criminal because he had a woman in his bed—one he’d not even had sex with.

“You’re sleeping with her?” Her voice was suddenly venomous.

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing with her.”

“Well, I’m making it my business. I’m not going to watch you hurt this girl.”

“And why do you care?” His own anger was matching hers, and his goal instantly became defense, not rebuttal. “Does she suddenly deserve your concern? Do you really give a shit if I hurt her feelings, break her heart, take advantage of the poor little murderer?” His voice was cruel and cold. He was simply fighting at this point.

“I care! Yes! And I’m not going to watch you destroy her!” It was turning into an entryway shouting match.

“I’ll ask you again, why do you care?”

“Because your sister would be ashamed of me if I didn’t!” She shook her head. She was livid, and he was fuming. “And she’d be ashamed of you too.” Her voice cracked.

“Would she? Save your shame for that fucking bitch upstairs who took her away! She doesn’t deserve shit from me, and if I feel like dragging her worthless ass through my hell and destroying her, then so be it!” He was raging, and even as he spit the words out, the shame did sink in.

His mother shook her head in despair. He could see it in her expression. Utter sadness. For him, for Bailey, for Jess. They were all interchangeable at this point. She started to turn away, but she paused. “Whatever you may think she deserves, it will take you down too. You’re not capable of hurting that girl without destroying yourself. I’ve watched you fade away for six years. I don’t want to watch you disappear altogether. If you can’t treat Bailey with respect, then you cut her loose. Give her back her life.” And then she was gone, and he felt all the shit he was.

It was not as though they’d never argued. They’d argued plenty; it was just the family he’d been raised in. No one worried about biting their tongue. It wasn’t considered disrespectful to speak your mind in his world, but he’d be damned if he hadn’t been disrespectful. He felt challenged the second she opened her mouth, and for a man who was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around what was going on, he’d reacted poorly. He should have defended his actions, his intent, his ability to be decent to Bailey. Instead, he threw her concern for Bailey in her face, and he ultimately proved his mother’s point beautifully for her to see.

He made coffee, wanting to be asleep beside her but unable to settle down enough. He didn’t expect to hear another knock on his door less than fifteen minutes later. He also didn’t expect to see Michelle standing in his doorway with her head cocked to the side.

He’d known Michelle as long as he’d known Bailey, and she was quite the firecracker. They’d gotten along just fine when Bailey had been away, but now was a different story. She was Bailey’s friend first and foremost, and while it was ridiculous to regard her as his enemy on that fact alone, especially given the new dynamic between him and Bailey, there was no doubt Michelle was suspicious.

“Where is she?” No “Hi.” No “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Coffee?”

“Darren, where is she?”

“Sleeping.”

“Then how the hell did she call me ten minutes ago?”

Fuck.

She was too hurt to cry, or maybe she was too angry to give a shit she was hurt. She was a trapped animal with her damn ankle, but it didn’t stop her from hobbling to the bathroom, throwing on her clothes as she fought not to teeter over onto her ass. She re-wrapped the ACE bandage to the point of cutting off the circulation just to get the support she needed to walk. She was gonna fucking walk out of this damn house if it killed her.

She made it out onto the upstairs landing that overlooked the large great room and kitchen, and she caught Michelle’s comment just as she grasped the railing. Darren’s eyes flew up to her, and Michelle’s did too. Darren looked shocked, terrified even, and she ignored the hurt feelings and focused on the rage.

“How dare you.” She was seething, and he just stared. His face was slack, and he looked defeated. Since she felt defeated by him, it seemed appropriate. “How dare you touch me. Why don’t you tell this worthless fucking bitch what she deserves, huh, Darren? More heartbreak, more pain, or maybe just a fuck and fuck off. Is that it?” She was practically spitting her rage at him. Her voice was strong, her will adamant, but her tears were falling.

He just stared. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known and likely ever would. But he was toxic. He’d earned his venom after years of pain, but she couldn’t let him take her down. It was only a marginal amount of self-respect that she’d managed to hold onto, but it was enough. She took the first step down, pain radiating up her leg, and he moved toward the stairs but stopped in his tracks as Michelle passed him.

Michelle helped her slowly hobble down the stairs, and Darren did nothing but stare at the floor. He gave her little reaction at all as she left, and Michelle looked back once to defend her. “Stay away from her.”

Bailey sank into the seat of Michelle’s car, letting her head drop back against the headrest. She owed Michelle an explanation, and she wasn’t looking forward to giving it to her. But she did, speaking a hundred miles an hour on the way back to her cottage. Michelle’s shocked expression was flashed to her every time she could safely take her eyes off the road, and by the time they pulled up to her house, she had to take a deep breath just to keep herself from screaming.

“So, you slept with him or no? Sorry, you were speed talking, and I heard some stuff that sounded questionable about birth control and penises and toothbrushes, but I got lost.”

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that much, right?”

“Yeah.” But as Michelle’s door slammed and she rounded the car to the passenger door, Bailey’s heart sank. She’d wanted to. So much so. She thought he did too, really did. Not just the sex, the physical act, but them. She thought his desire to make love to her had meant something. Something important, something other than the pain from their pasts. She’d dreamed of giving herself to that man from the moment she figured out what sex was. She didn’t want to think that was one life experience she would have to live without. But it was no doubt safer for her heart.

Her anger got her through Michelle’s short stay, but the moment she left to return to the furniture store and Bailey was faced with her empty cottage and empty heart, the hurt caught up to her again. She sat on the floor of her shower with the water raining down on top of her and cried. She couldn’t let herself think there could ever be anything but pain between them—regardless of the mixed signals he might give her. Sex was just sex, and it certainly didn’t mean anything beyond the physicality of it to him.