Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

“Oh, I’d say I’ve already won this one. No need for the vapid slut girlfriend.” Bailey didn’t normally find it so easy to hold her own with him, but a good dose of alcohol and a bit of humiliation, and she was ready to go her round with Darren. She walked by him, knowing he’d stop her, and he did. He pushed her up against the wall, holding her elbows as he glared down at her. He said nothing. His chest was rising and falling as he struggled against some inner turmoil she wasn’t privy to, and she took her opportunity to get one last shot. “Did you know I was watching?”

His brow flinched, and his eyes shifted from hers for a moment. “Don’t do this.” His voice was warning.

“Did you?”

“Dammit, Bay! You don’t—”

“Did you know I—” She was practically yelling.

“Yes!” His breath left him in a huff. “Fucking hell, Bailey!” He wasn’t practically yelling; he was just plain yelling. “I fucking knew!”

“Why?” She’d lost her own edge, and it came out a whisper as he stood panting and staring down at her.

When he spoke again, it was just as quiet, and his hands gripping her elbows squeezed gently, almost reassuringly—as though he knew what he was saying was wrong, and he needed her to understand that it was still just him. “I wanted you to see me.” He let go of her elbows, and he backed away from her, crossing his arms. It wasn’t aggressive; it wasn’t even angry. It was as if he didn’t trust what his hands might do if he didn’t clamp them to his body with his arms. She could see and understand his every physical reaction to her like they were words coming from his mouth. “Fuck! I just wanted . . . I don’t know what I wanted.”

His eyes dropped to her feet, and she stared at his chest as it rose and fell. Her body was coursing and vibrating with electric need that pulsed through her in warm waves. She knew she wanted him. She wasn’t immune or naive to want and desire, and he was better than any other man at inciting it in her. She usually ignored it with him. She had to because that just wasn’t who they were. But now? She felt the need to console him, to reassure him, and as much as that, she felt the same need emanating from him. He wanted her. She usually questioned if he ever possibly could, though she suspected there were certainly times he must. Right now, she knew with no doubt in her mind that he did—just as much as she did for that matter.

When she reached out to his arms, he flinched and then he sighed. She was studying his face, wondering where the nerve came from. He was still looking down, but she was closing the space between them slowly, and his focus was shifting gradually up her body as she neared him. His eyes stalled over her lips, and he licked his as he studied her mouth. She didn’t mean to suck in a quick and shocked gasp at the sight of his tongue passing over his lips, but she couldn’t stop the reaction, and the moment he heard the quick inhalation of her breath, he lunged at her mouth.

His tongue pushed past her lips as he backed her body up to the wall. His hand gripped her neck, holding her mouth to his as his other hand squeezed gently at her waist. His fingers tightened and caressed her through her dress, and she moaned into his mouth when his fingers worked their way down to her hip, stroking over her hip bone. His moan was lower and set her blood on fire as he licked her tongue, tormenting her entire body with nothing more than their kiss.

Bailey gripped his upper arms as he pushed his body against her, pinning her to the wall with his erect and hard arousal that strained against the front of his pants. For the second time this night, she was held firmly against this wall, allowing a man to show her just how much he wanted to fuck her. She welcomed this man far more than the other, and could she unwrite what she’d almost been willing to do with the other just to make herself feel better about herself, she’d do so in an instant. This was what she wanted. This was what she always wanted. She trusted his touch, his force, his power, his intent, his everything. This was what she always wanted. Always.

She melted when she felt his fingers brush up past the hem of her dress. His fingers trailed lightly up her thigh—so lightly they tickled and innervated her desire until her knees were shaking, and she was whimpering between the smacking of their lips. His mouth was still ravenously assaulting her lips, but his fingers were gentle—gentle and trembling slightly against her skin as they moved. His lips paused as did his fingers when he hit the top of her thigh just as his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. He stroked along the edge of the fabric that met her bikini line, and he breathed his minty breath into her mouth. He was deciding, and could she make the decision for him, she’d force his hand farther, but she froze in her spot, waiting, begging in her mind for more.

She could hear the sound of him swallowing as he struggled, and when he let go of a deep, pained sigh, she did too. He pulled his fingers from her skin, and his forehead dropped to hers, refusing to let his lips touch hers again.

“Oh, fuck, Bailey.” He was whispering again, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. She could feel his brow flinching against her forehead, and she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arms. “I can’t do this.”

The rejection was painful; knowing he wanted it didn’t soften the blow in the least, and when he turned to walk from her without another word, she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arm. He stilled when he felt her fingers pulling against him, and he turned back slowly, refusing to look at her. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, but she was still coursing with need. The need was as much to be reassured as it was to be fucked, and the combination of those desires was nearly overwhelming.

“Dammit, Bailey.” He was speaking through gritted teeth as he finally looked at her. She didn’t waste even one second before she lunged at his mouth, standing on her tiptoes to close the distance. He met her halfway as he seemed to lose control again, and she ended back up against the wall as his hands held her still and his tongue thrust and tasted her mouth. There was nothing gentle or slow about the trail of his fingers back up under her dress, and the moment he hit the lace, he pushed his hand roughly past the material and cupped her sex. His finger slid between her lips, and she could feel the soaking wetness coating his finger as he moaned.

He stroked, but didn’t push into her. “Is this what you want?” His voice was breathy and aroused, and her body responded perfectly at nothing more than the sound of his warm, needy words. “Huh?” She listened to his panting voice as his finger slid through her cum. “Where’s this going to end, Bailey?” She whimpered as her fingers dug into his arm. “With my cock inside you?” And the moment he spoke the words, his finger invaded her tightness, and her sheath tightened and trembled around his finger. “Fuck, that’s good.” He wasn’t even speaking to her as he muttered the words. He sounded nearly desperate, nearly angry, but so nearly ready to lose his mind that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. That was the desperation and anger she was hearing. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His finger was plunging into her wetness, and she was gripping his arm, groaning with her mouth buried against his chest.

He slid a second finger in with the first, and his thumb started swirling around the peaked nub of her clitoris as she gasped for air. “Darren.” There was no real reason she said his name—only that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut or keep her voice stifled any longer. She started gasping as his strokes sped, and his fingers pushed and pulled harshly in and out of her body.

“You feel so good. God, I want you so much.” His voice tormented her with his most erotic and confessing words.

She cried out as her orgasm raced through her body.

“Bailey.” He was still stroking, slowing the penetration of his fingers as she trembled around him. “I have to have you.” She nodded as her head sank to his chest. She’d give every ounce of herself to this man in a heartbeat.

“Darren?” The unwelcome voice jolted both their bodies to attention as his name was hollered from a distance. “Darren?”

“Fuck.” He muttered as he slipped his fingers from her and pulled away, stepping back. “I’m over here, Trinity.” He studied Bailey as she fought the hot, burning heat that was flushing her skin while they waited for Trinity. Trinity was still up on the patio of the bar, and she couldn’t see them. Darren shook his head in frustration while they listened to Trinity’s clicking heels near them.

“Darren—”

“Stop, Bailey. There’s nothing to say. I fucked up.” Then he shook his head again as he watched her. “Fuck.” He couldn’t seem to stop muttering, and when Trinity turned toward them as she stepped off the last step to the seawall sidewalk, Darren turned from Bailey and started walking toward Trinity, leaving Bailey staring like an ass after him and feeling like an ass too.

Now

“Why did you offer to give me a ride?” Her voice broke his concentration on the road. In truth, his concentration was nowhere near the road, and it was already entirely on her, but he’d been zoned out thinking about her, not at all expecting to hear her voice.

“I thought I already told you. Your sutures need to be removed.”

“Then why aren’t we headed toward the hospital?” Her voice was quiet, unsure, and her fingers trembled as much sitting beside him in his car as they did the first night in the hospital. Her discomfort left him feeling just as conflicted now as it did then.

“I’m just going to stop by my home; it’s closer than the hospital, and I have what I need there.” And he wanted her there. He couldn’t—hell, wouldn’t—admit that to her, and regardless, he didn’t even understand why anyway, so there was nothing at all to explain. He just wanted her there, wanted her near. He would torment her when the compelling and angry need would surface, and she’d likely tolerate it. He’d hurt her with every cold remark he made, and then he’d go back to utter confusion at what was driving him. He’d only seen her a handful of times recently, but he knew very well how he would respond to her. It was as if his need to hurt her was an addiction he couldn’t deny. But his need to see her and be near her in some way was becoming just as compelling as his anger.

She said nothing in response, and she stared straight out the front window. When he turned onto his long and winding lane that led back into the woods and past the Andersons’ house, she started looking around. It was really very beautiful, and it was why he’d chosen the spot. When he risked a glimpse at her, her lips were pulling up slightly. It’s not as if they hadn’t both grown up for the most part in the Ozarks, but his particular slice of heaven compared to no other. The narrow road was winding as it moved up into the hills. There was a stream that ran and followed the lane, crossing under a stone bridge in one place and crossing back over the roadway itself in a shallow, slow-moving sheet that literally covered the roadway in another. The green in the surrounding deep forest was lush, the trees were tall, and it was like being surrounded by a thick, green carpet with a green canopy overhead.

When Bailey caught him looking at her, his eyes shifted away instantly, and he was left fighting his lips to relax. He’d wanted to smile. As they pulled up outside his contemporary, yet completely warm and earthy home, she inhaled deeply, and her eyes flashed quickly to every surface imaginable. There was little discernible slope to his roof—only enough to allow for effective drainage during the heavy rains. The siding he’d chosen was a cedar plank siding, and the windows were large and many.

She climbed from his front seat, still staring up at his tall and towering home. It was a two-story structure with the bedrooms on the second floor, but the first-floor living room was open to the high second-floor ceiling. Once she’d made it up his front steps and he’d opened the front door, escorting her into the large living room, her eyes still hadn’t stopped roving and taking in every last detail.

“Your home’s beautiful, Dare.”

“Darren. No one calls me Dare anymore.” That name held entirely too many memories—memories that sparked rage with the woman standing in front of him, and he didn’t want to feel any of that at the moment. He’d had enough of it recently, and it was wearing on him. It was making his well-ordered and managed life entirely too confusing and complex. It was bringing up far too much of his past that he’d prefer to ignore—prefer to pretend didn’t exist at all. It was making it damn hard to simply believe he was happy.