Head On Page 8

  I don’t know why I say the next words. Maybe because I want to push her away, because frankly, she scares me. Maybe because I’m in my kitchen, harder than I’ve ever been in my life from her suggestion. Maybe because I’m not a bastard, and I still have a decent bone in my body and know I need to end this now. “I think your speed is vanilla. Safe. I think your speed is slow, and probably delicate. I’m none of those things. We won’t match.”

  “Oh, why? Do you have a red room of pain somewhere hidden away? You like hardcore BDSM, and you’re about to tell me how you’ll ruin me.”

  I snort at her words, and it’s a most unsexy sound. “I don’t have a red room of pain, and no I’m not into BDSM, or not in any big way, but I will ruin you.”

  “You won’t. I’m not scared of you, big, bad, Ethan…what’s your last name?”

  Her question throws me for a moment. “Foston.”

  “Ethan Foston, okay. You don’t scare me, Ethan Foston.”

  “I should,” I counter. “I’m not kind, or gentle, or sweet.”

  She considers me. “I expect you can be, if you want to, but I don’t want those things. I don’t want the…you know, the rape thing. But, you don’t have to treat me like a porcelain doll. I want sex. It’s as simple as that.”

  Fuck me. My dick wants me to say yes. If it could speak, it would be begging me about now. But my conscience is telling me to walk away. To tell her to go to bed and stop being stupid. There’s something between us. Some sort of weird spark. It makes no sense, but it’s there. I can sense it every moment she’s near me. And if we do this, it risks getting both of us tied in emotional knots we don’t need. We are totally unsuited to one another, and it’s best we don’t even go there.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  My blood runs cold. It’s as if she’s slapped me, or worse, spat in my face. Fury slams into me and I’m so fucking angry I daren’t speak. My hands ball into fists and I clench my mouth shut tight.

  “What?” She looks confused. “What did I say wrong? You have sex for money, right? I want someone to take my virginity. I nearly got drunk a few months back and asked my friend to do it, but I don’t fancy him, and I don’t want to wreck our friendship. You have the money from my bank account. Keep it. I’ll pay you.”

  “You don’t mind if you wreck our friendship.”

  She laughs. “We don’t have a friendship.”

  I stare at her for a moment. So angry I want to smash something. “Fuck you, Isla. Go to bed.”

  I storm out of the room and head up the stairs. I can’t look at her a moment longer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isla

  What just happened? I stand in his kitchen at a complete loss. I don’t understand. He’s made it clear he doesn’t particularly like me on a personal level, but he obviously finds me somewhat attractive. I’m an inconvenience at best to him. I want to lose my virginity. I’m deeply attracted to him, despite my better judgement, and so I offered to pay him. He has sex for money, and I didn’t ask him to do something he hasn’t done many times before.

  Why won’t he take my money? Aren’t I good enough to shag for money? Selina is, so why not me? My confusion turns to heated anger. My blood boils. He’s bloody inconsistent. One moment he’s whispering in my ear all low and sinful about how he “worshiped” some client’s pussy, and ugh, I still hate that word. And the next he’s acting like some wounded saint when I ask him to screw me for money. It makes no sense. He’s so mercurial it begs belief.

  I head upstairs, hating having to spend another night under his roof when I’m so pissed off at him. Sadie follows me and I let her. His dogs seem to sleep downstairs, but I let Sadie come up tonight with me. Fuck him and his rules. Fuck him completely. I might not like pussy, but I decide I quite like the word fuck, and I say it loudly. “Fuck him!”

  Sadie jumps on the bed, and I smile as she digs at the sheets. I don’t stop her. I stomp around the room sorting my nightclothes out. With those ready, I grab my toiletry bag, and head out of the room only to walk slap bang into the idiot himself.

  He moves to the right, but so do I. For a moment, we do this stupid dance around one another, until he sighs, takes my upper arms and holds me still to step around me. He walks by and I lose it. I throw my toiletry bag at his back and it hits him between his shoulder blades.

  “You’re such a bastard.” I’m yelling, and swearing, but all the pent-up emotion of the last couple of days is finally finding its way out of me. I’ve been terrorised, taken to a strange house against my will. Made to stay with an irritating, but catastrophically hot man. I’ve worn new clothes, and make-up. Met Selina, who is a force of nature all by herself. I’ve been slapped on the arse by some idiot in a bar, and witnessed Ethan hit him for his trouble.

  It’s been the most unnerving, frustrating, exciting few days of my life.

  He turns to me and there’s fury in his gaze. Bending down, he swoops my bag off the floor and stalks back to me. I instinctively press up against the wall, but he keeps coming.

  Soon, his front is against mine and my spine is up against the hard wall.

  “Don’t ever do anything like that again. I could have hurt you.”

  “You wouldn’t.” I jut my chin at him because I don’t believe he would.

  “I was in a war zone. I don’t deal well with physical surprises, like being hit in the back, hard, by a bag full of bottles.”

  Oh, shit. My stomach sinks. I’m so stupid. “I’m sorry.”

  “What? For hitting me, or insulting me?”

  Oh, God this man! “When did I insult you?”

  “When you offered me money for sex!” He’s shouting now, and I hate it, but I won’t back down. I raise my voice once more.

  “You have sex for money. I didn’t think asking a prostitute to have sex with me if I paid him was a big deal.”

  “Fuck!” He hits the wall beside me with his fist and I bite back a scream. “Don’t use that fucking word. And you’re here, in my house. My guest. Your fucking dog is on my fucking bed, wrecking my sheets as we speak. You’re eating my food, and I’m trying to find out who is attempting to hurt you. What part of all that made it okay to offer to pay me to screw you?”

  Shit, he has a point. Again.

  “Do you think Selina has ever seen the inside of my house? Or been in my car? Or any of my other clients? No, they have not.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears fill my eyes. I’ve screwed up. “I hate being a virgin. I want it gone. It was a stupid, stupid idea.”

  “Why do you want it gone so bad? So you aren’t a virgin anymore. You shouldn’t have sex for that reason. It’s a pathetic reason to have sex.” He spits the word pathetic at me. “You should have sex because you want it, not to tick it off some to do list.”

  He turns and stalks down the corridor. “I do want it,” I shout after him. I’m het up, and ashamed of myself for earlier, but still so livid with him that all my usual control and self-introspection has gone out of the window. “I want it so badly, but I’ve never met anyone I fancy enough. I don’t mingle well with people. I say the wrong thing, as you’ve found out. I’m not popular, or outgoing. I don’t meet many people, and I’ve never met a man I’m really attracted to…until you.”

  He stops, but doesn’t turn around, still giving me his back.

  “I know I’m not your type, that’s the only reason I offered you the money. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve never felt such an intense attraction to someone before, but I didn’t want you to have to give me some sort of pity sex if you don’t like me. I presumed that as a professional, you sometimes have sex with women you’re not that into.”

  Face on fire now, I turn away, too, and head to my room, wanting to crawl under the covers and die.

  “You think I’m not attracted to you?” His voice stops me mid-step.

  “I’m attracted.”

  So, what’s the problem?

  “It’s not so simple though. I’m not what you need.”
He answers my question as if I’d said it out loud.

  No, he’s not what I need. Not long term, anyway. I couldn’t be with a man who screwed other women, whether for pleasure or money. And he’s too much for me. Like a force of nature, he’d take me over until there was nothing of me left. But I want to start living life, and experiencing the odd walk on the wild side, and what better way to start than with Ethan?

  It occurs to me I’m maybe using him, if we do this. But if he’s attracted to me, too. Where’s the harm?

  I glance over my shoulder, and he’s no longer facing away, but watching me.

  “I think this is a bad idea.” He seems to be trying to convince himself.

  He’s changed into a white cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, and as I glance down his body, I see a distinct bulge at the crotch. I swallow. One of my favourite things to watch on my porn nights is guys taking care of themselves. I love it. And I imagine him doing that now. Touching himself, taking care of that hard ache in his pants.

  I drag my mind from the gutter and meet his eyes. Amusement dances in them and I know he’s caught me checking him out.

  He comes toward me, slow and deliberate. “We do this, and it’s a one-time thing.”

  My heart starts to pound, hard. I nod and swallow down past the sudden lump in my throat.

  “We scratch the itch, this insane thing between us, and then we move on, right?” His deep blue eyes are dark in the dim light of the hallway. “We tackle this…thing between us, head on, and move past it.”

  “Yes. Head on and then move on.” I repeat his words.

  “I still think this is a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  He laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re more than a decade younger than me. You’re a virgin. You’re naive. You’re all small and delicate and…you...”

  Why does he still think I’m some delicate flower? I pull up the hem of the dress Ann lent me, past my knickers, ignoring his widening eyes. I see from the way they flicker that he’s noticed my scars.

  “I spent days in intensive care when I had my accident. They operated twice to stop the bleeding in my liver. I had glass embedded in me from thigh to mid-waist. I fought so hard they told my dad it was a miracle I survived. My body isn’t frail, and I’m not either. I’m awkward. Introverted at times, but I’m not frail. Or stupid. I survived this, I can damn well survive you, Ethan.”

  He makes this odd sound, like a cross between a groan and a cough. Then he’s moving, and he’s fast. His hands tangle in my hair and he angles my head to give him the access he wants, and he’s on me. His lips find mine and there’s no hesitation. No tentative exploration. His mouth is hard and hungry against mine, and he takes me over. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and scrapes his teeth along it, sending delicious shocks across the sensitive nerves there.

  When he licks at the seam of my mouth, I open for him and then he’s inside me. His tongue tastes me, licks at me, and he’s delicious--all minty and fresh. He must have cleaned his teeth only a few moments ago. I moan and he pulls me closer in response.

  I’ve been kissed a few times in my life, but never like this. He takes control and utterly dominates me, but not in a horrible way. He’s not slobbering all over me, or pushing his big fat tongue down my throat like one boy did. But he’s in no way unsure, or delicate. My God, he could win an award for kissing. He probably gets a lot of practice, and I push that thought away.

  When he breaks away, his chest is rising and falling rapidly. He takes my hand and leads me down the hall, away from the spare room I’m staying in, and Sadie curled up on the bed.

  He takes me into his bedroom.

  It’s a spacious room, dominated by a huge super-king bed, with a dark grey headboard. Above it is a black and white photograph of a statue of a white horse’s head, upside down, with the horse’s lips touching a black lake of water below it. It’s striking and unusual. A lamp on one of the bedside tables throws a golden glow over the room. A built-in mahogany wardrobe runs the length of one wall. There’s a leather sofa under the window, and a coffee table by it with a few books scattered haphazardly on the surface. It’s a gorgeous room. Masculine, and simple, but comfortable and stylish.

  He sits on the bed and splays his legs, pulling me between them. His hands are on my hips and he moves them up, taking the material of my dress as he does so. Like this, his face is directly in front of my…pussy. It’s the least bad word my brain can come up with. I can’t call it my vagina, not in this context, and any other word doesn’t work. Maybe I’ll start to like pussy. It’s a friendly word, I think, not ugly like cunt. Or clinical like vagina.

  “Hey, where did you go?” His voice brings me back to the room, and us.

  I’m nervous, and sometimes when I’m nervous my brain internally rambles, musing about all sorts of stupid things. But I don’t want to space out during this, so I try to calm my nerves. I want this, he wants this. There’s nothing to worry about. But I do. I worry about my scars. About my lack of experience. I’m probably about to be the most disappointing encounter he’s ever had.

  He leans in and kisses my right thigh, his lips landing directly on my scar. I suck in a breath at the intimacy of the gesture. He keeps on kissing me, working his way up my thigh, trailing the material of the dress over my skin, his lips following it, leaving fiery pleasure in their wake. Once he reaches my hip, he mouths across my lower belly, kissing and nibbling along the hem of my panties. My hideous white panties, I realise, with a rush of mortification.

  Then, he kisses me right over the material, right on my mound, at my core, and it makes me squeak. He pauses and looks up at me smiling, genuine amusement dancing in his eyes. When he puts his head back down, he inhales deeply and I flush.

  “You smell incredible.” He kisses me again, pressing his lips hard against the fabric, stimulating the bundle of nerves hidden between my folds of flesh.

  His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and he pushes them down my legs before grabbing my arse cheeks and pulling me into him with a groan. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread me apart and simply stares for a moment, his gaze eating me up. “Fucking beautiful.”

  When his tongue darts out and licks a stripe right up my seam, I have to bite back another squeal. He licks either side of my clit, never actually letting his tongue touch me there, but exploring all around. It is the sweetest torture. After a while my legs start to tremble slightly from the tension he’s building in me. Finally, when I think I might grab his head and push him where I need him, he flicks his tongue right over my clit. I’m so turned on by the way he’s been teasing me for ages that I cry out. He keeps on licking at me, feather light strokes of his tongue in a rhythm that makes me pant. I can feel my orgasm building, and I can’t stop myself from grabbing hold of his hair and pulling him in closer. And then I’m coming all over his face as he licks and sucks me through it.

  I’m trembling all over and my mind is blown. This was nothing like the time the boy I sometimes messed around with went down on me. This was intense, and he got me from A to B so fast, my head still spins.

  He stands as I try to come down from the experience and he pulls my dress up and off. My panties are around my ankles, with the sandals still on, and he motions for me to step out of them and I do, kicking the material to one side. In just these sandals and my bra, I feel dirty. Naughty. Again, I’m horrified by my underwear. The bra is a boring white, cotton one. Nothing sexy about it. But Ethan is looking at it as if it’s the most amazing thing in the world.

  Flicking the clasp at the back expertly, and yeah, I don’t like to think about why he’s good at that, he lets the material fall away from my chest as his eyes rake over me.

  “Your tits are fucking beautiful.” His coarse words send a new thrill thrumming through my core. His big palms cover my breasts and he squeezes them up and together, thumbs brushing over my nipples. “Pink,” he says with a smile and I don’t know what he means.

  “I’ve be
en wondering what colour your nipples would be. Christ, I want to fuck your tits one day.”

  Oh, my God. Is that a thing? I’ve not seen that on my Tumblr journey and I like the idea. I squirm at his words, squeezing my thighs together. And he’s still squeezing my breasts, his calloused thumbs playing over my nipples in a way I love. He takes one nipple and pinches it, hard enough to make me draw in a breath, and then his mouth is there, laving at it, soothing, and my clit throbs. “So sensitive, too. I bet I could make you come from this.”

  I think he might be able to, too. My clit is thumping and I ache somewhere new, deeper than I’ve experienced before, not between my legs but deep in my belly. It’s as if I need something desperately, but I’m not sure what.

  I’m starting to feel overwhelmed, and I try to lighten the mood. “I think you’re a breast man,” I tease.

  “I’m a woman man,” he answers. “Although I’m starting to think I might actually be an Isla man.”

  Oh, God. His words do nothing to bank the fire within me, and I chide myself not to let any of this mean anything beyond the physical pleasure we can give one another. He’s saying these things in the heat of the moment, I doubt he means them on a deeper level. Selina’s warning clangs into my mind, jarring me with its harshness. Don’t believe any of it is real. I shove it away, not wanting those words taunting me now.

  He pushes my thighs further apart and as he goes back to sucking one nipple into his hot, wet mouth, his fingers part my folds again. He gently pushes one finger inside, and the feeling of him filling me there is heavenly. I know I have a g-spot because I use my g-spot vibrator sometimes, and it always gives me a good orgasm. I move around a little, trying to help, but it seems Ethan doesn’t need any help. He crooks his finger inside me, and he touches something that makes me cry out. Wow, this feels way better than my trusty toy.

  “You like that?”

  I nod and whimper when he presses against it harder. My vibrator reaches it and it’s nice, more than nice, but the way he is pressing his finger on that delicious spot inside me is so much more. He presses on it and he’s not being gentle. I start to feel like I need to pee, and I try to move away.