Double Betrayal (Surviving Book 3) Page 5

  I whimpered and clutched at his shirt. “Your place—” I choked out. A blast of cooler air slapped into me as his body moved away. He bent and retrieved my bags, efficiently throwing the one with the broken bottle in a nearby dustbin. He grabbed my hand and in silence strode across the road toward a car park. I spotted his bike under a large birch tree and shivered at the sensuous reminder of what I had done on the seat of that bike and paused.

  As if sensing my indecision, he pressed his mouth to mine, forcing his tongue inside. I couldn't breathe; my hands fisted in his shirt and I didn't know whether I was pulling him in or pushing him away. But one way or another, I was on the back of his bike heading to his house.

  Thirty minutes later, he stopped in front of a beautiful Georgian semi in an affluent area of York that had clearly been converted into high-end flats. The yellowy cream brickwork and red brick arching and stunning arched front door were gorgeous. I had always dreamed of living in one of these houses. I liked my little house, but these were amazing. And there was no way I could ever afford to live in this area.

  “Wow, it’s beautiful.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah, it belongs to my brother,” he said nonchalantly. As if the house wasn’t breathtaking.

  “Oh,” I said lamely. “What’s your name, by the way? I can’t keep calling you giant.”

  He spun around to face me with a huge grin on his face. Immediately, my cheeks flushed a bright pink.

  “You call me ‘giant’? Is that because I'm tall or because of my monster cock?”

  My jaw hit the floor at his crudeness. He turned around, laughing, and starting walking toward the house.

  “Name! Now!” I shouted, stamping my foot.

  He chuckled but didn't answer.

  “Where are you from? I can’t make out your accent.”

  He stopped walking, turned, and let out a loud sigh. “Do you want to fuck or get my family history?”

  “Wow, rude much?” I turned to leave, because seriously, the snarky arse was annoying me. A large muscled arm banded around my waist and lifted me into the air. My back pressed against his front as he carried me into the house.

  “My parents are South African, but I grew up in America. My accent is hard to pinpoint because of those factors. My dad lived in the States for over thirty years, but to hear him speak you would never know. My mom’s accent is much softer, but still, a kid will sound like its parents,” he said softly to the side of my neck. I shivered in his arms. “And my name is Will.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? We good?”

  “Yup, now ‘take me to bed or lose me forever,’” I giggled.

  “Did you just quote Top Gun?”

  “Now, what is worse, me quoting it or you knowing which film it was from?” I asked, raising my eyebrow. I was still being carried up the stairs like I weighed nothing.

  “Touché, Pix, touché.”

  He’d climbed two flights of stairs holding me and my shopping without breaking a sweat. It was I who was panting like a racehorse when he finally settled me on my feet. I looked around the ornate hallway; it was the original period dated decor, or at least very tastefully converted. The stairway still had the original metal work banister with mahogany banister rail curving its way up the staircase. I walked over to it to feel the smooth silky texture. I looked up at the high ceilings and beautiful, tall, frosted windows. There was so much light coming in. I wrapped my hands around the wood to look over and down. There must have been three, maybe four floors to this old building. It was such a shame to convert it into flats; it would have made a spectacular family home. Warm hands slid around my waist from behind.

  “What are you doing, pixie-girl?” he asked, his breath fanning against my neck. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and I knew he had to stoop to settle it there.

  “It’s so beautiful in here. I just think it’s a shame it wasn’t kept as a house and to fragment something so beautiful.”

  “Hmm.” He pressed his warm lips to my neck. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the side to give him better access. His nose stroked up to my ear.

  “God, you smell fantastic,” he said, placing an open mouthed kiss under my ear. I shivered in his arms and placed one hand over his hand on my stomach. “Hands on the rail, Em, don’t move them.”

  I threw my head back against his shoulder as the deep timbre of his voice vibrated under my skin. I placed my hands over the smooth wood, arching my back and pressing my bottom into his pelvis. He gripped my hips, positioning himself behind me. I could feel the length of him, hard and impatient against my denim clad arse.

  “Don’t move your hands, or I’ll stop,” he rumbled as he pressed into my back. “Don’t make me stop, Em.”

  Oh, God, the command in his voice nearly had me shattering there and then.

  His hands moved over my hips and down the front of my jeans. Why the hell didn't I put a skirt on? His fingers slid between my legs, cupping my sex through the too-thick denim. I gripped the handrail to keep from reaching for him. I rolled my hips, needing more pressure; he was torturing me in the most decadent way.

  “Greedy little thing; what do you want?” He nipped at my ear, the sharp bite causing me to gasp.

  “This,” I said, taking my hand from the railing to press his hand firmer against me, but as soon as my hand deserted the wood, his body shifted away from me. I turned to look over my shoulder at him.

  “You broke the rules, Pix; I said not to let go.” He shook his head and tsked at me. I scowled at him. I could safely say I had never had a man want to control me sexually. I took what I wanted when I wanted and left without regret. With the exception of Jack; he’d held the power in all things because he had my heart in his hands. I shook my head, feeling my weakness dragging me down. I stared into emerald eyes, the challenge alight. Well game on, Mr Bossy. I turned my body to face him and stepped back, resting my bottom against the wood. It came just above my waist, so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t fall. I stared into his deep green eyes. His lips formed a cocky smirk and I knew he thought he had won. But this bitch had bite, and I danced to no man’s tune – not anymore. I lifted my hands to my shoulders and slowly moved my fingers over my clavicle, dipping the tips into the neck of my shirt. I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back as I cupped my heavy breasts. I fought against a smile when I heard his slight intake of breath. I opened my eyes and lifted my head to watch his face as I slid my hands lower over my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. His eyes tracked my fingers like a sniper taking aim. I hovered over the button until – snap – I opened it. Slowly, I slid down my zipper as he watched. He licked his lips, his wide shoulders rising and falling with his heaving chest. His eyes turned a deep bottle green, transfixed on my working fingers. I slid my hand into my knickers, and for effect, moaned loudly. They were nowhere near as stimulating or sensual as his hands, but I wanted a reaction–

  His long legs took one stretched stride to stand before me and his hand slid around my neck. He yanked my hand out of my jeans and crashed his mouth against mine, stealing the breath from me. A deep growl in his chest had me doing an inner happy dance. His tongue assaulted me in a punishing kiss, and I knew I’d pushed a little too far.

  “I don’t play games, Pix,” he said, nipping a path down my neck with his teeth.

  “Who’s playing?”

  “You’re driving me crazy,” he grumbled.

  “Well, fuck me already and send me on my way.” I yelped when he slapped my arse.

  “You have a mouth on you, do you know that?”

  I smiled innocently at him. “I know how to put it to good use, too.” The shock on his face made me laugh.

  “I’m going to die, right here in a foreign country at the hands of a blonde-haired pixie.” He looked up at the ceiling. “So help me, God.”

  I giggled, bringing his attention back to me.

  “I need you naked. I’m ready to strip you here and to hell with the consequences. I want to kiss each and every
one of these sexy little freckles.” He ran his fingers over the bridge of my nose and down my neck.

  “I have a lot of freckles.”

  “I have a lot of time.” He scooped me up, his large hands cupping my bottom, my front mashed to his. I slid my hands into his hair and devoured his mouth. He pressed me against the door as he fought to unlock it. When he kicked the door open, it slammed against the poor defenceless wall with a loud bang. I smothered my laugh in the crook of his neck.

  “My brother will kick my ass if I break his place.”

  I laughed again and pulled away to look at him; the smouldering heat in his eyes scorched through me. I needed him like I needed oxygen. Wriggling my hands between us, I yanked my shirt over my head and unhooked my bra, releasing the ladies. I slid my hands over his shoulders and licked my bottom lip, waiting for him. I knew he was ready to pounce; I could see it burning in his eyes. I just didn't know when. My pulse spiked, my skin tingled, waiting. I flexed my fingers against his tense shoulders, his skin hot under his t-shirt. He was a lion ready to pounce and I was his willing prey.

  “I’m hungry, Pix,” he growled, walking in confident strides across to the kitchen. He placed me on the counter. My legs were still around his waist as the cold granite cooled my arse. I frowned, feeling a little self-conscious that I’d basically stripped, my girls were there right in front of his face, and he wanted some fucking food!

  “I–”

  His mouth, hot and fierce, latched onto an aching nipple and sucked hard. His tongue teased the beaded tip as his massive hand came up to cup my other breast. The abrasion of his rough thumb against my sensitive bud had me whimpering and gripping at his hair. He made a sound deep in his throat as his mouth paid the same attention to the other side. I pulled at his hair, needing his mouth on mine. He obliged immediately, taking me roughly, our mouths punishing and demanding. I tightened my legs around him, pulling him to me. His hard length was eager to be freed. I slid my hands between us, fighting with the buttons and zipper. He pulled me to the edge of the counter and slid his hand into my open jeans, finding me wet and ready. Bracing my hands on the cool granite, I forgot about his jeans as his thick finger slid effortlessly inside.

  “Oh, God,” I gasped. I lifted my hips, rolling into his hand. My skin was aflame with desire for him. I had never felt so alive and desperate for someone. I wanted to be consumed by him. He caught my screams with his mouth as the orgasm exploded out of me. He covered my lips in a searing kiss, taking everything I had. My hands gave way and I collapsed against the cold work surface, the harsh chill a welcome coolant to my heated flesh. He worked at pulling my jeans down my legs. I lifted my head when I heard him chuckle.

  “What are they?” he asked, pointing to my knickers, or at least, I hoped that was what he was laughing at.

  “My knickers.”

  “I see that, but what the fuck–”

  “I like practical underwear, not skimpy lace that doesn’t cover my arse cheeks.” The truth was I couldn’t afford sexy lingerie.

  He laughed again. “Pix, it isn’t the style...it’s... They have Tweetie Pie on the front.” He tilted his head to the side.“I thought I saw a pussy—” I lifted my hip to show him it said cat around the back. He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “You are something else, pixie-girl.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  “I hate to remove them, but I need to see if Tweetie was right.”

  Hands flat to the counter, I lifted my bottom from the cooling surface. I was now fully naked and he was standing watching me, fully dressed. I wrapped my foot around his back and pulled him to me, grabbing a handful of his red shirt. Gripping the hem, I pulled in one fluid motion to reveal a body to drool over. God, he was marvellous. I ran my hands down his broad chest, over the smooth planes of his magnificent torso. There wasn’t a six pack, but there wasn’t an ounce of skin not taut and begging to be licked.

  His lips met mine in a soft caress. I slid my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Something heavy hit the counter beside me, then a metal chink sound. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his massive thighs. I watched, mesmerised as he took his length in hand and rolled the condom on. I wanted to jump off the worktop to my knees and take his length in my mouth. It looked delicious standing there all proud. He stepped toward me, cupping the back of my neck. He positioned himself at my entrance, staring deep into my eyes. The moment felt strangely intimate for what we were, but I blinked and dipped my head to kiss his clavicle and suck at his neck. I felt the groan rumbling out of his throat when he slid into me. I closed my eyes and savoured the fullness of him. God, I was ruined, but what a way to go.

  Gasping for air, I lay with my hands stretched out above my head, my legs dangling over the edge of the work surface as my naked breasts heaved up and down. I sucked in air, trying to return my erratic pulse to normal. My giant was an animal; he had taken me hard and fast, and before I could catch my breath, he’d had me screaming multiple times in blissful ecstasy. I felt like a limp noodle. His head rested on my stomach. I loved the feeling of his stubble against my bare skin. I started to sit up, using my elbows as leverage.

  “Dnmmve,” he moaned and held onto me tighter, effectively stopping me from getting any further. I laughed and patted his back. Resting on my elbows, I looked around us at the mass of clothes strewn everywhere. His shirt was hung over the sink tap. My smile froze on my face and ice took hold of my insides as I stared down at the black counter top. In stark contrast to the black was a beacon of solid white gold, or platinum, in the shape of a ring. I blinked repeatedly, staring at the obvious wedding band lying beside his open wallet. I slid my fingers across to it. With shaking hands I picked it up, knocking the empty condom wrapper to the floor. The ecstasy I had felt a moment ago bitch slapped me in the face and threw an ice cold bucket of water on me. Staring back at me from an elegantly shot sepia photo was the happy couple, Mr and Mrs Arsehole Fucking Giant. And even worse than that, sitting beside the bride and groom was a grainy photo of a tiny little baby.

  “You bastard!” I exploded. I pulled my knees up high and rammed my heels into his hips, effectively dislodging his cheating body from me. He stumbled backward, his naked body hitting the floor with a loud slap. I jumped down and grabbed at any item of clothing I could find to cover myself. His shirt was the first thing I saw. I used it to cover my breasts while I located my own clothes. I pulled my shirt over my head, even though it was inside out. My jeans wanted to be a total twat and tangle around my legs.

  “What did I do?”

  “Don’t speak to me, you wanker.” I grabbed one shoe and slid my foot into the other. I hopped to the door, pulling my other shoe on.

  “What—did I hurt you?” He scrambled to his feet and stepped toward me. I snapped around to face him, squaring my shoulders and taking a fighting stance. I would kick the bastard in the balls if I needed to.

  “Pix–”

  “Don’t call me that!” I screamed.

  “I was too rough… God, I’m sorry – really – you’re tiny and I–” he slid his hands into his hair and pulled hard. I winced at the pain it must be causing, but I blinked it away when I finally saw his left hand. I glanced at his face and his eyes clouded with absolute shame. He looked like he was about to throw up.

  “I swear I never meant to hurt you,” he said softly. His eyes danced around the room, avoiding contact with mine.

  “You did hurt me. I don’t cheat, ever! And you made me into one.”

  His head jerked back as if I’d slapped him. “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb, for some reason I doubt it suits you.”

  “Em, I have no fucking clue what you are talking about.”

  “Word of advice, maybe next time you shag someone, put your wallet back in your pocket. Giant fucking wanker.” I gasped for breath, my anger exhausting me. I clutched at my chest, feeling my heart pound beneath my palm. I was so angry my whole body shook with adrenaline. “It’s a big bloody turn o
ff when your wife is staring at me from a fucking photo. Dickhead. What, you thought tucking it away suddenly makes you available to screw around? Well guess what, fuckwit, the little wife is still at home probably holding the baby while you’re dipping your dick in…in cheap lays like me.” I swallowed my own sickening feelings. Because that’s what I felt like right then, cheap and vile. The night before I felt icky because I was entering my ex’s home with my baby girl, smelling of sex, but then I was leaving with the heavy feeling I just committed a foul I swore on all I had lost I would never do – I was a cheat. I realised I was still holding his shirt and threw it at him like it had burst into flames. I didn't want to see him in all his naked glory. He suddenly wasn’t as gorgeous anymore – oh, who was I kidding, he was knicker-dropping-fuckalicious. And he knew it. He staggered back, looking as ill as I felt. The act was amazing, I have to say. He really did do the ‘I’m innocent, I swear’ act perfectly. I almost believed the pained expression – fuckhead.

  I caught sight of my shopping bags on the floor and grabbed the plastic handles. To think I’d wasted a bottle of Asti on him. “Just teach your kid better–”

  “Stop,” he snapped. I turned to glance at him. He was standing with his back to me. He’d put his red t-shirt back on but his cute arse cheeks were winking at me. His hands were in his hair as he stared at the open wallet. “Listen, it’s not–”

  “I hear the words ‘it’s not what it looks like,’ or ‘we are on a break’ or anything close to resembling that, I will butcher your bollocks. You disgust me.”

  “It’s not–”

  “Fuck off. I get you cheat; while the cat’s away the mice will play and all that bullshit, but do not make me a cheater. I’m going. Never speak to me again; you see me, look away. But remember this, that kid deserves better – you don’t love his or her mum enough to be faithful, walk away; stop having your cheap cake and eating it. Stop hurting—” I choked. I couldn't finish, my raw past rearing its painful head. I needed to leave. I turned without letting him answer and fled his flat. I needed a shower; I felt icky and totally ashamed for doing this to some poor woman. I knew what it felt like to wake up one morning and be totally in love and feeling loved, to going to bed that same night devastated, alone and desperate for a do-over. I wouldn’t be that person again. Simple, uncomplicated, that was what I wanted. But I wasn’t going to stomp on any other woman to get what I needed. He’d picked the wrong twin for that action. Bastard.