Silver Bastard
Page 44

Were her nipples hard?
Then Becca’s fingers dug into my hair, which had to be the sweetest torture in history. I remembered those same fingers stretched tight around my cock, squeezing and working me until I’d lost the ability to think. Been drunk off my ass that night but I hadn’t blacked out, thank fuck. The only thing worse than waking up and discovering what I’d done would’ve been losing those memories—if you’re gonna do the time, goddamn shame to forget a crime that sweet. Still jerked off to the thought at least once a week because I’m a fucking masochist.
“How’s that?” Becca asked, her voice soft and husky.
“It’s good,” I managed to croak out. She leaned in closer and I felt her boobs push into me—had she washed Blake’s hair like this?
Wasn’t down with that. Not even a little.
The scalp massage lasted a long time, way longer than it needed to. Did she want to touch me as bad as I wanted to touch her? Was she thinking about the taste of my come, or how she’d grabbed my hair and screamed when I ate her pussy? Over and over her fingers ran across my skin, smoothing and releasing . . .
“Okay, time to rinse,” she whispered, shifting her legs restlessly. I bit back a groan. Fuck. This was physical pain. Warm water washed over my head. If Becca had any sense, she’d turn cold spray on my crotch.
She reached for the conditioner—tits brushing my side again—and I felt her shiver. Christ. She felt it, too. My dick screamed for relief. I reached down as quietly as possible, pushing the heel of my hand down along the length, trying to make it better somehow.
The mixture of pressure and pain felt good in a sick way.
Becca’s hands dug in again and I started cataloging bike parts in my head. Wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Was she doing it on purpose?
Fuck, I hoped so.
“Almost finished,” she whispered and I swear, I heard the same agonized need in her tone that I felt running through my whole goddamn body. Take her, my mind whispered. Throw Becca down across that table and fuck her ’til she screams. When Blake and Collins come running to the rescue, you can shoot them and carry her off into the mountains. Do it.
Jesus. I needed to pull my shit together. Fast.
Becca rinsed one more time, and then she was wrapping a towel around my hair. I stood—knees shaking—and walked into the living room where Blake’s chair sat, taunting me.
“Shut the shades,” I gritted from between clenched teeth. “People can see every move you make in here if you don’t. Fucking fishbowl.”
“I’d be a lot more worried about that if anyone went outside after dark in Callup,” she replied quietly. “Sidewalks are rolled up for the night, Puck.”
“Shut the fucking shades,” I repeated, the words catching in my throat. Becca shrugged and obeyed, and my eyes followed her graceful form as she moved around the open area. The woman was perfect. Like a dancer. Christ, what I’d give to see her work a pole. I’d lied to her the other day when I said I could be the man who watched when she got married and had a family and lived a normal life . . .
I wasn’t that man.
I’d been playing a game with myself, pretending to be something I wasn’t because it was the right thing to do. Told her the truth about one thing, though—I definitely wasn’t the guy who did the right thing. Never had been. Everything was so fucking clear now, because I knew exactly what I should do next.
Leave Becca alone.
Let her live a nice, normal life with a nice, normal man who worked a regular job and came home on time when he clocked out. Last night I’d even done it. I’d let her walk away from me instead of hauling her up to my bed, where she belonged.
Tonight I was fresh out of self-control.
“Okay,” she said, coming to stand behind me. She rubbed the towel then pulled it free, fingers running lightly through my hair. “How do you want it cut?”
“What?”
“Your hair? How do you want it cut?”
“Um, I don’t care,” I managed to say, mind spinning. “Whatever you think looks good.”
Becca stilled.
“You didn’t really want a haircut, did you?”
“Oh, I wanted this,” I muttered, the words 100 percent true. “You got no fucking clue.”
“I think this might be a bad idea,” she replied hesitantly. “You know, I’ve had four beers tonight. Maybe we should just go to bed.”
The words fell heavy between us.
“Bed works.”
She giggled nervously. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“C’mere,” I told her, catching her hand and pulling her around in front of me. Becca came to stand between my spread legs, reaching up to play with my hair again. Her gaze was a little glassy and her nipples were hard as rocks, which was all too visible since the front of her tank top was soaking wet.
A decent man would’ve pointed that out.
Instead I wrapped my hands around her waist, tugging her closer.
“How do you think I should cut my hair?”
“You shouldn’t. It’s perfect just like this—free and loose. Suits you.”
Holding her gaze, I ran my hands up her sides until my thumbs rested on the underside of her boobs. She swayed and I caught the fabric, inching it up. The soft pants she wore hung loose on her hips, leaving the expanse of her stomach visible. The little dent in the center called to me.