People are complicated, and they hurt each other.
Effie Linton had known this for a long time, just as she knew that sometimes those wounds were inflicted deliberately, over and over, and not with fists or weapons.
Sometimes, they did it with love.
Smooth, smooth skin, warm beneath her fingertips. The scent of him surrounded her—cigarettes, fabric softener, the faintest hint of cologne that smelled as though he’d splashed it on days ago. That familiar tang of sweat. He would taste of salt and liquor and something sweet and indescribable. She knew this man inside and out. There had been times over the years when she’d been certain she would never touch him again. She shouldn’t touch him now, but she did it anyway, because not touching Heath would’ve been worse than turning away.
He shivered when she drew a fingertip up the hardness of his belly muscles to circle one dark brown nipple. He always shook when she touched him like this. Trembled and moaned, that mouth open just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his teeth and tongue before he pressed his lips closed. Embarrassed. He was always discomfited at his reactions, just as Effie was always aroused by them.
She murmured his name until he focused on her, his pupils so dilated that his pale green eyes had gone almost black. She pinched his nipple lightly, never looking away from his gaze. She pinched harder as his mouth opened on another moan. When she leaned to kiss him, Heath’s hand went to the back of her neck so his fingers tangled and tugged in her hair. She sucked his tongue gently, then more fiercely until he opened for her. Then she broke the kiss but didn’t withdraw. Their lips brushed as she whispered again, soft, low, filthy words of love.
She breathed his air. They didn’t move, not for some long moments, while beneath her now-flattened palm, Heath’s heart thudded faster and faster. His fingers snarled deeper into the length of her hair, pulling it from the loose bun so it fell over her shoulders and halfway down her back.
“Say it,” Effie breathed.
Heath said nothing, but his grip tightened. It hurt. Effie couldn’t hold back a tiny gasp when he tugged her head back, but that pain, oh, yes, she wanted more. Her fingers curled over his heart, digging into his skin. Harder. Deeper.
“Say it,” Effie repeated. “Tell me you want to fuck my mouth, Heath. Tell me to get on my knees and take your cock down the back of my throat. I know you want it. Say it!”
His lips pressed closed, thinning. She pushed away from him, but he didn’t let go of his fist in her hair, and she gasped again. Louder this time. Her nipples had gone tight and aching; her cunt clenched at the stinging throb in her scalp.
She slapped his face. Once, hard. When she tried again, Heath caught her wrist. His strong fingers ground her small bones against one another. With one hand on her wrist and the other still locked in her hair, Heath held her in place as she struggled.
Effie snapped her teeth at him. “Say. It.”
“You want my cock.” Heath submitted, finally, in that low and rasping voice that had more than once been enough to send her hurtling over the edge into orgasm. “You want to get on your fucking knees for me and suck me dry? Is that what you want?”
Now she wouldn’t say it, would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that yes, yes, oh God yes, it was what she’d been thinking about all day. All this week and all the endless ones before it, too. Months. Every night and every morning without him, until she’d been unable to stop herself from calling him to come over.
He would have to take it from her, that admission. Slap it out of her. Fuck it out of her. That’s how it was with them, and she loved that as much as she hated it. Probably because she hated it so much.
Effie fought him, but Heath held her so tight she couldn’t even twist in his grip. Slowly, he drew her closer until his mouth grazed hers. She bit his lower lip, catching it between her teeth and pulling until he jerked her head back. She tasted blood, but she’d barely left a mark on him.
Breathing hard, Effie slowed her struggles at the sight of Heath’s face. His tongue crept out to swipe along the wound she’d left—maybe she couldn’t see the evidence of her teeth, but she was sure Heath could feel it. The thought that she’d hurt him sent a wave of gut-punching heat through her. Her hips rocked a little before she made herself go immobile again. Silent and challenging.
Without letting go of her wrist or her hair, Heath pushed her down, down, onto her knees, and Effie closed her eyes as she resisted. He was stronger than she was. Always had been. She went to her knees in front of him with her head tipped back and the pain arcing through her as hot and electric as pleasure, so little difference between the sensations that she could not have said which she was actually feeling. Everything was tangled up, knotted and twisted, one feeling useless without the other.
Heath kept his grip on her wrist but let go of her hair so he could tug open the button and zipper on his jeans. His fingers fumbled and faltered as he managed