“You knew.” Tarin says it with a soft voice that breaks at the last word.
I look up at him, wanting him to feel the pain in my heart right now, hoping it will help him see what I’m trying to do for him. “Yes. I knew. I saw him going downhill fast - lost in the drugs and the attention, and the bimbots and all those other bad influences - and I just stood off to the side feeling sorry for myself and for Scott. I didn’t fight hard enough for him and I lost him. Scott lost him. The whole world lost him that night in Chicago, and I can never get that back.”
“You have his music.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I can’t listen to it anymore. It breaks my heart all over again. I haven’t listened to it since he died two years ago.”
Tarin drops my hands, and I think for a second he’s going to get up and leave me there. It’s what I deserve. I let one of the greatest musicians of our time fade away to nothing.
But he surprises me, standing and grabbing my hands, pulling on them. “Stand up,” he says.
I do what he orders because I really don’t have any choice. He’s a lot stronger than he looks.
He does the last thing I expect of him; he envelopes me in a hug and I stand there, too startled for a few seconds to react. My arms hang limply at my sides.
He speaks over my head. “What happened to Austin is a real shame, but it’s not your fault.” His arms go tighter. “You hear me? It’s not your fault.” His voice goes rough. “Maybe it’s other people’s fault, but not yours. You’re not guilty of anything but loving him.”
My body relaxes a little at a time. He’s giving me understanding and comfort. Forgiveness in a way. I wish it was enough. “That’s easy for you to say.”
He’s holding me so tight now I feel like I’m in a straightjacket, but I don’t complain because I like it. It’s as if my sins aren’t sins in his eyes and absolution is more intoxicating than those cocktails I just drank.
“It’s not easy for me to say. You have no idea how difficult this is for me.” His words are loaded with meaning that I don’t understand. I can feel their weight.
“What do you mean?”
He just hugs me more, moving his arms up and down my back, making the friction build between us, both under his hands and where the fronts of our bodies are practically melded together.
“Tell me, Tarin.” My arms come up, and I place my hands gently on his back. I love the feel of his lean muscles beneath his shirt. My hands move up of their own accord, gliding over the soft cotton, feeling the heat of the skin I cannot touch. If I do, I’ll be lost, and I cannot get lost in Tarin.
“I wish I could tell you. I really wish I could.” His face moves to my neck and his breath gives me chills.
My nipples go hard under my bra and I press against him without even realizing what I’m doing. I just need him to do something with this feeling that’s coming over me. There’s an urgency inside me that’s too strong for me to ignore or stop. I don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from, only that it’s making me hot and jittery and wanting to see him with a lot less clothes on. The alcohol is doing what it does best - making my inhibitions fade to black.
“Truth or dare,” I whisper as his lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck.
“Dare,” he says back, his voice deeper and raspy.
I say the first thing that comes to my mind as my fingers dig slightly into his back. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”
He pulls away without a sound or complaint and yanks his shirt off. One second he’s standing there in a Quicksilver surf shirt and the next, he’s half-naked tattooed perfection just inches away from me.
I’m fascinated by his skin. He steps closer and my finger comes up to touch his chest where there’s a tattoo of a dragon wrapped around a skull. I follow the beast’s tail down to Tarin’s stomach and stop at the word Guilty, tracing each letter with my finger.
He grabs my hand and holds it in a firm grip, pulling it away from his abdomen.
I look up and his jaw is clamped shut. He looks angry.
Cold sweats come over me as embarrassment takes hold. “Are you mad?” I ask softly, worried I’ve totally misconstrued every signal he’s ever sent. And now I’ve made him take his shirt off. My complete lack of finesse or professionalism makes my face and neck burn with shame. I’m a joke. A walking, talking, bullshitting joke.
“No,” he says, his voice still rough. “I’m fucking turned on way too much, so unless you want to be naked on that couch in about two seconds, better look but not touch.”
He releases my hand and it floats there in the space between us. It takes me less than a second to make my decision.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I STEP BACK, PUTTING SPACE between us. I turn to go. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …”
His hand is on my arm and I’m spun around before I can get the rest of my sentence out.
“Bullshit. You wanted to touch me.” He’s gripping my wrist between us. His eyes carry the biggest challenge I’ve ever seen. He speaks in a completely relaxed tone of voice, with just a slight edge of sexual confidence. “Touch me. Don’t be afraid. You know you want to.”
I’m breathing so hard it could almost be called panting at this point. I don’t know what to say. His anger looks so good on him, arousing me more than I ever have been before. The sexual energy I felt with Austin was always an eagerness coated with the candy floss of young love. Tarin is making something entirely different come over me. Something way more adult and way more hot.
“I can’t,” I whisper between breaths.
“Scarlett, don’t do this to us.” He’s begging at the same time he’s angry at me.
“Us?”
He yanks me closer and I go without a fight. Putting his free hand behind my neck, he pulls my face closer to his, speaking in a soft voice. “I’m going ninety percent here. This isn’t me forcing you. All you gotta do is ten percent. That’s it. Ten percent and then you get all of me.”
He draws me to him. Closer and closer my mouth gets to his. I’ve never wanted a man more in my life than I want him right now. He stops pulling me when our lips are an inch apart.
“Here’s where you decide,” he whispers, his sweet soda breath puffing in my face. “I did the ninety, you do the ten.”
Visions are racing through my mind as if I’m dying and I’m seeing my life in review. I see my first kiss with Austin, us laughing in bed together, seeing him on stage and then drugged out on a couch backstage in some city I can’t remember the name of, his face in the coffin, Scott’s tear-stained cheeks, and then Tarin, angry at me, drunk, scared, laughing, his tattooes, his efforts to be kind … it all adds up to me being stupid and careless and too drunk to do the right thing.
I ante up the ten percent and close the distance between us.
Our lips meet and Tarin doesn’t hesitate to go deep with his tongue. The tide of sexual energy flows in and washes over my reticence, pulling it away and drowning it in my deepest desires. To feel him against me, to have his hands on my body, to know that just for a moment, this messed up man who can make music that breaks my heart wants to be with me and be a part of my world, it blows my mind. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not The Normalizer anymore. I’m just a girl. A really horny one.
His hands are everywhere, pulling off my clothes. My shoes go flying, my dress gets unzipped, and in the middle of it all, our mouths are roaming everywhere. First he’s kissing me on the lips and then the shoulder of my dress is down and he’s at my breast, sucking and pulling at my nipple. The pain is erotic and it makes me moan loudly as I pant with anticipation over what’s to come. He squeezes my breast hard as he sucks some more.
I can’t find a good place to put my hands. All I can reach is his back and head. I want to touch him everywhere, somewhere that will make him feel the electric shocks like he’s giving me right now.
He moves to my other breast, pushing my dress down to my waist and unsnapping my
bra with one hand. I’m naked from the hips up, and the cool air conditioning mixed with the licking saliva he leaves behind gives me hot and cold chills. I moan with the suction he puts to my nipple again. His other hand is busy massaging the one he’s already teased, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m going to have an orgasm before he’s even really started. I never knew my breasts could be this sensitive.
“Tarin,” I gasp, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the sensations. “I can’t … I can’t…” I mean to say that I can’t handle the feelings, but he reacts like I mean I can’t be with him and he’s having none of that second-guessing crap.
He growls and pushes my dress the rest of the way down to my feet.
His pants are next; he somehow manages to get them off while never taking his lips off my body. “Fuck that,” he says between kissing and sucking and licking, “this is on. This is so on right now. Don’t say no to me or it’ll fucking kill me. I’m not kidding, Scarlett, I need you.”
He needs me. I know he needs me. But I also know he doesn’t need this from me. I’m a selfish bitch though, because I put my hands on his cock and run my fingers along the length of it. If I’m going to fuck this job up, I’m going to fuck it up all the way.
“I need you too, Tarin,” I say, sliding a leg up his thigh. It’s been so, so long since I’ve had sex. Years now. I haven’t wanted to until this moment with this man.
He roars and picks me up by my hiked-up thigh, flipping me around to throw me down on my back on the couch. He leans over and grabs the edge of my panties and yanks them down. The thin wisp of fabric disappears over his shoulder as he lowers himself down to me.
He kneels on the edge of the cushions with one knee while he gets a condom out of his wallet from the ground. It’s on and he’s ready so fast, I don’t have time to cool down at all before his cock is pressing against my opening.
“No more foreplay?” I say as a lame joke, trying to pretend this isn’t as serious as it is.
“Fuck foreplay. I’ll give it to you after if you still want it.” And then he’s inside me, buried to the hilt.
I arch up and shout with the shock and pressure. It’s not unpleasant … anything but. I’ve just never been taken so fully and so abruptly in all my life. And I don’t ever want to go back to soft and meticulous lovemaking again. My other sexual experiences suddenly seem like fumbling in the dark compared to this.
He’s pumping into me with everything he’s got, showing no mercy. Sweat drips down off his face and lands on mine, mingling with my own saltiness. In the full light of the nearby lamp I can see his face perfectly. He’s staring at me, and he looks furious.
“Tarin,” I say, barely able to get the word out. Feelings are coming over me that are alien to my world. I want to feel him deeper. Harder. I don’t know what’s happening. I cling to his back, my nails digging in for purchase, and my legs are wrapped around his. I meet him with every thrust, practically throwing myself up at him and gasping with pleasure when the pain of our sharp impacts become pleasure of a sort I’ve never known. It’s so savage, but I want nothing more than to disappear in the wildness he brings.
“Scarlett,” he growls in response, still staring at me, and my heart flips over and over. He’s possessing me, mind, body, and soul. In this brief moment in time, I’m gone. I’ve answered his Truth question and yet I’m paying the forfeit too. I am his slave; I’ll do anything he wants just so long as I can keep feeling this.
He puts his hand under my ass and squeezes my cheek, effectively spreading my folds from behind and making his cock hit deeper into them. He’s pushing against my clit and it’s causing something to happen inside me. Heat. It’s coming for me.
He’s too intense. His body on me, his cock invading my very essence, his expression. He’s consuming me. Overwhelming me. I feel myself falling away.
“What are you doing?” I sound like I’m crying.
“I’m fucking you, Scarlett.” He says it so calmly and matter-of-factly it sends a bolt of sensuality into my center, and I scream with the thrill of it. I’m a sorry mess and he’s in complete control. Oh, how the tables have turned.
“That’s right, babe, let it out,” he says while he strokes in and out of me, going a little easier now. Here is the finesse I thought I didn’t want anymore, and oh god, he’s so good at that part too. “You know you like it,” he says, and there’s no way I could even hope to convince him of the lie that I don’t.
I do exactly as he wants; I let my emotions out and fuck him back with abandon. As I meet him thrust for thrust, I yell with every bit of passion I’m feeling. I’m someone else tonight. A slut. A loud slut. Someone who has zero regrets over the silly, stupid, careless things she does.
“Oh, God, you feel so good,” he moans, his cool slipping a little. “Do you feel that?” He’s lost too now. His eyes are closed and his expression reveals surprise, pain maybe. I feel strong and in control, no longer the weepy woman swept away by the beast of a man. I’m doing this to him. My body and my voice are making him come to heel.
“Yes,” I whisper. It’s all I can do. More moans come from my throat.
“I can’t hold back much longer, babe. You gotta meet me there.”
He called me babe. He’s waiting for me. The idea that this selfish, big headed jerk is doing this for me when he doesn’t have to is all I need. I have power over him. I am both his slave and his master. It brings a wave of pleasure that has me clinging to him and screaming with ecstasy.
He shouts too as his jerky movements bring his pleasure too.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FOR A LONG TIME AFTER it’s over we lay on the couch, clinging to one another. When we’re both too sensitive and wiped out to move, he rolls off me and lands on his back on the floor.
“Ow.”
I giggle, turning on my side to look down at him.
“Do you have any idea how bad I want a cigarette now?” he moans.
“Too bad. No smokes and no pity from me, either.”
His bandage is hanging off the side of his eye and his face is screwed up with pain.
I reach down and press the bandaid gently back into place. “Sorry about that.”
He grabs my hand and kissing my finger. “Don’t apologize for the best sex of your life.”
“My life?” I try to pull my hand away but he won’t let me go.
“Yeah, your life. It was, wasn’t it?”
I scowl at him. “Shut up, you idiot. That’s so not sexy you know … to brag when a condom is still hanging off your dick.”
He yanks on my hand, pulling me almost off the couch.
“Let go!” I screech, pretending to be angry.
“Get over here, slave,” he says, pulling me the rest of the way down. I’m on top of him now, the floppy used condom between us.
I hesitate. “What’d you just call me?”
“You heard me. Slave.”
“Oh, no freaking way am I your slave. I answered the question.”
“Apparently, you didn’t. See … you said you didn’t like me that way. But since you just fucked my brains out, you were obviously lying. You do like me that way, ergo, you are my slave starting tomorrow at nine a.m. with ass massages. Make sure the oil is warm, by the way. I don’t want to cramp up.”
I try to slap him but he catches my hands and traps them, stealing a kiss when I’m not paying attention.
I try to fight the idea of ass massages, using logic as my weapon. I don’t let the fact that truth or dare could never be logical stop me. “First of all, the game is over. No going back. And second, sex is not necessarily anything. Sex can be just sex.”
He goes quiet and still. Staring up at me, he says, “Are you trying to tell me that was just sex? That this is all it was for you?”
I bite my lip to keep the lie from slipping through. I can’t say anything or I’m sunk. I struggle to get up and he lets me. As soon as I’m free of him, I grab my dress and panties out from under his legs and put th
em on.
While I put myself together he takes the condom off and wraps it up in a tissue, depositing it in a trashcan by the wet bar before pulling on his jeans.
The silence is awful. Painful, even.
When I’m dressed I stand up straight and face him. He’s there in his jeans just staring at me. I cannot read his expression, it’s so guarded.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I finally say.
“Feelings? Who’s got feelings?” He shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
His words are like a knife cutting me deep. My soul is bleeding, I know it is. But I soldier on, because that’s what I do best. “Okay, good. I’m just saying … I know this was a mistake, one we won’t be repeating, but thanks. I mean … yeah. Thanks.” I am so lame, I can’t even stand myself. Who thanks a guy for banging her on his couch?
“No, thank you,” he says, his voice sarcastic but distinctly joyful at the same time. “I’m really looking forward to having you at my beck and call tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.”
I sigh. “Tarin, we’re not doing that.”
“Double or nothing.”
I cross my arms. “No.”
“Yes. Double or nothing or I shall call you Petula.”
“Petula?” I’m trying not to laugh.
“That’s a slave name. I read it somewhere.”
“No. I’m not going to be Petula.”
“Double or nothing or I tell my agent I can’t work with you because I slept with you.”
I gasp with outrage. “You wouldn’t! You can’t! That’s not fair! You did this too!”
He shrugs. “All’s fair in love and war … and since you keep trying to convince yourself you don’t even like me, I guess that makes this war. Double or nothing.” He takes a step closer.
I tap my foot. He has me over a barrel and he knows it. My Frankenstein cocktail buzzing brain cannot compute a way out of this mess except by taking his challenge. Maybe it doesn’t want to not figure out the smart answer. I can do this. I can tell the truth or take a dare and get it over with. I just can’t tell him I like him or how I really feel.