The Wild Side

  She was so beautiful. Just stunning. The sight of her made me immediately want to soothe things over, and not just so we could fuck again.

  I turned off the burner, dishing out the food as I spoke, “This all has gotten blown way out of proportion—”

  “Do you still think I’m too young for you?” she interrupted. “Do you still think you’re too old to do anything but use me?”

  I turned to face her, folding my arms across my chest.

  I shouldn’t have answered, but I did. “You are definitely too young for me.”

  “And just what do you imagine my too young self wants from you, Dair? I want you to spell it out for me. What do you think this is?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I really didn’t want to answer that question, but her derisive tone was getting to me, and my temper still boiled, just under the surface.

  I waved my arm around, indicating the house. “Since I’m not an idiot, I’ll go ahead and pick the most obvious answer here. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have followed me home if I was broke. You saw a rich guy at the gym who wanted you, and you decided to rock his world.”

  “So I just, what, decided you looked wealthy and went after you for no other reason than that?”

  “I can only assume. What else could it have been?”

  “And how did I know you were rich?”

  “You tell me. Don’t fortune hunters have ways of knowing?”

  She threw me a look like she was throwing a punch, those stunning sea eyes glinting at me.

  It felt like a blow to the stomach, all the air leaving me.

  “Oh, you think I’m a fortune hunter, do you? So you think I’m trading my body for your money? That’s what you think? I must be pretty great at it, since I’ve gotten all of nothing from you, and you’ve used my body every way you or I could conceive of.”

  “Well, you have gotten to stay in this nice big house,” I pointed out, instantly regretting it by the way it made her hand tremble as it pointed at me.

  “You’ve never even bought me flowers, Dair, and somehow you think I’ve been fucking you for a payout? You know what? Fuck you. I’m leaving, and I won’t be back to this nice big house of yours.”

  I couldn’t take it.

  She was one foot out the door when I grabbed her, literally picked her up, and carried her back to the stairs.

  She didn’t fight me so much as go limp, not holding on, not pushing away.

  It was worse than struggling.

  I lost it.

  I set her down on the third step and fell on her, wrenching her legs open, forcing my mouth on hers as I pressed my full body against her.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her with a groan. I was. I wished I could take every harsh word back, though I was still furious, it was mostly directed at myself, for saying those things, and for feeling all of this for a woman I couldn’t begin to read or predict, let alone control. “I didn’t mean it. I was worried about you. I lost my temper.”

  She didn’t respond, but her lips seemed to give against mine, going from lifeless to soft and trembling.

  “Forgive me?” I asked.

  She gave me no reaction at all.

  “Forgive me!” I demanded.

  She didn’t speak, but her arms went around my neck, giving her assent to my increasingly urgent touch.

  “I need you,” I said fervently. “I don’t know why, but I need you, do you understand?”

  She moaned into my mouth, stretching her legs wider apart.

  Her tiny white excuse for a dress was no deterrent at all. It was already up around her hips. She wasn’t wearing panties. I had myself out and against her in a flash, hard and shoving into her entrance.

  She wasn’t as wet as I was used to, but she wasn’t exactly dry either, and I kept pushing, watching my progress, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

  Each inch that disappeared inside of her was excruciating in its slowness and so captivating that it was permanently burning itself into my brain even as it happened, infinitely better than the stuff of fantasies.

  I was halfway buried when I looked up at her face. Her eyes were shut tight, as though in a grimace. She was biting her lip hard.

  That didn’t stop me.

  She was no longer clutching my shoulders, instead bracing herself back on the stairs with her elbows, her succulent breasts arched up, braless and straining against the neckline of her dress. Her nipples were hard and trembled with her every breath.

  My hands went from her hips the small buttons on her dress. They ran from her neckline and stopped right at her waist. I ripped them open down to her pelvis, nearly splitting the dress in half.

  I bent down, contorting my body to invade her while I sucked one aching tip into my mouth, ramming hard, every inch of me dragging hard against her, even rushed.

  I pulled out with a growl and thrust back in savagely. Then again. And again.

  Every movement eased slightly more than the last. Even at my roughest, her body was accepting me, though how the rest of her felt about it, I couldn’t have said. She was impossible for me to read with her eyes clenched shut, even if her body was wide open.

  I rutted in her for long minutes, jarring her against the steps, making loud animal noises, growls and grunts that were somehow less impactful than the soft gasps that would escape from her throat occasionally.

  My orgasm caught me by surprise. I hadn’t been ready for it, and I could tell that she was not even close to coming with me.

  I bit her nipple as I emptied deep inside of her, jerking and thrusting against her even past my own end. I was a beast today, all of the things that had brought out that part of me too complicated and numerous for me to contemplate just then.

  I brought my mouth up to hers, sucking her abused lip away from her teeth to force a deep kiss. Her mouth was soft and trembling, but otherwise unresponsive.

  I pulled back, hoping she would open her eyes. She did not.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist, and hold onto my shoulders,” I ordered, my voice gruff.

  I couldn’t stand her like this and couldn’t tear myself away.

  She obeyed, her head falling against me, eyes still shut.

  I carried her up to my bed, not letting her shift even an inch away, my cock, at rest, still inside of her.

  I lay on top of her, mouth against her ear, nestling into every part of her while keeping my body tense, holding my own weight and still managing to crush her.

  “Did I hurt you?” I finally asked, the question tearing itself out of me, because I did not want the answer.

  Her only response was one loud, trembling gasp.

  I started touching her, and though her body was responsive, it was not enough, not what I was used to from her.

  She wasn’t herself, or not the her that I had known.

  She had withdrawn from me.

  I pulled out, moving down her body, determined to get what I needed from her, which was not my own pleasure. Not anymore. I needed hers.

  I buried my face between her legs, hands stroking her thighs, pushing them wide. They were slick with moisture, hers, mine, and I shuddered in pleasure at the knowledge.

  I lifted her hips up, dragging a pillow underneath so they tilted up and forward. I dragged every rivulet of my seed back up into her sex. I wanted her to take every bit of it inside and keep it there. I didn’t let myself examine just what that meant, but on even the most primitive level, I could see that I was marking her as mine.

  I bent to her clit, sucking at it while my busy fingers shoved deep inside of her. I worked on her, doing all of the things I knew she enjoyed, and though there was some reaction, I couldn’t get her far enough gone to lose herself.

  Desperate now, and hard again from my efforts, I dragged another pillow underneath her, gripped her hips in my hands, and rammed my cock forcefully into her. I drove into her repeatedly, strong, measured thrusts, as she silently gasped, my finger relentless on her clit.

  I push
ed down on her hips, arching her back, so that every pull in or out was grinding against the rawest part of her. I would not, could not stop until I’d gotten what I needed from her.

  Finally, mercifully, she came, sobbing with her forced release. Shoving home roughly, I emptied myself deep in her womb, thinking that she would be very sore after this. I hadn’t been gentle.

  Desperation and tenderness did not go hand in hand.

  I made her kiss me, invading her mouth softly, content to be gentle now that I’d gotten at least that bit of relief from her. For her.

  She opened for me, every part of her available and soft for me. Except her heart, I thought. That she had closed to me, if it had ever been open.

  Eventually I worked up the nerve to pull back and look at her. Her eyes were wide and clear on me, which was a marked improvement.

  “Are you still mad at me?” I asked her, my voice hoarse and raw even to my own ears.

  She shook her head, her tongue running over her top lip.

  I growled and kissed her again, sucking her tongue into my mouth until I drew a stubborn groan from her.

  I lifted off to look back into her face again. Her eyes were still open and cloudless, though enigmatic as ever.

  “Do you forgive me?” I asked, wondering what all I needed forgiving for. I couldn’t have said if those last two rough times taking her had added to my crimes.

  “I forgive you, Dair,” she said solemnly, not so much as blinking.

  I let that wash over me, as it was everything I needed to hear.

  Of course, she was a liar, and that one was a very small lie, so it must have been effortless for her.

  I let myself fall asleep, still on her, and in her, exhausted from the restless night, and everything that came after.

  I should not have been so shocked to wake up and find her gone. Not just her. All trace of her. Even her toothbrush was absent.

  I knew, just knew right away that it was more than her usual vanishing. She would not be reappearing somewhere, as though nothing had changed.

  I was so certain, in fact, that I went immediately to her slum apartment, seeking out any trace of her, intent on making her face me before she walked out of my life.

  I was horrified to find that all trace of her had been erased even from that awful room she was renting, which was easy to deduce, as I found the place unlocked, keys on the kitchen counter, as though she’d left them there for her landlord, whom I promptly tracked down.

  He was a grumpy white man in his sixties, missing a leg and sporting a bad attitude. He was forthcoming, but unhelpful, as all he could tell me was that she’d moved out mere hours before, with no notice and no forwarding address.

  I was at a loss, and I wasn’t handling it well.

  I found myself pounding on the front of the neighboring frat house until some hungover kid answered, shirtless and looking confused.

  He gave me one brief glance before saying, “Hey, dude, we don’t want to buy anything.” He tried to shut the door.

  I moved my foot inside to stop it. “Wait,” I said loudly.

  He just raised a brow and opened the door wide again. “Whassup?”

  “I’m looking for a girl. She was living in the crappy duplex next door. Her name was Iris.”

  His expression perked up at that. “That smokin hot blonde?” He whistled. “She is highly bangable, dude.”

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “Yes, that one. Have you seen her?”

  He shrugged. “Saw her coming home yesterday, looking fuckhot, but she was in too much of a hurry to talk. You should have seen what she was wearing, though, bro. Fuuuck.”

  I turned around and left, because if I didn’t, I was almost positive I was going to deck some stupid frat boy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I didn’t give up there.

  I kept searching, not sleeping, barely eating, too consumed with finding her again.

  I did this for days, to no avail.

  Inside of every man lived an asshole, and that asshole had a strong dose of ‘I don’t give a damn.’ I honestly believed that. I’d written several male characters based on those simple principles. I’d thought it was fairly irrefutable.

  Even when I’d caught my wife of twenty years with another man in my own home, my outrage had been followed pretty damn quickly by, ‘Well, fuck her, I’m better off.’

  While the asshole inside of me was obviously alive and healthy, all of his doses of I don’t give a damn had clearly worn off.

  I didn’t care for that.

  I wanted my emotional numbness back. Badly.

  Instead, in its place, I felt. I missed. I craved. I yearned.

  But it didn’t matter what I felt, or how I suffered.

  She was gone, and she’d left behind nothing to indicate that she ever intended to come back.

  As though I’d dreamed her up, Iris had vanished from my life.

  BOOKS BY R.K. LILLEY

  THE WILD SIDE SERIES

  THE WILD SIDE - AVAILABLE NOW

  IRIS - COMING JUNE 2014

  DAIR - COMING JULY 2014

  THE UP IN THE AIR SERIES

  IN FLIGHT

  MILE HIGH

  GROUNDED

  LANA (AN UP IN THE AIR COMPANION NOVELLA)

  MR. BEAUTIFUL - COMING SOON

  THE TRISTAN & DANIKA SERIES

  BAD THINGS

  ROCK BOTTOM

  LOVELY TRIGGER

  THE HERETIC DAUGHTERS SERIES

  BREATHING FIRE

  CROSSING FIRE - COMING SOON

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  Iris and Dair’s story continues in the next installment of this serial: Iris (The Wild Side #2) Here’s a sneak peek.

  DAIR

  Me, I was simple. I was order. A very neat, efficient machine that ran on nothing but air.

  Me plus anyone else, well, that was another matter. And me plus Iris, that was a monster of a machine, with all gears going at different speeds, some spinning off their hinges, just going mad, but it was a wonderful madness, at full throttle, misfiring in all directions.

  It felt wonderful and dreadful.

  I was breaking down, and it felt amazing.

  And terrifying.

  TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FALLING OUT

  I had a bit of a nervous breakdown after Iris left without a trace.

  It was the strangest thing, but I suddenly didn’t like my own company so much.

  In fact, I began to hate it, even at home.

  I still went to the gym at the exact same time, every single day, in the small hope that she’d show again. She didn’t, but I kept going because I wanted to see her again.

  She hadn’t been in my life for long, but I missed her.

  Being that I couldn’t stand my own company, I began to reconnect with old friends, people I hadn’t talked to since the divorce, the friends I’d chalked up to losses in the breakup; Tammy’s assets when we’d been chopping our combined life in half.

  For some reason, they all seemed very happy to hear from me. I felt like a jerk for going into full hermit mode and attempted to have something of a social life again.

  I’d often meet up with another writer friend for coffee or lunch after my workout, telling myself that if I just kept working at it, being a normal person, with normal social habits, it wouldn’t feel so forced.

  And it was true. Two months post Iris, and I was looking forward to having coffee with my friend, Benji.

  He was already sitting at a table as I entered the cafe a few shops down from my gym.

  I waved at him, saw he had an extra coffee for me, and bypassed the line to go directly to him.

  He slid me the cup as I sat down.

  “You make your deadline?” I asked him. Like me, he was a neurotic, work obsessed writer, and so we always had so
mething to talk about. It was good. Distractions were good. The more the better. The more plates spinning the better, these days.

  He nodded with a grin, pushing his thick glasses up high on his nose, and sweeping his light brown hair away from his face. He was a good seven years my junior, with a lean, nerdy look that I thought suited him. He wore it well. “How about you? I know you were early on your publisher’s deadline, but how is your indie project coming along?”

  “Good. Good. My word count is flowing faster than ever. I should be done in about four weeks.”

  He whistled. “Will you sell it to the publisher, if they decide they like it and make you a good offer?”

  I shrugged. “I doubt it. This whole project is an experiment for me. It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to at least see how making seventy percent compares to making, yanno, eight.”

  He shook his head, smiling wryly. “You’re forgetting your advance. You can’t tell me they don’t give you plenty up front.”

  I shrugged again. “Like I said, this one is an experiment. I doubt even my publisher can sway me, and it’s not exactly written in the genre I’m known for, so they wouldn’t write me a big check for it, anyway.”

  “You’re probably right.” He sighed. “I envy you the flexibility to do what you want. Some of us are still writing just to pay the bills.”

  We talked shop for a bit, coffees long finished. We were just getting ready to leave when he suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, looking at something behind me.

  I turned to see what it was, and an electric fire went off in my brain at the sight that met my eyes.

  Setting my jaw hard, I turned carefully away. So the back of that blonde woman in line resembled Iris, so what? This wasn’t the first time my brain had tricked me into thinking she was somewhere close. But it was never her. I’d see some young blonde thing out of the corner of my eye, and turn to stare until I met a stranger’s blank stare.