No Tomorrow Page 5

  Leaning closer, he shoves his leg between mine, his jeans chafing against the flesh of my thighs as he pushes them apart. The cool night breeze travels up my skirt and sends a shiver through my limbs. I move my hand to his chest, but he quickly snatches it and pins it against the wall above our heads, locking his fingers into mine. He moves his leg up against my crotch, lifting me about a foot off the ground, bringing my lips level with his.

  My entire being spins into a euphoric haze as he kisses me deeper. I lose the ability to think or breathe. I surrender to his touch and become mindless, boneless, thoughtless.

  And in that moment, utterly regretless.

  I don’t push this stranger away. I don’t say no. The sighs and whimpers that drift from my lips while his mouth devours me beg for more. My body and mind consent. I have no choice but to straddle his leg, and the pressure against my clit makes me want to rub all over him like a cat. Drowning in him, I gulp his breath into my lungs. He’s tobacco and mint-infused oxygen, resuscitating me.

  Slowly lowering me to my feet, he moves his free hand to the hem of my skirt and lightly traces the edge of the material. The silver rings on his fingers are smooth and cold against my skin. He inches his hand beneath my skirt and squeezes my inner thigh hard enough to make me wince. I slip further down the rabbit hole when his finger languidly glides back and forth over the damp spot at the front of my panties, coaxing me, teasing me, luring me.

  Blood flows back to my hand when he releases it from its prison against the stone above our heads. I flex my fingers and stare into his darkening eyes, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

  He presses his thumb to the thin material against my clit and traces a lazy circle. He watches me, his lips hovering over mine, and it’s perfectly tantalizing the way his finger moves so unrushed, making me powerless to resist rocking into his touch for more. He’s savoring my every fluttering breath, my every response. I can see it in the flash and burn of his eyes and in his ragged breathing—which is unexpected and provocative. Nobody has ever looked at me like he does.

  And I’m sure no one ever will.

  This man could rape me or kill me down here at the dark edge of the park. No one would know. He could easily walk away with his guitar and his dog, on to the next town. Free. Not a soul would ever know I came here on my own, allowed him to put his hands and his mouth on my body and conjure desire out of me.

  Piper would never do such a thing, they’d say.

  But I like this. For once, I’m not boring, safe, and predictable little Piper. I’ve walked willingly into the depths of the unknown, which comes under the guise of inked arms and a beautiful voice. He’s my first taste of wild, and he’s nothing short of delicious.

  His husky whisper pulls me in. “Turn around.”

  Blinking, I suffer a brief hesitation. Common sense and morals almost reel me in from the edge I’m teetering on.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Slowly, I turn, and my hair is tugged roughly to the side, forcing my head to whip to the left. He brings his mouth down on the back of my neck, with the graze of sharp teeth. He caresses my shoulders, then slowly trails his touch down my arms. Lacing our fingers together, he drags his lips from my neck to my shoulder while placing my palms flat against the wall.

  My heart pounds so hard I’m surprised it’s not cracking my ribcage. My fingertips grip the wall as the world spins like a top around me, and I fear I may pass out from—what? Fear? Excitement?

  Anticipation. Exquisite anticipation.

  With my head turned to the side, he’s a large, looming shadow behind me. A few feet away, the lantern gradually grows dimmer and dimmer, running out of the energy that fuels it. Soon it will fade out completely, and we’ll be in pitch darkness.

  Encircling my waist with his hands, he leans down until his lips meet the outer curve of my ear.

  “Do you think I’m dirty?” he whispers as he tugs my skirt up to my waist. Just as the glow of the lantern dies out, he tears my panties off and throws them to the ground.

  Gulping, I answer without even thinking. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m going to make you dirty, too,” he growls against my ear. “And it’s never going to wash off.”

  I silently agree with his prediction as his hands move down my hips to cup my ass cheeks, squeezing hard. He bites into the flesh of my neck, and his wet tongue follows, soothing and then sucking savagely, causing me to cry out as he slips a hand between my thighs. Long, talented fingers slide between my wet lips. My cry morphs into a gasp, and his lips curve into a grin against the side of my throat.

  An owl hoots somewhere in the trees above us.

  Acorn rustles on the ground beside us.

  And behind me, the distinct sound of a zipper.

  A light, misty rain blows on us in the breeze. We were born in the rain, I realize, as he plunges his rock-hard length into me, lifting me off my feet. Pain seers through my body, radiating from my pelvis to my limbs. With every thrust of his hips, my cheek presses against the stone, but I can’t move. It hurts. It feels so good. I want it to stop. I want more.

  He snakes his arm around my front, skims his hand down my belly, and zeroes in on my throbbing clit, fingering it in perfect time with his deep strokes. I can feel my walls tearing and stretching to take his width. The primal eroticism makes me quiver and clench around him despite the sharp pain.

  Leaning his forehead against the top of my head, his damp hair hangs down over me, tickling my cheeks and bare shoulder, bringing with it the scent of sandalwood, coconut, and tobacco. My clit pulses and spasms in his fingers as he brings me to orgasm, my moans and short yelps pervading the silence of the night.

  I yelp when he abruptly pulls out, spins me around, and covers my mouth with his before I have a chance to catch my breath. Wobbling on my high heels, I grip his arms, lost in the whirlwind of feelings assaulting my body and mind.

  Did we—? What did we just do?

  Tangled around his ring-clad fingers, my hair is pulled, forcing my head down. Forcing me to kneel on the ground.

  “Suck me,” he rasps, dragging his knuckles across my cheek as he gazes down at me.

  Grasping his stiff, damp cock in my hand, I take him into my mouth and lick and suck him like I’ve done this a hundred times before—which I haven’t. He tastes salty and metallic, a cocktail of us. If memories had a flavor, ours would be salt and blood. It’s disgusting and beautiful, and I lose my mind. This man is a drug and I’m an addict. I’m high on him and us, lost in the twirling world around me, every smell, sight, and touch heightened and vivid and so incredibly disconnected and hazy.

  Maybe he slipped me a roofie when he kissed me. Maybe he had something on his tongue and now I’m high as a kite. Or maybe this is all just a crazy-ass sex dream and I’m going to wake up next to Archie the cat any moment with Titanic playing in the background.

  I gag on the cock slamming into my tonsils.

  Nope. This isn’t a dream. I’m choking on a stranger’s dick.

  This isn’t me. This isn’t me. This isn’t me.

  “Piper….” Grabbing the back of my head, he breathes out my name as hot cum propels down my throat. I swallow him and he slowly pulls out, skimming over my lips. I wipe my wet mouth with the back of one hand while my other clenches the side of his leg.

  He helps me to my feet before zipping himself back into his jeans, and I avoid any eye contact, attempting to straighten my skirt over my bare ass. My panties, my favorite pair with the pretty lace trim, are lost somewhere on the ground.

  As I try to focus in the dark, Evan leans down to capture my mouth with his, but I quickly turn my face away, escaping the kiss. My mouth no longer feels like my own. My lips are numb, my tongue tingly, my throat burning.

  “I have to go.” My voice shakes as I shiver uncontrollably and step away from him, tripping over my purse as I do so. I don’t even remember dropping it. Nor do I remember the misty rain stopping. I quickly snatch up my purse and
throw the strap over my shoulder.

  “I-I have to go,” I repeat and sprint through the foggy darkness in the direction I came from, running my hand along the damp stone until I find the end of the bridge, ignoring his voice calling after me.

  On my hands and knees I crawl up the hill and let out a sob of relief when I finally reach the asphalt path. My heels clack as I practically run toward the safety of the wrought-iron gates. The shape of my bench appears under one of the lamps, and I’m suddenly overcome with nausea.

  Clutching my stomach, I run to the garbage can I’ve thrown my lunch into every day for months and vomit into it, my horrible retching echoing around me. Using the garbage can for balance, I fish in my purse for a mint and suck wildly on it before I continue to walk toward my car. The taste of vomit and sex in my mouth is overpowering, an acrid poison I will never forget.

  I drive home like a certified lunatic. An endless stream of tears flow down my cheeks and I’m shocked I don’t crash into something or get pulled over for speeding and driving erratically. When I reach my driveway, I’m relieved to see all the lights in the house are off except for the front porch, signaling they’ve all gone to bed.

  Thank God.

  Even with the heat in my car blasting, I shivered all the way home, and I’m still shaking when I let myself in the house and quietly go down to my room. Ignoring Archie’s stare from beside his half-empty food dish, I toss my purse onto the couch, kick off my shoes, and make a beeline for the bathroom. I lock the door behind me.

  The reflection in the mirror above the sink nearly makes me puke again.

  I blink at the girl there as she stares back at me. I have no idea who she is. She’s a mess, breathing heavy with her mouth partially open. Her hair is damp and looks as if she was recently electrocuted or is channeling Cher. The charcoal eyeliner and mascara she spent fifteen minutes perfecting this morning are now smeared under her puffy eyes and across her pale cheeks. Her lips are abnormally red and swollen, the corners of her mouth slightly cracked.

  From sucking dick.

  Trembling, I take a deep breath and try to get my shit together.

  Half an hour ago, two of the most intimate parts of my body were stretched around a huge cock, and now there’s dried cum on my chin and in my hair. My gaze drifts down to the blotchy red marks on my neck as memories of his lips, teeth, and hands biting, sucking, and gripping me sends another wave of odd euphoria through me.

  I shouldn’t be turned on by this… should I?

  Pulling my clothes off, I decide I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need a hot shower and a gallon of soothing aloe and lavender body wash. I turn on the hot water and look at my naked body in the full-length mirror on the back of the door while the small room fills with steam. I zero in on the faint black and blue bruises in the shapes of his fingertips marking my waist, thighs, and throat. I lightly run my fingers over them in fascination, until a small stain of dried blood smeared on my inner thigh catches my eye. Frantically, I grab a tissue from the box on the vanity and wipe it across my vagina, and there’s a few spots of bright-red blood. I toss it in the toilet and quickly flush it. I don’t need Exhibit A: Loss of Virginity sitting in my wastebasket for Archie to pull out and drag around my room like a prize.

  My heart jumps into my throat when I realize I don’t know if Evan wore a condom. Gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, I play the moments over and over in my head while my pulse races, but I can’t dredge up the sound of the wrapper being ripped open or a lapse when he might have been putting it on. Or taking it off. His stiff cock went directly from my pussy to my mouth in a matter of seconds.

  There was no condom.

  A swarm of anxiety sucks the air out of my lungs. How could I be so stupid and irresponsible to let a stranger screw my brains out under a bridge without protection? Me… who won’t even use a public restroom unless it’s a last resort. Me… who’s been waiting for my first time to be some kind of off-the-charts romantic experience with a man I’d want to marry. Did I suffer temporary insanity tonight? It’s like someone else just took over my body and my brain, and now I could have just lost my virginity, acquired five STDs, and gotten pregnant all at once.

  With a homeless man.

  My body sways with a dizzying freak-out, and I suck in another grounding, deep breath as I step into the shower stall, still trembling despite the scalding water. The tears don’t stop. They mingle with the water dripping down my face as I scrub my flesh with a washcloth soaked in soap.

  I’m going to make you dirty, too. And it’s never going to wash off.

  He’s right. I can’t scrub away the memories of how he kissed, rammed, and tasted. And I already know I’ll lust over the bruises long after they’ve faded.

  God help me, I don’t want to wash any of it away.

  I stay in the shower until the hot water turns icy cold, then wrap a thick towel around myself and go straight to bed, crawling naked under my blankets and falling instantly into a mentally and physically exhausted sleep.

  I wake up groggy the next morning with a dull pain between my legs, an immediate reminder of what happened last night with Evan.

  What exactly did happen last night?

  I don’t even know how to describe any of it. Was that a one-night stand? A quick down-and-dirty screw? I can only imagine what he must think of me now. Not that his opinion should matter, really. I mean, he’s the homeless one. Not me. I have a job and a car and a bank account and a cat.

  I also have blue, purple, and red bruises scattered all over my body from sex with him because the gift of speech completely took a hike out of my life last night when I should have been saying no.

  He told you to leave, Piper. Remember? You said you didn’t want to. Your ability to speak was working just fine when you said that. And speaking of your mouth, it was also functioning perfectly fine when you sucked and swallowed him as though he were your last meal.

  Shit.

  I’m lying to myself. His opinion matters to me very much.

  The digital alarm clock on my night table beeps me out of my daydream, and I slam the rectangular button until it turns off. There’s no way I’m going to work today with all the madness shuffling through my brain. I’ll never be able to focus on documents or deal with the endless ringing of the phone, and lunch hour is a stressy dilemma I’m not ready to face. I’m too unsettled and embarrassed to go to the park today. What if Evan’s not there? Or what if he is and he ignores me? What if he comes over to my bench to talk? What would we say to each other now? What if he kisses me, there in the park, on my bench, out in the daylight in public and not hidden away under a bridge in the dark?

  My heartbeats quicken at the thought of his lips on mine again, warm and possessive, and the throaty rasp of his voice.

  As petrified as I am about my actions and the possible ramifications, it doesn’t diminish the other emotions fighting like hell to come to the surface. I like Evan. A lot. I’m undeniably attracted to him in ways I’ve never felt before. Whether I want it or not, he’s ignited a spark of intrigue in me, and I don’t think it’s going to extinguish anytime soon.

  If anything, I feel it’s going to turn into a raging inferno that will burn ‘til the day I die.

  I crawl out of bed, use the bathroom, and pull on my robe before I call the human resources manager at my office and leave a message that I have the flu and won’t be coming in to work.

  With that out of the way, I heat water for tea in a mug in the microwave and pull out the yellow pages to search for a gynecologist in town. I then embark on the most awkward conversation of my life with a nurse about my “unexpected high-risk sexual experience.” Fifteen minutes later I end the call with shaking hands and an appointment two weeks from today for a full examination and testing.

  The next two weeks are going to be torturous.

  How does Ditra do this with multiple people and not go insane?

  I’m never having sex again.

  Not unti
l I’m married, at least.

  Never did I think my first time would be like this. But when I peel back the layers of fear, I’m left with a pretty wild experience with an amazingly talented and sexy man who tore through my shyness like a dagger slicing silk. I’m just not sure how I feel about myself or him or any of it and continue to see-saw between being completely appalled one minute and daydreaming about him the next.

  There’s a knock on my door, and my mother enters my space before I can answer, which she has promised a hundred times she won’t do anymore to respect my privacy. Someday I’ll remember to lock the door that separates my living space from theirs.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” She glances around my tiny living room as if something illegal might be happening. “It’s after nine.”

  “I’m not feeling well,” I reply, not meeting her eyes and pulling my hair over to the front of my shoulder to hopefully cover the hickies and bite marks on my neck. “I called in sick.”

  “Sweetheart, your boss will never take you seriously if you call in sick for every little thing. They’ll think you’re lazy and irresponsible.”

  This is where I get my chronic worrying from. I love my mom, but she worries about everything under the sun.

  “Mom, I have about a hundred sick days. This is only the second one I’ve taken since I started working there. I haven’t even used any of my vacation time.”

  “Just be careful it doesn’t become a habit.” She eyes my teacup. “Do you need anything? Soup or tea? Toast? I can make you a tea with honey. That always makes you feel better.”

  “I have tea, but I had to make a phone call first. After I drink it, I’m going back to bed for a little while. I didn’t sleep well last night. There’s a bug going around the office that I probably caught. That’s all.” I bounce the tea bag up and down in my mug by its paper tag.