Page 17 of Cruel Hearts

She pauses, her hand on the doorknob.

“Stay and shower. Change your clothes. I’m sorry about Quinn.”

She starts to cry, and I stop denying myself what I want. I hold her against my chest, her bony shoulders shaking under my hands. As she cries into my shirt, she wipes blood all over me.

“Breathe, Stella,” I murmur.

She jerks away. “I need to go.”

“Someone’s trying to hurt you. Stay and clean up. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Why are my things still here?”

“I bought the building. I was waiting for you to come back.”

She blinks. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Go shower. Then we’ll talk.”

I push her toward her bedroom and the bathroom located at the end of the narrow hallway. Since Stella left, every six months I’ve had her toiletries replaced and a cleaner comes once a month to dust and vacuum.

Impatiently, I wait for her to shower, but after a half an hour, she’s still not done. Cracking the door open, I check to see that she hadn’t slit her wrists, but all she’s doing is leaning against the wall, crying in the steam.

I sit on her bed and turn the flash drive over in my hands. I drop it into the pocket of my suit jacket and I forget about it as she finally steps out of the bathroom, her hair slicked back and dripping water down her bare shoulders. She wrapped a thin towel around her torso, and the edge hits the top of her thighs.

I want to fuck her so badly, my cock strains against my pants. Why the hell not? There’s nothing stopping me. “Come here.”

She stands in front of me, and I pull the towel from her body and let it drop onto the floor.

Peaches and cream, her skin is a delicate pink, just how I remember. Her breasts hang full and ripe, and her nipples are a beautiful rose. Her belly is a flat plain, giving way to gently flared hips. She hasn’t trimmed in a while, but her soft, golden curls and the treasure they hide turn me on. Her thighs are slim, andher legs taper to delicate ankles. Stella’s body is every heavenly thing I remember.

I’m a bastard for using her, but it’s what I deserve living through five years of hell. Five lonely years of being unable to touch her. “Kiss me,” I demand, desperately needing her lips on mine.

Without argument, she steps between my legs and covers my mouth with hers.

I groan.

She rests her hands on my shoulders, and I fill my palms with her breasts. Her breath catches in her throat. She wants me too, and I want to shout in victory. Even after all this time, she hasn’t forgotten how I made her feel.

I squeeze her nipples, and they harden under my touch. “Lie on the bed.”

She crawls onto the bed but doesn’t pull the comforter back. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, but without the air conditioner running, the temperature in the basement apartment is close to eighty degrees.

Maybe her reaction is fear, maybe it’s desire, but either way, her trepidation excites me, and I smooth my fingers through the curls between her legs searching for her slit.

She jerks away, and in warning, I dig my fingertips into her thigh. “Hold still.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she says, “I can’t. It’s been too long.”

I continue to play, barely touching the lips of her pussy. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes flutter open but she turns her head and speaks to the wall. “I haven’t been...intimate...in a long time.”

I grip her harder, resisting the urge to slap her. I know she’s lying. “Bullshit. I don’t believe you.”

Sunlight travels over her body, and I want to claim her all over again.

“Then feel for yourself.” She licks her lips and meets my eyes. “But please, Zane, don’t hurt me.”

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