Page 64 of Ballistic

“For all of them, Dax. My friend. Your sister.” She sauntered up to me, her body too close to mine. Every muscle trembled in a desperate bid to keep from touching her, but damn if she wasn’t speaking my language. Her words skated down a kindred nerve, somehow wired to the woman. “For every girl who didn’t have a choice.”

Still naked, she swanned past me, into the bathroom, and stared at herself in the mirror. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to look at myself in the mirror after what they’ve done to me? All I see is their hands on my body.” Palms planted against the countertop, she turned her gaze to me, sticking her ass out. “I want you to erase that for me, Dax. I want to watch your hands on my body. Your strong, gentle hands touching me everywhere. I want you to touch me.” Her eyes filled with tears, and her brows came together in a frown. “Make me feel desired. Make me feel human again.”

Stroking my skull back and forth, I paced for a minute, contemplating my options. Reject her and leave her feeling unwanted, or be the prick who caved and gave her what she asked for?

Fuck.

I nabbed a condom from the nightstand, strode across the room until standing behind her, and spun her around to face me. “You are desired, Nic. I don’t want anything else but you.”

Slanting my mouth over hers, I lifted her up by her ass and set her atop the counter. Legs wrapped around my back, her pussy pressed against my stomach, she spread the wetness over my skin. I could drown in an ocean of whiskey and not be more intoxicated than I was right then. Her taste was pure ambrosia—the liquor of the gods. My destruction in the flesh.

“You don’t have to do this. I said I’ll help you. You don’t have to sacrifice another piece of yourself.”

“This isn’t a sacrifice this time. It’s a request.” She licked the shell of my ear, the faint tickle driving me insane, and dragged my lobe between her teeth. “Show me how much you want me.” She slid off the counter between us and turned to face the mirror once more. “Fuck me, Dax.”

“You’re not giving me much choice.” Everything inside of me begged me to stay away from the girl. That I’d be a rotten bastard for what I was about to do right then, but I was a man dominated by his vices, ruled by his demons. Maybe no different than the men I’d hunted and punished.

Forehead set against her shoulder, I kissed her nape, trailing my lips over her flesh, as she reached behind to grab the back of my neck. The sweet scent of her skin hooked something dark and primitive inside me, stoking the hunger in my gut. Driving me wild.

Wrapping my arms around her, I paused, squeezing my eyes to stamp out the bastardly thoughts racing through my head. Ones of me eating her out on that very countertop, and sucking her clit until the little bud turned blue. “I’m not doing this. I can’t.”

She tilted her head back, and disappointment carried on her forced breath. “Damaged goods, right?” Lowering her arm, she nudged me with her ass, kicking me back a step. “Forget it.”

I held her tighter, one arm crossed over her chest, the other across her belly, and damn near growled in her ear, “You’re not damaged. You’ve just been through some bad shit, and I don’t want to be the dirty prick that takes advantage of you.”

She kicked her head to the side, turning her ear away from my lips. “I’ve been through enough bad shit to know what’s good. I’m not a child, Dax. And don’t make the mistake of comparing yourself to those bastards who rob young girls of their innocence. You’re not taking anything I’m not damn well old enough to give.”

Like she can read my fucking mind, this girl.

“But I don’t have a perfect body, like those strippers. I don’t know how to be sexy and desirable. My youth is all I’ve had going for me, the only thing the sick bastards in this world have swarmed over like locusts. So, if you don’t want me—”

Slapping my hand over her mouth trapped whatever self-deprecating shit she planned to spew next. The girl was perfect. So fucking perfect, it hurt to look at her. I knew where her wounds came from, knew what she’d been through to get them, and they didn’t make me want her any less. They were a testament of her strength, marking her will to survive. At eighteen, she was well beyond her age, wiser to the ways of the world than any other woman I’d met before her.

“Shut up, Nic. I’m not listening to that crap. You’re a fucking pearl in a sea of shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be plucked up by some asshole with a string of beads.” After all, I wasn’t known to be a very tender lover. Sex brought out the unbridled savage in me that craved sweat and fatigue. The kind of night that’d leave me a spaced-out zombie the next day, as if I’d run a marathon.

“Do you want me? Because that’s all that matters to me.”

Hell, yes, I wanted her. I wanted her more than I’d wanted any other thing in my life. Bastard, or not, bottom line was, the girl had me wound so fucking tight, I couldn’t deny her if I tried.

With my palm over her mouth, I slid my hand down the front of her, watching our reflection, as I ran my fingers down her wet slit and drew back the plump outer lips to her hooded clit, tickling it with tiny flicks.

Her moan bounced off my palm and she tipped her head back, surrendering to my ministrations.

Dragging my hand from her mouth to her chin, I held her neck, tipping it just enough for me to devour her throat. Had to tell myself to slow down, because I didn’t want fast. I wanted to stretch it out for as long as I could, savor the taste of her flesh against my tongue. “You’re everything I want.” Face buried in the curve of her neck, I licked her hammering pulse. “This is going to hurt like hell when it’s over, Nic, but I’m too far gone to give a shit right now.”

Awkwardly shoving my boxers to mid-thigh, I caught the tears in her eyes and the tremble of her body against mine. Her gaze fell from the mirror just enough to tell me she couldn’t bear to watch herself, and if I imagined the words filling her head, they’d only piss me off. Nothing but lies, telling her she was worthless, broken, unwanted.

No. Not my Nicoleta.

The embodiment of fortitude and resilience. A brand of beauty that couldn’t be replicated, because one would have to walk through absolute hell to acquire it. Something most of the women I knew weren’t willing to do.

The woman standing before me was willing to take down one of the most dangerous criminals in the city, one not even the police were willing to touch, all in the name of someone she loved. That alone made her deserving of pleasure and admiration, to be worshipped for however long it took for those thoughts to bury themselves into obscurity.

I gripped her chin, guiding her eyes back to the mirror, and against her opposition, held her there. “Watch us.” I skated my hand over her breast, and circled my thumb over her perfect pink nipple, studying the heavy blink of her eyes. The way her skin bloomed with goosebumps and she trembled harder than before—every stitch of her resistance coming apart at the seams. “Your body belongs to me now, not them. Look how it responds to me. Like a flower in the sun.”

She tipped her head back, resting her crown against my shoulder, and closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch everything I do to you. And when you close them again, I want you to imagine my hands.” Palm gliding down her belly, I reached for her pussy and cupped it, letting my fingers toy at her entrance, wriggling them just enough to slicken it. “Mine. No one else’s.”