Damn that Noelle.
And wouldn’t you know it? Just as before, merely thinking her name got him hard as a goddamn steel pipe, desire overshadowing his lingering anger.
What was it about her that lit him up so completely? She was gorgeous, but so were other women. She was silly and violent, a little playful, a lot vengeful. Her only vulnerability, that he could see, was Ava.
What was Noelle doing right now? Causing trouble, he thought, and next found himself grinning.
The moment he realized what he was doing, he scowled. He’d never obsessed about a woman before. Always he’d been able to walk away. So why did simply thinking Noelle cause such a strong reaction?
“Should I …” The female in front of him motioned to his zipper. She must be in a hurry to get this done to have broken his no-communication rule.
“No. I will.” But he didn’t. He just stood there, as motionless as a statue. He wanted Noelle, yet he was going to allow another woman to put her mouth on him. A woman who didn’t want him.
Guilt ate at him, the bites bigger than usual.
You aren’t locked in a cage. You aren’t forced to harm other kids just to stay alive. His life was good. He hunted predatory baddies for a living, helped prevent other kids from having a childhood as traumatic as his. So the f**k what if he paid a stranger to get him off while he craved someone else?
With shaky hands he unfastened the only button on his pants. Tendrils of smoke rose from the holes in his gloves. Shit. He had to do this quickly. He needed the release the hooker could give him, and soon, before he burned down his house with the two of them in it.
“You do the rest,” he croaked, locking his arms behind his back. “And don’t … don’t talk anymore.” He’d lose his erection, but his hormones wouldn’t cool down.
She nodded, reached for him, and down went his zipper. Cold fingers moved his underwear out of the way and wrapped around the base of his shaft. His disgust with himself climbed.
As if she were part of a movie and someone had pushed the slow-motion button, he watched as she opened her mouth and inched toward his c**k … closer … He clenched his teeth.
What the f**k are you doing? his better half screamed. This is wrong, so wrong. There has to be another way.
The answer was simple. He was surviving.
Closer …
Damn it, what if there was another way? He’d never tried to masturbate, had let fear stop him, but maybe he should have risked it. Maybe singeing off his c**k would finally end his physical and mental torment.
Closer …
Sweat dripped from his temples, sliding down his cheeks. His legs vibrated with the strength needed to hold himself in place.
Just get it over with! the other part of him shouted. The part he knew, understood. Until you do, you’re dangerous. Operating on a hair trigger.
That, too, was the truth.
What should he do? The two needs warred, both so fierce they threatened to pull him apart.
Closer …
His entire body shaking. Closer …
Heating.
Closer still …
Sweating, blistering.
He jerked away, severing contact. The woman looked up at him, her eyes widening with confusion.
He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. This wasn’t right. He wanted someone else, and if he couldn’t have Noelle’s mouth on him, he wouldn’t have anyone’s. That didn’t change the fact that he needed relief, somehow, some way, but he’d deal with that as soon as the woman left.
“You have to go,” he said. “I can’t do this. I put the money on the nightstand. Please, just take it and go.” He knew his voice lashed like a whip, but he couldn’t help it. He hurt, he yearned. He was scared out of his goddamn mind about what he planned to do.
“I—”
“Please,” he croaked. Finally he allowed himself to study her face. She was most likely in her early twenties, though life had not been kind to her. Had aged her beyond her years, with stress lines branching from her eyes and mouth. Her hair was bright red, too coarse to be real.
“I’m sorry you didn’t want me,” she said, but damn if there wasn’t relief in her voice. She grabbed the money and strolled away, out of the house, a spring in her step.
Nine
HECTOR WAITED UNTIL HE heard the front door snick closed before releasing the breath he’d been holding and carefully wrapping his hand around the base of his cock. He was going to masturbate, even if it killed him. And he was going to do it now, before he lost his nerve.
He could feel the burn his arm emitted through the fabric of his glove, but he didn’t fry his shaft to a crisp and took heart.
Do it. Slowly up, slowly down, he stroked. Still no problems. He increased his speed. Up, down. The glide wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t bad, either. Up, down, faster and faster.
The glow brightened. The heat blazed. And yet, still no problems.
Relaxing, getting into it, he squeezed his thick, marble-hard shaft with a strength borrowed from his desperation. Up, down, up, down. No matter how excited he became, he never hurt himself—and yet orgasm eluded him.
Come. On. As much as he loved knowing he could do this, he wanted to reach the end. To know he’d be okay even then.
He tried softer strokes, then hard again, softer then harder. Harder still.
Nothing worked—until Noelle’s image took shape in his mind. Tall, slim, her glossy brown hair hanging past her shoulders, the sun glittering behind her and forming a halo around her. Her eyes were languid, the lids at half-mast, those lovely gray irises becoming liquid silver as she traced them over his body. Her lush mouth was parted, as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath. As if the sight of him had aroused her.
Next he saw her on his bed. She was naked, her ni**les pink and beaded. Her stomach hollowed, and as he watched, enraptured, she dabbled her fingers around her navel, teasing herself—teasing him.
A moan escaped her as she arched her back and spread her legs wide. The curls between her legs were dark and glistening with her desire. So much desire. For him. Only him.
“Hector,” she said, a prayer and a curse all at once. “I need you.”
Yes, damn it, yes. He needed her, too. He imagined himself sinking inside this pliant, dream Noelle with a single thrust. Imagined the way she clutched him, hot and wet and so incredibly tight.
His c**k loved the imagery as much as his mind, and his pleasure deepened. His strokes became jerky, but oh, shit, they felt good.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, all smoke and eagerness as her knees squeezed at his waist.