Silent Scars (Surviving #4) Page 8

  After shaving, I headed down stairs. As I reached the door leading into the lounge, my lips twitched when I saw Aloura dancing around the kitchen. She had a serene grin on her face as she swayed those delectable hips and ass. I groaned again and looked up at the ceiling.

  A little fucking help here, wouldn’t go a miss.

  Standing in the shadows of the corridor like a creeper, I watched. She was in front of the coffee machine, swaying her ass, tapping out the rhythm to the song on the counter. Her hair was no longer in her usual messy bun, but in a long sleek ponytail. All black tendrils of hair caught at the back of her head and allowed to cascade down her back.

  I bet it feels like silk.

  The thought had me standing up straight, because yeah, it seemed my thoughts were going to go there. I did want to wrap my hands in it, pull it tight, as I took her from behind and buried my nose in it after making her come. A sickening defeat swirled in my gut because I knew I would never deserve to touch someone as perfect as Aloura. Sex for money was all I knew. Jaded bastards didn’t warrant such purity. I needed to stop staring at her. And I would.

  Eventually.

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder and her smile stole my breath. I stepped forward and returned her joy. But it was quickly snatched away when the cocky bastard came into the room from the her library. He stood behind her and placed his grabby fucking hands on her waist and swayed with her, pressing his junk into her ass. Taking numerous deep breaths, I willed myself to calm down. I couldn’t go out there and put my fist in the fucker’s face, even though I wanted to. Stepping out of the shadows, I forced my presence into their space. But their bodies were moving like one entity. Had I not wanted to rip his arms off for groping her, I would have appreciated their synchronicity. The way he moved and how her body followed. He spun her out, holding her hand. My chest tightened when she let out a delighted giggle before allowing him to pull her back into his arms. One of her hands was in his while the other rested on his shoulder. They chatted as they danced; I couldn’t hear anything above the music, but I could see their lips moving and her head would fall back as she laughed at something he had said. Something profound struck me in that moment. I would like to be the one to make her so happy. Why the hell was he here anyway?

  I watched for a few moments before the cocky bastard noticed me watching. The sly grin that plastered across his face raised my hackles, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. So I crossed my arms across my chest – I may have flexed – and gave him a bored expression. He didn’t drop the grin. Instead, he pulled her closer and slid his hand down her back and cupped her ass, giving it a quick squeeze. My teeth were about to crack at the force I was using to clench my teeth. My reprieve came in Aloura letting out a string of – I hopefully imagined – curses and pushed him away, swatting at his shoulder as she returned to making coffee. That’s when she spotted me. A gentle smile lifted the corner of her lips before she held up the remote and clicked a button killing the music.

  “The coffee is ready. Not sure what you meant by creamer, but I have semi-skimmed milk or single cream,” she offered hopefully.

  “Milk will be perfect.” I would have to eventually get used to stuff over here. Hearing Will and Jo use British terms all the time was so weird.

  “Where’s mine?” whined the cocky bastard.

  I glanced down to see she had made some toast for me and placed a bowl and box of cereal in front of me.

  Get a grip, you moron.

  Feeling warm and girly inside because someone made you breakfast. It’s not a big fucking deal.

  “Aww, did your bed buddy not make you breakfast before you kicked her out?” Aloura asked.

  “Stop being a brat,” he grumbled and grabbed my bowl and the cereal. “And you know it gets messy if I allow them to come to my place.” He poured an obscene amount of cereal and milk into the bowl, before sticking his spoon in and shovelling it into his mouth.

  “Stand up guy,” I muttered.

  “He’s a disgusting pig. Seriously, Harry, do you need a trough?” She handed him a napkin across the counter when milk dribbled down his chin.

  “Listen, I’m hung over. The club was hell last night and being woken up to ‘the chat’ is not an ideal cure. I need a greasy bacon butty...” He paused and grinned at Aloura.

  “Not happening,” she grumbled as she took a bite of her toast.

  “Fine. Sleep will have to be a cure all.”

  “How about you try and keep your little brain in your pants for a change and think with the one on your shoulders.”

  “Sweetheart, there is nothing little about it.”

  “Out! Now. I need to eat this without throwing up, and go for a run. My ass is getting flabby.”

  My eyes went there, and nope, not a sign of flab.

  He picked up the bowl and headed to the door. “The day I see flab on that cute little rump will be the day I’m celibate.”

  “Drive safely, you big moron.” She laughed.

  “Can I come over later, before work?”

  “Always.”

  “Cool. Okay, love you.”

  “Love you.”

  When the door closed, Aloura released a low sigh.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just worry about him.”

  “What kind of work does he do?”

  “He owns a club in town. We could go there one night if you want?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Well, I want to go.”

  The mischievous grin she tried to hide did not fill me with any confidence. Why did it suddenly feel I had walked into a trap? There definitely wouldn’t be any clubbing until I secured the area.

  As we stepped outside, the sky was dark, the clouds a deep foreboding grey. And then the distant rumble of thunder. My lips twitched with glee. Hercules skidded out of the house. His happy little yap echoed around us.

  “I don’t think it’s smart for us to head out. Those clouds do not look good.”

  “It’s the best time to run,” I argued. “Rain is my happy weather – sue me.” I pulled out my tongue at him. Hoping it came across as joking and not flirty. Because truth was, I wanted nothing more than to flirt with the broody marine. I didn’t know what was with Harry this morning when he was feeling me up. Maybe he was still drunk. But I could have really punched him when I realised Ryan had seen everything. It gave the wrong impression.

  “Okay, you little monster. I have to stretch. Sit!” I commanded Herc. But as usual the sassy little pup ran around in circles with his tongue hanging out. “I swear, I really am his master,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at a bemused Ryan. He was standing at the threshold of the patio doors watching Hercules with a mixture of disgust and bewilderment. While his attention was elsewhere I allowed my gaze to take its fill. He had on a tight grey t-shirt. I did wonder if it was supposed to be tight or if they just didn’t do shirts that large. I mean he wasn’t in any way fat. From what I could see every inch of skin was carved over steel muscle. There was just so much of him to cover. Loose tracksuit bottoms did little to hide the impressive bulge beneath – okay so when guys wear tracksuit bottoms I always look at their goods. It’s a woman’s right. They look at boobs I look at packages.

  Without turning his head, his gaze flicked to me, and I glanced away.

  I bent over at the waist to touch my toes, pausing when I heard a groan behind me. I looked through my legs at an upside down version of Ryan to see him covering his face with both hands.

  “You okay?” I asked, straightening back up.

  “Yeah, just hurry. I don’t want to be out in a storm.” He all but growled at me.

  “You can stay.”

  “It’s my job to be with you. I couldn’t remain here if I wanted to,” he snapped. He busied himself locking the door before passing me without a glance. I didn't know why his words hurt, but they cut a litt
le. Maybe flirting with him wasn’t such a wise idea after all. With a sense of sickening defeat, I grabbed my water bottle from the bench and whistled for Hercules to come.

  Forty-five minutes later, soaked through because the storm hit mid-run, we returned back home. Throughout the run, I tried to keep pace beside him, but he insisted I go before him, always. Smalltalk was an epic fail; either my conversational skills sucked arse, or he just was not at all into talking to me

  Basically Ryan was not interested one little bit in being friendly.

  So now, even I felt tense and pissed off. When we entered the house, I grabbed Hercules and herded him into the laundry room so he didn’t climb all over the furniture with his muddy paws. Then I grabbed some orange juice from the fridge, two glasses, and poured. I silently handed Ryan a glass of juice. I gulped mine down without sparing him a glance and walked across the lounge.

  “I’ll take the shower first and make some lunch while you use it,” I stated, not waiting for an answer. My footsteps were heavy and on the petulant side as I stormed up the steps. I tried to rationalise that Ryan wasn’t here to chit-chat, but if the truth be known, I was hurt and angry he had no intention of getting to know me. Not even in the slightest.

  And wasn’t that a kicker to the old female ego.

  I entered my room and headed for the draws to grab some clothes.

  “Sod him and his sexy surliness,” I huffed to myself. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to him. Everything intrigued me about him. When it started to rain and his shirt became wetter and wetter, it moulded to his body like a second skin. I never wanted to lick water from someone’s body as much as I had in those torturous minutes. When he slipped into pace beside me for a few seconds, I had taken my fill of the corded muscles on his arms, the bulge of his biceps, and the wide expanse of his shoulders. I say I had a few seconds because I nearly face planted into the dirt when my foot caught on a protruding tree root. His hat was soaked through, but he still didn’t remove it, and for some reason I was desperate to see what his hair was like. Was it a military style buzz cut? I knew it had to be dark because I had seen short stubble strands peeking out from the back. I noticed when he was uncomfortable or a little unsure, he pulled at the cap.

  I huffed out a curse as I grabbed my underwear before stalking to my door and flinging it open. I yelped, not expecting Ryan to be standing in the corridor, another thing to add to his annoying traits – his ability to creep around the house like a bloody ghost.

  “I borrowed this.” He held out my iPod.

  “It’s fine.” I grumbled and headed into the hallway and the bathroom. I jerked when he slammed his bedroom door. He was acting like a sulky teenager.

  “It was only a bit of rain, for God’s sake,” I muttered before closing the door. The shower did little to alleviate the tension in my shoulders, or the annoyance at Ryan for ruining what could have been a brilliant run. I towelled my skin a little harsher than normal, dressed, and wrapped a towel around my hair. I wasn’t in the mood to dry it.

  I stalked out of the bathroom, hesitating at his door, but years of having good manners drilled into me wouldn’t let me pass without knocking and telling him the bathroom was free.

  “The bathroom is all clear.” I tried to force lightness into my voice. When he didn’t answer, I scowled at the wood separating us. “Fine, be an...arse,” I grumbled and stomped to my room. This was ridiculous.

  Yanking the towel off of my head, I proceeded to run the brush through it, tugging at the snarls in my hair. Muttering curses as I went. I was working myself up into a frenzy for no reason. So what if the big oaf didn’t want to talk. I could go about my day without his enlightening conversational skills. I hadn’t needed him before, and I sure as hell didn't need the jerk now.

  I stared at my reflection, noting my hair was a ratty mess, my were cheeks flushed with anger and my eyes were wild, I laughed because it wasn’t him being a jerk, it was me. I was having an inner tantrum because he didn’t want to talk. He hadn’t been rude; I just hadn’t taken the hint to shut the heck up. Placing my brush on the dresser, I pulled my hair into the usually messy bun and tied it. Letting out a slow breath, I smiled at my pathetic reflection. I knew the problem was I just wanted someone else to blame. For the first time in a long, long while, I was seriously attracted to someone, but they were so devastatingly not attracted to me, and it was a cutting blow. But someone like Ryan must have the pick of beautiful women, ladies with confidence who didn’t live so close to their parents. It stung, but I wasn’t about to let myself go all fatal attraction and kill his poor defenceless rabbit. I straightened my simple black sleeveless eyelash lace top. I had paired it with loose fitting linen trousers. I wasn’t fashionable, much to Mum’s chagrin. She had tried on more than one occasion to get me to “brighten” my wardrobe, but I felt comfortable in black. It blended more easily, and I stood out in a crowd much less than if I wore colour. I was tall for a woman, it wasn’t easy to hide, and being unnoticed was my main aim. I hated gaining attention. I preferred to remain unnoticed.

  Maybe that’s why Ryan doesn’t see you.

  I pressed my hand against my chest when that thought caused an ache I wasn’t used to. Backing away from the mirror, I forced the self-doubt into the recesses of my mind, along with everything else I refused to acknowledge. I crossed the room and headed to his closed door.

  “I’m going to make something to eat; would you like anything?” Admittedly I wasn’t exceptionally loud, but still, in a quiet home he would still be able to hear me. I tapped again, knowing he was in there because I hadn’t heard him leave and the bathroom door was still open.

  “Ryan?” When he still didn’t answer, my anger bubbled to the surface again. He was just being damn rude. I grabbed the handle and twisted. “Look, I know –” The words died in my throat with the vision before me. My mouth gaped slightly, but heat rushed through me straight to my core.

  I either had the most impeccable timing or the absolute worst.

  Ryan was laid across his bed, head pushed back into his pillows, my ear buds in his ears. His shirt was pulled up to his chest, revealing a taut stomach. His sweats were pushed down to his thighs.

  He was like a rare piece of artwork. Sculptured and defined. His chest had a light covering of inky hair that was matted with sweat, with an inch thick trail leading down to a defined stomach, over ridges and tensed muscles. Veins ran like cords under his skin as he tensed. I watched shamelessly as his hand pumped at his dick, the tight grasp punishing. His other hand cupped his balls. His arm jerked and paused, his stomach tense and concave as it was covered in white creamy cum. My eyes locked on the solid, erect cock in his hand as he groaned out his release. He panted as he stroked himself, breathing out the last few moments of his orgasm. His body jerked with each spurt, his mouth gaped open, and his eyes screwed shut. His expression was a cross between pain and extreme bliss. Keeping his eyes closed, he rocked his hips into his hand, almost revelling in his orgasm.

  I clenched my thighs together; my nipples ached against my bra they were so hard and sensitised. Never in my life had I seen anything so arousing. I had watched porn, read erotica – but nothing compared to watching this commanding man lose control. To hear him trying to suppress his moans of euphoria. If I were brave enough, I’d slide my hand into my knickers, and like a voyeur I’d get myself off. Silently, I backed out of the room and pulled the door closed, my heart beating wildly in my chest. My pulse a loud drumming in my ears. I prayed he wouldn’t open his eyes before I closed the door. When the click echoed in my sensitive ears, I dashed down the stairs and into the quiet solitude of my library. I slumped in the chair and released a shuddering breath.

  I closed my eyes, my vision was filled with tanned muscles, long arms pumping at a thick, throbbing length.

  “Good God. He really is proportioned,” I gasped, and a flutter of giggles burst free. I had just violated the man’s privacy in the worst way possible, and I really didn’t give a damn.
No one should apologise for witnessing such profound beauty.

  As my other hand worked the tip. I clamped my teeth down on my lip to stop any sounds coming out. The oil made my cock slick as my fist glided up and down. I closed my eyes and there she was, a fantasy. Laid out on her piano, legs wide, bare and inviting as I feasted on her wet pussy. The music in my ears brought the fantasy home.

  “God.”

  I worked my hand faster as I imagined fucking her with my tongue. Her voice carried to my ears, and she called out my name as she came. Her nails digging into my back. Gripping the tip of my cock, I quickened my pace, panting as my balls grew tight. I was about to blow with the image of Aloura fucking my face. “Ryan.” I bit down on my lip as I came, hot streams of cum hitting my stomach and moistening my hand. Her voice was so real. I threw my head back into the pillows, straining not to roar as my release pulsed through me. I glanced at the door and could have sworn it moved. But I put it down to my imagination playing tricks on me. A grin formed on my lips when I looked down at my come covered stomach. It had been a long time. Too fucking long.

  Running with a stiff dick was painful. Watching that tight little ass for over forty minutes was brutal. But knowing her sweaty hot body was naked in the shower was killing me. I had prowled up the stairs like a bear with a sore head, locked myself away, and hammered the frustration out of my dick. And God did it feel good.

  I grabbed my sweaty t-shirt from beside me and cleaned off my stomach. I pulled up my sweatpants, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. I rolled my shoulders, loving the loose feel, some of the alleviated tension gone. It was an indescribable feeling to know your useless dick was working again. You were a man again.

  I stood on unsteady legs and gave out a huff of laughter. It had been painfully euphoric but worth every second. Especially when I imagined her voice being so real. I should feel shit for using her, imagining doing things to her delectable body as I fisted my cock. But she was clearly my drug, my muse.